Chapter 26 - Meadowbrook
Two and a half years after the original birthday, I toured Meadowbrook.
Voluntarily.
Alone first.
Then with June.
Not because Louis or Carla asked.
Because my friend Harold moved there.
The place was nice.
Apartment.
Woodshop.
Fitness room.
Dining hall.
Shuttle.
I said:
“This is what they were trying to send me to?”
Harold laughed.
“Prison.”
I visited three times.
Then went home.
Six months later, after a winter fall that sprained my ankle and made basement laundry annoying, I installed a first-floor washer and handrails instead.
My choice.
Maybe someday Meadowbrook.
Maybe not.
The important thing was that the option became mine again.
When Carla heard I toured it, she did not say:
See?
She said:
“What did you think?”
“Too many people playing bridge.”
May you like
She laughed.
Good answer.
