What If Parents Had To Get Licenses to Have Kids? Interview with Author Kristen Tsetsi

Happy New Year!

It’s been a while since I’ve written here but I’m returning to share a conversation I’ve been having with Kristen Tsetsi, author of The Age of the Child, a novel that got me off to a thoughtful start for the year. In her novel, Tsetsi asks a provocative question: what if those of us who want to be parents had to get a license to do it?

Tsetsi’s novel takes place in a near-enough future to recognize many of the conditions that prevail today with a few key differences. She’s given herself freedom to imagine first what would happen if all forms of contraception were illegal and then to explore the natural response to the challenges that follow. What makes the story compelling, though, is how Tsetsi leads us through this world first through a mother, and then through her daughter so that we see how they struggle to live with themselves and each other within the confines of their world. The most poignant moments are the moments of connection and missed connection between each other but also with others. Tsetsi’s spare, skillful prose lets them struggle in front of us so that we become like people behind a two-way mirror. We can see what is happening, why it is happening, and, hearts rising to our throats, want to call out to these people. But they can’t hear us.

When we are through, though, we are thinking hard about things we’ve heard many say and things we’ve thought or said ourselves about children or parenting. We’re tempted into a conversation that we’ve not had with spouses, friends, or acquaintances. This is a book for those who like to dig into a good story but also to be challenged by “what if” questions that evoke a future that may be closer than we imagine. Perfect for book clubs. If you’d like to invite her to join you and your fellow readers, email her here: kris@kristenjtsetsi.com. If you’d like to enter to win a free, signed copy of The Age of the Child, I’ll be drawing a winner from current and new newsletter subscribers. To subscribe, all you have to do is go here: subscribe.

Here is a recent interview I had with Kristen Tsetsi about her novel, her writing process, and her dog Lenny who inspired the name for one of the characters and who inspires me to smile daily on Instagram. Kristen is smart, insightful, and witty as her followers of her blog, Facebook page, and Instagram can testify. She loves doing book clubs. Learn more about her, The Age of the Child, and more of her work at https://kristenjtsetsi.com/.

Q: You’ve mentioned in your blog that the seed for this novel came from a common phrase uttered whenever we encounter a parents we think are making mistakes or violate social norms, “think of the children.” I confess, versions of this has crossed my mind at times. What is it about this that compelled you to write about a world in which the government actually regulates who can become parents and who can’t?

A: Well, it’s hard not to imagine that world when we’re in a world right now in which many people want the government to regulate the choice to not parent. The idea of abortion—and in some cases, hormonal birth control—is so abhorrent to them that it feels perfectly legitimate to create a tiered system of rights: first rights to the unborn. The personal bodily rights of anyone with a uterus come second. It makes sense to them, because they’re “thinking of the children.”

“But there’s a flip side to “thinking of the children,” and it’s the one that concerns itself with walking, talking, breathing young people.”

Obviously banning birth control and criminalizing abortion pose no problem for those who welcome the choice to have oodles of children, but it’s horrifying for someone like The Age of the Child’s Katherine, who discovers that the clinic where she had an appointment for an abortion, one of the last remaining, has been forced by law to close.

But there’s a flip side to “thinking of the children,” and it’s the one that concerns itself with walking, talking, breathing young people.

This is where we as a society are lacking.

Not only do we accept without question that having kids is “just what people do,” but there’s also a lot of pressure out there to conceive (and then to conceive again).

Take, for one of many examples, Kathleen Parker’s Washington Post opinion piece, On Pleasure and Parenthood, in which she writes, “Parenting surely isn’t for everyone, and those who choose to be child-free probably have made the right decision. Then again, it’s hard to know for certain that one doesn’t want children. Many don’t, until they do.” (My response.)

This implication: “All women should want children. If they think they don’t, they should have one so they know for sure.”

As if inviting millions of strangers to bring innocent, vulnerable, helpless human beings into conditions unknown carries the consequent weight of, “You have to try that hot pepper. Oh my god, it’s crazy hot. Try it!”

In my opinion, that doesn’t reflect much thought for the children.

I wondered, “What would it look like to put the quality of life of children first, before the biological needs and baby longings of adults?”

After many years of trying it one way, the government in The Age of the Child decides, having seen the results of their legislation, there must be a better way. The only way, as they see it, is licensing.

Which is no problem at all for those who don’t want children (or any more children than they already have), but Millie happens to exist in this time, and it’s a terrible time for someone like her to want to be pregnant. 

Q: I’m sure there are as many situations as there are parents. As you developed your characters and their dilemmas, did you draw on parents or people you’ve observed? Did you find yourself having long thoughtful conversations with friends or friends of friends that yielded insights you ended up incorporating into your novel? How much of yourself and your own experience is in this novel? 

A: Two friends I’ve had for years are parents, and I’ve been lucky to hear them talk to me about their amazing kids from the time they were very young until now (one brother and sister are in their early twenties and the other brother and sister are in their late teens).

One of those friends, I’ll call her Helen, told me a story about a work acquaintance she visited one day after work. While there, Helen witnessed the treatment of her co-worker’s son. The father didn’t feed their son food – he fed him candy fruit snacks. Regularly, as meals. The father, when asked by his wife why he hadn’t made their son a sandwich while she was at work, said he hadn’t felt like it and, frankly, didn’t see why anything about his life or his schedule should have to change just because they had a child.

You’ll probably recognize the Age of the Child character that family inspired.

While writing, I had long conversations with the other friend, Danielle (named in the dedication), about pregnancy, childbirth, and the little things babies do that are unique to their personalities. If I got stuck on a spot while I was in the middle of a scene about a pregnant Katherine, I’d send her a text. I couldn’t have written Katherine’s pregnancy, post-childbirth, or baby-tending without her. Or the book itself, really.

I’ve also been someone’s child but not a mother, which might make it a little easier to imagine (or remember having) a child’s perspective, because it’s free from the filter of parenthood. And as someone who’s never wanted children, I had intimate insight into Katherine’s feelings about becoming a parent.

Q: An author takes risks when writing about controversial subjects or a big idea — the ability to balance the subject or idea with all the elements that make a good story is really important. Luckily, you have found a way to marry both — did you find yourself struggling with this at all during the writing of Age of the Child? Did you ever find yourself considering choices that might serve the idea at the expense of the story or vice versa? 

A: Thank you for saying that!

I think consciously thinking about an issue while trying to write a story could make it too tempting to get hung up on everyone’s political or moral arguments. The preaching from all sides would take over and the characters would get lost. I like to keep whatever the issue is – whether “thinking of the children” or, as in Pretty Much True, trying to put a spotlight on an under-explored wartime experience – in the background of my mind and in the background of the story, too, and to concentrate only on the lives being affected. “This is the situation. What would people do, how might they behave, how would they be personally impacted, in this situation?” That’s all I think about.

“This is the situation. What would people do, how might they behave, how would they be personally impacted, in this situation?” That’s all I think about.’

Q: Speaking as a person who became a parent quite young, I shudder when I think of the possibility that an outside entity could have legally regulated my ability to bear and raise my child. As many mistakes as I’m sure I made – and there are many — I still think I did as well if not better than most. But would I have met the licensing criteria in your novel? I’m far from sure. Have you spoken with readers who find themselves thinking about their parents or their children or their decisions in new ways after reading Age of the Child?

A: Because The Age of the Child only released in November, I haven’t received much in-person feedback, yet, but one reader said it generated a conversation with her husband while they were out for a walk. “We make people get licenses for almost everything else,” her husband said…

“Would you have passed? Only the evaluators know…”

There are so many factors considered for licensing…

Q: The mother-daughter relationships in Age of the Child are fraught. I’m struck by the decision of Katherine, the mother we meet in the first half of the book, to remain emotionally distant from the child she feels forced to have and how that impacts her daughter as she takes on the key role in the second half of the novel. I found myself thinking about the legacy we receive from our mothers and how it is rooted in things that we as children will never understand. Can you share a little of how the four main women in this book were born as characters and how they developed? Did they ever surprise you? 

A: This is a hard question. I love it.

One thing I want to point out first is that Katherine’s husband, Graham, isn’t innocent when it comes to the shaping of their daughter. I won’t say much more than that—I just want to clarify that his influence is more than ancillary. I made a point of including Graham and Ernie (the fathers) and their respective involvement in order to present them as just as impactful as mothers in their roles as parents. We put a lot on mothers and dismiss the fathers, in many ways, as a society, but that’s a different, bigger conversation.

I’m fascinated by the different perceptions adults and children have of their connections (or lack thereof). One forgettable hour to an adult —hell, one minute of an overheard conversation—can become an indelible memory to a child. An adult going about his or her life without a thought can unwittingly communicate a very clear, very powerful message to a child. I explored that dynamic in both families’ parent-child relationships, with one taking a negative turn and one going in a more positive direction (Lenny and her mother, as I see them, are very close!).

The characters developed out a desire to challenge stereotypes: I wanted a compassionate woman who didn’t want kids, and a selfish woman who did. I also wanted characters who adored their children and everything about parenthood, as well as characters who never “come around” to parenthood, whatever the circumstances. (“You’ll change your mind” is very big with some people, but only if you don’t want children. If you think you do want them, you’re trusted to know what you want.)

You also asked if any of the characters surprised me. I think Millie did. I wasn’t expecting to have such strong feelings for her adult character. Now and then I just want to hug her.

Q: When I meet with book clubs, I’m often asked about my writing process – do I outline the book or sit down and see what comes? How does a book come together for you? Do you write every day? Do you try not to write until you know exactly where you are going? How, if it all, has your process changed since first beginning to write? (And by the way, do are you available to meet with book clubs either in person on via Skype?

A: I try to write every day, but if I wake up one morning and feel nothing but dread at the thought of it, then I won’t. I see no reason to punch my meager amount of confidence in the face with awful writing. Instead, I’ll do the thinking part of writing, which is usually safe, or I’ll pull weeds or clean the house.

I should probably be working on outlines instead of pulling weeds, but I’ve never been great at outlining. I’ll do it in pieces, usually when I’m so lost in the story details that I can’t seem to remember how to move forward. Writing down a basic “this, then that, then that,” gets me back on track, and some details about plot points will get sloppy notes on a random notebook page, but otherwise I’m usually pretty disorganized.

However, The Age of the Child, while lacking a coherent outline, did get 25 little sticky tabs dividing writing journal notes on things like crime and punishment, licensing guidelines, the state of the country in this near-future time, arguments politicians would have, etc. Anything and everything the public could and would react to or be affected by.

And, yes! I am available to meet with book clubs via Skype. I would love to. How fun would that be?

Q: Finally, I want to know how Lenny, an uncommonly intelligent dog with the most expressive ears in all fifty states —  contributed to this piece. Was Murphy the dog based in any way on Lenny? Is she a good writing partner? Was she wounded when she discovered you had not dedicated the book to her? 

Murphy has a tiny bit of Lenny in her, and no, Lenny is not a good writing partner. She’s the worst. If I try to write on the couch, she sits next to me—on my cushion—and puts her nose between my face and the monitor. If I sit at the dining room table, she stands at my feet like a little hippo and stares at me with her ears. She’s very distracting, which is why I’ve become one of those annoying people writing in a Starbucks. But I only get four hours. The afternoon and evening belong to Lenny, who is the best impulse dog adoption ever, our three spectacular cats, and my husband Ian.

Lenny wasn’t too hurt about the dedication. I told her, “Look. You can have a character named after you, or you can get a dedication. What’s it gonna be?”

Q: What is the question you wished someone would ask that, somehow, no one has?

There’s no way anyone could know to ask this, so I don’t blame them for never having asked: “What do you wish you’d done for a writer that you didn’t do?”

While visiting New York City last winter, Ian and I went to the New York Public Library. There was a man sitting outside in a little metal chair, and (I can only assume) his books were stacked on a folding table in front of him. No one was stopping to talk to him or buy his books.

“You should go over there and talk to him about his book,” Ian said.

I hate small talk and will always try to avoid it, so of course I didn’t go over there. But now I wish I had. One person being enthusiastic about what you’re offering can make up for hours of people walking by without even a glance, and it would have been so easy to do. It would have cost nothing but a minute of feeling awkward and the price of a book.

Which is not to say he needed me to do that. I’m sure he’s fine. But, you know. You want to give to someone what you think you’d like, yourself.

 And, just because this is my blog and I can post whatever I want to, here’s another shot of Kristen’s editor, Lenny and her marvelous ears:

Small Towns, Big Stories

“Living in a small town…is like living in a large family of rather uncongenial relations. Sometimes it’s fun, and sometimes it’s perfectly awful, but it’s always good for you. People in large towns are like only-children.
― Joyce Dennys, Henrietta Sees It Through: More News From the Home Front 1942-1945

 

Hi, Friends,

I’m sharing my April newsletter here with my WordPress friends and it starts with a tiny commercial and a big ask.

From now through April 17, the e-book version of Casualties will be available to download for only $1.99.

Now I need all the help I can get to put the word out there. In fact, this is a great opportunity for you to check out the story and see what you think. If you’ve already read it then you know my book and you know your friends. If you think there’s a match, will you help us all to meet? Just share this post or this link with them: Casualties For $1.99. It takes them to a page where they can pick from Kindle, Nook, iBook or others to purchase and download.

Thank you. The “commercial” is now over and we return to our regularly scheduled musings, updates, and this month’s fabulous book giveaway. The theme? Small towns, the people they harbor, the books they inspire. And spring. Let’s not forget about spring.
Small Towns & Real Life
Readers often want to know how much of Casualties is based on my real life. The question makes me squirm more than I let on. No, I’m not Ruth and she isn’t someone I know. No, Robbie is not based on my son (although he remains suspicious). As for Casey? He’s my mystery man. He appeared completely out of the blue all set and ready to roll onto the pages of my story. It is true, though, that my experiences gave me a lot of raw material to draw from and I used it with abandon to make something new. Nowhere is this more true than when I created the town of Gershom, New Hampshire where Ruth grew up.

 

There is no Gershom. I didn’t take my hometown of Jefferson and slap another name on it. Those who know the area will recognize bits and pieces of several towns scattered in that part of the White Mountains (one, Lancaster, NH, is featured in the photo at the top of this letter). As I wrote, though, I realized that certain places could not be altered. They were stamped too deeply in my memory — in my bones, really. Robbie goes to find the brook he fished as a boy. I know the sound and smell of that brook and the bone-numbing chill that lasts even into August – it runs down the mountain past my parents’ house. I know the sound of gravel when Ruth’s car reaches the dirt road to her grandparents’ farm. It is the sound that used to wake my then four-year-old son from a deep sleep and cause him to twitch with anticipation as we drove the last mile of our trip on “Gramma’s Bumpy Road.”

 

This was the remote place that frightened and thrilled me when we moved there in 1966 from suburban Connecticut. This was the place that quickly seemed too small for all I hoped to do and see in the world. This was the place where I was introduced to a telephone party line and the realization that in a town of less than a thousand people, you didn’t need a party line to share information. This was the place where I “came of age” with all the joys, humiliations and growing pains that come with that. This is the place that, no matter how far away I’ve gotten from it, remains home.

 

Nearly a year ago, I went back home to Jefferson to share my book with the people who helped me write it. Some of the landmarks encountered in my story when Robbie goes north to see his relatives and when Ruth finally winds her way up the dirt road to her grandparents’ home were waiting for me last spring when I arrived. Here are a couple of them. You can find more here: Robbie’s Places.

This Month’s Giveaway 

 

 

Kathleen M. Rodgers also grew up in a small town. She understands the dynamics and, boy, does she understand families. Her grasp of the complexities that reside in both villages and families is on full display in her latest novel, Seven Wings to Glory, released April 1. I was invited to write a “blurb” for this fine book and here it is:

“From the start of Seven Wings to Glory, Kathleen Rodgers skillfully shows how no town is small enough and no family perfect enough to be outside the reach of war, racism, and the heartbreak life hands out on a regular basis to all those who love. She especially shines when she gives us a young man who could easily have been seen as a villain but is much more complex than that and requires more from the central characters and his small town than they may be prepared to give. With this wonderful sequel to her novel, Johnnie Come Lately, Rodgers opens the reader’s eyes and heart.”

This month’s giveaway is a signed copy of Seven Wings to Glory. If you’d like to enter to win, just comment here or, if you are already a newsletter subscriber, just reply to me before midnight PST on Sunday, April 9. I will use an app from Random.org to draw a winner.Thank you for being with me on this journey and for sharing your thoughts with me in emails and discussions. I have loved every minute and look forward to more!

Gratefully,
Betsy

P.S. Here’s your moment of Zen: spring in the Desert, spring on the Coast. And for my family and friends back in Jefferson – may spring find you soon, very soon!

 

A Reader Reminds Me Why I’m Doing This

“May I just say thank you for caring about a really big issue. My son has his own story to tell about his re-entry and his attempt at suicide…we still have him. For this I am eternally grateful. And now I have a book to share with other single moms who are looking at re-entry.”
–A Veteran’s Mother

Dear Friends,

Those of you who are subscribers to my newsletter will have already seen this in your inbox (or soon will depending on how eager you are to open email!). I wanted to share it here too because it feels so important to share those moments when we all really connect. I won’t do this regularly but when there is something I think you’ll like, I’ll give it a try.

Here goes:

The lines above came to me a recent Sunday night in an email. I was about to shut down my computer and head to bed, my thoughts already focused on the week ahead with its to-do’s,  anxieties, and promises to myself to just focus on the writing and not worry about reviews or sales or my future as a writer.

Then I saw it. The subject line read, “Your book is helping yet another military Mom.” I opened it. I learned that the sender had not only finished Casualties but had lent it to a friend whose son was due home from San Diego after serving four years in the Marines.  She wrote:

“It made her rethink the times she was planning to spend with him and listen to the things she would normally dismiss.” 

Then she shared with me a bit of her own story: the return of her son, his attempt at suicide, the long road he is still walking. With tears in my eyes, I wrote back and told her how much her note meant to me and how glad I was that she and her son still had each other. In a second note she shared more of her story. With her permission, I share excerpts below because they give us all something to think about:

“We, (family and loved ones) somehow think that things will resort back to “normal” when they return. NEVER will normal have the same definition it had before they left.”

“The person returned to us from deployment is not the same one who left with dreams for making a difference…”

“They come home feeling guilty that they got to come home.”

There were times when I wasn’t sure I was the right person to write this novel. It took so long to finish. When I finally did publish, the triumph of the moment came with ever-growing worries I’d never anticipated. Then I began to hear from readers — not reviews actual letters from actual readers. I heard from members of book clubs who have shared their surprise, their concern, their sympathy and, ultimately, their empathy for families that may not have looked much like their own. Some readers have lost children in all kinds of ways and relived that loss with me. Some simply fell into the story and simply told me they couldn’t put it down. Some have not loved the book, or all of it, but were still glad they read it. And they took the time to tell me this.

Every time I connect with a reader I understand all over again why I wanted to write a story in the first place. Every time someone shares his or her own story with me, I understand even more why I wanted to write this one. They make me want to keep going. I am grateful every day for their gift.

Two new novels for two new winners

With gratitude in mind – and knowing what it means for an author to know her book is out there connecting — I’d like to share the work of two authors who have written novels full of life, conflict, adventure and the opportunity to consider questions that compel attention long after the last page.

First though, congratulations to Jodi and to Cyn who won copies of The Nest and The Forgetting Time after responding to the last newsletter.

My Last Continent by Midge Raymond.  I gobbled this book down in two nights. I loved the story. Loved the protagonist and loved her first love: the continent of Antarctica and the penquins who live there. The premise is frightening: what would happen something like Italy’s Concordia cruise ship accident happened in remote, unforgiving, yet increasingly fragile Antarctica. Bonus: this copy is signed by the author!

Behold The Dreamers by Imbolo Mbue. This wonderful novel just came out a couple of weeks ago but back in the spring, I was lucky enough to leave a writers conference with two advance copies. I’m reading one (and loving it) and I want to share the other one. “Dreamers” is the story of a Jende, a Cameroonian immigrant living in Harlem who imagines a brighter future for his family after taking a job as a chauffeur for a wealthy couple. This future is threatened by the collapse of Lehman Brothers and forces Jende and his wife to make an impossible choice. Here is what the New York Times book review has to say: “Mbue writes with great confidence and warmth. . . . There are a lot of spinning plates and Mbue balances them skillfully, keeping everything in motion. . . . Behold the Dreamers is a capacious, big-hearted novel.”

To enter, just respond to this email before midnight PST on Thursday, September 8. I will use an app from Random.org to draw two winners. If you’d like to check out all the official rules, just click here: giveaway rules.

Feel free to let your friends know and join us as subscribers.  Here’s the link to sign up: http://elizabethmarro.com/subscribe/

And if you are in a book club, let’s talk!

Thank you! So good to know you are out there!

Betsy

P.S. And now, here’s your moment of Zen courtesy of…Mr. Beans?

Sunday Sentence(s): From Mom’s Monday Letters ( A Reprise)

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The “Kitchen Sink” shortie: all the essentials in a hurry and with love.

It’s five o’clock on Monday morning and my mother sits in bed, knees up, a pad against her thighs, her second cup of coffee steaming within easy reach. Her pen flies across the page in front of her leaving behind a trail of thoughts that have been on her mind for days, minutes, or take shape as she writes.

I can reconstruct this because on more than one visit home back in the early days of my adulthood, I found her there, often with my infant son tucked into the pillows next to her after she’d swooped him up so that I could have a rare extra hour of morning sleep.

“Happy Monday. Hope between you and the numerologist you had a good weekend.” Monday, 1980

These were her “Monday Letters.” She wrote her first one when I left home at 17. As the rest of us tumbled out of the nest, one or two a year, she wrote more. She has written over 1,500 Monday letters to me by my estimation. Add my siblings, step siblings, her godchildren, and fellow travelers she adopted along the way, and we are talking serious writer’s cramp and the death of a forest or two before the advent of email and texts.

“Dear Betsy, a day late and dull stationery to boot and oh dear a lousy pen. Not a very good way to start the day. It’s 6:15.”

Not long ago, I was rooting around in the garage and found a battered cardboard carton labeled “Mom” in black marker. The seams of the box were worn; the top barely able to contain the letters jammed inside. The letters, survivors of my mother’s weekly correspondence, seemed to be pushing their way out of the box to find me. I forgot whatever I’d been looking for and hauled the box into my office and for the next few days, I read them all.

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I picked up each letter with the same combination of eagerness and trepidation I used to feel mid-week when her letters usually arrived.

“Our conversation was most unsatisfactory – to be blamed in all fairness on both of us. I for my part am sorry I always flunk pretty badly when I attempt to contain myself and unfortunately I’ve been containing my opinions on this for a very long time.”

They weren’t always written on a Monday. They weren’t always written before dawn. She used whatever paper she had and whatever time she had between jobs, errands, doctor visits, or when she woke in the middle of the night with someone on her mind.

“I’ve been awake since 3 a.m. Thinking of you.”

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They weren’t always fun to read. The letters I found spanned a chunk of late seventies, early eighties when I moved with a man ten years older to the suburbs without getting married and without a job. I went into debt. My son was hospitalized after COBRA ran out. My relationship with my partner slid into a swamp I couldn’t seem to get out off with my self-esteem intact. She called often. We visited when we could. But her letters never stopped coming. Holding one — even the lectures — was like feeling her hand in mine. She couldn’t pull me out but the letters told me she would be there, cheering me on when I finally emerged on my own.

“Don’t beat yourself up.  Whatever you do, we love you.”

Each letter was at least one, but often a combination of the following:  hello, weather report, family news, a verbal finger-prod between the shoulder blades, a long-distance hug, wistful wonderings, a mirror, warning, atta-girl, “to-do” list, food for thought, how-to make everything from chicken l’orange for eight to how to manage money. There were lots of letters about money, how I handled it; how I didn’t.

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These recipes rescued me when I first confronted making dinner for adults

“Thought I’d try to give you a rough outline of how to make a budget.”

And there were plenty in which she wrote about her own fears, her own anxiety about the future, her own struggles to grow.

“Thanks for listening to me. I’m really in a mess. Trying to control what I probably should do with what I want to do. I know that it will work out.”

As I sift through the letters, though, the content of the letters is eclipsed by the fact of them. They are tangible evidence of who I was, who she was, and how we worked our way through the holding on and letting go between a mother whose nest was beginning to empty and a daughter whose start-up nest was a hot mess.

“You have to get a grip on yourself. You will NOT be alone for the rest of your life no matter what. The hardest thing is when you’re really are trying and you really feel that you are contributing and then you get so lonely and are shot down. I’m speaking from the heart. It just doesn’t have to be. You get ahold of yourself and stay hold no matter what and don’t let your stubborn determination get the best of you. Have a good week, Love, Mom.

In them was the determination to forge new relationships not just with me but with each of her offspring and other loved ones, to help us nurture connections with each other. They were her way of reconciling her determination to make us all independent with her desire that we all stay connected. They show that when she had a few minutes to herself, she thought of me, my siblings, all her loved ones, and got out her paper and pen. She started out more than one with “Just wanted you to have some mail.” We all knew that some got longer letters some weeks than others; some weeks were tougher than others. Sometimes, a letter was meant to be shared as was the case with this one to me and my son sometime in 1981:

“Hi, I love you and I hope your respective lives are moving onward and upward. Happily, Hastily, Mom/Gramma”

Over the years, the letters helped to weave the fabric connecting all who received them. We can lob a standard quote, “Have the courage of your own convictions” to a stepbrother or sister and they can laugh and toss back, “And poco a poco” or “Don’t lose perspective.”

We chuckle, but we hear her. Even now, we hear her.

Happy Mother’s Day!

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mom card 2014

A Mother’s Day collage of Monday Letters

Sunday Sentence: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

“He was the sort of fellow that kids laughed at and dogs wanted to bite.”-Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

There are other, more poignant moments in this beautiful book but for some reason I this sentence grabbed me during a recent re-read. I know that sort of man. I know those kids. I felt a prickle of discomfort when I realized I probably had been one of them.

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I love reading them, so now I’m joining the #SundaySentence party started by David Abrams over at the Quivering Pen and on Twitter. It’s not a review. It’s not a story. It’s just one sentence I read this week, presented “out of context and without commentary.

Sunday Sentence: Walden by Henry David Thoreau

“The hawk sat on a limb three feet above my head and did not stir as I walked under – that was the first sign.” – From Bill McKibben’s introduction to Walden by Henry David Thoreau

This edition of Walden is a particular joy because of the spare, on-target interpretation of Bill McKibben. I bought this book as a companion for my walking. I dip in regularly.

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I love reading them, so now I’m joining the #SundaySentence party started by David Abrams over at the Quivering Pen and on Twitter. It’s not a review. It’s not a story. It’s just one sentence I read this week, presented “out of context and without commentary.