"My Mom is a Writer, She Lives in Arizona"

[FlowerChild]

"My mom is a writer, she lives in Arizona."

"Oh, I guess...that's really cool."

But it's all so much more than "mymomisawritershelivesinarizona"; that simple sentence that is dumbed down to the point of being banal cannot encompass what I would really like to tell you about her:

"My mom is one of my very best and certainly my oldest friends, you see she's a writer and she passed her gift on to me, and I treasure it and sometimes when the words aren't forthcoming I feel like I'm betraying it and I wonder sometimes if she's proud but then I figure I put her down so much that she doesn't realize that even though I grit my teeth when she exclaims in that breathy voice "OH wow..." that really I'm feeling the same kind of feeling but my feeling comes out as laughter and tears and hugging whoever is nearest, but inside my soul just echoed hers and it makes me want to sing or paint but I'm terrible at both those things; I make poetry on the fly and I see the beauty in the neon flashing lights and the desert nights and the bustle of human life that I know she echoes in her soul, only she sees the beauty in  the mountains and canyons and the rustle of the leaves in spring time. And I feel bad sometimes because I know that the hustle of town makes her cringe inside but I want to show her my world and the otherwordly beauty of the lights in the night and the beats of the drum letting it hum through your body like a wave or a river; because I got the best of both worlds, because I know my Dad gets the nights and the lights and the drums but it all makes her tired but I get her too. I get the mountains and I yearn for the rivers and the animals and the beauty and the cold and the pain....so I get her...and she gets one of the best parts of me; because the nights and the lights and the drums and the desert get to me...I take it too far, get wrapped up in the beat of it all...so she gets what is possibly the best part of who I am...and I see a friend...one of my best and oldest friends. My mom is a writer in Arizona."

[FlowerChild]

Mike, thank you. That was amazing, and I loved it! Thank you as well, Bill and Edward :)

[Cita]

Bravo, Mike Handley.

[Mike Handley]

Her daughter is a writer. She lives in Apache country, full of junipers, white rocks, dusty roads and arthritic mesquite. She's lured to neon like a bee to pollen, but she'll never lose the taste of the honey back home.

[Edward Dean]

Oh darn, this piece is making me emotionally squishy:)

A beautifully well written piece to a deserving person!

[Cita]

Damnit.  Dearest, the one who grew under my heart, you have now made my cry... And I will reply/comment coherently tomorrow.  (I think I get the neon flashing lihgts and the bustling and the drumbeats... and I am glad you get the desert nights and the animals and the cold and the pain.)  What a wonderful blend you are... and yet, like a whole new unique you. 

[FlowerChild]

I cannot count on both hands or toes or teeth or hair strands how many times I have read that book. And the ones that follow it that the literary world is currently missing out on. And every single time her writing is amazing and I love reading it :) She is amazing, and my inspiration :)

 

[Teresa]

This has the rhythm of drums, a tribal beat.  Beautiful tribute, and next time you tell someone about your mother, tell them to order a copy of Rightful Place...;-)  They'll be glad they did.