Becca Rowan is a writer and the author of Life in General, a collection of essays about mid-life as experienced by an American woman in the 21st century. Becca loves creating connections by sharing stories on her popular blog.
Avebury, England, May 2005No matter how busy life gets, I never stop reading. So even during these past few weeks when things in my regular life have been crazy, I've always had the comfort of a good book to come home to. Here's a few that have sustained me during the mayhem of April and May~
The Sweet Life, by Lynn York: I picked this one up at the airport, and it turned out be a captivating beach book. The story of Miss Wilma Swan, choir director and piano teacher in the little town of Swan's Knob, North Carolina, her new husband, Roy, and the startling changes wrought upon their lives by the advent of Wilma's teenage grandaugher, Star, who comes to live with them. It's a charming family story, with a memorable cast of small town "characters" reminiscent of Jan Karon's Mitford series.
The Knitting Circle
, by Ann Hood: The first of two novels I've read that feature knitting as the vehicle for women to form friendships and work through dilemmas in their lives. Ann Hood's novel is a poignant, understated story about a mother grieving the loss of her five year old daughter. When the novel begins, Mary Baxter is unable to pursue any of the activities that once gave meaning to her life, including her relationship with her husband. Through the women she meets in The Knitting Circle, who have each overcome their own personal disasters, Mary is able to share her own story and begin the long road back to life once more.
The Friday Night Knitting Club, by Kate Jacbobs: Another group of women joined by their interest in knitting, this novel is a bit more lighthearted and humorous than Hood's story. The crisis in this tale comes at the end, after we've become attached to Georgia Walker and her 13 year old daughter, Dakota, proprietor's of Walker and Daughter Knit Shop, where the club members meet each week to hash out not only sweater patterns, but life changing events. This is a fun read, full of characters that are instantly recognizable and likeable. Both this novel, and The Knitting Circle are part of a new genre of books that I really like to read~novels where the reader meets groups of women characters dealing with various life concerns, forming friendships, and bonding together in pursuit of a common activity, one that, in itself, becomes therapeutic for them.
The Big-7 was my favorite thing in the little town of Leitchfield, Kentucky. Dimly lit and cool, even on the hottest of summer days, this old fashioned "department store" was the place to go in town if you needed housedresses, overalls, or straw hats. Deep and cavernous, with sloping wooden floors that announced your progress through the store with a symphony of creaks and moans, the Big-7 was the spot to be if you were "in town" on Saturday mornings. The clerks greeted every customer with a cheery "How y'all doin' today?" and sent you on your way with "Y'all come back now, y'hear!" I always insisted my mother buy something, anything, because I didn't want to hurt their feelings by leaving the store empty handed. (Actually a pretty smart sales strategy, if you think about it!) The Big-7 was only one of many things that were different about the country. We visited my mother's hometown every summer, and the plethora of relatives scattered throughout the countryside was a never ending source of delight for me, an only child growing up in post -WWII suburbia. There were cousins of all ages to play with, and big family dinners every night, the table groaning with fried chicken, homegrown beans, tomatoes, sweet corn, and fresh baked pies heaped with ice cream we took turns cranking out of the wooden ice cream maker.
I loved our visits to the country - with the exception of trips to Aunt Dessie's house, which lay at the end of a winding one lane road skirting a deep wooded gorge. I was always petrified a car would be coming the other direction and force my dad's big Buick off the road into that bottomless pit. Once we got there, things weren't so great either. Aunt Dessie's house was right across the street from a huge chicken farm, and the odor emanating from that place on a humid summer day was indescribable. Didn't bother Aunt Dessie, because she'd lost her olfactory sense many years before - in self defense no doubt.
Yep, country life was great - at least for those two or three weeks every summer. By the end of that time, though, I was ready to trade barefooted treks through the hills for concrete sidewalks and my new three speed stingray bike. And after a couple of trips through the aisles of the Big -7, I had pretty much exhausted my interest in Osh-Kosh coveralls and was ready to roam the new indoor shopping mall at home.
There is definitely a romantic sort of appeal to life in the country, and it calls to me every now and then, especially with the pace of life here in the suburbs growing faster and more complex every year. As they say, the grass is always greener...and I'm pretty sure I'd find myself leaving the Big-7 before too long and going in search of a little more variety and excitement - not without buying something first, of course.
for more town and country tales, head on over here
That's what I've started calling my young friend Liz. I care about her, I'm very concerned about her, and I want to help her, but she is one very seriously messed up young woman. I just finished talking with her for the third time this week. As is her usual pattern, she was crying when she called me, and she was driving. Tonight, she said she had had a "horrible day," and she just needed someone to talk to until she got home." Her litany of problems is far heavier than any 24 year old should have to bear. Serious psychologial problems (obsessive compulsive disorder, depression, destructive behaviors, i.e. cutting and attempted suicide), emotional estrangement from her mother, overwhelming stress on the job, financial difficulties, moving residences more than three times in one year...added to that, this week she has strep throat, intestinal flu, and got into a car accident. Oh...my...god...
All I have to say is, "Tell me what's going on..." and she's very happy to regale me with the litany of all the horrible things that have happened to her since the last time we talked. I know she's looking for a mother figure- someone to sympathize, croon comforting words, and, yes, offer to fly in and rescue her from all this distress. Liz did finally tell her mother the whole truth about her situation, but (at least according to Liz) her mother "has nothing to offer" in the way of help, either literally or emotionally.
I know Liz's mother - not terribly well, but we've met on several occasions. I would characterize Sara as a woman who has been soured on life. Her husband died suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving her with two young daughters to raise. She's had a hard time keeping a job, so the past 15 years have been a continuous struggle for her. Still...when Liz tells me things that her mother says and does which seem utterly insensitive to me, I struggle to keep from calling this woman on the phone and screaming at her to get out there and take care of her daughter. Yet I also realize that having Liz for a daughter must have been a daunting proposition - needy, disturbed, and at the same time, exceedingly bright - she would have been a challenge for the most well rounded of parents. After all, Sara, like every mother, is only human. Perhaps this child has just sucked her dry??
The one good thing about this situation is that every time I talk to this girl, every time I think about her life and how fragile it is, I'm reminded once again how lucky I am to have had loving, supportive relationships. From the foundation of caring and respect I was fortunate enough to receive from my parents, and in my relationship with my husband, I was able to provide my own child with the kind of support he needed to help him overcome some tough emotional times in his life and go on to become a healthy and stable adult.
Of course I wasn't a "perfect mother" by any stretch of the imagination, but hopfully I didn't leave my child feeling abandonded and completely bereft, like Liz apparently feels. But I know that even with the best of intentions, parents can go wrong. Every child is different, with unique needs and expectations. Sometimes we think we're doing the right thing, and it turns out to be completely wrong based on the needs of that individual child. And sometimes you don't know that until it's way too late.
I'm hoping it's not too late for Liz. As much as I care about what happens to her, I can't be the mother she's looking for. And I don't think she wants me to be. What she really wants is unconditional love and nurturing from her own mother. Right now, she's not getting it~I really hope someday soon she will.
Rouge River~Lola Valley Park, 2006
River Visit
