Time Spent at Home
Time is a constant, steady thing. It moves through our lives, through our homes, and through our neighborhoods - often unnoticed until we pause and look back to see just how much has changed. Like many of us, I've watched Saranap shift and grow over the years. New families move in. Gardens change hands. Favorite spots come and go. And yet, through all that change, something steady holds us here - a sense of place, of familiarity, of shared experience.
I remember the day I first stepped into The Carnelian. I had simply come to pick up lunch for my mom. At the time, I wasn't thinking about its history or potential. But even in that brief visit, something stuck with me. In my eyes, The Carnelian wasn't just a facility. I saw it the way many neighbors might see a longtime house on the block - one that's gone through its ups and downs, but still stands because it matters.
At first glance, it wasn't perfect. From the street, the backyard looked forgotten: a garden parched and brown, piles of dirt and debris line the east fence, trees long overdue for trimming, and weathered front door asking to be painted. But among the disrepair were signs of life - small gestures of care, hope, and persistence. A basketball hoop stood optimistically near the old fig tree. Someone had painted the deck a cheerful red. And most importantly, there were people – caregivers helping seniors through their daily lives, doing their best with what they had.
The Carnelian was never meant to be just another facility. In my eyes, it was a place waiting to be remembered for what it once was. The vision wasn't about modernization for its own sake or expansion for profit. It was about restoration - about honoring the people who lived there before, and what it could once again become. We wanted to care for this place the way my grandmother once did: with dignity, warmth, and intention. Not just out of obligation, but out of love. Out of community.
That meant cooking real food - the kind whose aroma moves through hallways and feels like home. It meant cleaning the yard, planting flowers and trees, creating spaces that invite comfort and peace. It meant furnishing with charm, decorating with care, and making every room feel lived in. We weren't managing a facility - we were building a home. One we ourselves would be proud to live in.
And slowly, that spirit returned. With my mom, sister and brother, we painted, planted, repaired, and restored. We hosted our first party in what felt like forever - it was spring of 2006 - a modest gathering of residents and a few family members. Nothing extravagant, but full of warmth. The laughter, the conversation, the shared meal - it brought life back into the walls. In those moments, The Carnelian felt once more like the home it was always meant to be.
That sense of belonging and care started with my grandmother when The Carnelian was but a home to her in the 1970s. After successfully pioneering two similar homes in Marin and with encouragement from the county, my grandmother was inspired to create an assisted living home here in Saranap. The location was ideal - close to Rossmoor, near Walnut Creek, and all too familiar to her. She built the 2380 Warren as her home and made sure she has enough rooms to welcome other local seniors. She took care of them with the help of friends and people she knew. She moved to 170 Flora when it became available and eventually settled at 2374 Warren, officially retiring in the 1990s after some convincing from her son - my dad, Ron. The Carnelian wasn't a just business idea—it was also her home (our home).
Through the decades, the Carnelian became a home to the many seniors we welcomed and to our entire family - my grandmother, my parents, my aunts. They lived here at the Carnelian and Saranap. It holds our stories, our memories, and our roots. If given the chance, I wouldn't hesitate to live here myself. That's how deeply it's woven into who I am.
Saranap, too, is a special place. Over the years, we've watched the neighborhood evolve: new homes, new developments, new faces and businesses. We've said goodbye to cherished elders, seen old friends move away, and watched beloved local spots close their doors - and thankfully, Marucci's is still around. I should go there more often. And over time, some of the neighbors we've known have even come to live at The Carnelian. The connection between this community and our home runs deep.
I am incredibly proud of this community for the way it has accommodated us, allowing the Carnelian to remain a home and a place of care for so many. Our neighbors have, for the most part, been wonderfully receptive, and we are deeply grateful to be part of this shared environment.
We stand now at the threshold of a new chapter for the Carnelian, with hopes of moving forward together as a community. The expansion we envision isn't about building bigger - it's about extending our reach. When I look at the individuals we've welcomed, I'm transported back to that first day I stepped through these doors, to the patient work of restoration, and to that vision of what this place could become again. The Carnelian has shaped who I am, and now I hope to share what we've rediscovered here with more people - not just seniors, but all the neighbors and friends who make Saranap special. It's about offering more individuals that same sense of home, warmth, and respect that has always been our foundation. This isn't about growing a business; it's about expanding our capacity to care, to nurture, and to remain an enduring, positive presence in Saranap. Just as time moves steadily through our lives, we hope to continue as that steady, familiar presence - a place where shared experiences create lasting connections, where change only strengthens what matters most.
— Jay Grutas