My Mother’s Phone Calls Helped Me Develop a Love of Writing
At some point in the conversation my mother had looked down at the ground and laughed. Pink pages scattered the porch as I continued writing furiously trying to catch her “words” on my paper. “I think my daughter is trying to record me,” she said into the phone. She looked at me and shook her head laughing.
I didn’t see what was so funny. Neither did Raggedy Ann. This was giving me something to do and I was practicing my letters. “Staying out of trouble,” Raggedy Ann seemed to say…
My Mother Was A Social Butterfly and Now I’m One Too
Then there was my mother, flitting from group to group like a little hummingbird checking in on everyone.
This was her element. Not only did she know the church like the back of her hand, but she knew almost everyone in the congregation on a first name basis. She was rarely social during the week — as it was always just us — so to see her like this was fascinating…
My Mother Wanted Me to Believe in Santa
We picked up where we had left off the night before - something about Laura Ingles Wilder being in the caravan with her family, winding down a dirt road to some town to do some thing. It wasn't Christmastime in the book. But it was Christmastime in my world.
And I wanted Santa to come. I wanted to see him in action…
My Mother Was a Storyteller, and Now So am I
I was just turning five months old when they landed and met the couple who had been taking care of me. I was handed over to my new parents shortly after their arrival.
There was just one problem. I didn't want to be with them…