"Tell Me About Your Mother."

Easter 1952.

I always come to Mother's Day a bit warily. It's not a day I place a lot of stock in, but when I'm remembered by my sons I'm always delighted. On the other hand, when they don't acknowledge it I'm not usually hurt. It depends. I'm sure they're as confused as I am and aren't really sure what to do about the day, either. I lay all this confusion unashamedly at the feet of my own mother with whom I had a complex, conflicted relationship.

My mother was 26 when I was born, after seven years of miscarriages and dashed hopes. All she ever wanted in life, even as a child, was a bright, curious red-haired daughter. She'd been disappointed when, at the age of 17, she gave birth to her first child, my brother, who later suffered brain damage due to high fevers as an infant who was as apathetic as a stone and who had black hair. When I came along, all of her secret dreams came true. It was a lot to lay on a child...

The Week I've Had

Monday: I moved bricks around the property to
make a Hollyhock and Sunflower bed.

Interview: Cast of a Thousand

 Just posted on my California Gold Coast Dreamin' website.

Read it here.