What I want to do when I grow up

This past weekend my family and I were at The Villages to visit my mom for Mother's Day. And let me say that if you have never been to this place... you must go. Seriously. I don't care if you don't have any relatives there. I don't care if you don't have any relatives over the age of 40. You must go. Now. Really.

On the surface, The Villages looks like any other retirement community in Florida. Affordable homes, golf, leisure classes, golf, restaurants, golf, golf, shuffleboard and golf. Retirees at The Villages live tranquil lives in their Golden Girls world of tropical print caftans, wicker furniture and card games.

Or so you might think.

My husband and I first visited in late 2004 after my aunt and uncle moved there from Rhode Island. After driving the 80 or so miles from Gainesville I rounded a corner to find the western border of The Villages. And the first thing that struck me was the size of this place.

Okay, you can't call this a retirement community. Because to use the term "retirement community" would be like calling the Great Barrier Reef a fish tank. This place is huge. It's the Death Star of retirement communities, an actual city complete with its own chamber of commerce and gravitational pull. I continued driving... and driving... and driving some more, passing dozens of neighborhoods called -wait for it - villages, of course! As far as my eyes could see there were rooftops, pools, nature preserves and, yes, golf courses for miles around.

I snapped out of my disbelief in time to avoid someone rollerblading in the bike lane. "How nice," I thought, "they let people outside the community enjoy the roads and vistas, too."

Heh.
Silly me.

Because as I passed this guy on blades I got a look at his face, and he had to be at least 70 years old. Not rollerskating, rollerblading. And he wasn't just puttering along, either; dude was all Eric Heiden with the wide strides and arms swinging back and forth and he was flying by! Awesome.

My aunt and uncle took us to (or told us about) stores, restaurants, themed workout and recreation centers, concerts, sporting events and more. During the day these permanent vacationers zip around on golf carts or bikes or anything else with wheels that they can balance on, taking classes or playing sports or just going out for a few drinks. Every night at each of the two town squares, live music is played and a cash bar is available.

The grounds are absolutely impeccable, with flawlessly painted buildings and perfectly manicured landscaping. And you can enjoy it all while listening to the tunes of The Villages' own radio station, WVLG, which is piped in through speakers throughout each town square. While strolling down a picturesque sidewalk lined with customized golf carts (chrome rims are not unheard of), my husband stared with his mouth agape. "Good lord," he said. "It's the Cocoon Ride at Disney."

My mom, newly widowed at the time, was just as impressed and a year later she moved to The Villages as well. Mom was always a fun person, but since the move I've seen a new side of her. Mind you, she married my dad when she was 20 and moved straight from her parents' home to an apartment with him. She didn't go to college, instead jumping right into her job and her role as wife and, a few years later, mother. She lived a very happy life filled with love and good friends, but never led any kind of "single ladies" existence.

Now? Now Mom is out at least a few nights a week, has gone on her share of dates (nothing long term yet) and has dozens of girlfriends. She'll even ask occasionally to bring one with her when she comes to visit, telling me they'll be no trouble - "Oh, don't worry about a bed, we'll all just crash in the living room." She's living the college years she never had, and I love it. I'm waiting for her to bring her laundry next time.

This is what The Villages does for people. The residents are living every second and loving it. They aren't waiting to die - they're waiting for happy hour.

Yep. When I grow up, I want to live in The Villages.