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Both books have been published by Jack to benefit a local charity.
Marge's first book, "May All Your Turns Be Right Ones," benefited The Deep Well Project. The title was based on her first column, written at the request of Packet executive editor Fitz McAden following her letter to the editor explaining that she beats island traffic by planning each trip to never make a left turn.
The new book will benefit Memory Matters (formerly Alzheimer's Respite & Resource). It is labeled "Book 2" with the slightly different title, "May All Your Turns Always Be Right Ones."
Jack published the book to honor his wife's significant but unspecified birthday in January.
The books are being distributed through the Rotary Club of Hilton Head, with 100 percent of the money raised going to Memory Matters' new day care facility at the corner of
William Hilton Parkway and Squire Pope Road.
Rotarian Mary Noonan, who is heading the project for the club, said, "At $20, the book makes a wonderful holiday gift for anyone who faces aging with the same spirit and humor that flow from Marge's pen."
Noonan can be reached at 843-342-2030.
Books are available at the following locations: Burke's Main Street Pharmacy, the Blue Parrot at The Mall at Shelter Cove, Island Party Supplies at Port Royal Plaza and Pretty Papers & Gifts at The Village at Wexford.
A book signing will be held at Island Party Supplies from 1 to 3 p.m. Wednesday.
We reprint below one of the 40 columns in the book. It first was published in the Packet on Sept. 22, 2008, and was her last column.
RETIREMENT DOESN'T DULL COMPETITIVE EDGE
By Marge Holcombe
"I can't wait to get out of this rat race."
How often have you heard people, and possibly a couple of rats, say this?
If there is one thing Americans do better than anyone, it is hurrying. There is the rush to get to work, and when there, a dash to attend the gridlock of meetings; the race to line up the kids' activities, such as Little League, dancing lessons, play dates, sleep-overs and, oh yes, school. The list goes on.
The driving force behind this hustle is competition, and it is in every facet of our lives. For example, in New York, there are fierce parental contests to register pre-kindergarten offspring for the best schools at birth.
In my day, there was no pre-anything. I recall being unceremoniously dropped into kindergarten, where I spent a full year sitting in a sandbox and finger painting. I still find these activities to be very therapeutic.
Evidence of ongoing competition is everywhere. Last week, I drove into a business office parking lot and noticed a prime spot marked, "Reserved for Employee of the Month." If this employer is truly a fair person, I'll expect to see the adjacent areas signed "Reserved for First Runner-Up" and "Reserved for Miss Congeniality."
A recent Packet article had the headline "Many retirees miss working, feel urge to 'unretire,' " and went on to note that many retired people work at least part time.
The baby boomers and the corporate "stars" miss the adrenaline rush of competition and fear they will atrophy if they don't get back to the working world.
Boomers and stars, fear no more, have I got a place for you. Attention and competition are alive and thriving on Hilton Head Island.
Shortly after arriving here, you will encounter your first local resident, who, after determining whether you're from Ohio or New Jersey, will ask you the mandatory three questions.
The first and most important one: "Are you a golfer?" You must bring a set of clubs, even if you don't play; they are a requirement for residency. This way you can reply honestly, "Well, I brought my clubs with me."
The second query: "Do you play bridge?" If you hesitate for just a moment, the interviewer follows up with the encouraging, "Our group plays just for fun." For what? Although there are some pockets of mirthful players on the island, it will be a rare sighting if you chance upon a full foursome giggling or smiling. The best you can hope for is a glimpse of a smirk from the one who knows she holds the winning hand.
The third query: "Are you into tennis?" As a newcomer, I was lucky and ended up playing with a delightful hit-and-giggle tennis gang. One day I was asked to substitute in a high-caliber mixed doubles league. Noticing that I was scared to death to accept, a fellow hooked me in with, "It's only social tennis." I quickly learned there is no such thing. These "social" men always "play" the women, even aiming for their more vulnerable body parts. I'm still sporting a Wilson tennis ball imprint on an upper thigh.
Ah, but the truest and most fierce competition takes place in my age group's social circuit, in the Arena of Ailments. These gladiators fight for the title of who has the rarest illness, who had the most dangerous operation or who takes the most prescription pills. At one such soiree, the winner was a man who boasted, "The doctor said he had never seen anything like it." I smartly decided not to ask what "it" was.
At another cocktail party contest, I made the fatal mistake of answering the usual, "How are you?" with "Fine" and thus was ignored for the rest of the evening and, according to the rules, I was automatically eliminated from the competition.
The only time I won was when I noisily dangled my Medic Alert bracelet and bragged that mine was the only that read, "See attached." I finally got to take home the centerpiece.
Boomers and ex-corporate stars, forget your fear of atrophy and play golf, bridge and tennis; take a lot of pills and get your doctor to give you a note stating, "I've never seen anything like it." You'll have a ball.
Meanwhile, I'm off to the sandbox before my finger paints dry up.
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