At 104 Eleanore Rubinstein might understandably want to slow down and look back on a life well lived.

Slow down?

Eleanore Rubinstein?

Never.

Every Tuesday, Rubinstein's daughter drives her to Store to Door, a nonprofit in the heart of Southwest Portland's Multnomah Village. The organization provides a personal shopping service for housebound seniors who live alone.

Rubinstein arrived not with a walker or cane, but with "Sophie," her beloved Dachshund. After greeting the staff, all young enough to be her grandchildren, Rubinstein walked with purpose down a hallway and settled in at a desk in a backroom office.

For the next two hours, while Sophie lay near her, Rubinstein called the agency's clients, adroitly managing the conversation while listening for clues that something had changed in their lives.

Before getting to the shopping list, the purpose of the call, Rubinstein added a personal touch by talking about the weather or what might seem to an observer nothing more than mundane events in another person's life. But to listen to her talk is to be reminded of the charm of a small town, where friends sit around and shoot the breeze.

Rubinstein never rushed, knowing her call might the only one the person received for days.

Her voice mattered.

"Honey, how are you?" Rubinstein asked a woman on the other end of the line.

Eleanore Rubinstein

She listened intently.

Rubinstein nodded as she listened.

"It's nice knowing all is well with you," she said. "That's so important. Now, dear, what do you need? How can I help you?"

She created a list: Coffee creamer, a tomato and potato bread.

Task completed, she continued talking with the woman, two friends catching up. She let the woman end the call.

"I hope you have a good week, dear," Rubinstein said. "I'll talk with you next week."

Trish Bennett, the program coordinator at Store to Door, said clients and staff consider Rubinstein, who's been volunteering there for five years, to be "amazing.

"I've never heard her complain about anything," Bennett said. "The clients love her because she develops a rapport with them. It's a wonderful social connection for these seniors who live alone. Most of them are low income, nearly all are women. They're unseen in the community."

Rubinstein, like all the telephone volunteers, is more than an order taker. She has been trained to listen for changes in the people she talks with. Is something bothering them? Do they seem sad or confused? If she senses something wrong, she notifies the staff, which in turn can contact social service authorities for an in-home visit to see if more help is needed.

The agency pays for the groceries, and is reimbursed by the client. After getting a shopping list, volunteers head to the grocery store. Volunteer drivers make the delivery. The organization serves 635 clients, but the need is growing, said Kiersten Ware, executive director.

"More than access to food, we provide social contact," she said. "Not just with callers like Eleanore, but with the drivers who stop at the home and put the food in the cupboards and refrigerator. It all starts with someone like Eleanore. Her legacy supersedes her age, which is significant. It's what she gives to the community."

Rubinstein has been a volunteer with various agencies since 1941: American Red Cross, Girl Scouts, the PTA, National Council for Jewish Women and now, Store to Door.

"All my life, I've lived by the Golden Rule," she said. "Honey, I get more out of this than I give. I also think that there by the grace of God go I."

Rubinstein, who has four children, seven grandchildren, 14 great-grandchildren and two great-great-grandchildren, financially supports organizations, but believes giving of herself is just as important.

"Volunteering, in many ways, is a lost gift," she said. "During my life, most volunteers were housewives. Times have changed. Women work now. Or they are busy with activities for their children.

She picked up the phone and dialed the next number on the list.

"Patricia, how are you today?"

She took the order.

She listened.

She understood what it is like for those who live alone.

"My husband died 37 years ago," she said.

Rubinstein, an only child, said she had an amazing family. She led a blessed life, never having to ask for anything.

"I feel I must give something back," she said. "We need to be reminded of that."

Decades ago, Rubinstein had to spend time in a hospital and met a fellow patient, an "old woman" who told Rubinstein she'd danced with a ballet company in San Francisco.

"I asked her if she had family." Rubinstein said. "She said she had no one, absolutely no one. I often wondered what happened to her."

Rubinstein said the ghost of that woman is often with her when she makes her weekly calls.

"The young," she said, "never think of getting old and being alone."

While she has never met any of the women she talks to weekly, Rubinstein said she considers them friends.

She needs them, she said, as much as they need her.

Rubinstein said she plans to be on the phone next year, when she turns 105.

"Quit?"

She laughed.

"My dear," she said, "I'm a Taurus. I'm stubborn. As long as I can get here, I will be on this phone."

She turned toward the desk.

She punched in a number.

"Honey, how are you?"

Tom Hallman Jr.

thallman@oregonian.com; 503 221-8224

@thallmanjr