Category Archives: Writing

Artful Aging

Artful Aging

“Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art.” —Eleanor Roosevelt  *  *  *  * Wise Aging Workshops, reads the title in a brochure for fall offerings in continuing education. I had a problem deciding if the workshops were meant to be aging themselves, or they were about doing… Continue Reading

Lifeline~

“There are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it.” ― Ann Landers When I hear someone say they’ve been thrown a lifeline, I picture a round, white floatation device we used to call a ‘lifesaver’ with a line attached to a savior at its other end.… Continue Reading

Recovery Room

Walking up the block away from the East River, it’s hard to see through the soup…fog drifting in and out, clinging to things invisible with wispy wet tendrils. It reminds me of my husband’s brain tumor, and also the endless days of gray near the shore at certain times of the year. You just start to… Continue Reading

On Becoming “Remusicked”

‘Can we review the future?’ What a question. How can you re-view something you can’t see in the first place? Oh, I know there are people who plan their lives around it and wallow in angst or triumph over what they think is coming, but most of us know that’s a waste of time. Being… Continue Reading

Defining Line

It’s a seductive idea, that there could be a ‘line in the sand’ marking an absolute transition from one thing to another. I suppose it’s the absoluteness that’s appealing in a world many have come to think of as murky and ambiguous. I was reminded of the power of that need for definition recently when… Continue Reading

Pulp Fiction

I can imagine your breath catching when you first saw the title of this blog post. That’s not like Sidney, critiquing the racy stuff, commenting on…well who knows what?  If you were born, or just became a young adult after WW II, your reaction to the label ‘Pulp Fiction’ is predictable, and undoubtedly much the… Continue Reading