Featured Post

Time to slay your own dragons, ladies.

Image
My first kiss was an unwanted one. I was seven years old when a boy named David pushed me up against the wall outside our apartment building. Forcing his mouth on mine, his breath, hot and fusty, something sickly sweet like apple juice and milk gone sour in his gut that made me squirm. I don’t remember seeing him as I ran with my brother and the other neighborhood kids through the empty lot next door, scrabbling over the toppled trees, slick with moss, tripping over the bramble of twigs and woodsy decay, but he must have been there, his knees as scratched and muddied as ours, before he caught up with me in the driveway that ran alongside and behind the apartment building. 
As usual I’d tagged along in my older brother’s shadow. Tag, hide and seek, cowboys and indians, the games kids used to play. Outdoors, up and down the streets, no watchful mommies on red alert. Ignoring our mothers’ warnings—don’t go into the woods, don’t go into the woods—we went into the woods, woods that in fact …

Songs of My Mother

Que sera, sera was one of my mother's favorite songs; she sang it all the time while I was growing up. That's how I want to remember her, alive and singing the songs she loved.




She passed away on a Sunday, April 13th, 2012. Diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease over a dozen years earlier, she really left us long before that. It's painful to think back on how confused she was, not just at the very end, but in those last years when her memories, her life and its details faded as if they'd been written in disappearing ink. 

While the image of her looking lost and bewildered as her identity slipped away still haunts me, I'm pleased my eternally singing mother is so present in my writing. When I wrote the piece, Of Brasso and Brownies, about growing up in Niagara Falls in the sixties I thought it was about me but, reading it again, I can see my mother, alive and vital, loving and proud, played as big a role in my story as I did. 


Of Brasso and Brownies is #9 in my On the Street Where I Live stories.


Hello Mum, Are you there? It's me, Sim

But She's Not There


Miss Mouse Goes to Work My mother got me my first job.

Where Nobody Knows Your Name What Still Alice meant to me

A bit of a Ditz My biggest fear? That I'll have Alzheimer's disease too.

A Clippie on a double decker bus

My Mother’s Voice


Comments

Popular Posts

Dreaming of France: I'll meet you in the garden

As Seen in Britain

Dreaming of France: Guarding the Louvre

A tree is a tree is a tree: finding a passion