When I get up in the morning, everything hurts. My muscles are stiff, my back hurts, my plantar fasciitis is agonizing. I suck it up and gut it out: I walk on the treadmill, work in the garden, chase little kids, move the chicken house, hang out the laundry, and after a day of lifting that bale and toting that barge, I feel every day of my years. Long before bedtime, I am ready to give in, and I'm not surprised when I wake up with Charley Horse a few hours later. That's the way it is at home.
But here! Out here in magical California, things are different! I cook, fetch and carry, do errands, work in the garage, take out the dumpsters (ours and the neighbors' for a grand total of seven, and those suckers are heavy!). Throw in my little mother and her sister to take care of, and just like at home, it adds up to hard labor. By 7 o'clock, it's bedtime at the old folks' home. They are all tucked into their recliners, in their pj's, for an evening of Mexican Dr. Phil. I've still got hours to go, but you know what, NOTHING HURTS!!!
So. What's the deal? Do I recommend California? Nope. I've given this some thought, and I'm pretty sure I've got it figured out.
At home, I am just about the oldest person around, but here...well, the opposite. There is no Fountain of Youth, not really. What there is though, is two old great/grandmas, and there's nothing like a couple of 80+yo's to make a 50-something grandma feel like a KID!
In the final analysis, it's all kinda "relative"....