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.
Didn't ICE find the illegal aliens who had secretly landed in our trailer parks and ICE shipped them to an El Salvadorian prison? I thought many of the trailer park inhabitants who resisted will be vacationing at the prison, er renamed Cultural Exchange Theme Park, soon?
When the toe heels it may be time for specially fitted shoes. Broken bones, no matter how small, can create or exacerbate other health issues as one ages.
A Warped Witch I Be Yes, I have family nearby. The lake is also across the road. Water is kinda important, eh? A spoonful of coffee grounds just isn't the same without it. Thanks for commiserating with me.
I'm so sorry to hear you're having such a terrible week. I've gone through the float valve thing at my old house in Maine, it felt like forever before they got it replaced. I bought gallons of water to keep my coffee supply steady. I refilled empty jugs for the toilet from the lake. We were lucky it happened in the summer because bathing was at the lake. I can't imagine doing it in the fall with the temperatures dropping. I never asked if your family lives nearby? Hopefully, you can take care of the essentials there.
Very nicely written. I am a big communicator and if more people would put forth a better effort, it would be a better place. Little acts of kindness truly goes a long way. You have identified it well. I can feel your sincerity coming through your writing. I would like to see more of the younger crowd helping or being involved with the older folks. I know my day goes better when someone has said hi or gives a waves.
I don't care for dark British/Dutch humor. Dislike Monty Python as well. Give me a bittersweet French or Japanese movie or a sad Portuguese song. I'm more introspective.
You were very fortunate. I never really fell into anyone's arms.
I need to reassess my needs. My 'romantic' efforts in Thailand had limited success.
I must admit I've never thought about, or approached writing as Elizabeth Gilbert does. I mean to say I 've never examined it, or attempted to explore why I write, or excused it, or explained the writing process. I just write. I don't believe I agonize over every word I choose. I commit something to paper. Choices swirl in my brain and most of them could be viable. Sure, words and phrasing may be altered at any time, but I do not sweat about it. If I worried and fretted what would actually be created? Ms. Gilbert speaks of fear and the creative process. The number one fear seems to be rejection. My attitude is take it, or leave it. If my writing doesn't appeal to someone, I will survive. I will not lose sleep, or waste away from a lack of attention, or acceptance. I found Ms. Gilbert's presentation thought-provoking. She suggests that non-creative persons consider artisans to be mentally unhinged. Those same people sit in judgement and believe artists should be suffering for their art. I agree with the speaker, this is an "odious, dangerous assumption." We as writers need to live and enjoy that living. Words should set us free not imprison us. This author mentions muses as assistants, drill sergeants ordering us about, teasing us with tantalizing story lines, scolding our indolence, praising our meager efforts. What does prod/encourage me to write? Is there a mirror me existing within my brain? Is that other me the creative one who wishes to be heard and hijacks my thinking, my reactions, my physical output? I do know something, someone visits me when I am attempting to turn off my brain for a night's sleep. In that nether world between unconciousness and awakefulness, I struggle to clear my mind. I am not distracted by other people and their conversations. I am not entertained by a television program, or a movie. Music is not forcing me to listen. I am alone and winding down. Perhaps that is when I am most receptive to suggestion, creative sparks. It's as if the ideas themselves think finally we have your undivided attention, so listen to this. You cannot ignore us now. You are a captive audience. Snippets of dialogue may dance through my mind. A story arc may introduce itself. Characters may stop and say hello. Of course, they know I will be forced to rise, turn on a blinding light, search for paper and pen, and proceed to document all that has delayed my slumber. Is that a muse? Is this simply my overworked brain delivering ideas which were put on the back burner during the day, but must now be delivered/acknowledged? Before you retire for the night these important matters must be brought to your attention. I respect Ms. Gilbert's advice. "Don't be afraid. Don't be daunted." Like the Nike ads, just do it. Writing is a process, an outlet. Try not to lose any sleep.(495 words)
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