An Ordinary Life

An Ordinary Life
I’m not now, nor have I been in the past, nor will I be in the future a famous person. If you google me, you’ll find many Judiths and Lyons, none of which are me. My maiden name, Eisenstaedt brings up the famous photograher, Alfred. No relation. My parents weren’t famous or extremely rich or extremely poor or dope addicts or alcoholics or abusive. They weren’t Okies, movie stars or famous authors or artists. There were no diplomats who worked for world peace. There were no scientists who found cures for terrible illnesses. I don’t think we have a notorious murderer, thief or celebrity in the bunch. I haven’t done anything extraordinary. I have an ordinary life. So why, one may ask, do I presume to write my memoirs?

I don’t even like memoirs of others. If they’re at all readable, they’re about lives that are beyond my boring realm. Movie stars’ confessions of sexual mis-behavior, addictions, horrible child-hoods and worse adult-hoods make wonderfully interesting reading. Jailhouse confessioners and people who have broken every commandment have really good stories. I stole a coral colored Tangee lipstick from the five and dime eons ago, on a dare from one of my teenage friends. It was so ugly I threw it away. I snuck cigarets as a child and became horribly addicted to them for many years. Even now, I must have that chocolate fix every day. But as far as I know, cigarets and chocolate are not yet illegal.

I tried marijuana once. We had no paper so we emptied a Marlboro and stuffed in the grass and puffed right through the filter. It made me giggily and stupid and very hungry and I wanted even more chocolate. I haven’t murdered, maimed or defrauded anyone or committed adultery....yet. Not that I’m so angelic. I’m basically honest but also a coward afraid of getting caught. I haven’t done anything special or awful enough to write a memoir worth publishing. Who would be interested?

All I have are my mundane stories and experiences that have brought me to where I am now. I wrote all my memories and life lessons for my progeny. My children can be googled. They’ve done famous things already. They tell me they admire me. They tell me they love me. They tell me I’ve inspired them. That’s enough for me. Maybe one of them will appreciate the history even though it’s ordinary.