Being Alive!
Very soon, I am going to announce that my memoir, NOT YET, from which I’ve been dropping excerpts into said blog, like Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs, will be available for all the world to read.
I was really hoping to be alive when I made that announcement. And it appears, contrary to recent predictions, that I will be! I am not just whistling Dixie. My daughters were very concerned. I tried to reassure them.
Mothers are not supposed to die.
When my mother passed away, I was in my late 40s. Almost immediately, my thumb went back into my mouth.
Accepting death in life and/or life in death, depending on which comes first, is very important. I am very good at faking it. Every birthday, I do a brilliant reading of: “As I get older, I accept that someday I am going to die.” Within seconds, my nose starts to grow.
Whether I want to or not, between my fall last November, Covid/Pneumonia this summer, and approaching 91, I am being forced to face reality. At any time now, The Angel from Death can get past my necklace of garlic. On a certain level, this truth sets me free. But first, it really pisses me off.
AND…it brought on a lot of questions from my nearest and dearest.
Do I have a list of people to be notified when, uh, you know…
Any instructions on when you want the plug pulled?
Do I have a preference? Funeral, memorial service, catered affair?
If a catered affair… Do I have a playlist for the DJ?
A playlist for the DJ???? Are you kidding????
That’s it! I’m done planning my death while I’m still alive. I would rather plan the launch of my memoir, NOT YET!
On October 8th, my 91st birthday, the book will be available in print and as an ebook on Amazon and other online booksellers. You can also request the book from your local bookstore.
I can hardly believe I’ve done it! It is my memory, my life, my adventures, my short and tall tales, my experiences, and my roller coaster life. God, did anyone else ever ride and scream in terror on the Cyclone in Coney Island? (That was before I knew that life could be just as terrifying as that ride on the Cyclone.)
I am so grateful that the gift of life kept everything pumping and working so that I could finish what I started.
What can I tell you? All you need to write your own story is a healthy-sized ego, a computer with all the buttons (will someone please invent a button that I can push to cut and paste…puleeze), loving friends and family that read, support, and encourage your efforts, and an editor, friend, and manager who makes everything… and I mean everything… possible.
Along the way, I discovered that for me, there was only one way to make it through to the end of the book, which I know is just another beginning. And that is to write in love, of love, by love, for love, with love. As I concluded in the book, all is possible because…
LOVE IS.
P.S. After finishing the book and dodging the last bullet, does anyone want to guess why this Sondheim song keeps going round and round in my headball? Anyone?