by Ann Chiappetta
(Reprinted from https://www.thought-wheel.com/its-just-a-prick-of-a-finger-please-sign-….)
It was going to happen, not sure when; we waited for paperwork, online access, more of both, until we wanted to scream. Why did our 30 years of labor and dedication and Social Security credits seem like it did not matter?
We invested in our future, our property, our nest egg. It did not crack. We held it up, a gilded goose egg birthed with sweat equity. It was a proud moment, being assured we would be able to trade it for a more temperate and quieter climate. We filled the dumpsters with the past, packed our bags with hope, stepped to the curb and trusted the vehicle barreling down the street would stop; we flagged it down, climbed aboard. We flashed our senior passes, panting and massaging our aging and preapproved home buyer mortgage application. Portable document formats and printers held us hostage. Sign, initial, drip your blood here, swab your cheek and attest to your identity. OMG, will the world disintegrate after we retire to our residence of final destination?
We made it, the golden egg house proof the dream is still achievable. As long as we have food to grow, personal care products and filtered water, we will fade away together, holding hands, serving up reduced sodium meals. We will add chopped micro herbs into the container garden grown vegetables and locally sourced animal flesh. Wine will do. The twilight years, to us, means the years we will enjoy sitting together on the patio of our dreams and absorb the natural and sometimes discordant symphony of the American Dream.