Raquel Martina Martinez

I can vouch for the writing advice that advocates show not tell, put some skin in the game, and write what you know. I have lived it and it is true.
Back in 2002 I got paid (not much) to write a weekly column for a neighborhood newspaper.Titled Lady Boomer, it ran for three and a half years and launched me from wannabe writer to published author.
Written from my point of view:a fifty-something Boomer - it taught me discipline, responsibility, and humility. I talked about being suddenly single, meeting men, and advancing age – topics that challenge women of every age not just Boomers.
I joined online dating groups, experienced speed dating and other humiliating and awkward social situations – all so that I could write about it firsthand. I discussed handling situations without a partner around to offer a shoulder or a helping hand.
Lady Boomer received 300 - 600 emails a week (back in the days before Facebook). They ranged from adulation (women who agreed; men asking for dates) to hate m…

My oldest grandchild turns ten this year – a full dime, my dad would say (back in the days when a dime meant something).

I remember turning ten.I also remember the day I turned 15, 21, and 30.Those were all memorable birthdays.Funny thing though I don’t remember much of my 30’s or 40’s, mostly because they were not centered on me but on my three children. Raising them and working full time kept me too busy to worry about birthdays racing past (as if you can hold on to them anyway).
I reinvented myself in my 50’s after finding myself with an empty nest.The focus was back on me, but I refused to just be a bystander, watching my babies with babies of their own. I had done my job and done it well.Now it was time for me.
I found new interests and new people to love. I took classes and started scratching things off my Dance Card (my version of the Bucket List), fitting in all the things I want to do before I am too old to get them done.
We spend the front part of our lives in a hurry, then …

There is nothing sexier than a man who can do for himself.After a lifetime married to a man who couldn’t open a can to feed himself (and beer does not count.), couldn’t wash a sock if his life depended on it, and didn’t know which end of the broom was up, it was love at first sight when HoneyBunch invited me to his house for a dinner date.
His ruthless abandon with onion and garlic left me weak and my mouth watered. When he placed this gargantuan ice cream dessert in front of me, my heart melted. He had me by the entrée, but when he insisted – I mean demanded - I sit and relax while he put the dishes in the dishwasher and actually scoured the pots and pans all by himself, I was his.
His house could use a woman’s touch and his wardrobe needed updating - but those things were negotiable and easily remedied when offset with his expertise with chicken. 


I knew I had met my soul mate - a man who could fend for himself and do for me too.  I married him three months later.