My wife and I have been “aging in place” but it turns out it was in the wrong place, so we arranged to move to an appropriate space in which to continue aging.
The move required many steps in the effort to accomplish this deed. But first we had to decide what would accompany us to this new, smaller, more efficienct, space. Far easier said than done, considering that one of us is a committed clutterphobe and the other a moderate clutterphile.
We did manage to work it out. (Note to the creeps in D.C., and you know who are are, we used the process called “cooperate” instead of the clearly dirty word “compromise” and it worked.) We now find ourselves in a new place where most spaces are filled with boxes, and the boxes themselves, also filled, await further action.
At an opportune free moment we decided to accomplish two tasks in one act, each lunch out and shop for some groceries. Off we went to Big Y. As we reached the counter, where grinders were available, I hesitated and a young woman asked if we were looking to eat. I said that was the hope and she gestured to the counter where I placed our order, watched it being assembled, paid and went off with our booty to a convenient table surrounded by a warm feeling generated of the a generous act at the counter.
While devouring our yummy grinders I realized that there had been a substantial line behind the woman, some possibly on a limited lunch break and most probably hungry. There had been no protest from these people probably because they had realized that the two geezers in front of them had long passed being “seniors” as well as “elderly” and were actually simply “old” – and so all gave us a pass.
Paul Slater
Easthampton