My Mother’s Voice

Alzheimer’s being the conniving thieving bitch that  it is, my mother wasn’t herself in the final years of her life. The  woman I visited in the Alzheimer’s special care unit was a stranger wearing my mother’s skin but not much else, like the invasion of the body snatchers had taken place, month after month beneath the surface, until one day we looked and the woman we knew was gone, replaced by some alien being. An imposter. Intruder alert. Intruder alert. She died back in 2012. Don’t worry; I won’t be getting maudlin on you.  My real mother–not that stranger in a wheel chair, head nodding on her shoulder–is who I want to think about today.  My real mother —Enid Maude Good nee Hayden, a prim, old-fashioned name, perhaps the only thing about her I didn’t love— was British-born and had a lovely London lilt to her voice her whole life even though she left England in the mid-1950’s. I suppose at thirty, her vocal patterns were already frozen in place.  Sounding like a cross between

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She's come Undone


If you stopped by in April you might have read one of my posts for the A to Z Challenge, a little blogarooni post-writing fest I participated in, where we were challenged to write every day but Sunday, posting on a topic beginning with the day's letter. And you might have noticed I only made it from A to T; leaving U, V, W, X, Y and Z undone. That lack of completion is really nagging at me. Finish it, you loser! That's my inner voice screaming in my ear. I'll be taking my walk, zooming through my two mile and feeling pretty damn groovy and then somehow thought slithers in ... unwanted as those niggling thoughts often are ... quitter. You know what they say, 'winners never quit, and quitters never win.'

But it's not my fault my vacation interrupted the AtoZ Challenge, I hear myself whining back. What was I supposed to do, write on vacation? Wasn't I supposed to be having too much fun to find time to write? Wouldn't you all judge me for pounding out a few paragraphs instead of going snorkeling? Wouldn't you all pronounce my vacation a big fat failure? Not that I actually went snorkeling anyway, so judge that as you may.

It should be noted, I kept my posts up to date on my book-to-movie site, Chapter1-Take1. I pre-wrote some, wrote some on the fly, so I could have done that here on this writing blog but I didn't. I don't make the same kind of demands on myself here, that I do with my other blog. It's a question of numbers I suppose; while neither blog has a tremendous number of subscribers, I get anywhere between 500 and 1500 views a day on Chapter1-Take1. I like knowing that people are dropping by or finding my site in their search engine. And I love it when I get a comment from a new reader, but I don't expect it. It's a niche site, news about books being made into movies. Readers generally stop by for info, and I'm happy to share it. Here, where the writing is personal, I'm lucky if 30 people a day stop by; 99 times out of a hundred they don't say a word.

So yes,  I was unprepared. If prepared means properly expectant, organized or equipped, ready, and dictionary.com says that it does, then UN-prepared means NOT all of those things.  I was improperly expectant, disorganized and ill-equipped. I was NOT ready. 

I came undone. I left my work unfinished which is utterly Unsatisfactory. So, with your permission, you few faithful followers, I'll be invading your email or your google page or wherever you see this stuff, for a few more days before I go back to my more laconic posting style.


Phew! That's U out of the way, I feel better already.


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