It can be a lonely time up here in the north in the winter in one's senior years. Luckily, we don't have to go outside in sleeting, blowing, freezing weather to earn a living (thank-you children of Baby Boomers everywhere who will be paying for our retirement into their retirement) but that fact leaves many isolated and stranded in front of the wasteland of the flat screen. There is much angst and unhappiness that accompanies viewing non-stop Ellen Degeneres re-runs apparently; so much that great hordes of perfectly sane 60- and 70-somethings perform financial gymnastics in order to escape to the warmer climes for months at a time.
On around March they start planning and conniving for the following winter, spending vast amounts of time (and money, I guess) searching rental sites, inspecting possibilities and paying down deposits. Once that is settled a great collective sigh must be heard being exhaled across Florida, Texas, Arizona, Mexico, Belize and Costa Rica. Then the trek home must be navigated; vans and trucks hauling trailers and RVs of every description clog all northbound thoroughfares, driving slow in the fast lane.
For those who prefer to fly to a warm destination, there is the time-saving miracle of departing from Point A in the morning and arriving at Point B by day's end. At one time this was a glamourous mode reserved for the well-to-do and well-dressed. No one who has flown since 2001 is under that illusion.
In order to get from Point A to your assigned seat you must pass through the agony of airport security. I liken it to being dragged from sleep in your warm bed, pummelled with questions that make no sense, firmly pounded on the forehead with one of those rubber stamps they like to bang around on all your official documents, kicked in the shins for good measure and then told to quickly get back to bed and sleep. I have been yelled at for leaving my shoes on, taking my shoes off, carrying a travel size toothpaste in my purse, offering to turn on my iPad and trying to wear a neck scarf through the x-ray machine. I watched my 80-year-old mother get roped off and stranded until a female security officer could snap on her blue gloves and roughly go over my mother's artificial knees.
There's nothing like the soul-soothing start to a vacation than getting all your rifled belongings into your backpack, your shoes on the right feet and the correct passport in hand. Usually before you've had a cup of coffee.
So now I take a pass. I sadly bid adieu to friends and family as they desert me in early January and I wish them well, I really do, as I read their posts and see their photos of beaches and sunsets. I send back gushing reports of the ski and snowshoe conditions. (This week I was fortunate enough to cross-country ski at the Wasi Ski Club, downhill at Antoine Mountain and snowshoe out my back door.) And at the end of the day my hot tub was bubbling away waiting for me.
It has been a wonderful winter so far and I am hoping it lasts until about the end of March. Then my friends will return and be ready to carry on with real life. In the meantime they are all wishing me lots of snow and I am wishing them a good time in the land of The Donald. Who knows what hoops they may have to jump through in March.
