Adios, au revoir, auf wiedersehn, do svidaniya, zai jian, arrivederci, adeus, sayonara, annyeonghi gasipshio, dag, do widzenia, namaste, adjo, lehitraot, hej da, farvel, kwaheri, antio, ilalliqa …
The Bridgerton era has entered my life. I think it’s that or Kensington Palace.
Yes, my dear friends, I am moving to an assisted living facility. I believe it will provide me with a chauffeur, upstairs and downstairs maids plus formal dining. It’s time to bring out my tiara and long opera gloves.
The silly thing is that because I now need hearing aids, I thought I heard I was going to an assisted “loving” place, so I shaved my legs, plucked the eyebrows and snipped the little chin hairs. I suppose it will work at either place.
I have treasured living here in this friendly, lovely Village.
I’ve jogged on Sevilla, where I was so encouraged when hearing the applause as I ran only to realize it was my thighs hitting together.
I’ve done yoga, dance and was one of the original Boomers. I belonged to three writers clubs, found two of my humor books in our library while receiving a fiction award, presented humorous motivational speeches about lightening up, was a member of a caring political group and volunteered when there was a need.
I created and presided over the Progressive Singles group, and while there may not have been many long-term attachments that I am aware of, there was plenty of hoochie coochie, which is good enough at this stage of our lives, don’t ya think?
There were other group meetings I attended, and I realized that one of the perks of living here was that other members and neighbors became like an adopted family. Embracing the joy of having people to share a meal and mostly laughter, though sometimes grief as well, knowing we were all there for support of one another
As I embark on a journey to a tiny, little unit (I won’t fit in the rooms if I gain a pound) in Mission Viejo at Heritage Point, I feel excitement yet sadness in…
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