Monthly Archives: April 2014

Short Story On MidLife Collage

This is my third piece on this site that promotes us ‘mature’ writers out there–those over 40.writing

Middle age offers tough challenges and great experiences that can bring a different perspective to life that we may have not had in our earlier decades.

Tough challenges like returning to school, dealing with teenage children and accepting an aging body.

Great experiences like… returning to school, dealing with teenage children and accepting–and learning to love– an aging body (which can be pretty darn fun if you let go of your inhibitions).

Outside My Comfort Zone

(Published on Midlife Collage, April 28, 2014)

I had never seen anyone smoke pot before — at least I don’t think I have. Maybe I did at a party as a teenager, but if so, I don’t remember. Being a homeschooling mom all my adult life isn’t exactly the lifestyle where one is going to encounter drugs.

Or so you would think.

My friend, Kate, had been diagnosed with lung cancer, which had already begun spreading to the rest of her body. I had known Kate for many years at church. We were acquaintances for most of those years, but we developed a friendship when she became sick.

She was in her mid-fifties, twelve years older than me, and I admired her sensitivity in the way she communicated with others. I studied her knack for making people feel comfortable in her presence. She cared about people and was generous with her time.

I took mental notes. There was a lot I could learn from Kate.

I knew she smoked pot to relieve the pain. I knew she bought it from someone living in a nice suburban Chicago home when she went to visit her parents. But she never used it in my presence — until we went to Lake Superior in the summer of 2011.

You can continue to read here. (MidLife Collage site)


Other short essays on Midlife Collage:

Fading  “I used to be a redhead, too,” an elderly lady once said to me. I looked at her white hair. It was hard to imagine it ever having been red. She continued, “I never had gray in my hair; it just faded until it turned white.”

The Pianist  “Sitting on the piano bench, I gaze at the family and friends sitting in the pews. Since I’m not here to mourn, my emotional detachment enables me to see the moment from a different perspective.”