24 Wednesday May 2017
Posted in writingdownthestory in Blog
In observance of Memorial Day, here is one of the 500 letters my father wrote to my mother during their three and a half year of separation during World War II…. On the troop ship, he wrote her three letters about his experience crossing the Atlantic, to be kept until the war was over and censorship was lifted. Here is the first.
17 Wednesday May 2017
There’s a new post on Daughter on Duty.
Playing with the mice-catching kittens in the barn and the one-at-a-time house cats: Paley, Happy. Climbing in the haymow. Petting the cows Aunt Lena insisted on naming, recording in her decades worth of meticulously kept journals the birth date, name, sale date and price—just the facts and not the emotion. She and Grandma Ella serving meat and potatoes to our visiting family around the heavy dining table. Corn, tomatoes, green beans. Never zucchini, Brussels sprouts, parsnips—disdained fancy vegetables.
09 Tuesday May 2017
Posted in writingdownthestory in Blog
New post on Daughter on Duty
I had planned to write today about the guided wildflower hike in the woods in the mud last week, and explore memories of hiking with my mother. There’s also the peas, broccoli, and potatoes coming up in the garden and maybe spring is finally here…But calamity—which, along with talking about sealing wax, never makes any sense—has struck again, and it’s hard to ignore.
03 Wednesday May 2017
Posted in writingdownthestory in Blog
There’s a new post on Daughter on Duty.
I am, in my own mind, notorious for lack of follow through on big ideas. There are many notable exceptions, but the self-critic voice is extremely loud and incredibly close. In my head, I bail on everything. But I won’t venture down that introspective rabbit hole. The latest of my big ideas is…
26 Wednesday Apr 2017
Posted in writingdownthestory in Blog
There’s a new post on Daughter on Duty.
I was in high school when the new family moved in up the driveway. I was gone two years later and didn’t bond with them, but my mother did. Sandy and my mom became best friends, and remained so for fifty years.
19 Wednesday Apr 2017
Posted in writingdownthestory in Blog
There’s a new post on Daughter on Duty.
“Each memoir contains gems of “Oh! That’s me!” recognition. I learn new ways to handle a situation, those that generally drive me to drink and hair tearing, when I see it through someone else’s eyes. I feel less alone when I when I realize mine is not the only crazy-making mother and I am not the only earth scum daughter.”
12 Wednesday Apr 2017
Posted in writingdownthestory in Blog
There’s a new post on Daughter on Duty.
As I’ve mentioned it’s been raining for weeks. I’ve been taking my Vitamin D—which my doctor said everyone who lives here should take. I don’t get seriously depressed by the lack of the natural source. I’ve only recently begun to grumble just a little, because it is spring and I’m ready for some progress toward a change of season. I’m ready to be outside. Then in crept yesterday.
05 Wednesday Apr 2017
There’s a new post on Daughter on Duty.
Trying to break something loose to write about this week, I read my post from the first week of April last year. When taken day by day—even week by week—life can seem monotonous in its sameness. But looking back over 12 months there is a different perspective. Especially this past year.
29 Wednesday Mar 2017
Posted in writingdownthestory in Blog
There’s a new post on Daughter on Duty.
Elliot has been into hide and seek lately, sometimes really hiding, but mostly hiding in plain sight. “If I can’t see you, you can’t see me.” He giggles when his moms “can’t find” us. It got me thinking about Mama and her vision talk.
22 Wednesday Mar 2017
Posted in writingdownthestory in Blog
There’s a new post on Daughter on Duty.
‘I don’t have time to sit down and read.’ Those are the words I grew up hearing. Okay, maybe “grew up hearing” is an exaggeration, but I do remember them. I heard them when my two sisters and I and our father were in the living room reading the Sunday Seattle Times and called to Mommy to join us. ‘I don’t have time to read the paper,’ she would call from the kitchen.
