The times I miss being in a paid, pensionable job are rare. They happen, but they’re rare. I like being able to do what I want to do without having to ask someone for a day off. I like being able to juggle my schedule without having to clear it with someone else. I like my independence. I like having control.With all of that, though, comes the inevitable worries about getting old, not least the funding of my old age, which by current rates of inflation will likely mean that I’ll be working till I’m 80. But that’s okay. As long as my mind stays sharp and my eyes hold up, I’ll do just that.

But what happens when the bits start to stall? When the joints start to stick? When the aches and pains I wake with last longer than the first few minutes of my day? What then?

A nursing home isn’t an option; I didn’t start saving in time. The words financial and future have only lately started popping up in the same sentence but alas, too late. I’ve missed that boat. Getting old doesn’t weigh on my mind; rather it flits around my subconscious. It niggles. The new age classifications from WHO have certainly helped.

I like the idea of aging in a large space, one that I can share with friends in a smiliar position – a little like the Marigold Hotel or the Golden Girls. A commune of sorts where we can all contribute to the best of our abilities, wagering on the sum of the parts being more than the sum of the whole.

I don’t know what I’ve been searching for that this video popped up in my feed. Google reading my mind? Anyway, it appears that the HI clients are all at a gala dinner and Mary has been asked to say the invocation, which I assume is the equivalent of grace before meals. FYI:

Home Instead^® offers personalized care services for those who choose to age happily at home.

After what can only be described as a tumultous week, I’m grateful that the algorithims sent Mary my way. I love this lady. She doesn’t crack a smile and her comedic timing is a thing of envy.