These days life in a costly, supposedly luxurious residential retirement community defined as “Independent Living/Aging-in-Place” everyone is actually dying-in-place—uniquely and dependently. People are truly quite creative— in their fashion, darling!
The only essential qualification for this kind of daily drama/trauma is a sense of humor, such as: Q “Hey what was for dinner to night? A: You know, it’s really hard to tell you except it was unrecognizably stew-ISH. Quite pleasurable to the well-trained eye. Looked like a Renoir in the dadaism style of Paul Klee. Q: Rembrandt, eh? A: Possibly one of the daughters."
Since everything is impressionistic here, I am free to elaborate at will. Whatever it was it looked like death-on-the move, or movement. Balletic in fact.
To be quite serious, most of us do not care much about food and other pettinesses, yet we do care seriously about every neighbor inside and out. Thus the flow of life goes onward and inward and outward all at once. BRILLIANT BALLET, NO?
clapclapclap……….………….trap
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