My Mother, the Author
"Mom, who had just endured surgeries on both of her arms, refused to sit still. She taped paint brushes to each of her FEET — and was literally painting classics from the throes of her toes."
I don’t write about my mother that much. Not nearly as much as I do about my father. My mom knows the drill: He’s kind of a larger than life figure. It’s a big reason why she married him in the first place.
But my mother, at 84, without having any substantial writing experience, nor an advanced grasp of computer skills, has done something really big: She’s written a book.
WOW!
Do you know how many people say every day that they’re “going to write a great book about my life!!” Nearly every person I’ve met. Yet each year, 99 out of 100 don’t get around to writing a book.
My mom’s book, an anthology of stories she’s written about the adventures in her life and her pursuits to create profound art, is entitled: A Work In Process. But before I get around to that latest classic…
One day when I was about 10 years old, I walked downstairs to our basement and saw my mother sitting on a high stool with her feet up in the air. I stepped up to the area where she was usually working on her ceramics or painting, and said something along the lines of: “what the hell are you doing?”
My mom, who’d just had surgeries on both of her arms a week prior, had attached paintbrushes to each of her feet with masking tape. She was literally painting portraits from the throes of her toes. She just could not sit still — not if it compelled her to be unexpressive.
There is a lot my mother has achieved in the world of art since that time. She’s won national competitions. She’s drawn flamenco dancers in Sevilla, Spain. She’s made lifelong friends where she lived in Seguret, France. She traveled to the bounds of Europe during those years in her 40s, learning new languages as she went along. She had been reborn. Empowered. Unstoppable.
Thirty years later, Mom lives where I live, in Scottsdale, Arizona. She settled here before me, and now we are each other’s principal family in our beloved desert.
But Mom has had a lot of health challenges over the last 15 years, and she can’t really flex her body over a table and create multimedia art or paint the way she used to. It is a true loss for her.
My mother has never thought of herself as a writer — in spite of my encouragements. But sometimes it takes something you truly miss to motivate you to try something that is truly a risk. Mom did it. She signed up for writing classes, and two years later, she had some 48 stories about her life and her art that were ready to go.
I could easily tell that Mom wanted my help. And I was all too glad to give it. I copyedited all of her stories, connected her to a colleague who could professionally lay out her full book, and worked with an artist friend to develop her cover page. Ordinarily, I barely have the patience to do this for my own projects, so you know that I was really pleased to help.
But the real reason I’m writing today about my Mom’s new book is because of just how proud I am of her courage and commitment. Writing is hard. Writing about your inner-life and feelings is even harder. Sometimes treacherous. And computer skills, well, I don’t think I need to detail the potential aneurisms that new tech activities can easily generate.
Yet this 84-year-old woman, who was somewhat terrified by all of this stuff, powered her way through the process with vigor. She learned computer skills. She learned how to become a better writer through listening to her teachers and classmates. She learned that this whole effort was a new life purpose and that it was actually important to her.
Last night, my mother took me out to my favorite seafood restaurant for my birthday. And after we’d ordered our first bites, she presented me with my gift. Cards first. I was always raised to appreciate the literal thoughts behind any gift, and Mom’s words were beautiful. Almost like a ‘writer!’
Then I opened my main present: A gleaming photo book with captions and quotes on every page. She somehow selected ALL of my favorite pics. And she knew just which famous quotes would speak to me. The entire album was a work of art.
I could say it was “no surprise” that it was a work of art, but it’s not quite that simple. I know my Mom’s frustration with technology and learning how to do this stuff. I know because I’ve taught her most of it.
The fact that she figured out how to do this on her own, and put loving care into every chosen photo and description, well, it was kind of immortal. And that’s what she wanted: To create something that would give me joy beyond what she might ever see.
My Mom and I can clash a bit. We’re very similar. We get overly-excited to talk. We want to do things our way. We want the other to see the obvious logic in doing it — or thinking it — our way.
The truth is that my mom would like to “mother” me a bit more, but I’ve never really been the mothering type. So, alternatively, what a blessing it has been this past year for me to be able to help her with this big book project — and for her to use what she’s learned to give me such a genuinely beautiful gift.
Blessings upon blessings. My Mom is unstoppable, once again. And there’s still one thing that never really changes: Family rules.
MICHAEL GOLDEN is a national award-winning journalist and cofounder of the One Million Degrees Community College Project. He is also the Editor-in-Chief of JEWDICIOUS.
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wow! what a tribute and key that this exists while those we love are still with us. Great job.
BV! What a wonderful message. Thank you, and I will pass along your beautiful words to Mom!!