So, I sit here contemplating the horrid fact that in a few short months, I’ll be eligible for Medicare. Yep. The sound of that is very scary to some. They see it as “Old Age,” “Over the Hill,” and “Done For.” Silly geese. You’re not done until  you’re done! And I, for sure, ain’t done!

I have done a LOT, though. I’ve seen a LOT, and have had a ton of fun along the way. Not only that, but I’m nowhere near ready to leave the planet. In my mind, I’m still the 24-year-old who set out with great trepidation to live in California. It was the BEST thing ever. Sometimes, I wish I’d never left there, but MY California of 1976 is NOT the same California that I left in 1987. I’m guessing that much of what I left behind has moved to Oregon or just fell into the sea. (That never happened, though I feared it would back then — with me on it.)

And I’ve lived in South Bend, Indiana. I was married there, at Notre Dame. I lived in Washington, D.C. for a very short while because it was just too much to bear. And now, I live in Florida. It’s home now. I’ve been here 18 years come August. My home, home — my birth home — is Pittsburgh, Though that city has a warm spot in my heart, my body just says NO to the winter. But all these places have given me a certain depth of experience. People in different parts of the country are just different.  But I digress…

Accidents of Age


Reminiscing comes up a lot as we age. It’s not something old people do. It’s something everyone does. We older folk just do it more because we have more experience in all things life.

And we have sillier accidents. Take today for example. I locked myself inside my bra. Yep, that’s right… In my BRA.

I’ve never been much for underwires. They always cut into my ribs. And then today,  I thought, well… You know where the ta-tas are pointing, maybe if you shorten the straps, it will keep the girls up and the underwire from cutting my ribs down (only you girls will understand this). So… I moved the strap shortener ALL the way forward. And then…

I put my arms into the strap holes. (It’s like a three-way closure, even, with a strap that pulls the other two together, ya know?) Then, tried to close the bra. Actually, I tried, but saw that wouldn’t do immediately and so I tried to take the bra off to make further adjustments. I was shocked!

I COULDN’T! I was stuck.

So there I stood, flapping my short little wings, just like a dodo bird. (No wonder they’re extinct. Think they had torture bras?) Anyway, I had to call my husband in from the living room to rescue me — from my OWN bra. We both had a good laugh about that.

The Moral of the Story?


Never shorten your view of life so much that you can’t get out. Always have an exit plan. And if you want to be a writer, it’s crucial! Life experience is the best writing course you can take.

Seriously. Most of the folks I know have lived in the same place for their entire lives. They have put up with the crappiest kind of weather, crappy roads, and will see the same things, day after day, until they die.

Never do that!

If you happen to be young, reading this, grab a partner. (I had an adventurous husband or I know I’d have been stuck in the same place my whole life, too.) Plan to live somewhere else, if it’s only for six months!  Just don’t get stuck in one place. You’ll thank me for this valuable advice when it’s your time to be on Medicare. Promise.