"I know you said you don't want any of this, but I think you'll actually want one thing," he said, dropping some folded papers on the kitchen table. It was a letter, five pages in long-hand, from my mother to my father, a few months before they married. When we had gathered the belongings from my mother's garage years ago, the letter must have slipped from a box into an adjacent pile.
"Women - particularly Southern women - can't really come into their voices until they lose their mothers," a writer friend said to me recently over lunch. This particular friend, who also was around 40 when she lost her mother and with whom I often discuss mothers and mothering, is the same friend who said, "you … Continue reading Materfamilias.
Halls, Tennessee, 1986.At one point in her life my mother would have introduced herself as a musician who also had good writing skills. She had a considerable talent for music - primarily the piano although also, as she might have said, an adequate soprano choir voice. Her musical gift, nurtured and encouraged by her father, … Continue reading The Writer’s Daughter.