In OT school, I learned that as we move into our 60s, we begin to look back at our past. We see if we have lived the life we dreamed of. We mull over our successes and failures. As we do this, we come to terms with our life.
So here I am at the age of 61, seeing memories of past days spontaneously flash in my mind. When I see the child down the street in a red wagon, I suddenly see myself in one at the age of 5. This comes unbidden. I should write them all down. Thus far I haven't.
But that is precisely what 83 year-old Iris in The Blind Assassin does. She is writing her autobiography before she dies. The details are lush. Her past is so clear, one could use her prose to paint pictures of days at picnics or film a movie of children exploring a house. I will save her story for another post ... but quite honestly, it gives me hope for writing or art in my retirement years.
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