To Mom

Once again I was thinking of my mother. She had plans for each child. According to mom we were all gifted. My sister was the artist. She could draw as soon as she held a pencil. I was the singer and possibly a writer-she loved my stories and I began making things up as soon as I found I had a voice. My brother was the musician. He began playing guitar when he was in grade school. My sister is a very good artist and you should hear her sing( she’s not supposed to be able to do that, after all I can’t draw.) My brother is a great musician, produces albums( grammy nominated), plays just about any instrument and writes music. I sang for a while, getting paid to do weddings when I lived in Connecticut. Wanted to sing opera. I did a good job on the aria to Romeo and Juliette. Then I was supposed to be the next Barbara Streisand. You should have heard me belt out People. I was asked to join a band and head to California, but I was in love and stayed behind. Married since 1978, you do the math. Now I’m writing. I forgot how much I loved it until it saved my life. I am not a sit at home, do nothing person and six months of that, without a paper and pencil, would have killed me just as surely as the brain tumor almost did. I rushed my first book into publication so I could give mom a copy, show her I finally did it. She was ill. The book had many mistakes, but seeing her cry when I was standing with other local authors selling my books at the Cumberland Library was worth the embarrassment of spelling clothes as cloths. Seems I’m not particularly found of e’s. She loved the next book, Sister World. It was the dog, a love we have always shared. She told me she hoped I had other ideas, future novels. I wish she could see there are now six, the seventh already started, and three outlines. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think she’s smiling