If there is life in the body, a spark of memory or imagination in the brain, and an urge in the soul, you will never be too old to write. In fact, like fine wine and cheese, many writers improve with age.
The experiences of a lifetime are like an immense river of words and thoughts that are available for dipping into and sharing with others, who might thirst for knowledge or pure reading pleasure. These events are a part of me. I can share them because I lived them. Hopefully others can learn from them.
As one who has lived many years, I can share information about huge dust storms that swept over the Midwest in the era of the 1930's and early 1940's. They appeared out of a blue sky like an ominous dark mountain stretching from horizon to horizon. Mother would moisten towels and instruct us to hold them over our mouths and noses. She would hang wet sheets over the windows and doors of the house in hopes of keeping some of the powdery fine dust from penetrating every nook and cranny. In spite of all, a hazy red fog would fill the rooms while we waited for the storm to pass. The clean-up afterward was a massive undertaking. Those experiences are fodder for an article that I could write even at my age and because of my age, I now have time to do it.
I could write a book about our experiences in California during WW II and the fright I felt when the air-raid whistles sounded at night and the massive searchlights pierced the jet black sky in an effort to identify any unknown planes entering the area. Luckily, they were never enemies, but our own planes with their radios malfunctioning due to damage by enemy fire. I could also write about the scrap drives, the ration books; and the families and neighbors who all pulled together for the war effort.
I have experienced an F5 tornado that ripped through our city in 1955, destroying most of the homes and business on the east side, killing and injuring dozens. One of my best friend's mother was among those lost that night. I vividly remember walking through the ruins the next day thinking that it must have looked much the same in London during the Blitzkrieg launched by Hitler. Surviving that experience and watching our city in the recovery efforts could fill a book.
I recall the day that President Kennedy was shot and I watched the television in horror and disbelief as those bleak days were broadcast to the world. Lee Harvey Oswald was killed before my eyes, and a very young John Kennedy Jr. broke the hearts of the nation as he saluted the passing casket bearing his father.
I remember Sputnik when the Russians moved ahead in the race for space. I can write about the excitement and triumph Americans felt when Neil Armstrong stepped on the surface of the moon with a small step for man, a giant leap for mankind.
I watched as Martin Luther King Jr. spoke about having a dream where little children of all races could play together and I wept with the nation when his dream was cut short by an assassin's bullet.
I remember the wars in Korea and Viet Nam and I lost hope that there would ever be total peace on earth as man's greed for power and riches overshadowed all else. These thoughts are suitable for an article I could write.
I remember the horror of polio, and I joined other children as we went from door to door in the March of Dimes to find an answer, which happened in my lifetime when Dr. Jonas Salk found a vaccine for its prevention. I have seen great strides in medicine along with preventions and cures for common diseases. Sadly, I have seen new diseases appear on the scene and witnessed their deadly effect on mankind.
I have watched the world move from the old tube-type radios of my childhood to the birth of communications as we know them today. Satellites that bring us instant news from all corners of the globe; computers that open a universe of information and knowledge at the touch of our keyboards; international television acquainting us with people and cultures we might never have known. Those changes could fill a book and I am not too old to write it.
Everyday life in a small Oklahoma town could serve as the background for a novel or a children's book. I remember medicine shows, watermelon festivals, county fairs, spelling bees, sewing circles, homemade jams and jellies on grandma's freshly baked biscuits, hay rack rides and wiener roasts. I could write dozens of articles on these fast fading arts and events.
I have seen man's inhumanity to man in action; but I have also witnessed man's brave sacrifices to save his fellowman. I have witnessed unrest and riots, growing crime rates, destruction and devastation by man and nature. Then I, like everyone else, watched as those fireman, police, and medical personnel perished in the World Trade towers in their effort to save other victims.
I have lived a long time and I have deep-rooted memories, and I also still possess a vivid imagination. My fingers are no longer nimble due to arthritis, but I can still put a pen to paper and master a keyboard. When, and if, I am unable to perform those once simple tasks, I will use a recorder to convey my thoughts to others.
As I approach my 74th birthday, I am still eager to write. I have hundreds of experiences, thoughts, ideas, opinions, and testimonies that I wish to share with the world.
Will I ever get too old to write? Never! I may get too infirm, too feeble-minded, too disabled; but with a little help from family, friends, and God, I will never get too old. Someday soon I will run out of time, but until then I will never run out of my passion for writing.