My mom has been visiting. As I mentioned before, she hasn't been here for a long time, so things felt awkward, and in many ways I realize I don't know her anymore.
Conversations started out a little stilted, and there was a lot of qualifying and backfilling of information and such. There are many gaps in the information continuum, and we had to make sure the stories made sense.
During her visit I realized that she is, and always will be, a very gifted artist. She is just one of those people who would rather be engrossed in a complex project (she does amazing reverse applique using silks and wonderful wild fabrics and she has a fabulous eye and creates works of, yes...art...with ease).
Living with an artist isn't easy when you're growing up. She loved me deeply, but her compulsion to do her art was that - a compulsion - and if she didn't get enough time, a lot of time, to create, she'd go a little crazy and feel very much like a rat in a maze instead of a freer spirit creating beautiful work.
Her passion is why I haven't completely given myself over to my writing. I have always loved writing, and as I've mentioned before, have a half-assed novel about 3/4 done. I can totally see myself living the writing life, though. I would be dedicated, I would be methodical, I would have a big beautiful office with large windows allowing sun to pour in, and I would research and reach inward and tap into the great creativity core that has lain dormant for half a century. I didn't give into the writing because I committed to being a dedicated parent, and didn't want my kids growing up feeling like they were lovely but mostly in the way of the greater focus, which was always, in my case, my Mom's art.
She was astonished when I shared this with her. She had no idea that a: I was as passionate about this writing thing as I am (I just AM a writer, it's really not a thing I do as a pasttime, really), and b: that I had consciously headed in another direction in order to raise kids. She couldn't imagine doing such a thing. Which is kind of my point, right?
Anyway, her visit was lovely. I was in charge. I cooked a lot of really good food, made her comfortable, poured her wine every night, and exposed her to some fun movies that she hadn't yet seen. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Nebraska. Salmon Fishing in the Yemen. Jersey Boys (my husband's idea. :)
She should be landing in Oregon at any moment now, to return to her very rural life very far away from the things from which she fled so many years ago - her crazy Mom and sister, and the hot weather that made her crazy too. She is returning to a partner who appears to care very much for her, but who also has a lot of his own wanderlust to deal with, wanderlust that she has participated in willingly and wholeheartedly, mostly, and which has taken her to Alaska on their salmon trawler, and has had her working as a fish cleaner and cook on her own boat. The work was punishing, but she saw a lot, and said she's glad she did it, but her body won't do it anymore. She's 71, and it's time to do stuff a little less World's Most Dangerous Catch and a little more Georgia O'Keeffe retires to Taos...
She is returning to her cat, Gus, who is a beautiful marmalade tabby with mad badminton skills and a yen for sardines. She is returning to her funky house on 11 acres in a river valley, one that overlooks a river and in which blackberries are the bane of existence and deer threaten to consume any vegetable ever planted if it's not covered with crazy protective deer cloth. It makes her happy, this place. She says her soul feels at home in this place. She loves this place she has chosen.
And we are here, manning the empty fort, navigating the waters of middle age while I forge ahead with my new endeavor and my husband is thankful for still loving his teaching job. Hating what he does while I do this would probably bend him in terrible ways so I'm thankful he is still ok. I like to believe he will have time to explore another direction, should he choose to do so, once I've established myself as a DOM.
The next days will allow all that we discussed, all that we shared, to settle and assimilate into who we are now. I look forward to settling with the knowledge that for my Mom, her artistic distraction was a lifesaving device when she was young, and by the time she had me she had established those patterns already. Her focus away from me really never had anything to do with me, ever, it was about her saving herself.
I think I get that now, but even on a good day it still stings a bit.
Conversations started out a little stilted, and there was a lot of qualifying and backfilling of information and such. There are many gaps in the information continuum, and we had to make sure the stories made sense.
During her visit I realized that she is, and always will be, a very gifted artist. She is just one of those people who would rather be engrossed in a complex project (she does amazing reverse applique using silks and wonderful wild fabrics and she has a fabulous eye and creates works of, yes...art...with ease).
Living with an artist isn't easy when you're growing up. She loved me deeply, but her compulsion to do her art was that - a compulsion - and if she didn't get enough time, a lot of time, to create, she'd go a little crazy and feel very much like a rat in a maze instead of a freer spirit creating beautiful work.
Her passion is why I haven't completely given myself over to my writing. I have always loved writing, and as I've mentioned before, have a half-assed novel about 3/4 done. I can totally see myself living the writing life, though. I would be dedicated, I would be methodical, I would have a big beautiful office with large windows allowing sun to pour in, and I would research and reach inward and tap into the great creativity core that has lain dormant for half a century. I didn't give into the writing because I committed to being a dedicated parent, and didn't want my kids growing up feeling like they were lovely but mostly in the way of the greater focus, which was always, in my case, my Mom's art.
She was astonished when I shared this with her. She had no idea that a: I was as passionate about this writing thing as I am (I just AM a writer, it's really not a thing I do as a pasttime, really), and b: that I had consciously headed in another direction in order to raise kids. She couldn't imagine doing such a thing. Which is kind of my point, right?
Anyway, her visit was lovely. I was in charge. I cooked a lot of really good food, made her comfortable, poured her wine every night, and exposed her to some fun movies that she hadn't yet seen. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Nebraska. Salmon Fishing in the Yemen. Jersey Boys (my husband's idea. :)
She should be landing in Oregon at any moment now, to return to her very rural life very far away from the things from which she fled so many years ago - her crazy Mom and sister, and the hot weather that made her crazy too. She is returning to a partner who appears to care very much for her, but who also has a lot of his own wanderlust to deal with, wanderlust that she has participated in willingly and wholeheartedly, mostly, and which has taken her to Alaska on their salmon trawler, and has had her working as a fish cleaner and cook on her own boat. The work was punishing, but she saw a lot, and said she's glad she did it, but her body won't do it anymore. She's 71, and it's time to do stuff a little less World's Most Dangerous Catch and a little more Georgia O'Keeffe retires to Taos...
She is returning to her cat, Gus, who is a beautiful marmalade tabby with mad badminton skills and a yen for sardines. She is returning to her funky house on 11 acres in a river valley, one that overlooks a river and in which blackberries are the bane of existence and deer threaten to consume any vegetable ever planted if it's not covered with crazy protective deer cloth. It makes her happy, this place. She says her soul feels at home in this place. She loves this place she has chosen.
And we are here, manning the empty fort, navigating the waters of middle age while I forge ahead with my new endeavor and my husband is thankful for still loving his teaching job. Hating what he does while I do this would probably bend him in terrible ways so I'm thankful he is still ok. I like to believe he will have time to explore another direction, should he choose to do so, once I've established myself as a DOM.
The next days will allow all that we discussed, all that we shared, to settle and assimilate into who we are now. I look forward to settling with the knowledge that for my Mom, her artistic distraction was a lifesaving device when she was young, and by the time she had me she had established those patterns already. Her focus away from me really never had anything to do with me, ever, it was about her saving herself.
I think I get that now, but even on a good day it still stings a bit.
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