First, let me wish moms and the many who mother (aunts, teachers, friends) a Happy Week for all the caring and support you give. I had a fabulous mom—bright, funny, bilingually articulate, lovely to look at—I could go on and on. To a great extent I’m a writer because of her, her love of reading and books. Lots of bookjoy in our home in El Paso when I was growing up, and I hope lots of bookjoy in the home my three children grew up in, also in El Paso.
Those of you who know my work may be familiar with the aunt we all called, Lobo. All the children in the family called her that, and our friends did too. Though she never had biological children, my siblings and I and our kids were hers. The lady knew how to love and give, give, give—candies, hugs, presents, trips on the train to California, shiny shoes. And, she loved books and knowledge. My first children’s book, A Birthday Basket for Tía is about her, and …. Oh yes, sh,sh, that’s still a secret. Lobo died years ago, but I can still tear up talking about her. She sneaks into book after book, and …. sh,sh. Oh yes, that’s still a secret. A good secret.
At the beginning of the year, I received a book from my dear friend Elizabeth Mills, Prospect: The Journal of an Artist by Anne Truitt. I loved this book for so many reasons including the rich and precise vocabulary. I also appreciated how Truitt candidly spoke about her life as an artist and as a mother. I’m reading the two books that preceded Prospect, the final piece of a three volume memoir. I smile that Truitt did become a better writer as she wrote. Gives us all hope, doesn’t it?
Soon, I’m diving into a new book, writing not reading. More on that (and the secret) later.
In my family memoir, House of Houses, I quote the Provencal chanson or French song, “It must have been May morning when the world was made.” Isn’t that how we feel on these soft May days? Wishing you good health and laughter and bookjoy this month.
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