​A friend shared a quasi-obituary with me today. James Hagerty is an obituary writer for the Wall Street Journal, and he wrote his own obit. (He's still quite alive) James is encouraging us all to write our own obit and emphasize what we want people to know about us. “What were we trying to do? Why? And how did it work out?” What influenced our journey? 
 
It seems unnatural to write your own obit when you're still alive, but I am curious how it will read.  Legacy has been interesting to me lately, so here goes. James talks about the names we are given vs. what people call us. 
 
I was born Elizabeth Anne Kilcoyne. My most popular name was Beth. Mom called me Bethy, and those who wanted to take their life in their hands called me Liz! At age twenty-eight, I moved to Ipswich, MA and introduced myself as Elizabeth. Everyone followed suit, including mom.  Now when a new person asks, “What do your friends call you?” I say, “Elizabeth." A final thought on names. I have a European passport by virtue of my grandparents being born in Ireland. So much documentation to gather for this passport. When I requested my birth certificate, looking at a microfiche copy, I said, "This is wrong. I don't have an "e" at the end of Anne." The clerk replied with some attitude, "It's an exact copy of your birth certificate." I called my mom and asked if there was an 'e' at the end of Anne. Without hesitation, she said, "Yes."
 
I lived a long time actually mourning no 'e.' I got my first passport when I was twenty-one, and it didn't have an 'e,' so that was my proof. At that time, birth certificates were typed on a typewriter, and the person made a mistake. Go figure.
 
At this rate, my obituary will be longer than my life, and I haven’t even mentioned catholic school yet, or when I gave up my virginity. 
 
What would your story be if you could write it yourself? 
 
Please click "comments" below and leave your thoughts today.  
 
Happy Mother's Day!

​I have been enjoying talking to my siblings about my next family story:  Do You Remember S&H Green Stamps or My S&H Tea Service. 
 
The memory can be uncertain and problematic. We’re talking about events that happened in 1963 and 1964. My two older brothers remember licking S&H Green Stamps and pasting them carefully into books, but that’s it.  My younger sister remembers collecting the stamps and the tea service, but I’m the only one that remembers the Tea Party! I intend to use all their memories as an illustration of the memory conundrum, and still tell the story as I remember it.  My mother will be the last to interview, which was scheduled for today, but she dislocated her shoulder in a fall yesterday, so that will have to wait.  
 
My mom has some difficulty with words now, but she will recall the details of the events which will help my memory. 
 
When I was at a reception recently and asked what I was writing about, I said green stamps. Two people immediately had stories. One shared that her aunt gave her books of green stamps as a wedding present and she got new towels at the redemption store.
 
Another told of a church that had a theme for each month. Last month it was redemption, and when one of the members was asked what redemption meant to her, she said, “When I was a little girl, I went to the S&H Redemption Store with my mother.”
 
My brother said, “I didn’t know you could buy redemption at a store. Are there any of those left?”
 
Share your stories about S&H Green Stamps.

This is my first blog on any subject. As you know from my website, I’m new to writing personal stories. Finance and administrative policy has been my bailiwick. I waded into newspaper writing briefly with stories about supporting peace efforts and women’s equality. However, at this point so many political endeavors are filled with distress, distraction and distrust, I’m not inclined to write about them. I hope that changes in the future. 
 
Right now I’m pursuing personal stories about travel and family. My first journey was precipitated by the end of a 30 year marriage which was an overwhelming experience.  I didn’t know who I was after that. So I spent thirty eight days walking and thinking on the Camino de Santiago, and meeting others who were doing the same. Everybody had their own reason. 
 
I’m finding personal stories inspiring and refreshing to write. Are you writing? 
 
 
*If you can, please respond in 250 words or less.  Otherwise it takes too much time away from my writing. I hope to blog weekly.
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