• Happy Summer, Everyone!


    After a long hiatus, I've returned to my writing hideaway. I hope that you'll follow along as I learn the ropes of being a widowed octogenarian. Tim passed away in 2019, and I'm carving out a whole new way of life. Join me in my journey and an occasional travel tale!
    All the best to you and yours in the coming year that's full of promise for us all.

Order Home Sweet Anywhere, read by author Lynne Martin at audible.com!

Listen to an excerpt below:

Hold My Hand

I was 14 when I had my first date with a boy named Billy Erwin. He was adorable and is still my FB friend. After several marriages and being widowed twice, I recently began dating again at 80. The experiences were different in the extreme! Read on for details.


I’ve Lost My Voice

No, I’m not ill, not even sniffly, but my writer’s voice has been stifled by inactivity for too long. Like any other part of us, that elusive element writers call their voice can go dormant with lack of use. Here’s my declaration of intent to jog that part of me back into action!


Mutton Dressed as Lamb

I allowed my two beautiful daughters to survive their teenage years, and now they are charged with putting up with my dotage – a fair exchange. I don’t want to look like an old ewe in a lamb’s clothing!


Worry-Free Travel

International travel is great for seniors, and so is Medicare. Unfortunately, the two don’t mix.
Susan’s guidance helped us travel worry-free for almost five years.



Sixty years ago, we were tall, blond knock-outs, and we had a glorious time celebrating life together. When the two of us – Fran at six feet and me at five foot nine – entered a party, everyone knew we had arrived. Many times we were taken for sisters.


Is That All There Is?

The question for this newly widowed, newly octogenarian, newly single woman is what’s next? Or as Miss Peggy Lee so artfully asks, “Is that all there is?” 


Live and Cook Like a Local in France!

Rumors of my being captured by pirates, spirited away to the stratosphere by aliens, or worse, are greatly exaggerated. It’s true that I’ve been buried, not by six feet of soil, but by bushels of fabulous French food!