Volume 2, Issue 6 | June, 2022
Newsletter
Women are the storytellers of the family. Our blog allows us to share our stories with people all over the world.

Feel free to forward this email to anyone you think might be interested in reading the stories or joining the class.

If you are not interested in joining the class, but love to write, we are happy to have guest bloggers send us their stories. Email holli@myerberg.org if you would like to be a guest blogger.
Do you have stories to share?
You don't have to be a great writer, just someone who has stories to tell. If you are a woman 55 or older, you’ve lived a rich and interesting life. You have a litany of memories to share that other women would love to read. Join our fantastic group of interesting women just like you.
Our class meets on Zoom, Wednesdays and Thursdays from 2:30-3:30 p.m. 
For more information visit our page on the Myerberg website or email holli@myerberg.org.
Great stories this month, as usual!
It’s 11:00. Do You Know Where Your Children Are?
I awake with a start. Disoriented, I look for the clock. It’s not there. I shake my head for clarity and realize I’m on the couch. Did I fall asleep, and Laura came in too quietly?
What time is it? I stumble to the kitchen and squint at the clock—3:30. Now I’m awake! My heart is pounding. I race up the steps to Laura’s room, banging my knee on the planter in the hall. Damn!
Thoughts on Sexual Harassment
With all of the talk about sexual harassment and abuse in the news, I would like to address this issue myself. I was a victim more than once of this type of abuse when I was young. The men were not billionaires or famous, just predators who thought they could do anything and get away with it at work. They actually did.
The first situation was my boss. He constantly groped, grabbed and pinched me every single day I worked, even when his wife was there. 
 29th Anniversary Poem
For thirty years,
maybe more,
I’ve been writing
poems galore.
I wrote of how we met
by chance
and later of our
Kitchen Dance.
Old Age
When the phone rings at 2:30 a.m., it’s never good news. Monday morning, it was assisted living, saying that my in-law had fallen out of bed. An ambulance was called, and she was transported to the emergency room.
I got there around 7:45 a.m. The ER was like walking into Dante’s Hell. And this was the observation unit, not critical care. Three or four patients were on stretchers in the hallway. My relative, luckily, was in a cubicle, where a sour smell emanated from either her or her roommate.