Month: June 2019

Unfortunately Michael is here for only about 24 hours but we always try to make the most of the time we have with him and–most importantly–not complaining that it can’t be longer!!! No faster way to alienate your children…

Michael asked to see my drawings. I started drawing and sketching a year ago…with no formal training. I just saw something outside and thought: “I can draw that.” It was some dried thistle stalks left from the year before. As I say to people who have taken my workshops, anybody can put together a meaningful collage. It’s the same with drawing.  In some drawings I’ve seen from Japanese and Chinese cultures, artists make stark drawings with few lines, no clutter.

I told him that I’m going to be offering a class in the non-credit division at Bloomsburg University; it’s called “Writing for Peace and Sanity.” I offered it several years ago and it went fairly well. I received an unpleasant shock when my students didn’t know who Eleanor Roosevelt is, but I made up my mind to get closer to where they are and what they’re thinking about what’s going on now.

The three of us are involved in the arts and we do our best to give each other support. Money is oh so important but in this little family we give equal weight to personal satisfaction and a feeling of accomplishment in something we’ve done. For me, I’ve learned to look longer at things and more closely.  Michael will be missed, as usual, but he’s coming back next month.

 

It’s always a holiday when Michael comes home to visit. He’s just made a major step of separating from a full time job at Temple University to working at several part time jobs plus his drawing career: City Line Drawings.

He’ll be here for a day and a night; however, because of his new schedule he’ll be able to visit more often.

There’s this little restaurant near here called The Brass Pelican. It’s in the middle of a forest and is closing soon, so we’ll go there tomorrow night.

One time I was trying to find a good quotation about sons and mothers. I always go to BrainyQuote to find the best ones. I found one attributed to a Greek philosopher whose name I can’t remember; but the quote was something about sons being the anchors of a mother’s life. I can agree with this just so far because my husband and a few treasured friends also act as anchors for me. However, I was remembering yesterday when Michael was born and the first time I looked at him and he looked at me. There was a once in a lifetime split second when I thought: Oh thank God, you’re actually here! I’ve been waiting for you.  And he was probably thinking: so you’re the one whose voice I kept hearing!

Michael and I had something between us that is impossible to put into words. But I keep trying…he used to say to me: I’m glad you’re not one of those silly mothers. Yes, we adored each other but it wasn’t overly sloppy. I wasn’t what people are now calling a “helicopter mother.” I was a football coach, sort of.  I told him the rules, made sure he had what he needed, never left the field. I was always there to tell him he had done well, but I was always there to give minor lectures if he veered off course. Where did this odd form of “mothering” come from?  Who knows the answers to such questions? All I know is that I love my son and can’t wait to see him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wanted to display this picture because I had just heard from Whispering Angel Magazine, saying that they accepted a story of mine. And it happened while on vacation to Taos, NM, which is the site of my favorite author’s—D.H. Lawrence–memorial chapel.

I’ve been using the word indigenous lately. That’s because, in the end, we couldn’t stand watching all the naturally occurring wild flowers be scraped away from the earth, never to return. “Developers” came with their big, ugly bulldozers and made way for their “McMansions” which brought in the most snobby, stuck-up group of people I’ve ever known. What was a sleepy town/suburb of Philadelphia–Media, PA– turned out to be a special kind of hell on earth. Michael had just been born and I stood at the window, holding him in my arms, watching this spectacle slowly unfold. The interesting part of this is that I never considered myself a nature lover; that’s because I took what grew around me for granted. So here we are. There are so many mountains around us that bulldozers couldn’t possibly ruin what has become precious to me and Peter. As we drive around, alongside open meadows and thick forests I watch what’s growing. Right how I have three small vases on the porch, filled with phlox, honeysuckle, and wild grasses and sometimes I go out on the porch and look at them. As the summer goes on, there will be many other indigenous plants and flowers to fill the vases.

Well, I had to change my first choice, the one called A Writing Life. Sometimes putting together a blog is a long process; in A Writing Life the photo suddenly disappeared. So I went back to the photo I secretly like…my glamor girl picture of me at my computer. I’ve always been a bit timid and never wanted to be a showoff. So OK; I owe it to myself to loosen up a bit.

This is the start of a wonderful week, I hope. The weather is perfect and Michael is coming to visit for a day and then overnight.

This is going to be the beginning of making real an idea I’ve had for a long time. One of my heroes, now dead, is Studs Terkel and he had a radio show out of Chicago for over forty years. He was the master interviewer and could make anybody talk about anything, especially themselves. I know a lot of interesting women who mostly live around Bloomsburg; also a cousin in Boston, two friends in Philadelphia, and several in Pittsburgh. My idea is to interview them and compile the interviews in a series. But I’m sitting here thinking: why not include men? This is something I must ponder.

The title of this blog is a little strange sounding. It’s a line from a song written and recorded by Gordon Lightfoot, the folk singer from Canada. I know I’ve felt like a ghost at times, somebody not quite real. The wishing well part makes the vision more poetic.