I’m writing my memoir and begin with:

          When I arrived at my bus stop a woman about my age, well dressed wearing a red blazer, smiled at me as I walked by.  The smile, said – are you friendly and approachable?  I smiled back.  She walked over to where I sat on the bench and she sat down beside me and said, “What a beautiful ring you’re wearing”.  I cheerfully engaged the conversation by saying, “There is a story that goes with the ring, the green stones on either side represent my mother and my father; both born in May and the red stone in the middle is me, I was born in July.”  “Every morning when I put my ring on, I say, “Good Morning Mummy and Daddy”.  She then asked me the year in which they were born and told me when her parents were born.   She then told me her birth date and asked me mine.  She kindly said I didn’t look my age and said something about how we’re only as old as we feel.  I laughed and told her I’d celebrated my sixty-fifth birthday when back packing for three months in Nova Scotia and how I’d packed a heavy pack sack on my back and lugged a large suitcase.  I added with a chuckled, “Yes, we’re only as old as we feel, but I would not have the energy to do it now”.  She then told me she’d been married for forty years. I congratulated her and said my marriage ended after twenty-two years.    We then saw the bus coming.  She handed me her business card and said, “The more challenge we’re presented with, the more colorful the tapestry.”  When I got off the bus, I leaned over to her and said, “Goodbye Lorraine”.  Her business card said she was a counsellor.  Did I look as though I was in need of counselling?  Whatever the reason I was given the impetus to write my life story.