This 25 minutes or less post is my latest attempt to continue to blog in my increasingly crazy life. It’s not exactly original content, but hopefully you’ll enjoy my mom’s original content until I find some time to create more of my own.
So, my mom started a blog.
She’s still trying to find that balance of personal and public, so she hasn’t announced it from way up high on a mountaintop, but the overlap between Feminist Kitchen readers and, say, the parents of kids who go to her school is pretty small, so I think she’d be OK with me telling you all about it here.
Blogging — and by extension, our social media livelihood — is a virtual fishbowl that we all seem to be swimming around in these days, and my mom is pretty good at living in a fishbowl. Ever since she was a kid, as the daughter of the high school principal, the middle sister of two brothers and now the school official married to the town’s up-and-coming real estate star, her life as been on display.
And now that she and my dad are living with my grandmother in the house she’s lived in for 50 years, it’s like she’s in a fishbowl inside a fishbowl.
Back on Pleasant Street is a place for her to explore what it means to be living in that same house, where the land line telephone number is still the same as when she was a child.
Being so brazenly open about somewhat personal matters is still pretty foreign to a person of her age in a place like her town, which is the kind of place where you talk about things, but you don’t really talk about things. (Even without modern communication tools like Facebook and Twitter, that town runs on chatter.) She was apprehensive about not only the new medium, but about bearing her journal-like writing for everyone to see.
But within five posts, you can tell she’s a natural. It’s obvious why she was my first writing mentor. Both she and my dad would help me write papers, but there was something evocative in her own writings that taught me something entirely different than how to use a Thesaurus and have a marketer’s ear for how something sounds. (Thanks for that, too, Dad.)
So far, she’s written an ode to my father’s silver hair and inspirational posts about being brave enough to hunt for new cheese and about going back to school (again) to pursue her professional dreams.
In this most recent post, she writes about family dogs, including my grandmother’s beloved dachshunds and Shiva, the salt and pepper blue heeler we had to give up when Julian was 2. Through those dogs you can get a glimpse of my mom’s corner of the world, a multi-generational household in the middle of America with three very unique individuals and one ailing puppy dog who isn’t a puppy anymore.
If only we could all capture our stories so well.