How would you feel if a relative or friend died, leaving a house full of clutter behind them, and it fell to you to sort it all out?
Unfortunately, this situation is very common. I often meet people who have toiled for months, or even years, disposing of someone else’s stuff.
Are we the generation which had it all?
The bra-burning brigade of the 1960s led us to believe we could have everything we wanted – a fabulous job, a happy family, a beautiful home, leisure time by the bucket-load because of all the labour-saving gadgets, good health, cars, holidays – you name it, it was ours for the taking.
There’s no doubt about it – the way we communicate has drastically changed over the past decade with more and more people using smartphones. Texting, message apps or instant messages (IM) with emoji’s, LOL’s, FWIW’s and OMG’s are now mainstream methods of communication.
There is a certain truth you must realize when writing a memoir: You are the central character in the story, therefore you must write about who you are. You cannot assume that the reader knows you, even if they are a close relative.
Not long ago I got an email from a reader of my blog, RealDelia. She shared a poem that she’d seen posted elsewhere on the Internet which used the metaphor of the butterfly’s chrysalis to describe those periods when we need to go inside ourselves to grow.
Do you remember the terrible AIDS epidemic in the 1980s and 1990s? Were you directly affected by it? We are all old enough to remember. But for some, it may have passed by as an awful situation that happened to other people, with little impact on their family or friends.
Some things in life are easier not to think about, like death, taxes or facing a major transition such as retirement. Fortunately, my son, a financial advisor and business owner, had one of those “Mom, let’s sit down and talk about your finances” discussions with me several years ago.
Boomers are bombarded daily with advertising messages that attempt to influence us. Recognizing some of their tactics can make us less susceptible.
After 37+ years of regular workouts, my body has decided to defend itself by developing osteoarthritis. Every workout is now a rousing game of Will It Hurt If I Do This? Oh, what fun.
I must confess that I do love mornings – now that I’m retired. I cherish the slow arousing of my mind as it shakes the remnants of sleep off its back.