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By Margaret Kokka
Time has begun to play an elusive role in my life as I age. Without the guardrails of a given schedule provided by work or caregiving, time becomes ephemeral and instead of treasuring the passage of my limited number of hours, days, or years left, I find myself at the end of the day empty handed and adrift. I lecture myself, to set up a schedule and at the end of the day I should have accomplished some goal I have set for myself,
By Daniel Danzig
The images of older folks whom I meet on the street are among my favorites. Etched into faces and revealed in unique styles or personality are hints of diverse and often surprising personal backgrounds and accomplishments.
By David Schweidel
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Moving you out of your bedroom, I mean.
By Karen Hunt
Once, many years ago, I was riding in the backseat of ’64 Mustang, going downhill in a snowstorm, and the brakes went out. There were four of us along with textbooks and suitcases crammed into that Mustang. We were college kids heading home for Christmas break, five hours into an eight-hour drive. Until the moment the driver started frantically pumping the brakes and downshifting, we’d been singing to the radio to keep awake. Carefree and oblivious. Through the driving snow we could see a red stop light at the bottom of the hill and a line of cars and semis on either side of the intersection. We fell silent as we barreled toward the light. Just as we thought our brief young lives were over, the light turned green. We flew through the intersection, then to avoid slamming into a car that suddenly appeared in front of us, we careened off the road into a frozen corn field where, screaming and cursing at this point, we eventually slid to a stop, shaken but upright. I remember that once we knew everybody was alright, we broke into laughter, wild, uncontrolled, adrenalin-filled joy. What a relief it was to be alive.
By Molly Hartle
I throw my bike in the car and drive it down hill to Maple Street. I could start the ride at my house, but I know after doing more than 3,000 feet of climbing, I won’t want to do another 500 to get back up the hill.
By Paul Davis
A cheerful ding-ding announces my presence at the gas pumps just as the sun peeks out behind the SUNOCO sign on Route 9 in Wellesley. An attendant about my age saunters toward me. Up close I can see his greasy, acned face as he peers in at me with a crooked smile.
By Alice Feller
I was twenty years old when I took up smoking, fully planning to become addicted. In my future life as a social worker I saw myself ministering to heroin addicts. To truly understand what they were facing, I thought, I should experience addiction for myself. Nothing prolonged, just a quick in and out. Also, I wanted to lose ten pounds.
By Richard Turner