Since retiring, I have struggled with the perennial question, “What now?” Don’t get me wrong, I love reporting to God. I just like the definition of a job.

Last week I became an ESP—Essential Support Person—the title used for those who can come inside at Mom’s. This apparently is an official government phrase according to a lawyer in my small “Radix” group. She helped conjure up the terminology. How’s that for the magic of connection?

After months of brief visits outdoors, it was blissful to be together inside and warm.

The job fits. I’ll take it.    

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