The world is crazier than most people know. But I know. I was a clinical social worker for forty years. I am a witness. I retired from social work to write about the sad, the mad, and the savage; with whom I have spent most of my life. I have decided to translate these stories into fiction, because, as a co-worker once said, "You couldn't make this sh*t up. No one would believe you."

Friday, July 30, 2010


(Besides your ass, of course) Suppose the great grandmother of all forest fires sets your house on fire. What would you do?

I would grab the animals, some dog and cat food, my computer, my little “important papers” safe, my toothbrush, and my purse. (The computer is the equivalent of grabbing the family photo album.)

So what I’m asking is, what’s important?

When we were young baby boomers, we thought tuning in was important. Then we settled down, raised families and got caught up in the complexities of material life, as we should have. Now our families are grown. So what’s important?

Maybe I’m senile; aging is weird, for sure. But I’m leaning toward the same things as a boomer old fart, as I did when I was a young baby boomer. I want to tune in; maybe see what I missed all those years when I wasn’t paying attention.

What makes retirement a challenge and sometimes a tragedy is that we don’t respect how awesome it is. When one retires, one is facing life the EXACT same way one did at eighteen, with one exception: not much room for mistakes.

So I ask myself, and other boomers: are we SURE we want that expensive retirement community? The “roomy” house? The two sets of dishes?

Are we SURE?

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