It's 8:30 on Easter morning. My husband has gone to "work" at the golf course (10 hours a week so he can have free golf) and I am contemplating the best time to start cooking. There is no sense of a holiday in the house. No basket, no eggs, and no new Spring clothes that are way too lightweight to wear because the weather isn't quite Spring-like. The dinner I'm planning isn't ham (yuck) or lamb or even a turkey. We're doing ribs and not calling them Easter Dinner.
I've never liked Easter.It's boring. I didn't even like it when I was little. It always meant a Toni Home Permanent which gave me frizzball hair and an ugly dress that my Grandmother would insist was beautiful. I don't mean to be disrespectful of the holiday (yes I do)., It's fine if you're into the whole resurrection thing (but I have my doubts). For me the worst part of today is to wake up and realize I HAVE no chocolate bunny tails and ears to nibble on. That's what it used to be for me - that's what I looked forward to....biting the ears off my son's chocolate bunnies - the ones the Easter Bunny would bring even though my son wasn't particularly fond of chocolate. Over the years he would just hand them over while I, with telltale chocolate stuck in the corner of my lips from the ones that never quite made it to the basket, would smile and say "Are you sure?" while greedily snatching them from his little hands. Burp.
When my son was little my husband (#2) and I would hide eggs all over the house. On Easter morning (before the Grandparents descended with 40 more pounds of candy) we would watch as he collected each egg in the off chance that one of these eggs would lead him to something worthwhile - like a toy. And each year we got back fewer eggs than we hid. Months later I would find a purple or blue egg behind a dresser or under the couch or inside a vase on top of a table....and more than once I would find these missing eggs while looking for the source of a funky odor in the room. It took a few years for us to get smart enough to make a list of where the eggs were hidden. Some people are slow learners.
Then there were the Easter Brunches at local hotels or restaurants. We would pile into the car (my son, husband and my in-laws) and drive to an over-priced buffet where we had been lucky enough to snag a reservation. Women would arrive, fresh from church, dressed in amazing outfits topped with large flowery hats. I would always feel under dressed in my jeans (clean) and tee shirt. (I never changed the way I dressed for this occasion) There was never an Easter brunch where we didn't marvel at the amount of food our kid could eat and still move. I would keep a close eye on my mother in law who, if we didn't monitor her, would find something to tuck away in her purse (not to eat but to use in a craft of some sort some day). And then it would be over.
This year it's just us. Me, Bob and Charlie (my 2nd husband, son's Dad etc) and our dogs. My son recently moved out and does not talk to me (so he won't be stopping by any time soon). My niece is at her boyfriend's parents'. My nephew decided to enjoy the day alone in Chicago. ( I suggested he go to Millenium Park and stand near the Jelly Bean...sort of a tribute to Easter) I don't really have to cook but I have a craving for sweet, sticky ribs. Charlie will bring one of his out of control dogs and we will spend the day yelling "NO!" at this poor confused canine. And Charlie will also bring the one thing that's missing...a chocolate bunny. He always brings a chocolate bunny. (That's probably why I invite him.)
Happy Easter.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Vampire Village
My husband and I just spent the entire month of March in Florida. No big deal for some people - but for us - a real big deal. This fulfilled a large bucket list item. It allowed me to have a taste of what so many people we know do annually-escape the last and most horrifying month of winter (in the single most horrifying winter I can remember) It also provided an opportunity to consider actually moving our asses out of Wisconsin to join the growing mass of now suntanned elderly who have fled before us.
It was an experiment. The results aren't in yet. We're still thinking about it.
One of the concerns I have about moving to Lalaland is a social one. The older a person gets - the more difficult it is to meet people and make friends.When you're working, friends come with the job ("Here's your desk, your computer and , oh yes, here's your new friend Marge".) We don't really work anymore -at least not the kind of work we used to do. Joining a church is a good place to meet people (I've been told) - but we don't do that...what church would welcome an outspoken non-believer and a lapsed Lutheran? Volunteering is also rumored to expose people to new friendships but we've been volunteering at a food pantry in Wisconsin for three years and I've never gone to dinner or to Nordstrom's Rack with any one of the people we volunteer with.
Having friends at our age is important. Finding them is challenging.
So we considered that perhaps we would visit an "active senior community" while in Florida. They come with built-in friends, optional planned "activities" and - I've been told - Friday night dances. ( We don't dance but we do watch Dancing with the Stars). Some communities are attached to golf courses. I don't play - but my husband does.( I do enjoy driving golf carts though and I have clubs and cute shoes and some golfy looking shorts so maybe I could fake it.).
So shortly into week one of our extended trip I brushed up on central Florida "communities" and randomly selected one. (It is not far from a winery so if all else failed I could spend my days touring and sampling). It was called Heritage Hills...and it did not have a golf course.
Best described as gorgeous, huge, perfect and clearly planned, HH offered "villas" (attached rows of 2 bedroom and 2 bedroom plus den units), and 2 and 3 bedroom detached homes. Prices varied from the 170's for the villas to 350,000 for some of the bigger homes. There was, of course, the "clubhouse" (where the Friday night dances are held) with game rooms, craft rooms, and the sales office. Somewhere on the property was a pool, a putting green and some other things I cannot remember.
We were joined on our "tour" by another couple who lived nearby and were looking to downsize. We were led on the tour (in a golf cart, of course) by a salesperson who looked like she had just rolled out of bed and who became fascinated by my curly grey hair. "I should have that hair!" she exclaimed repeatedly. (I offered it to her).
The key, we learned, to a successful tour is to lie and tell the salesperson that you are looking to move ASAP. We did not know this. Once we (all of us) had established ourselves as "considering" a move, our commission possibilities were immediately diminished and so was the enthusiasm of our tour director/salesperson. She spent considerable time trying to convince us that none of us would be happy in a villa because it would be too small. "Most people who purchase villas regret it," she explained, Not enough room. No storage. They always end up selling and then buying something larger." I asked why they even bother to build them if no one likes them and she did not answer. The game was on. The other couple looked at me and we rolled our collective eyes. Bonded instantly. My new best friends. Things were looking up!
We toured 6 home styles. Each nicer than the last. The best, of course, was way out of our price range. Big shock. As were crisscrossed the property one particular feature stood out. On this perfect day, 72 degrees, low humidity, gentle sunshine not a soul was out. No one was gardening, walking, throwing a ball to their dog. No cars. Nothing.Just construction workers busy building the next "phase". Not an elderly creature was stirring (except a few ubiquitous lizards). "Where is everyone?" I whispered to the other couple. I asked "Diane" why no one was out. She said, "Many of our residents still work. Our average age here is late fifties to late sixties." That did not answer my question but it was the only response I would get.
"Vampires." my husband whispered. "Vampires live here. They only come out at night."
We ended our tour, said goodbye to the other couple (who had decided they would not be downsizing here) and drove out through the heavily guarded gatehouse. I looked at my husband. "Ummm, not for us."
I think that if we ever decide to make the move to warmer climes, we will buy a regular house in a regular community and take our chances. Let's face it, at our age people we know have already started to get sick and pass on. That's bad enough. I don't want to star my new life with neighbors who are already...gone.
It was an experiment. The results aren't in yet. We're still thinking about it.
One of the concerns I have about moving to Lalaland is a social one. The older a person gets - the more difficult it is to meet people and make friends.When you're working, friends come with the job ("Here's your desk, your computer and , oh yes, here's your new friend Marge".) We don't really work anymore -at least not the kind of work we used to do. Joining a church is a good place to meet people (I've been told) - but we don't do that...what church would welcome an outspoken non-believer and a lapsed Lutheran? Volunteering is also rumored to expose people to new friendships but we've been volunteering at a food pantry in Wisconsin for three years and I've never gone to dinner or to Nordstrom's Rack with any one of the people we volunteer with.
Having friends at our age is important. Finding them is challenging.
So we considered that perhaps we would visit an "active senior community" while in Florida. They come with built-in friends, optional planned "activities" and - I've been told - Friday night dances. ( We don't dance but we do watch Dancing with the Stars). Some communities are attached to golf courses. I don't play - but my husband does.( I do enjoy driving golf carts though and I have clubs and cute shoes and some golfy looking shorts so maybe I could fake it.).
So shortly into week one of our extended trip I brushed up on central Florida "communities" and randomly selected one. (It is not far from a winery so if all else failed I could spend my days touring and sampling). It was called Heritage Hills...and it did not have a golf course.
Best described as gorgeous, huge, perfect and clearly planned, HH offered "villas" (attached rows of 2 bedroom and 2 bedroom plus den units), and 2 and 3 bedroom detached homes. Prices varied from the 170's for the villas to 350,000 for some of the bigger homes. There was, of course, the "clubhouse" (where the Friday night dances are held) with game rooms, craft rooms, and the sales office. Somewhere on the property was a pool, a putting green and some other things I cannot remember.
We were joined on our "tour" by another couple who lived nearby and were looking to downsize. We were led on the tour (in a golf cart, of course) by a salesperson who looked like she had just rolled out of bed and who became fascinated by my curly grey hair. "I should have that hair!" she exclaimed repeatedly. (I offered it to her).
The key, we learned, to a successful tour is to lie and tell the salesperson that you are looking to move ASAP. We did not know this. Once we (all of us) had established ourselves as "considering" a move, our commission possibilities were immediately diminished and so was the enthusiasm of our tour director/salesperson. She spent considerable time trying to convince us that none of us would be happy in a villa because it would be too small. "Most people who purchase villas regret it," she explained, Not enough room. No storage. They always end up selling and then buying something larger." I asked why they even bother to build them if no one likes them and she did not answer. The game was on. The other couple looked at me and we rolled our collective eyes. Bonded instantly. My new best friends. Things were looking up!
We toured 6 home styles. Each nicer than the last. The best, of course, was way out of our price range. Big shock. As were crisscrossed the property one particular feature stood out. On this perfect day, 72 degrees, low humidity, gentle sunshine not a soul was out. No one was gardening, walking, throwing a ball to their dog. No cars. Nothing.Just construction workers busy building the next "phase". Not an elderly creature was stirring (except a few ubiquitous lizards). "Where is everyone?" I whispered to the other couple. I asked "Diane" why no one was out. She said, "Many of our residents still work. Our average age here is late fifties to late sixties." That did not answer my question but it was the only response I would get.
"Vampires." my husband whispered. "Vampires live here. They only come out at night."
We ended our tour, said goodbye to the other couple (who had decided they would not be downsizing here) and drove out through the heavily guarded gatehouse. I looked at my husband. "Ummm, not for us."
I think that if we ever decide to make the move to warmer climes, we will buy a regular house in a regular community and take our chances. Let's face it, at our age people we know have already started to get sick and pass on. That's bad enough. I don't want to star my new life with neighbors who are already...gone.
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