Now we are in the 70's County Club!

If you grew up in the late 40's or 50's, you are now officially in the 70's Country Club. Ah, a country club in it's own right. If we made it this far we deserve to be highly admired. You have paid your dues, you have walked the course, you have putted, and pounced, and now you can sit. Legally sit; in a golf cart or overstuffed chair, but legally sit!
Now the real state of affairs. Yes your food bill is way down, but your medicines expenditures have taken wings. You don't bother with life time guarantees on your new purchases.  You hold no grudges because you can't remember them. Your dating the medical community, but you get senior discounts. Yes we are a privileged class, so enjoy every moment as I share with you how we traverse the uncharted territory with aplomb and savvy as only one of our experience could.  We all have stories and I am going to share some of mine. I hope you will share yours too in the feedback section.

Hurricane Irma; a dutiful son and his wife, my husband and I, sheltered in his home with the generator running. Their four dogs cherry picking the most comfortable chairs, while their barks fill the air with a cacophony of sound that was far from a Schubert symphony. A big screen TV with more choices than the penny candy store of my youth. Three remotes, and surround sound too. High tech everywhere we turned. No off and on switches in this house. I'm already missing my big blue chair.
The morning after the high winds I woke up very early as I usually do. The whole house was in slumber, including the dogs. Routines, don't we love our routines? Make the coffee, sit in my chair, write in my journal. I tiptoed to the kitchen to make the liquid brew and saw the contraption sitting smugly on the counter. It was a coffee machine, however it also made cappuccino, espresso, and who knows what else. All of this was depicted in pictures. I measured out some water and when I started to pour there were no ounces listed, just pictures; a carafe, a half carafe, a tall cup, a small cup. Mmmm.
I thought I'd go for the half carafe. Now time to add the coffee. The beans had to be ground. Another machine. No on and off switches here like at home. A dial, a funnel, and a shoot. Ok, go with the flow. I found the coffee measure but it wasn't in tablespoons, it was a picture with the number 2-3. Does that mean 2-3 measures per cup, or one measure for every 2-3 cups or  - - -. I didn't quit, I said a prayer and went for broke. The coffee, to my amazement, was half way decent. Now to turn on the morning news. That's another story. Just remember 3 remotes and you will get the idea. How I love my home, my routine, my simple existence.