Volume 2, Issue 9 | September, 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.

Visit Stories from the Soul

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.

Metamorphosis

The rear lights of the car disappeared. A second later even the faint growl of the motor was engulfed by the silence of the night. I was brutally dumped into a cold, dark, isolating solitude. The bright stars were staring down coldly, indifferent of the plight of men. For them life was a spectacle viewed from such distance that any feelings or emotions were lost between actors and viewers. Their cold light made me shiver.

Is This Your Last?

No one knows

That’s how it goes

Today could be your last

And life goes by oh so fast

No one knows how long one gets

Just live your life without regrets

No coulda, woulda, shoulda in your view

Because they limit what you can do

Gilbert R. Gator, an Alligator Rescue

A little boy was fishing in a creek in Prince George’s County, Maryland, with his grandfather when something grabbed his bait and ran with it. After a little game of tug of war, they were amazed to discover that it was an alligator that had grabbed the bait. They were shocked and didn’t know what to do. The pair was making a commotion, which attracted people. Someone called Animal Control and eventually, they

called us.

The Blind Leading the Blind

The phone rang at 8:30 that morning. “Lin, I’m so sorry. My battery’s dead. You’ll have to drive,” my sister said, her voice quivering with distress.

“No worries. I’ll pick you up,” I said, even though I really didn’t want to drive since my cataract surgery was still a week away, and my vision for driving was iffy. Marcia was supposed to pick me up at 9:00. “I can’t make it by nine though,” I said. “I won’t really be ready ‘til then, so maybe 9:20ish?”

They Were Called “Jewish Pigs”

It is a cold winter evening in 1944. A group of farmers sits around the kitchen table in Chyliczki, a small village near Warsaw. Even though it is only four o’clock, it is already dark outside. This is the only heated space in the two-room wooden farmhouse.

During the day, this area serves as kitchen, dining room, family room and washroom. At night, it doubles as a bedroom for the men – the farmer and the newly arrived refugee from burning Warsaw. The women, his wife, two teenage daughters, the female refugee and her little daughter share the other room.