I'm told that since I'm kind of old and probably don't have enough time left to begin a series of any kind, especially about people forty years younger than I (except in backstory, of course), and…Continue
Today I finally understood that I’m a prisoner. I’ve been kidnapped and thrown into a silent, locked room. I’m given coffee to sustain me; nondescript food is shoved at me once in a while. The most shocking thing about this incarceration is that I’m beginning to feel that isolation is normal, at times even so comfortable that I don’t spring for the door when it opens and offers freedom. The Stockholm Syndrome comes to mind. My jailors have become my friends even as they demand…
For much of my life I’ve avoided old ladies. Not that I didn’t like them. Mostly, they just didn’t interest me much. A few of these almost invisible, women come to mind
My grandma Anderl, a pudding of a woman who lived with my family for several of the last years of her life, her daily glass of bourbon, doctor-prescribed, she insisted.
Mrs. Kauffman, the housemother in my college sorority with her precise lacquered hair and manicured nails…Continue
I’m thinking that folks writing books in this flowing stream-of-consciousness manner are either would-be, envious, behind-the-times Joycists or angry anti-Strunkists revolting against every red-inked correction they ever received from instructors whose job was to make their writing readable.
But, then, I’m an old lady, taught the conventional punctuation of the early 1900’s by Teacher Kuhnau, who was born in Germany and understood that rules are…Continue
It is never too late to become what you might have been.
I’m getting acquainted with the woman who has made an appearance on my computer. She’s a bit like me, only bitchier, at least at the beginning of the book. Not her fault. She’s been married to a bully of a husband for forty years and for some reason, she’s hung in there. Not my problem, but I can identify.
One morning she wakes up next to him and discovers…Continue