Month: October, 2014

Thoughts I had on October 22 (and yes, I still call her “Momie” and no, I don’t know why she spelled it that way)

Dear Momie,

I really missed you today. When you were alive I used to call to say “thanks” in the years when making phone calls became more difficult for you. As I got older I began to see how much I had to thank you for. You taught me how to be a woman, didn’t you? You taught me about integrity, dignity, and honesty. You showed me the value of hard work. You were my role model for compassion and understanding. I get my love of politics from you. You were a great mother. I really missed you today.





I put that self away. At the time it seemed like no problem. I simply stowed away the person who wanted to be a writer and became Mother. She peeked out every once in a while. For instance, when Miriam was five years old, I took a writing workshop. That was that. It wasn’t until the kids were grown that I began to own thoughts of myself as a writer.

Today, it is my hope that perhaps one day my voice will have meaning.

The Label on this Package

I am not against labels. Raven Symone is. Next thing you know she’ll be changing her name to a symbol.

But, let’s think about labels for a minute.  Some people see labels as limiting. I find them freeing, another way to understand myself. When I learned about introverts/extroverts, I didn’t feel put in a box; I felt understood. I am a woman. I am white. Horrors–I am middle aged. These labels don’t define me, but they do explain me. To you and to myself.

It’s how you decide to use the label, like the care label on a dress.

The Jewelry Box

The place I keep my jewelry is not fancy or pretty; it’s practical. It has nooks and crannies and holds a lot. It keeps everything separate so earrings don’t get lost and necklaces don’t get tangled.

I was trying to choose a pair of earrings recently, when it struck me that my life is contained in this strange box.

Mom gave me these earrings for my 30th birthday. David chose that necklace for Christmas one year. Bryna gave me earrings long ago and they are the ones I wear more than any others. So much more in there…love, affection, memories.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

What is the measure of a man’s life? The question popped into my head when Andrew was telling me about the late life of F. Scott Fitzgerald. He was, at different points in life, a terrible drunk. Yet he was, by all accounts, a good father to his daughter, Scottie. Sometimes he was a good friend, sometimes a good husband; sometimes not. He died broke, unhappy, and generally considered a failure.

He also wrote “The Great Gatsby”—thought to be one of, if not the, greatest novels written in English.

How do we measure Fitzgerald’s life? Does it even matter?