when words fail me, which is often, I paint. When words work for me and are available on time, I am surprised.

Friday, May 11, 2007

Did I ever tell you , You're my heros?

In an interview with Alice Hoffman on her official website, the interviewee asks Ms. Hoffman if she reads the work of other authors and if so, whose works does she enjoy.Alice responded that she doesn't read other people's work because she doesn't want their voice or style to confuse her own inner voice.

Alice Hoffman is one of my favorite authors; I've read every one of her novels. Some I have read more than once. I am an Alice Hoffman wannabe groupie. Ever since, "White Horses", the first paperback I stumbled upon in a thrift store in the mid 80's, I fell under her spell. I am often bewildered by many novelists' ability to create the story; so surreal and intricate. I shake my head, how do they do that?

After reading an Alice Hoffman, Barbara Kingsolver, Tom Robbins and now your works, my blogger friends, I become significantly less able to find my own voice. I am greatly humbled by those of you I read daily. I am getting a bit lost. I have too much going on in my life and I am trying to figure out how to fit two full time jobs and one part time job into one work week this summer. I used to believe the more books I read, the easier it will become for me to learn to write like my favorite authors. Now I am not so sure. I have a writer friend who said that's what she thought too; she's completed two manuscripts and working on her third. Thats another story, hers.

I forgot my sisters birthday. Sort of. I thought today was yesterday. Yesterday she called when I was too busy to answer the phone. When I returned her phone call last night, she was crying and said she'd call me back. I went to sleep, she called me back two times. Today she won't answer her phone. I'm pretty sure it's the Momma drama, my mom moved into her townhouse (my sisters) a few weeks ago. I thought it would be better there than here, for me, that's right.

My sister has called me a few times in the past few weeks to say she didn't know what was worse, our mother or her dog. My mother is completely blind; her husband died last November. They were living in France for the past 3 years and in Ireland for ten years before that. She'd want me to tell you that, she thinks it makes her special. She tells everyone she meets about her glorious lifestyle in EU, away from any family members, children, grandchildren, with very little money and the story of the glamor puss who learns to shop in thrift stores because she has to not because it's chic.

Well, she probably wouldn't tell you that part, the not glamorous part. I might, but it's depressing and I really wanted to talk about the dog. My mom's dog is a large shaggy, sloppy thing. I was never fond of her. Katie, the dog, is getting old. She pees every three seconds, whether she is inside or out. My mom doesn't know how bad it is because she cannot see, but my son told me about it(he's visited EU twice) and it's been going on for a long time. Mom swears this behavior has only been happening since her husband fell ill. I'd beg to differ, but I don't beg.

My sister said she couldn't take much more, she took the dog and my blind mother to the vet., bless her heart.

My mom went on and on about the move from Ireland to France and all the drama this poor dog has been through. She was talking to the door to her right the entire vet visit, the vet was in front of her.She couldn't tell.

She talked non-stop about irrelevant stuff until the vet finally cut her off.

"How long has this been happening?"

Mom:"since Mike died last winter"

Sister shakes her head to indicate NO very strongly and mouths the words NO WAY to the vet; mom cannot see this either.

Long story even longer: Vet opens dog, finds bladder completely full of stones.

Stones must be removed, no room for fluid in there.

Shock and horror when Vet finds a blood filled growth on dog's spleen, surgery looks like a bloodbath.

Sister feels really sad for the dog. She always did find the weirdest animals to get attached to, like the baby skunk at the pet store. She cried over the skunk for a week straight but dad said NO, as in NO WAY. But I think I digress again.

I am guessing that the dog probably didn't make it. I am guessing that my mother cried a lot. I can't stand to see my mother cry.I don't care if they answer the phone.

I will see them all tomorrow, my cousin is graduating from college, on Mother's day weekend. It's my sister's birthday, my cousin's graduation, my grandmother will be there, my mother will be there and I just wanted you all to know that I may not be writing too much for a brief time because I can't stop reading your blogs and maybe that's affecting my inner voice... which just. . may.. overactive. . louder. . and I really must go buy some cards or something.


thirdworstpoetinthegalaxy said...

Hope you have a great weekend celebrating all of these events.

Sorry to hear about the dog, too. That's never easy.

Jerri said...

Listen harder to that inner voice, Stacy. It's clear and it's funny and it's got a lot to say.

This is an interesting, well-written piece. Reading it feels like sitting down with a friend and a cup of good tea. Don't write if you don't have time--you've got a lot on your plate, after all.

But don't avoid writing because you don't recognize your own voice. It's there and you'll learn to hear it if you let it out to play more often.

Michelle O'Neil said...

Sweet Jesus!

The sister. The dog. The mother.

Stacy said...

Thank you, all of you. I miss you already!

8th President of the United States said...

When we were children our parents seemed the epitome of solidity, all that is safe and secure. Growing up was about learning of their failings, then living with their failings. As we reached adolescence we were crushed by the fact that they were so imperfect. As adults we realized we must forever battle demons passed to us by our parents. As parents ourselves we eventually witness our own disillusionment complete. That family which started out in our minds so idyllic ends in a shattered, disparate longing for childhood. What is more, our childhood heroes that spawned dreams have brought with them the familiar nightmare of our eventual loss of their presence.

In the end, what we are left with is fractured and brittle, a cruel caricature of our childhood memories. Yet, it is what is left of what we cherished so much. Our love for them deserves the opportunity to lift it’s weary arm, despite the sadness of we have lost and will lose.

Mothers Day 2007

Stacy said...

Van Buren? Is that you?