Helen Glissmeyer Libros

When the retirement gun sounded, my husband barked his last order and left his executive desk silhouetted in the sunset. He stalked into my home territory, there to stay, to rule my domain. In a flash, I turned into a fierce Tigress, defending my lair. A collection of light-hearted vignettes for retirees by an award-winning writer. Helen Glissmeyer is a freelance journalist who has published a few hundred articles in local and national newspapers and magazines. After receiving numerous awards for her writing over the years, she was named Writer of the Year by the League of Utah Writers in 2002. She resides in Holladay, Utah, with her retired husband, and has two sons, two daughters and 13 grandchildren. I've read that a tigress will protect her own territory with all her striped might. She will not let another animal trespass her lair without a fight. And if provoked, the cat will bellow a roar that can be heard for two miles. Such a tigress once lived at my house. When her territory was invaded, she fought for her rights, and she roared a terrible roar. I was that tigress. I turned into a defensive, unpleasant beast when my husband retired. Before that event, I had been the epitome of a happy homemaker. I had overcome the depression of seeing all my little birdies fly from the nest, and at last enjoyed the freedom of quiet solitude. I reveled in sleep-late mornings, low-cal lunches and hobby-laden afternoons. I was an idol of independence and a queen of my palace. In the meantime, high on the 18th floor of a downtown tower, my husband ruled his own white-collar kingdom. He cracked the whip over a herd of accountants and secretaries. Each morning my husband awoke ready to take command of his office empire. At the same time, he let me blindly believe I was in control of my home space.