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Homesick For California

In 1967 Barbara and I moved to California. We were young, and found it to be an exciting place to live. We were welcomed into a friendly church and made many friends. There were all sorts of entertaining places and things to do: amusement parks, sporting events, plays and restaurants.
And ah, the weather. We lived about ten miles from the beach; as a result we didn’t experience the searing heat farther inland. Our average daytime high during the summer was 85º; during the winter we thought it was cold when it occasionally dropped into the 50s.
After 35 years we began to think about retirement. At the invitation of church friends we visited a retirement campus, and quickly discovered that a small apartment was far more than we hoped to pay in our old age, although there was one perk: the establishment was willing to iron our sheets.
While visiting our local senior center Barbara observed an event which illustrates the general attitude toward older people. A person asked a staff member to call a taxi in order to take her home. At the conclusion of the call the staff member said the cab would be there in about an hour and a half. She reported, “They said that since you are retired you have no place important to go anyway, so you could wait.”
We decided to check places back in Pennsylvania, which was our home state. We found one which suited us perfectly, and we have not regretted our return.
Until today. The forecast high tomorrow is 17º, with a wind chill factor of -4º. The low for tonight is -1º, with a wind chill factor that makes me cold to think about it.
Why am I homesick for California? Ah, the weather.

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My books, “There Are Only Seven Jokes” and “The Spirit Runs Through It” are available in paperback or Kindle at Amazon.

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