This week is Spring Break, so we've been hanging out at DH's parents' place. It's a community especially built for people over the age of 50 with strict limits about how long younger people can stay. We travel with ID cards identifying who we are and the resident with whom we are staying.

On the upside, the kids love using the pool and playing bocce ball and shuffleboard with us. We also get to cruise around the community in a golf cart, even passing through special golf cart tunnels that lead to the local grocery store. It's a well-conceived design.

I kid my mother-in-law with statements that the community is really a cult; it requires financial backing, strict adherence to certain rules, and controls who can come and go, and what businesses you are allowed to use to renovate your house. Anything you could need has already been sorted out for you.

To retirees, I am sure having things planned out beforehand is a great comfort. Fewer decisions need to be made, everything is within golf-cart distance and the neighborhoods are well-kept.

Still...my inner rebel chafes at such things.

"What do you mean I can't paint my house fuchsia if I want to??"

It's probably just me.