One woman's quest to remember her mother and find herself. I am who I am, in very large part, because I am my mother's daughter. But she never wrote down her stories like I wished she had. So, this is where I will tell my stories before it's too late.
Here is a series of pictures of my dad and me over the years. In the first one I'm 1 1/2 and he's 31. The last one was taken just days after my mom died when she was 60. We didn't know it, but he would only live another four years to be 63 and this is one of the last pictures of just the two of us together. (Click on photos to enlarge.)
posted by Karin at 12:00 AM
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2 comments
Mother's Day is hard for me. I stay away from stores, I turn off the radio and the TV so as not to be bombarded by reminders for Mother's Day gift ideas. I used to welcome the marketing barage, but now, not so much. So this year it worked out perfectly, though I hadn't planned it this way, that on Mother's Day I arrived in Dakar, Senegal--easily one of my favorite places in the world--a place that just so happens (like most places) not to celebrate Mother's Day. [It does, however, celebrate International Women's Day, which (like most places) honors women of all ages, mothers or not.] It was quite an ordinary Sunday like all the rest. And for that I was very glad. It was extra-ordinary in many other ways, in that I was in Dakar on an adventure, visiting friends and a city I hadn't seen in eleven years, but that's another story altogether.
posted by Karin at 11:19 PM
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3 comments
