For the remaining few months I remain here at WordPress.com I will blog like I used to; with storytelling.
To read about my first mishap that day, check out at the gas pump story.
After my latte at Starbucks I browsed Indigo, the huge book store probably resembling a Barnes and Noble, and sat down at one of the tables. It was empty, which was a surprise; all the tables in the coffee shop were taken but no one was reading in the bookshop?
As I began to sip my coffee I glanced at my phone, but I just couldn’t concentrate. I looked up and realized why: Prince Harry was staring at me from all the surrounding bookshelves.
This post is a taking stock of the journey so far, which began when I turned 50 and continues now, four years later, with more gusto and fervor and, hopefully, lessons learned and applied. To keep things manageable, I decided to turn this into a short, multi-part series. Part 1 is here. Thank you for your readership and follow – it means the world to me to be able to share my insights with so many of you.
This post is about taking stock of the If Not Now When journey so far. It all began the year I turned 50, a time of reflection, resolutions, urgency and determination. My adventure is far from over and continues now, four years later, with more gusto and fervor and, hopefully, lessons learned and applied, so hang on to your hat (as I hang on to mine).
As far back as I can remember, bedroom windows were opened as soon as their sleepy inhabitants rose. In winter, a warm housecoat would be put on first, and in summer, a thinner one (or none). The point is, the windows were opened to circulate fresh air through the room.
Some of you know I grew up in Switzerland. My grandmother and my mom both opened windows in all the bedrooms while simultaneously uncovering the beds. It was standard practice and called “airing out the room”. Sometimes, the duvet or blankets would stay on the ledge of the open window, reminding me of a folk tale called Frau Holle. When Frau Holle shook out her duvet, the landscape around her became covered in snowflakes.
How does one lose pants, you ask? Well, for starters, you’d have to be me. 🥴
I was in the suburbs at my mom’s house, in my room which has two small closets, when I realized the pants were missing. Two pairs, actually; the grey jeans with the fancy ripple design in the knee area, and the black leggins with the pockets.