This year, I joined much of America in a mini migration seeking Christmas joy.

The journey to Indianapolis was relatively painless unless you enjoy spending four hours in an aluminum tube flying 400 mph at 33,000 feet while seated in a chair designed to fit Simone Biles. But, that is another story for another day.

After telling you the bad news, let me tell you the joy an old duffer experienced while sitting by the fire chatting with a pair of great-granddaughters. I found them to be bright, smiling, and generally delightful critters. Well done, offspring.

When the moon is in the second phase, and stars align just right, there is nothing like the warm feeling you get while surrounded by a happy family. When you add the sweet gurgle of sleeping infants, the wide-eyed conversation of young parents, and the smell of homemade dinner rolls as they exit the oven, the holiday was just about as close to the pearly gates as you can experience without making the journey.

Even though a giant TV set loomed from a nearby corner, no one uttered a political word. It was a Silent Night, for sure.

Then my Dick Tracy wristwatch beeped with a message from a pair of old Boothbay Harbor friends who moved back home to a place most call from away. It was none other than old friend Peggy Powis inviting me to lunch with her and her hubby, Rick, at their stunning 14th-floor apartment overlooking downtown.

Rick spent most of his career as a pharmacist and top executive with a big chain of Indianapolis-based drug stores until a bigger outfit knocked on the door with a fat check, and he decided it was time to move on. Of course, he chose Boothbay, where his parents vacationed. Soon, Rick and Peggy bought a small house on a hill not far from Back River.

While turning a small house into a big house, Rick found out that our local drug stores were in need of pharmacists, so he dusted off his license, donned a white coat, and started counting out pills. When the stores were unable to find help to soothe the customers, answer the phone, and run the cash register, he said his wife could do that. No, no, said the supervisors. "We cannot have a husband and wife working together." OK, said Rick, as he took off his white coat and headed for the door, so the supervisors relented.

For years, our local drug stores featured the Powis duo. Along the way, they made friends as they helped us with our medical needs.

One evening, Rick suffered a medical issue that sent him to Miles in Damariscotta. After checking him out, Dr. Steve Cook reported it was not that bad, but he urged him to spend the night. The doctor told Peggy he would spend the night with Rick, and suggested that she go home. Unfortunately, there was a big storm that night, and her power and generator went out. While sitting in the darkened home alone, she decided it was time to return to the city. So, she convinced Rick to sell some of his wood shop toys, and they moved back to Indy, where they quickly joined efforts to help those in need.

After our lunch, Peggy taught me a new word: POCAs. No, it had nothing to do with Pokemon, the toy many children found under the tree when they emigrated down the stairs before dawn to see if Old Santa did his thing one more time.

If you remember Peggy, you know she can get animated when describing something she loves. As we chatted about Boothbay friends, she said she and her pals joined a group of POCAs, (people of a certain age) and signed up for a class teaching them to sing and dance on stage. Yes, Peggy, some old gals, and a few old dudes are rehearsing a couple of numbers for a variety show at a Butler University little theater venue. Rick, for the record, is in a non-theatrical supporting role.

Here are the Broadway numbers that Lady Peggy and her tribe of POCAs are rehearsing: "When I Grow Up" from Matilda the Musical, and "Let Your Freak Flag Fly" from Shrek the Musical.

In true Peggy fashion, she seemed to bounce on the couch with glee as she described the cast and its rehearsal antics. As I left, they asked me to say hi to their old Boothbay pals. OK, Peggy. Consider it done.

And she told me to pass on the POCA slogan. “We are old. We are bold. Get over it,” she said.

Come to think of it, that is a pretty good way to face the so-called Golden Years. Golden Years? Right? Get over it. Happy New Year to all.