Find Me a Place To Retire To

I’m fixing to find me a place to retire to.

That’s what people seem to do when they reach a certain age, accompanied by a certain attitude.

They go off to far away places seeking relaxation, comfort, and social satisfaction, along with good friends and good times.

I saw where folks were flocking to Phoenix, Ariz., so off I went.

When I got there I found I had to drive several hours in any direction to get out of town. If I left my car for more than 10 minutes I received severe burns when I touched the door handle or the steering wheel, and it wasn’t even summer time.

I met some nice people there who had over 100 recipes for Mexican food.

I decided to check out things over in California. San Diego looked like a lovely place until I found out if you make $250,000 a year you still couldn’t afford to buy a house there. Besides that, I really didn’t know how to eat artichokes, so I kept searching.

I headed toward the Northeast to check out New England. I arrived in Maine, where I discovered the only spices they had were salt, pepper, and ketchup.

As far as the weather, their four seasons included almost winter, winter, severe winter, and still winter.


I found a lovely little remote town, which had an establishment where you could buy bait and rent a movie at the same time. There were some nice people there too. They had over 100 recipes for moose.

In one last futile attempt, I journeyed on down to that most renown retirement Mecca, the great state of Florida, where everything you bought came with a coupon of some kind. Unfortunately, a hurricane struck before I could get out and I was stranded with no power.

On the way out another one hit and I spent a much longer time down there than I had intended. Once again, I met some lovely people. It was usually while I was standing in line at a relief station trying to get some water.

After all that searching I’ve finally found the perfect place to retire to. I’m fixing to do it right here where I am.