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 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
| Motivational Monday! Actor/Comedian Martin Short , born on this day in 1950, once said "I think loss can fuel how you lead your whole life." Is this true? In what way or ways has loss affected your writing? I suppose I do write sometimes to remember certain people , important people that I have lost. They are lost to me because of extenuating circumstances such as time, death, re-locations, perceived slights, distance both physical and practical, and growing both in maturity and life choices. The children I gave birth to and raised are gone now. They are busy adults with careers, partners, offspring of their own, and all that this encompasses. I write to capture moments of their childhood, poignant memories that are still fresh. When I was knee deep in the demanding trenches of motherhood, my time was devoured by the millions of everyday minutiae that comes with surviving a family. With my only son being the epitome of "accident prone", I was rather pre-occupied keeping him alive. There were inevitable times when my three kiddos disagreed and drama ensued. At different junctions, we moved our household, and started anew in a fresh town. I often chose to sleep in my precious me time. I needed that respite to recharge. Writing took a backseat to more pressing concerns. Any creating occurred in spits and spurts. I tried to maintain a journal with highlights, and I penned long letters to family and friends. Deaths take an intimate toll. They remind me of what was, and what could have been. I write of laughter and regret, things shared and left unsaid. Memorials resurrect the deceased. They honour a life lived. Perhaps I write to remember because it's possible that my memory may fade, or disappear. My family will have proof that I recalled everything, and that not much slipped by me unnoticed. I also write as proof positive that I never did lose my mind. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect. ANAIS NIN |
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