Oh, and it's in the armpit of Indianapolis. For our Hoosier readers, you might see the place when you drive past Exit 103 on I-65. It's pretty much on the interstate, behind the Panda Express and a stone's throw from the scrapbooking superstore. I can't make this stuff up.
So here's the story. Yes, we did move to Charlotte about six months ago and have been enjoying the warmer weather and lack of blue laws. Everything in Charlotte has been pretty perfect, with the exception of Kate's job situation. She found a job here in Charlotte, and then broke some kind of record for putting in her notice during her 3rd day on the job. While that's a pretty amazing feat, it pales in comparison to the fact that she was talking about quitting when she called me to tell me she got the job. Now that's impressive. About this time, the world economy decided it was time to collapse. You might have read something about that.
So then Kate's former employer in Indiana called her and asked if she could come back and cover a 3 month maternity leave. They'd take care of housing, and she could fly back to Charlotte on the weekends. Since I still come back to Indy every month, it didn't seem like too bad of a gig. Better than not working, right?
I think we underestimated a couple of things. First, we forgot how much the Midwest really sucks during the winter. I thought I was done with the term "thundersnow' forever when we moved to Charlotte, but it is now back in my vocabulary.
Second, we may have underestimated the unintentional comedy factor of living in a senior community. Honestly, all of her neighbors are either old or really old. Except for the few who are extremely old. Somewhere between old lady in Titanic old and Supreme Court Justice old.
The first time I came to visit, I was coming in from a work trip and got to Indy around 1:00 AM. I then took a cab (a 91 Dodge Caravan without a muffler) and arrived at Kate's garden home around 2AM. Now, we've all visited a nursing home. Maybe to see a great aunt or even a grandparent. Imagine what it would be like if a super loud, beat up minivan pulled into your grandma's nursing home at 2:00 in the morning and a large 28 year old man got out. Yeah, it's a perfect setup for a joke, or maybe even our own reality show. The bathroom in her townhouse has an alert button, just in case you fall down in the shower. I could go on and on.
But despite the terrible weather (still not sure why anyone lives there) and the fact that her neighbors are watching everything she does and are probably scared that these young kids are going to steal their medicine and feed them to robots, we've got a couple good things out of the deal. First, I can tell people that my wife lives in a nursing home (yep, still makes me laugh). And Kate and I will have a great story to tell the grandchildren someday.