**Finding Comfort in Familiar Places: A Senior Looks Back on Life in Louisville**
As yet another sweltering Saturday in late July envelops Louisville, Kentucky, I take refuge in the refreshing ambiance of a nearby McDonald’s. The heat is unyielding, but the half-mile walk from my residence serves as a welcome form of exercise, reminding me that even at 83, movement is a valued asset.
Having a home in Louisville’s sought-after neighborhoods is a desire for many, and while mine is fully paid off, I sometimes feel trapped within its confines. Choosing to do without my car has unexpectedly enhanced my financial health. Once burdened by expenses from insurance to repairs, I’ve adopted a more straightforward lifestyle, liberated from the burden of vehicle costs.
Retirement presents a distinct array of challenges, and as a former social worker, I have experienced plenty of highs and lows. The veil of despair that frequently surrounded me has lifted to some extent, partly due to a ten-week rehabilitation program backed by Medicare. Regular visits and specialized exercises have reinvigorated my spirit and walking ability. I hold a quiet appreciation for LBJ, under whose leadership Medicare originated.
Frequent visits to McDonald’s have turned into a vital lifeline, a much-needed escape from the dullness of solitary living. These outings relieve a sense of sadness, providing a mental reprieve that promises a peaceful night ahead. Recently acquiring a TARC bus pass has further amplified this freedom, permitting me spontaneous travel for just eighty cents per ride.
In the weeks to come, I intend to seek out more social activities, such as visiting a local Baptist church known for offering community meals for seniors. Although I rarely partake in such meals, my conversational Spanish might prove useful in contributing to this generous institution.
Connections at McDonald’s reach beyond just the employees. Regular visitors like Dottie, Steve, Linda, and Ed each face their own struggles. Sharing the bus pass advice, these friends highlight the communal spirit that flourishes even on the outskirts of Louisville’s society.
Family connections offer minimal assistance. My daughter lives in St. Louis, weighed down by her own family responsibilities, while my ex-wife, now remarried, remains distant in more ways than one. Nonetheless, this new routine nurtures a burgeoning sense of optimism, crafting a future that isn’t entirely lacking in brightness.
As I navigate these twilight years, I am reminded of Daniel Defoe’s “Robinson Crusoe.” His insights on the extremes of wealth and poverty resonate with me. My life reflects that agreeable middle ground—a balance between luxury and necessity, enriching my narrative as I continue this lengthy journey.
*Raymond Abbott, novelist and former social worker, resides in Louisville, Kentucky.*