Assisted Living

Several years ago, my brothers and sister and I were helping my mom look for a new place to live. My niece found a really nice assisted living facility. We toured it as a family. Mom didn’t like it. The rest of the family was pretty much noncommittal. This was an uncomfortable time for all of us. We wanted mom to like her new digs. She liked living alone but we worried about her. Emotions were conflicted and conflicting.

I come from a family of conflict-avoiders and non-communication specialists. It was obvious that no one wanted to go out on a limb and say much of anything. I was the most vocal, in my usual self-absorbed way. I fell in love with the concept of assisted living.

It seemed like heaven to me. No need to cook if you don’t feel like it. Weekly laundry and maid service. A pool, a library, a garden and atrium.

All of these amenities maintained by someone else.

A few years later I moved to Mexico. I came here for the adventure of living in a different culture. I wanted to learn Spanish. I was offered a job here. My kids were old enough to take care of themselves (sort of).

What I found in Mexico exceeded my expectations. I found new friends and interesting co-workers. I found beautiful weather and lovely beaches. I found tropical flowers, iguanas, and the occasional scorpion. I found cockroaches.

And, hey!, I admit it, I found assisted living with a Mexican flavor -- it doesn't get much better than that.