You're not done making things. Neither are we.

I ran a machine shop for thirty-eight years. I figured retirement meant a lawn chair. Instead I've got a lathe downstairs and a waiting list of grandkids who want bowls.

Mom was lonely and bored in the suburbs. Now she has a kiln schedule, a print-room partner and a better social life than I do.

Fourteen-foot ceilings. I finally have a wall big enough for my quilts.

Andre's Thursday short ribs are reason enough to live here. The rest is a bonus.

Dad's not a 'senior living' guy. He toured, saw the woodshop, and signed the lease that afternoon.

We walk to the Admiral Twin, we take the shuttle to jazz on Greenwood, and somebody else fixes the toilet. That's the deal and it's a good one.

Gabriela was straight with us about every fee before we ever signed anything. No fine print.

I taught high-school art for thirty years. Now I teach Tuesday painting to retired engineers. They argue about perspective. It's wonderful.

After my knee surgery the home health nurse came right to my loft, and Dana made sure everybody was on the same page. I never felt stuck.