An unexpected stay in Paradise.

I have been visiting south Florida since high school.

My parents purchased a snowbird retreat 45 years ago.

My dad loved it and my mom was unconvinced.

They would vacation during the winter and when my father turned 65 he retired to enjoy life.

They usually spent November through April at their Florida home and then headed back to my mother’s first love, Connecticut.

She was anxious to return to her real home, her mother the Duchess, Ethel, the canasta girls, her lengthy list of beloved friends and family, Tod’s Point beach, her hairdresser, NY rye bread and bagels, the Open Door restaurant and her favorite ice cream place.

When my dad died she wanted me to sell the place. I lied and kept it and told her I followed her instructions.

A few years past, the winters became colder and the northeast was less appealing, her friends joined the flock of snowbirds and she admitted to making a faux pas.

I made her southern home reappear and she resumed her snowbird ways.

When Queen E. departed she left me her homes.

I rented the Florida place after my excruciating loss and was gobsmacked by a 60 something couple who destroyed it in 3 months.

I renovated and it is now part of my homeland catalog.

I have been here for a month and this place has grown on me.

Queen E.’s presence lingers and makes me feel closer to her.

The weather is gorgeous, the pool inviting, the gym accommodating, the beach around the corner.

Life is easy.

Who knew.

As long as I dodge open carry crazies, do not have school age children or am in need of medical procedures and avoid a finite group of flag waving I-95 overpass hugging trump imbeciles, I am good to go and surprisingly sad to be leaving.

I am one extremely fortunate biatch.