Aging

From the Last Vestiges of America’s Middle Class

The free market, however, is, now, just another quaint and misused phrase funded by uber-billionaires that care-less for you, me, or the woman struggling to feed her family by making and selling popsicles after they took her job and sent it to Pakistan. She’s inconsequential, as are the men, women and children in Pakistan’s sweat factories earning poverty wages making stuff to sell in America and elsewhere.

Memoir Writing. Narcissistic or a Gift?

Featured in Vibrant Nation “Why do you feel compelled to tell everyone your story?” a friend asked after reading my memoir-in-progress posts. I was unsure if she thought me narcissistic. And when I do finish my story, readers will discover that I’m on the other end of narcissism. So I didn’t know if I should take offense or not. On the other hand, her question forced me to perform some dot connecting. As a young girl who bounced from the good life, []

The Christmas Queen’s Crown Rests

When I try to remember the best Christmas ever, it’s impossible.  It’s not that I never had a best Christmas ever.  But no single memory explodes into smiling snowflakes and flashing Christmas tree lights. The same goes with the worst Christmas ever.  They exist somewhere in my memory like empty beer cans tossed under a sparcely decorated dead Christmas tree. Selective memories fade in time and prove that each moment is temporary.  Some moments are like the whiff of a freshly peeled orange []

Fulfilled Dreams and Loss–A Fifty Year Memory

A landmark birthday nears and I’m not as ambivalent as  with other landmark birthdays: 40, 50, and 60.  Reflection is like a mirror that won’t break and leave my presence. Some memories delight me and others can bring the flow of tears. I see the young faces of those who died in their youth.  They remain young forever.  No gray hair.  No limps.  No lumps. Bright eyes. Smooth skin. Abundant dreams–albeit unfulfilled. When a mirror captures me, I spin away so as []

The Thuderous Intruders At My Door

It’s not that I can’t be stubborn and hot-headed. I am far from human perfection. In my defense, I’ve developed my enabling spirit into a negotiating spirit. There are always two-sides to every whole. The question remains, however, what if one of those sides is so badly injured and toxic that a cure is unlikely—at least in the present?

Am I Attractive Enough to Run for Political Office?

Perhaps by this post’s end, the answer to my question, “Am I good-looking enough to run for a political office?” will find an answer.  You see, I’m mightily confused about appearance, political office and political correctness. A confluence of events and random conversations pushed this question to the front.  In one news thread, Hillary Clinton’s political future rivals her hair for headlines; another thread chats up President Obama’s complimentary quip about California’s female attorney general; pundits chat about other possible 2016 presidential []

Guns and Lilies

A rambunctious passion fruit vine overcompensates itself in a portion of my garden.  A few under planted white calla lilies collide with the ravenous vine.  But the lily’s determination to break through the thick vine succeeds and an over-sized lily blossoms thru the vine—creating  a stunning garden contrast—and victory over the dominate vine. The recent arguments and defensive mechanisms by the gun industry is much like my overcompensating passion fruit vine.  Through its root, the National Rifle Association, an intertwined, over-fertilized pattern []