The Perfect Retirement Home

I just got an email from my good friend although I've never met him, Tim Gilmore,a real estate agent in the Hamptons, which is to say, the preferred vacation area for New Yorkers, New Jerseyites and other East Coasters.

I met Tim on line, when I was searching for a suitable retirement home, one that would allow me to park my bus, put my feet up, and watch the sun go down in cool climax to a lovely Hamptons afternoon.

Tim sent me an ad for a house in the Hamptons that said, “Excellent starter home.”

That was what was in my budgetary framework. An excellent starter home. Tim, I want an excellent ENDER home. Not a beginner. One that represents all that I have worked so hard for all these years. A home with a nice kitchen, a sweet pool, a place to entertain, a couple of bedrooms for the kids and their offspring, and as little upkeep as possible.

Starter home sounds like work, doesn’t it?

It sounds like somebody else lived there first and didn’t do a damn thing to make it prettier, cozier, warmer, or better electrified.

It sounds like the pool has green mold, bugs and leaves around the edges, the electricity is dicey at best, and the frame of the house has some evil inhabitants who have worked very hard to no be evicted.

It sounds like a starter, not an ender. Oh yes, that’s what you said it is.

But,Tim darling.

I don’t plan to put on my overalls and get to work. I don’t plan to evict mudhuts of yellow jackets, warrens of squirrels and nests of raccoons in the attic. I don’t plan to completely rewire this simple little ranch, this unpretentious nest of a darling hideaway.

I just want to kick back, sip my Bloody Mary and grill my steak in peace.

I want to go to a good movie, visit a decent library, and ride my bike from time to time so that I feel like I am truly taking care of my body, although I know in my heart that my body is beyond repair.

And forgive me for this peculiarity, but I don’t want to live in a retirement community because I have some silly idea that a neighborhood with children and teenagers and young marrieds is more my style. I envision myself sipping my cocktail of a Halloween evening, answering the door, acting terrified of the tiny marauders, and handing over my stash of candy. This would make me very very happy. I don’t want big events in my life. I’ve had enough big events, thank you very much. I just want small pleasures. Little children. Sweet evenings. Friendly dogs. Is that too much to ask?

I don’t want to replace the gutters and leaders. I don’t want to repave the driveway. I would love to redecorate somebody’s badly decorated house. I do think I have talent in that area, so that would please me at lot. And if I got stuck I could think of a few friends who have far more talent than I, who would be more than happy to give me suggestions and shopping help.

Once I had a pretty, pretty place, I’d invite my friends over, put out the hors d’oeuvres, turn the stereo to the jazz station, and give one of my very special parties. I was known for them, back in the day.

So Tim, what have you got for me? Have you got that perfect place, that inexpensive, small, but incredibly adorable place that I can call my ender and not my beginner? I’m not interested in starting. I only want to go out with a bang, a thump, a cannon’s roar.

Call me, Tim.

Betty