My first car was a 1973 Pontiac Firebird, candy apple red with a white roof and a black interior. My father gave it to me for Christmas in 1972 as a reward for my pending college graduation the following May.
Graduation time is here, and families will join to celebrate an important milestone in the lives of their graduates. Mixed with all the elaborate pomp and circumstance should be the harsh reality that student loans could make them indentured victims buried in endless, mounting debt. The popular book by Dr. Seuss Oh, the Places You’ll Go! will change to Woe! The Money You’ll Owe!
My husband and I recently escaped the snows in Idaho for a first-time vacation in Belize. The travel brochures claimed the water around the tiny island of San Pedro offered some of the world’s best snorkeling, so we signed up for an excursion.
We met in our 50s, both divorced and disgruntled with relationships. I agreed to go on a blind date for dinner because I like to eat. Despite our best intentions to remain single forever, we were holding hands by dessert. Life has been sweet ever since.
Are your holiday traditions stressing you out? Maybe it’s time to tweak your seasonal activities for less stress and more fun!
I’ve followed the regular rituals of the season for several decades, but this year I intend to change the frantic schedule and reduce or eliminate some traditional activities. I already feel a wee bit guilty, but here are some stress-reducing actions I’ve planned for this year.
My friend survived another trip around the sun, and I searched for an appropriate birthday card to send her.
I noticed that many cards contained exaggerated, pathetic caricatures that resembled cruel and unusual punishment for still being alive. An entire industry now creates snarky greeting cards and ready-made emails that mock seasoned women. I’m not going to buy or send them.
A tragic reality occurs when women reach the age of 60. Suddenly we become invisible and irrelevant to the rest of the world.
My mother’s last journey on earth was in the fall of 2014 as her casket was carried from the Presbyterian Church to the cemetery. As we drove behind the hearse through the village of Wendell, Idaho, I recognized the three-mile trip as a snapshot of her life.
The news alert flashed on my cell phone as I was caring for my young granddaughters. There had been another mass shooting, this time in Florida. I quickly read the horrible details and immediately thought of my grandchildren.
What kind of world would they have in 20 years?