About Ellen Shriner

I write short memoirs and personal essays on topics of interest to working women, middle-aged mothers, Baby Boomers, people who love to read and write, and those who belong to writers' groups and book groups.

A Few of My Favorite Things

Posted on December 18, 2025 by Ellen Shriner

When I feel world-weary, I actively try to turn away from the world’s troubles and focus on the many good things in my life. In addition to my family and friends, here are some things I enjoyed this past year—art, books, nature. Sorry, no raindrops on roses!

When I saw this painting I wanted to be there.

Patio in Sitges by Santiago Rusiñol

I don’t expect Facebook to offer inspiration, but this post by Saktikana Mitra Basu did.

“Aging doesn’t hurt your body first—it hurts your illusions.

I rebuilt my life on new rules — honest, sharp, practical rules for living with dignity.

Rule 2: Your health is your real jobRule 6: Protect your peace like it’s your property”

Starburst symmetry

Tucson Botanical Garden

Beautiful writing about an interesting time and place—Malaysia in the 1920s

Early spring display at the University of Minnesota Arboretum

The artist read my mind.

Concerned but Powerless by Safwat Saleem

Planting patio pots gives me so much joy.

Bucket list

I never thought I’d see Northern Lights in the city, but I did in November with a little help from my camera.

Gathering

Posted on November 26, 2025 by Ellen Shriner

On days when November winds scour the streets and heavy gray clouds lean on the landscape, I feel Nature’s rhythms more deeply. Summer’s flowers have died and the natural world is dormant. I’m reminded that many of my elders are no longer with us. Even in my awareness of death and departures, I’m also comforted. These cycles are natural. This is how it’s meant to go.

Although I’m not a farmer, the idea of gathering the harvest resonates. Instead of crops, I gather my family. At Thanksgiving, we relish the ritual and continuity of turkey. My mother’s stuffing recipe. My husband’s mashed potatoes. My pecan pie. Foods we don’t crave any other time of year. Beyond the food served is a yearning to reaffirm our ties to family and tradition. This is what we do, have done for years (Even though our customary foods have evolved. Smoked turkey is tastier than roasted. None of us miss the yams.) We give thanks for what we have and who we have in our lives.

Nature’s rhythms are also woven into the circle of my extended family. Recently, we celebrated my mother-in-law’s 100^th birthday. Four generations gathered in one place. There, too, we enjoyed the ritual of eating our favorite deep-dish pizza, fresh veggies, rich desserts. We honored her along with our connection as family. We reminded ourselves of who we are and who we come from.

For the first time, all three great granddaughters were able to attend. One of my granddaughters sat in my lap clapping with delight as the group sang “Happy Birthday.” Her newly met cousin danced and serenaded Gigi (her great grandmother) at the party’s end. Later the little girls played with abandon in the center of the living room surrounded by their grandparents and great aunts and uncles—just as my sons did 30 years ago.

Our circle is warm and loving. The cycle continues.

A Cautionary Tale

Posted on September 18, 2025 by Ellen Shriner

Recently, I stopped at Walgreens to test my nearly expired ATM card. Turns out it is expired. Tired and preoccupied with that, I didn’t notice the slight gray-haired guy standing nearby.

As I left the store he walked with me and asked if I’d gotten my money. What?! I looked at him more closely. One rotten tooth, disheveled. Possibly homeless, but certainly down on his luck.

He walked too close and commented on my purse being pretty. I understood he was trying to get money from me either by panhandling or by robbing me, and I knew I had to get away from him. But he seemed unstable, maybe volatile—mentally ill or high—I couldn’t tell which. I was reluctant to set him off.

He stayed close and kept trying to talk to me. As I neared my car, I said in a rude voice, “I’ve got to go. Bye!!” Even though I wanted to get rid of him, I was trying to treat this potentially homeless guy like a person. I thought if I got in the car and drove away I’d be OK.

I opened the car door. He saw cleaning supplies on the front seat and said, “Oh, are you a cleaner?” I said, “Yes” and quickly got in and locked the doors. He was standing very close to the driver’s side mirror. When he heard the locks click, he got mad and started banging on the window and shouting at me. I have no idea what he was saying, but I was scared and wanted to get out of there. He was still standing very close to the car when I put it in reverse, cut the wheel, and started to back up. He shrieked, “You ran over my foot!” and fell to his butt.

He continued screaming, “You ran over my f***ing foot.” I apologized, saying, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I’ll call for help.” I was shocked and scared, but thought if I’d hurt him I had to stay and deal with the situation.

After I called 911, he yelled, “Get me some ice. You ran over my f***ing foot.” I went back into Walgreens. As I paid for the ice I told the clerk a man was injured in the parking lot and the paramedics would be coming.

The guy took the ice and slipped off his shoe. His bare foot had a small abrasion and it might have been a little puffy. Hard to tell. About then three first responders (firefighters) arrived. Two gray-haired guys and one younger one. They questioned the guy and asked me what had happened. One said, “Are you sure you ran over his foot? It might be a scam.” I thought I had hurt his foot, but honestly didn’t know.

One of the firefighters asked the ‘victim’ if he could wiggle his toes. He could. He got up and began walking around and talking to a firefighter, enjoying the attention. Off to the side the other firefighters speculated the guy was high.

Shortly after, the paramedics arrived. They asked the guy the same questions and offered to take him to the hospital for an x-ray, but he didn’t want to go. By then we all recognized the situation was a stupid waste of time.

The paramedics told me the police would be delayed. We stood around deciding what to do. The situation seemed under control. I offered to lock myself in the car while I waited for the cops but the firefighters said, “We’re not leaving you alone with this guy.”

Meanwhile the guy decided he’d walk home on his supposedly injured foot. Clearly it was time for all of us to go. The firefighters said the cops could find me if they wanted to follow up. They never did.

Only later did I think, “Wait. That guy was menacing me. Harassing me, trying to get money from me. Why was I so concerned about him?”

I wish I would have handled the situation differently, but I’m sharing this story so you’ll have some strategies ready in case you ever find yourself in a similar situation.

Pay attention to your surroundings if you use ATMs.
If someone follows you or bothers you, return to the store or business and ask for help.
Alert other people in the area that there’s a problem by yelling, “Get away from me! Leave me alone!”
If you’re in your car, lay on the horn to scare away the stranger and/or alert others to the trouble.

Before this incident, it never dawned on me I might look like a target. I’m not used to thinking of myself that way. And I don’t like it. Because I’m a woman or perhaps because I’m gray-haired, I may appear vulnerable. But I don’t want that loser’s interpretation to define me.

Going forward, I hope to be better prepared. I hope you will be, too.

What I Didn’t See Coming 10 Years Ago

Posted on August 15, 2025 by Ellen Shriner

Marveling at Marie Antionette’s crazy little cottage at Versailles. Dancing to Aretha Franklin with my youngest son at his backyard wedding reception. Collaborating with my husband on creative projects like the bed frame he crafted and the quilt I designed. Sharing a Thanksgiving feast with family at the home of my oldest son and his wife. Spending summer mornings reading and writing on the porch. Enjoying hugs and giggles with my granddaughters. That’s what I hoped retirement would look like when I gave up paid work 10 years ago, and often it has.

When the chance to launch this phase came at 61, I eagerly jumped even though my career as a marketing communications copywriter and occasional college writing instructor had meant a lot to me. I’d come of age when women in those roles weren’t a given, and I’d made sacrifices to find my place in that world.

I expected my identity would evolve and be redefined by retirement—sometimes by me, more often by strangers who are dismissive of retirees. I rejected their stereotypes and for a time, when people casually asked at parties, “What do you do?” I answered, “I’m a writer.” Accurate, but incomplete. Now I don’t bother with that artifice. I know I’m a badass. Whether others see it or not is irrelevant.

Since retiring, my personal life has developed in predictable and happy ways. We welcomed daughters-in-law, and they and our sons bought houses and had children. We’ve loved being part of those changes. What I didn’t see coming was Trump in 2016, COVID and George Floyd’s killing in 2020, and Trump again.

Today the world beyond my personal circle feels dramatically different than it did in 2015. There were problems aplenty then, but the government was still functional. This year DOGE slashed congressionally-approved funding for federal services including national parks, FEMA, NIH, USAID, and more. The executive branch disregards constitutional rights and federal laws without consequence. I could continue with my list of troubling changes, but I won’t depress you with it.

In the past decade I’ve become more politically aware. More outraged. More impassioned. I began taking part in protest marches—something I never imagined doing. The whole idea sounded scary. Nonetheless, in 2017 I marched alongside my husband and our youngest son, who joined us despite being on crutches while recovering from a traumatic bike accident. Seeing so many like-minded people in the streets was heartening. Since then I’ve continued participating in marches, selectively.

I recognize the limits of protests, but it’s important to me to show up. I also began writing actual letters and emails to political leaders (vs. the forms political organizations provide). I doubt either effort does much good, but I hope the sheer size of the protests will get through to politicians. I have to do something. This isn’t the world I want. This isn’t what the United States is meant to be.

I anticipate during the next 10 years of retirement, my personal life will evolve even further in expected ways.

But I fervently hope the political pendulum swings back from this destructive trajectory and re-centers on sanity, decency, and a functioning democracy.

Freestyle Boulevards

Posted on July 17, 2025 by Ellen Shriner

On summer mornings, I walk early. Sun filters through shade trees and the humid air is soft. A light breeze stirs as I circle the neighborhood enjoying the assortment of landscaping styles. In Minneapolis, the boulevard next to the street is often the focus for self-expression.