Dear Reader,

"Tell me a little bit about yourself," I asked Herman Martin, this year's First Place Winner in our Write a DearReader writing contest.

With no hesitation Herman said, "I am 67. I am an Iowan. I'm a caregiver for my wife. I have six kids, loads of grandkids and great grandkids—oh, and I like to write."

Talking to Herman on the phone, his enthusiasm and zest for life were bright and bold. I was smiling through our entire conversation. Herman says he tries to write a little bit each day, "To keep my hand in it." He started out only writing poetry, in fact he self-published a collection of his poems, "A Spark of Humanity" via Amazon, and he self-published a mystery title, too. Herman's also written numerous stories for magazines. His goal is to publish, "...a full fledged novel, 400 to 500 pages."

Not only is Herman writing every day, he bakes, too. "I live in a senior complex, so there's always people who are happy I'm baking. And once a month there's a birthday party and I usually bake the cake."

I really enjoyed reading your entry Herman. Keep writing and baking and spreading the joy!

—Suzanne Beecher

Congratulations to First Place Winner, Herman Martin...

I was getting ready to do the laundry and I had an enormous thought. I am disappearing. Not disappearing in the usual sense. Not the science fiction movie you can't see me anymore sense. Just disappearing.

I looked at my clothes. My socks are wearing out. It seems that a day doesn't go by that I have to throw one away. One gets holes, to the trash it goes. Same for my underwear. I looked in my closet and I don't have as many shirts as I used to have. I used to have a job where I always wore a dress shirt and tie. Now I am not working and I no longer need them.

I once had 50-60 ties. Some were even designed for the holidays. Some had Santa and his reindeer, some had green four leaf clovers for Saint Patrick's day. I no longer work that job, so I don't need the ties anymore. Some went to a charity shop, some in the garbage.

My closet now has more t-shirts than dress shirts. The ones I could no longer wear went away. Same for my trousers. I could not wear them so out they went. I once had 2-3 pairs of sneakers and a pair of boots and five pairs of dress shoes. Now one pair of dress shoes and two pairs of sneakers. I look at them and see that they are not going to last much longer.

I only keep the one pair of dress shoes, so I can look decent at a family funeral. I have been to a lot of those. I have lost both sets of grandparents, then my father, then my mother. I lost my oldest sister this year. My mother used to call me at least once a week with the name of someone in our family who had died. Now she is gone so no more phone calls, but there are still funerals.

I have worked all my life. I have had many types of jobs in every field. Whenever I lost one I was always able to get another one in a short time. This time I have not been so lucky. I have been unemployed for a year and I am still looking. I have sent out resumes, filled out applications, and even been to a couple of interviews. I thought that the interviews went well, but no offers and no phone calls to return.

I am slowly fading away. Even when I go out to the grocery store or just to take a walk, no one notices me. There are no service people coming up to me and asking if they could help. There are no offers of parking my car or giving me a cart to use in the store. If I want something, I must find it myself. If I want something done, then I alone must do it. Even when I walk through the store aisles, I feel as if I could walk through the crowd. I mean, literally, walk through.

I have become a non-entity, a non-person. I do not exist in anyone's life.

I look at my laundry and think about the day when I throw that last sock away. Will I completely disappear? Will I be like a ghostly spirit, walking but not being seen? Will cars pass through me when I cross the street? Will people look through me and not at me? Will I continue to be ignored when I ask a question?

I have two more pairs of socks left. I see one of them is starting to wear through.

It won't be long now.

—Herman Martin
First Place, 2017 Write a DearReader Contest

Dear Reader,

Second Place winner of this year's Write a DearReader Contest, Mary Lauck, submitted the first poem that's ever been chosen in the top three writing entries, since I started the contest thirteen years ago. Mary is a retired high school English and journalism teacher, who says, "My calling in life keeps me in touch with over 300 students. I've even been invited to dinner at some of their homes."

Mary was inspired to write the poem because, "All four of my grandparents were Germans from Russia who came to the United States in the early part of the 20th Century. This poem is a tribute to the courage and sacrifice of my maternal (Anna) and paternal (Susanna) grandmothers."

Thank you so much for entering this year's contest Mary. Your grandparents would be so honored and proud. — Suzanne Beecher

Congratulations to Second Place Winner, Mary Lauck...

Shoes to Serve a Voyage (for my grandmothers)

No fashion shoes for them—

No fashion shoes for them— they'd come too far to put on airs. Oxfords, laced up tight, on sensible clunks of heels of dependable rhythms sang them across an ocean to prayer meetings singing at grave sides, fields and kitchens, sleep.

Anna, you never wanted to voyage across rolling waves with six children, the oldest just nine. You thought you'd die, leaving your shoes behind as they slid your body into the Atlantic, but nausea didn't take you. Your sole set foot on dusts of Rifle, Gering, Fort Morgan.

Susanna, who knew what you wanted? Your shoes had long accepted loving where God led. At 6 you worked in other homes. Then came the blows of a mother-in-law, a husband, the feet-wearying work of raising 13. But you put that leather down, always with love, on city streets in Denver, in sugar beet fields in Brush.

What's left to me of solid black soles, blessed souls, who ventured so far?

Thick leather, cotton laces, tied away heartaches so I may run barefoot dance in rain showers, crunch through snow— far from the Volga, safe from rough Atlantic waves. Untied from Colorado beet fields and forever tears weeping good-bye to families on the shore.

—Mary Lauck

Second Place, 2017 Write a DearReader Contest

Dear Reader,

The day after her husband retired, Ina Massler Levin (this year's Third Place winner in the Write a DearReader Contest), signed the two of them up for ballroom dance lessons. Now every week, sixty-six-year old, Ina puts on her dance shoes: She has six pair, among them 3-inch purple stiletto heels, and 2-1/2 inch leopard print heels that she wears, "...when I'm really feeling sassy."

Write what you know, is the familiar adage, and Ina Massler Levin did just that.

Thank you so much for entering the contest, Ina. Your story inspired me to put on my dancing shoes! — Suzanne Beecher

Congratulations to Third Place Winner, Ina Massler Levin...

It's Really Simple—High Heels!

I think I have discovered the secret to longevity for women. It's really simple—high heels! You're probably already laughing. With all the studies demeaning this type of shoe, this couldn't possibly be the answer. It seems too easy. No doubt even though I have empirical evidence, the scientific community would refute this and be laughing with you. Based strictly on my observation, I think I may be right.

Every Wednesday at our local senior center men and women spend the afternoon in one another's arms, dancing to the music performed by a 15-piece live big band. Moving here is not shuffling from one side to the other or tapping to keep time to the music as the word 'senior' might suggest. It is genuine, all or nothing dancing. Couples dance to passionate rumbas, boisterous swings, romantic waltzes, and sizzling cha-chas. A rousing polka is often added to the mix.

Looking up at the people on the dance floor you see old faces, with lots of wrinkles, often surrounded by gray hair. Folks look happy but old, which they are. Next you look down. If you were expecting orthopedic shoes or clodhoppers on the feminine feet expect to be disappointed. There are NO orthopedic shoes or clodhoppers.

There they are in all their glory. Gracing the feet of the fairer sex from ages fifty to ninety plus are high heels. A closer look turns up a variety of heels: stilettos, chunky heels, platforms, slingbacks, and French heels. Styles include strappy sandals, peep toes, pumps, and mules. What they all have in common is they are all high heels worn by women of a certain age. Vibrant and active these ladies are twirling and swirling and two-stepping, moving not only in high heels, but also backwards.

Spending a few hours, not only observing this group, but happily participating while wearing high heeIs I have a theory. High heels are sexy. They make a woman feel much more attractive. They add a certain elegance to an outfit. No matter what one's age, these shoes make a woman feel special. While dancing women move more gracefully making for a better partner. Walking in them gives the wearer a higher perch to see the world. They are great fun to wear. I know that's how they make me feel.

Feeling this way makes me want to wear these shoes more often, to dance in them, to move in them. High heels make my life more fun. And if I feel that way, my best guess is so do many other women.

Studies be d amned. If the ladies I see at the Wednesday dance are any indication, high heels will grace my feet for many more years.

—Ina Massler Levin
Third Place, 2017 Write a DearReader Contest