My Published Articles for ViewsHound: A Short History of THD- Sound Boards at Newton's

Sunday, September 8, 2024

A Short History of THD- Sound Boards at Newton's

The Gated Community of the Heritage Downtown ( Formerly known as Heritage Pointe)

Its official! We will back to Newton's on Sunday, September 8. Thank You THD for the Sound Boards💚. Hopefully this will reduce the noise level in Newton's to a more tolerable level. Looking forward to its installation.

https://theintellectualmigrants.blogspot.com/2024/07/newtons-restaurant-noise-and-its-health.html

For the last year, I have been talking to a few residents during meal and activity times and communicating with them on my daily blogs about my life here at THD. One of the items most residents want to know is a brief history of this place. So, I did talked to the oldest resident here ( 13 years of residency), but I did not get much detailed information except that 13 years ago there were only about 50 residents and not too many activities in the schedule although they have tours and lunch excursions on weekly basis. The manager at time was not Barbara Simpson and Jenny Shively was not in the THD employee list. They have two drivers and the big bus was used for tours and excursions.

I did some Internet search and here's a brief summary of The Heritage Pointe ( former name) for your reading pleasure.

The Heritage Downtown (THD) is the Bay Area's premier active senior living community. Centrally located in beautiful Downtown Walnut Creek, CA. The Heritage Downtown is nestled in lush green grounds and provides simply the best in 55+ retirement living apartment homes.

This resort-style independent senior living community was established in 1986 and offers an array of all-inclusive amenities including daily 5-star dining, health and wellness programs, fitness classes, social activities, assisted living care and elegant surroundings.

Originally built as condos, the property become senior shortly thereafter. With the addition of our 5-star restaurant Newton's, no other senior property in the area can compare in quality of dining and living.

It was awarded the Best Senior Living Award by a Place for Mom for 2023 and 2024.

Here's a summary of reviews I found in the web the Other Day

This community receives high praise for its friendly and welcoming atmosphere, both from staff and residents. Reviewers frequently highlight the excellent quality of food, the wide variety of activities available, and the cleanliness and maintenance of the facilities. Many appreciate the sense of independence and safety the community provides, along with the opportunity to partake in numerous clubs, trips, and social events. The accommodations, including large, fully equipped apartments and the availability of amenities such as a pool, library, and gym, are also noted positively. Reviewers value the community's location, conducive to walking downtown and enjoying the surrounding area. The inclusion of meals, housekeeping services, and the general ambiance of being part of a caring, active community contribute to the satisfaction expressed by many residents.

However, there are some areas noted for improvement💋.

💋https://theintellectualmigrants.blogspot.com/2024/02/suggestions-for-improvement-of-quality.html

Multiple reviews mention concerns regarding the management's responsiveness and policies, especially related to assisted living options which appear to be limited or require external support. Some residents find the community's offerings and facilities not as up-to-date as they would prefer, and there are specific references to the meal service variety and the handling of mail or packages during absences. Criticisms also touch on areas like parking availability and the handling of emergency situations ( no generator during power outage), suggesting a need for better communication and preemptive measures. The rapid turnover of employees in the Activity Department also generated some negatives comments from a number of residents.

Currently there are 121 residents( counted from the September Phone list) and one Ghost Resident- The Masked Lady of the Fairmont Building ( not in the phone list). This Masked Lady has been rumored to have resided here at THD for more than 5 years but has never used Newton's for her meals. I see her every now and then with her masked and recycle bag. She will answer back if you talk to her, but appeared to be always in a hurry to return to her apartment.

The community has 147 apartment units in four separate buildings ( The Heritage Tower, Plaza, Liberty and Fairmont Towers). The 4 buildings border a 2.14 acre lot with beautiful landscaping, swimming pool, jacuzzi, gym. yoga room, library and a Cinema with an underground Garage and an in-house restaurant, The Newton's. The community is pet-friendly. A $5000 non-refundable deposit is required. Monthly Rental for 1 BR unit ranged from $5,500- $ 6,500 and the 2 BR units rent between $7200 to $8000. These dollar amounts are my estimated guess. For the correct amount call THD.

https://theheritagedowntown.com/

I counted that twenty-two new residents came in during the month of July, August and September. The Newton Restaurant is currently on renovation and maintenance and scheduled to be open with the regular hours for Sunday Brunch Today( see brochure above).

One of the complaints from many residents is the 💚noise level at Newton's Restaurant at Dinner Time when the restaurant is full to capacity, other wise with the exception from one or two residents, Newtons Food and Services is 5 Star. The servers are very friendly and do their jobs very well as well as the Kitchen Crew.

Despite these points, the consistent praise for the community's environment, staff, and resident engagement indicates a highly positive living experience for most.

Personally, I am happy to recommend THD for its goal to enhance residents well being and sense of community and belonging.

Here's Better Business Bureau Profile:

Location of This Business

1785 Shuey Ave, Walnut Creek, CA 94596-4324
BBB File Opened:

2/11/2005

Years in Business:

Business Started:

11/15/2000

Business Started Locally:

11/15/2000

Accredited Since:

9/24/2014

Type of Entity:

Sole Proprietorship

Number of Employees:

Alternate Business Name

The Heritage Pointe

Sale and tax history for 1785 Shuey Ave

Sale History
Tax History

Year	Property Tax	Land +	Additions =	Assessed Value
2023	$285,393	$6,242,122	$10,983,279	$17,225,401
2022	$285,666 (+3.3%)	$6,242,122	$10,983,279	$17,225,401
2021	$276,411 (+3.6%)	$6,119,728	$10,767,921	$16,887,649
2020	$266,914 (+0.8%)	$5,999,734	$10,556,786	$16,556,520
2019	$264,775 (+3.3%)	$5,938,215	$10,448,540	$16,386,755
2018	$256,247 (+3.3%)	$5,821,780	$10,243,667	$16,065,447
2017	$248,167 (+2.7%)	$5,595,714	$9,845,894	$15,441,608

https://www.bbb.org/us/ca/walnut-creek/profile/retirement-homes/the-heritage-downtown-1116-61737/details

Meanwhile here are some of My Fellow residents at THD

Some of the Residents- July 4, 2024 Barbecue Dinner and Party. 💚Again, ThankYou THD Management for responding positively to some of our suggestions to enhance our well-being and promote a sense of community here at THD.

No comments:

Guest Article from Susan Creamer Joy

In The Silence, by Susan Creamer Joy.

Today's guest article is from Susan Creamer Joy. Susan is one of my favorite authors in the ViewsHound community. Susan writes, draws, paints and cobbles together art from found objects making a variety of creations from jewelry to religious shrines. She frequently sports burns on her fingers from her soldering iron, paint on her palms and ink under her fingernails, but her hair is usually combed. When she is not losing time in the creative vortex of her studio, she is likely to be putting her knowledge of metaphysics and esoteric principles including Tarot, numerology, astrology and graphology to good use in consultations. Her children are grown, her husband still works and her four dogs believe she needs serious help. The title of her article is "A Matter Of Love And Death". Thank you Susan.

By the time they reached my bedroom door, I was already sitting up – my stomach ratcheted in the tense grip of an unnamed anxiety; my pillow, unburdened of my drowsy head.

To this day I cannot explain how I heard them coming up those stairs in their bare feet or how I knew that my father struggled to hold his composure as my mother unnaturally clutched at the folds of her dressing gown and followed him through the dark just a little too closely.

As the wooden groan of those old stairs tore into my bones that morning like a hacksaw, all I could see between the predawn shadows was the letter I’d written just hours earlier to my boyfriend, Chris, propped against the lamp on my desk across the room awaiting an envelope.

I had not slept well. It was late November and there had been so many changes since the middle of August when he left for the Air Force in Texas to begin basic training and I began my third new school in as many years.

The conspiracy between fate and the last surge of the Vietnam draft had broken apart the every-waking-minutes of our two-year union with unceremonious indifference. All that night my sleep had been infested by difficult dreams and by the illogical fear that truth and reality were merging into a darkness only a martyr could grasp; and at sixteen, martyrdom seemed reasonable only for the nuns among the poor in Bangladesh

I tried to remind myself that he would be home on leave for Thanksgiving in another few days. It was the only tether to calm I could find, but reviewing the facts offered little relief from my baseless fears.

Chris had been girding his pacifist sensibilities preparing to fight in an unpopular war that had not yet slaughtered its last innocent. I was hovering just over the line of inclusion at an exclusive girl’s school – missing him – and finding myself at odds with these young women and their attachment to propriety and with the prep-school veneer that blinded them to the fact that they were no better than anyone else.

Neither one of us was coping well with the worlds into which we were respectively summoned, and although we both knew that the best hope for any future together depended upon our individual successes apart, it was far from comforting most days.

But in spite of our discomfort, we each did our best; and, of course, there were the letters: Thin, plain-paper sheets with row after row after row of inky blue words penned with the intensity and awkward locutions of a love learned too soon. It had come down to just that little, but without them, I would have had nothing.

Chris was learning to fly. I was learning to drive, and both of us were aching to transport our souls to an earlier time through the hallowed intercourse of memories and dreams. Of course, as with all progress, there was the positive element: We were both clean and drug-free for the first time in years.

Now, without pretense, both healthy cognition and sincere motivation surfaced regularly in my psychology and prompted me to care about myself and to arbitrate against all temptation for a better standing in the world, in school and in my own eyes. I even did my homework.

No longer was I escaping today but, instead, living for my day of escape. Lying still in the dark of my room, I listened to the slow, padded footfall of my parents approaching and looked to the floor and to my history book half hidden beneath the nightstand where I’d tossed it the night before. Even in this early morning dark I could make out the swirls and stars in colored marker and the bubble-formed letters that spelled C H R I S in soft, juvenile curves on the torn book cover I’d fashioned out of a brown paper grocery bag.

I vaguely remembered throwing it there somewhat hastily. I had been doing my homework when a sense of urgency struck and I realized I had not written him as I promised I would and glancing at the clock, I noted it was nine-twenty-three. Why that mattered I had no way of knowing in that strange moment, but within hours, it would be one I would never forget; and although I was becoming drowsy and still needed to finish my work, I felt beyond reason that my letter to him could not wait.

So, I wrote. I would always write. I would always be there. He would always be there.“Suzi."It was my name spoken in the smooth and familiar voice of my mother, although weighted and slow, her head bowed to her chest almost as though she were speaking only to herself.

"Suzi.” She said it again, this time with sharp gravity, like a chisel against stone.

As if on cue, I leaned forward, flanked now by my parents who were sitting on either side of my bed.

I had been waiting for them. I don’t know how. I didn’t know why. The lights in my room remained off, but it seemed that the darkness clung more to them than to me, as though they were holding it there – away from me to give me enough light to see through the next moment. They were crying. My father was crying. My father. “Suzi. We have something very, very bad to tell you." Chris has been in a car accident." And he was killed."

If the world moved forward from that moment, I could not know it. f there were air around me worth breathing, I could not take it in. And if there were another sound beyond the leaden bellow of my own raw grief, I could not hear it.

"Who am I going to talk to? Who am I going to love?” I wailed. Who will love me? In that sodden moment violated by the intrusion of a predawn light that had no business rising, everything I ever believed about happiness, hoped for in life, trusted in or held as my own was annihilated.

After that – there was no after that. After that came months of hollow redundancies that would inform my way of being in the world for years to come. A serial commitment to waking up each morning, remembering he was gone and dedicating the remaining hours to forgetting. To that end I would try anything, drink anything, ingest anything, inject anything. It was a slow and arbitrary suicide by indifference.

Many years later, at 25 years-old and in the midst of a pharmaceutical free-fall leaning dangerously close to terminal, I discovered that I was expecting a child, and after a decade of forgetting, I remembered. I named him Griffin after the legendary winged lion, a symbol of the divine because what he inspired and the miracle that he was, were nothing less. I remembered and I loved again, and I went on to marry and to the gift of two beautiful daughters.

Today my son is struggling not to drown in the same well of drug abuse and apathy that almost swallowed me – his great, divine wings clipped by his own hand; and while it is up to him to restore his place in the sky, I will do my best to help provide an open runway.

In the meantime, I will continue soaring for both of us; bequeathed as I have been, with a determination to fly from a boy whose ragged fate precluded that dream.

Death took one young man from me once upon a dark time. If it has any intention of coming for this one, it will have to go through me. And trust me, it will be in for one hell of a fight.

Note: If you enjoy this article, please let me know.