What a delight to chat with Londoner Rachel Lankester, founder of the Magnificent Midlife Movement. She celebrates and empowers women in midlife and beyond. “We’re not over the hill or on a downward slope. In midlife we’re just getting started!” To listen to the podcast, click here. To learn more
So, with all this free time on my hands I decided to tackle the stack of papers, photos and mementos that have been tucked under my bed since my mother passed away two years ago. It’s a chore I’ve avoided because I knew it would take me down a rabbit hole
There are a lot of emotions tangled up in writing your life story. I have come to learn that it’s not MY story, but a tapestry of many people’s stories all woven together. It’s been cathartic writing through the struggles Jim and I faced in our marriage. Wading through the
“You need to learn how to accept help,” my friend Jane told me back in 2011 when I was packing up the home my family was leaving after 27 years. She had barged into my house uninvited, thank God, her arms full of boxes, intent on helping me through one
I wrote this piece for a writing class four or five years ago. After listening to all the MLK tributes yesterday, I thought it might be worth resurrecting. “Is it fair to hold OUR children back in order to let the negrah kids catch up?” I was only 16 when I
I get low right about now every year. I’ve often wondered if it was simply the cold weather. Being a Southerner, I don’t take kindly to frost. Or maybe the cold holds me back from walking as often, or even feeling motivated to do so. Or is it the adrenalin
One of the gifts I received while working with writing tutor Jane Gassner came after she pushed me over and over again to get my 87-year-old mother to share her story. Jane insisted I understand how my mother’s upbringing, her marriage to my father and the times in which they
I’m a nervous wreck, that’s all there is to it. A sweet neighbor who knows what’s about to happen, insisted she feed me a quick lunch. I haven’t eaten all day. What’s happening this afternoon was never a dream. I just couldn’t imagine it ever happening. About this time three years ago
“An invisible thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break. May you be open to each thread that comes into your life . . . and may you weave them into a brilliant
It’s 10:28pm. I just got back from my first writing class. There were 16 or 17 of us taking the class. A few young ones, but most ranging from 40 to 60 years old. We went around the room introducing ourselves, one by one telling a snippet of the memoirs we
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