Somedays I burst into song. I can’t help myself; I feel that good. Last night was no exception.
For several days, my man has been debating whether or not he should purchase an old condo and remodel it, even as he is finishing up his latest project. Construction has been his passion for the twelve years I’ve known him. It’s not like he does the work; he hires others for that. I get to pick the paint colors and buy furniture, so I enjoy it as well.
In South Africa, he and his late wife owned a chain of beachwear stores. When he immigrated to the United States after nine years of paperwork, he “retired” and set about to enjoy himself on a sailboat. That was until his wife decided she wanted to live in an island community just south of Sarasota. He helped design their first home and never looked back. Since then, he has been involved in at least eleven properties there.
“I think I’m done building and remodeling,” he said about 9:30 p.m. after we had watched our second Breaking Bad episode of the evening. We have been binge watching the series after dinner for the last couple of weeks.
“You want to get into the meth production business?”
He’s used to me saying the absurd.
“I want to buy that condo I showed you on the internet and remodel it, but I’m trying to convince myself I’m too old,” he said. “I mean what am I doing?”
Too old is an expression I have never liked, along with not old enough.
“You are not too old. I am not too old,” I said. Then I broke into my version of “I’m gonna live ‘til I die. I’m gonna laugh ‘stead of cry. I’m gonna take this town and turn it upside down. I’m gonna live, live, live ‘til I die.”
I’m no Frank Sinatra, but I may have gotten my message across. This morning, he was once again on track to make the purchase but trying to figure out the perfect timing for an offer.
Where is it written that we have to stop doing something because we’re of a certain age? I personally hate restrictions.
Granted, there are age limits for CEOs in many corporations. Eighty is a good age for politicians to hang it up for a multitude of reasons. Sometimes our health and the condition of our bodies get in the way of our ambitions. But I say, as long as you want to do it and can, you should.
That is why I keep writing novels. My latest mystery, Under the Sand, is officially coming out on October 1. I have already finished the draft of my next book, Leo Detective, which is a collaboration with my amazing 18-year-old transgender grandson. It was a great experience and is working its way through the editing process. Now I’m plotting my next mystery, which has the working title of He’s Not Dead. It was inspired by the delightful husband of our church pastor. More about that much later.
If you hear me singing—and if you do, I apologize for the racket—just know that I’m excited to wake up each day and see what’s in the works.
Song of the day: Surfin’ Bird. Try to get that one out of your head. The bird, bird, bird is the word.