Eliot and I have been living at the Hudson Hotel in NYC for a week ever since we sold the Co-Op we resided in for 40 years. We love hotel living. It’s kind of preparing us for assisted living. We have every convenience you can think of in our room and we have the option of going downstairs to eat.

Life could be worse. Every day a maid knocks on the door to see if we are alive, cleans our room, and provides us with all of the toiletries we need to stay presentable. We get a call from downstairs to tell us the weather, reminding us to take our meds, and to use the gym. We take long walks and stop off to say hello to the staff that we have become friendly with.

Our room comes with Internet and two TV’s. A serviceman shows up to turn up the volume for us and allows us to use as many wireless devices as possible. We get fresh towels and linens everyday, plus someone restocks our mini bar with our favorite snacks, a few times a week. 

Not having our own place is not bad at all. We don’t have to worry about preparing for company. We meet them in the restaurant, bar, or library. Everyone gets what they want, and someone else cleans up. 

The best part is that friends come by to take us out, bring us to the best restaurants, and reminisce about the old days. We have lots of laughs, complain about politics, and compare illnesses. They bring us back home, drop us at the front door, and text us later to make sure everyone is safe and sound. 

We arrive back at our room to see the shades pulled down for the night, the bed covers pulled back for our comfort, and the slippers and robes strategically placed in case we are just too tired to stand up. 

If we didn’t see fashionistas in the lobby, tattooed gents in the elevator, and couples making out in the bar, we would have thought this was our last stop.