My chronological age, not to be announced, places me at the inception of the “Me” generation, which could have catapulted me into a life of ease. A workday assessing the cacao content of bon bons followed by a chauffer-driven excursion to the mall to buy yet another pair of vital black shoes. Unfortunately, I did not read the small print – “Me” came to mean if there is a hole, fill it, even if it is in someone else’s backyard; a job incomplete, a need, problem, or emotion to assuage; it is my job. Being a “Caretaker” is similar to being the “vacuumer,” the vacuum, and the electric charge, all at once. You end up exhausted and pick up “stuff” that was not yours in the first place.