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.
I confess. I’m in love with the blank page.
It’s a metaphor for how one comes in to the world. The moment you announce yourself with a whimper or scream your blank page begins to fill with memories. Throughout childhood – when you are most vulnerable – memories are often written for you. Not all of them happy.
Most of us have fascinating stories to tell. At the same time, the idea of sitting down to write an official autobiography can feel a bit intimidating. So, today, I would like to share a few suggestions for how to write a shorter “memory book” instead. Trust me, nothing will help you to get your life in perspective quicker than thinking back over all of the wonderful things that you have done so far! Come join us for a cup of tea (or coffee) and a chat. And, if you enjoy the show, please tell one friend about us today. Your support means so much to me!
My mom died when I was 35 years old. She was only 58. She’s been gone a long time now and sadly, memories do have a way of fading. Here’s one memory I do have. And it comes to me whenever I hear a certain song.
Whoever first said that life is like high school all the time sure hit the nail on the head.
An aside – Yes, I know that’s a cliché, but I love it. Because I know exactly how hard it is to hit the nail on the head when I’m trying to drive a nail into something!
My husband and I had an unusual experience this week. We visited his old school, along with about 60 other men in their 60s and above. There were also a few other wives. Let me explain why we were there, and the impact of the visit.
The end of the year is a time when people look back and make plans for the next one. Did you know that as you read this, you’re already always living in the past, never in the now?
Maybe I’m biased, but, it seems like the 1980s was an amazing decade for toys. When my kids were growing up, the electronics revolution was well underway and toys like Teddy Ruxpin, Transformers, Speak and Spell and Micro Machines were flying off the shelves.
I am sure you recall hearing kids groaning ‘oh, not that story again.’ It might have been in a private setting or embarrassingly public, but the sagging shoulders and bored faces are the same. You might even have been one of those offspring once.