I’m an octogenarian and have been posting on Kalilily Time for twenty years (with some hiatuses).
NOTE: Comments below are from original “About Me” page, which I accidentally deleted.
I am a poet who has had jobs as a teacher, newspaper feature writer, local magazine writer, proposal writer, policy paper writer, state legislation writer, curriculum writer, PR writer etc. etc. While few of my jobs had “writer” in the title, because I was told I could turn “straw into gold,” writing always became part of my assignments.
Once I was married. I am a mother of two and grandmother of one.
I thought I would be driving a red sports car when I was this age. Instead, I drive an orange Honda Fit. Close enough.
I now live in a house that is not my house. There is an unlikeable cat who lives in this house, but she is not my cat. There is a likeable new dog who lives in this house, but he is not my dog.
What is mine is what I write. And so, I do.
Over the past decade, I have had my poetry published in a variety of small presses, including The Berkshire Review, Naugatuck River Review, the Ballard Street Poetry Journal, Common Ground Review, Quiet Diamonds, and Peregrine. Several of my pieces appeared in the 1998 anthology Which Lilith: Feminist Writers Recreate the World’s First Woman.
Once I was so much more than I am now. Betty Davis was correct. It’s not just the Covid-19 Pandemic. It’s finding myself losing myself as body and mind and associated abilities wane. It’s feeling estranged from the talents that used to flourish so easily. It’s feeling isolated by distance and time from the friends who knew me well. It’s struggling to survive in what feels like an old age wasteland, devoid of play and fun and camaraderie with peers who are dealing with the same losses. And so I talk to myself to keep from disappearing altogether.