Peggy Rowe is at it again, proving once more that great content is all around us, even in the retirement community she now calls "The Home." In Oh No, Not "The Home," eighty-three-year-old Peggy decides the time has finally come to move into a senior living facility with her husband, John, who follows his beloved bride . . . grudgingly. Once ensconced in "The Home," however, John quickly makes a long list of eclectic friends and takes up bocci ball, hatchet throwing, pool playing, and various other distractions that keep him mostly sane. Meanwhile, Peggy finds humor in places a normal person would never think to look--and laughter around every corner. Missing dentures? A mouse in the house? Nude sunbathing with an unexpected audience? Gluttony in the dining hall? A chair volleyball game that turns into geriatric target practice? It's all here. With her usual mix of warmth and irreverence, Peggy brings her daily journal to life with an unforgettable mix of observations and confessions, written with the honesty of a true observer of the human condition and the urgency of an embedded reporter entrenched in a strange and distant land. You'll laugh, you'll cry, and before long, you'll start to think that Peggy and John and their many new friends are just the kind of people you wish you had for neighbors. Whatever you think you know about retirement communities, think again. This is life at "The Home." And it's not exactly what the marketing brochure promised
