I hadn’t realized how closely Patti and John had listened when I’d described my experience at the Chilmark Writer’s Workshop on Martha’s Vineyard, a wonderful, supportive writing workshop given by Nancy Slonim Aronie, an island legend (and beyond; she teaches at Kripalu, is featured on “All Things Considered”, and just published her third book). I took it three times between 2003-2011. It wasn’t about how to craft an excellent story, but rather about finding one’s voice and being in a magical writing circle where everyone divulged revealing tales about themselves. Nancy talked about various aspects of writing on each of the four days of the course, then gave us prompts, including one to write overnight and spend at least 15 minutes on it. I confess, a few of those stories made their way onto this site. We grew as we shared these intimate stories. Nancy insisted that we only give positive comments. John picked up on that too. So Retrospect became a place for supportive comments, not criticizing. Long-distance friendships were made. Serious discussions took place. Personal tales revealed.

John, Patti and a close friend of theirs worked long and hard to craft a user-friendly platform where Boomers could share their tales on a weekly basis, based on site-based prompts, or choose a story-line of one’s own. Positive comments could be offered, but only by vetted users of the site. The administrators hoped to build a wide community and a huge inventory of stories around shared prompts relating to topics from our collective experiences. It worked well for a long time, but it also took a lot of time and effort on everyone’s part to come up with interesting, probing prompts and keep improving the application while attracting new writers and readers.

I was flattered when my friends approached me in the late fall of 2015 with the request to be a beta tester of the site (we had discussed the idea over dinner once when we saw them, earlier in the year. They know me well and knew that I am not shy about telling my stories and I had some good ones to share). John helped me set up my online profile and knew that if I could use their site, then it was tech-friendly enough for anyone. They gave prompts four weeks in advance. I like to write ahead, so I can let my thoughts marinate, then come back and edit! My assignment was to write three stories and comment on three others, just to see how it would go. The first prompt was “What We Ate” (again, based on the first story always written up in Chilmark, which was “Dinner at our house was…”). The story went live on December 14, 2015 – 9 years ago.

Brisket

I was hooked. I wrote and wrote – every week for eight years. I wrote weeks ahead so that I had a story to put up, even when we were traveling. But keeping this site going took a tremendous amount of effort, not just coming up with new, interesting prompts, but gaining new authors and readers, keeping out the spam, keeping the software running. So, after three years, my friends decided it was time to pack it in. I wrote a fond tribute to them for the prompt “Turning Points”, which went live on December 31, 2018.

A thank you note for being a beta tester from Patti

Moving On

Yet, several writers didn’t want this great site to end, so took it over from Patti, John and Susan, with new Admins and a new infusion of capital. After a few month’s hiatus, it started up again on March 1, 2019 with the prompt “New Beginnings”.

“Retro” Revival

I used to post my stories to Facebook, but discovered that wasn’t a good idea, for privacy reasons, so asked my readers to indicate who would like to receive a link each week as the story went live. The new Admins moved the publishing day from Monday to Saturday and by this time I had a nice list of people to whom I sent the story link. I decided that I had to write a letter of introduction before sending out the link, so somehow, I wrote two stories each week (in a manner of speaking). My list grew and changed, as more people learned about these stories. And after several years, these new administrators had also run their course. But again, current writers stepped in to take the site over, planning the new prompts each week. Yet with each iteration, features were lost on the site (we weren’t keeping up with changes in underlying software).

By the end of 2023, I had written 360 stories. It took a lot of time to think, write and search through old photo albums, looking for just the right photos to use to illustrate my stories. And I felt like I’d said what I had to say. When I told my son that I was no longer going to write on a weekly basis, he said 360 was a good number – I had come full circle. So at the beginning of this year, I only wrote when a prompt really spoke to me, or I found an old prompt and wrote a story when I was really upset about something.

It seems I wasn’t alone in taking a step back. Now, very few people wrote on a weekly basis, so it was determined that this would be the final prompt. We had a great run. The site will stay live, so people can continue to read the stories, or write if the spirit moves them (and I will have an opportunity to print my stories – I haven’t saved or printed anything since 2018). We made great friends along the way (we even had a Retro get-together or two – here is a local one, though NYC friends drove up for this brunch). There are four writers at this table.

May, 2023
Brunch with Retro writers (and a few spouses)

Now I bid you adieu. Be kind and take care of one another. Keep in touch, I still want to hear from you. And keep telling your story.

"Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it" -- Goethe
Read More

Baby Grand

My father was a self-taught classical pianist and throughout my childhood the sounds of his music rang through our house.  And in my mind’s eye I can still see him sitting at the baby grand playing a piece by Chopin or Beethoven.  (See Moonlight Sonata)

That baby grand followed my folks from the house I grew up in,  to one they moved to in their later years,  and of course that house too was filled with my dad’s beautiful music – until years later when he died and the piano stood there silently,  as if missing him as much as we did.

And less than three years later my mother was gone,  and the sad task of selling their house fell to us.  Family and friends took some of my folks’  furnishings,  books,  and keepsakes,  but no one had room for a baby grand.

At a neighbor’s suggestion I advertised in the local paper that the baby grand would be given gratis to someone who would arrange for piano movers to take it.   A lovely young family replied and said they’d love to have it for their musical son.

The movers arrived,  removed its legs,  wrapped the piano securely,  and set it out on my parents’ front porch ready to load on their van.  Then watching that van pull away from my parents’ house was heart-wrenching,  but I knew my dad’s baby grand was going to a good home.

And I knew what was a bittersweet ending for our family would be a sweet beginning for another.

– Dana Susan Lehrman 

The Duck Pond

My parents,  lifelong New Yorkers, would escape the city’s summer heat for vacations in the mountains –  in New York’s Catskills or New England’s Berkshires.

Yet as they got older it was the winter cold that drove them out of the city.   And like many east coasters,  Florida became a desired winter destination – although my mother protested that it was not her first choice but it seemed all her friends were headed down there!

And so for several winters my folks did spend some time in Florida,  although not the whole season as my father wasn’t retired.  In fact my father’s refusal to retire was a sore point between them! (See Around the World in 80 Days)

Then one sad September day my dad died  — with his boots on as he’d always wanted.  My folks had rented a Florida condo for a few weeks again for that winter and we hoped my mother would go.   And for a few more years she did and enjoyed her condo which overlooked a small duck pond.  She loved to watch what she called “my ducks”,  and of course she enjoyed the company of her brother and sister-in-law and friends who lived nearby.

We visited her in Florida each year,  and then one winter I flew down myself,  my husband to join me later.   But rather than pick me up at the airport as she usually did,  my mother told me to take a cab and when I got to her house I found her in bed and terribly weak.   Alarmed,  I took her to the doctor the next day and he immediately hospitalized her.

My mom died a week or so later.  But her last words had comforted me,  she’d told me not to mourn as she’d lived a long and happy life.  (See The Dinner Party)

When we got back to my mother’s house I went to the pond to bring the sad news to her ducks.

– Dana Susan Lehrman