So I'm up early. But I went to bed early. Was it eight pm? Hubby was watching a soccer game. I was upstairs. I just wanted to sleep. Perchance to dream.
It's Saturday today and I have a reading and book signing, but lest you think I'm bragging let me finish my sentence, at a senior center. I'm only 52 so I do not technically qualify to go there, yet...
In a mere three years, by 55, I might.
And I'm not making fun of the senior center locale. I'm not. I love older people (of which I'm surely becoming one). Older folk make the best audiences. They love history and memoir, they have longer attention spans, and aside from a few elders like my mom who refuses to get a hearing aid (god love her), they listen intently.
Youth is truly wasted on the young. I learned this in my thirties while living in San Francisco. My church at the time had an average age of sixty-five and mostly consisted of caring individuals who did death bed counseling at the local hospital. St. John of God was also the church where I took my classes to make my confirmation and attended church every Sunday. After, I would sit with everyone in the day room and eat cake that they had baked. Scones, muffins, pastry. All home made. I would sip cup after cup of hard black coffee and give thanks for my beautiful Sundays.
So today I will read my stories, sign my books and hopefully eat cake.
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