My children, despite their youth, are hardly affecting the average age of the local population. At Mass on Sunday, standing room only, I asked the octogenarian next to me how they managed in the summer with all the vacationers. “Oh, the snowbirds are gone by then. It’s actually less crowded.”
This has me pondering the transient lifestyles of the retired. How do I sign up for that?
It’s not that I don’t want to settle down and stop moving. There are plenty of advantages to that. It’s just that I haven’t figured out WHERE. I like plenty of places. But I haven’t found The Place. It. Where I would want to build a dream home and plant a vegetable garden and blackberry bushes and maybe own some chickens. Animals, though, are such a hassle if you want to run off and spend a month with your daughter and her newborn. Maybe I just need to live next door to a friendly farmer.
I suppose, if I hopped around from one resort cottage to another, I would miss my things and my style of decorating. Of course, that lifestyle would enable me to practice detachment. All I would truly own would be in the trunk of some two seater sportster. Can one be detached and own a BMW?
I guess most snowbirds own the homes they go between. That would mean picking TWO places to build a dream home and plant berries and two friendly farmers to live next door to. I don’t think finding two perfect places is any easier than finding one.
I guess right now it’s a good thing Uncle Sam is funding my quest to find paradise on earth. I suspect, in the end, I will conclude that such a place does not exist, and I will have to make do with whatever is before me.