Shirley's Story: A Life of Finesse (eBook)

Ellen

My Mother the Writer

As a young woman, I had no idea that my mother was interested in writing. I made this discovery at the end of her life. Shirley’s Story, all of its words, comprised of journals and memoir pieces were in plain sight, sitting on the floor of my mother’s walk-in closet, carefully stacked, filling a clear plastic storage container.

They were purposefully left in her 101st year, waiting to be read. She wanted her family to know who she was, not just mom, grandma and great grandma. This memoir includes her original words with minimal editing.

Her writing epiphany, the day she wrote that she wanted to write appears in her first journal dated 1967. In 1972, on her 52nd birthday she started exploring her creative side. The entry, in August that follows, is a few weeks after my parents returned from my wedding on Prince Edward Island.

After the wedding my mother must have gone home and reflected on life. Her job as a mother had changed. Now she had a permanent empty nest. She always had many responsibilities with my Dad’s office and now she was no longer a full-time mom.

Journal Entry: 1967

I am sitting at the breakfast table sipping a second cup of coffee. Thoughts of friends, family and what I should do now are what seem to come to the fore. From nowhere comes the thought, “I want to write.” Well, I must act on that urge immediately. I dashed up the stairs, opened a drawer and pulled out the notebook and pencil. What do I write? I can go back to my childhood and adolescence when I loved to read. I really started to love fiction with the “Tom Swift” stories. I would borrow one of these books from my cousin, read it every minute I could spare. I remember reading in bed on the sleeping porch and would reluctantly put the book down when it got too dark to see. As soon as I finished one book, I would return it and start another.

I think that the choice to write is a desire to express oneself. Everyone needs a means of expression. There are many means of expression such as painting, sculpture and the other forms of art, cooking, sewing, carpentry, and all handwork are forms of expression. Whatever seems to be the desire of a person’s nature that needs to come out, that should be done. Therefore, if my thoughts seem to wander, I guess I’m thinking on paper (not out loud). I find that I should do this often. The more I do, the better I shall be able to express myself. The feeling I have while I write, I think, is a good feeling. I am not straining myself to write what I think. Perhaps that is the secret. Write only what you know, think, feel. That way it should not be difficult, and it should be more interesting; after all, writing is intended to be read and no one wants to read anything dull, confused or uninteresting.

Journal Entry: August 26, 1972

My problem is squeezing the time between my chores and resting to have the peace and quiet necessary for writing. Every waking minute at home is filled with washing, cleaning, cooking and all these repetitious tasks which have to be taken on by somebody in the home or we would be living in chaos. If I could only convince myself that I should get up even one hour earlier! I have an idea that if I do find myself enjoying this writing interlude too much, I will do something about the housework, like maybe rise and shine at 7 am. I’ll have to see myself doing that!

Yesterday, I found time to write as can be seen by the previous page. I did that after a couple of washes and a quick mop job of the kitchen floor. I got dressed after the writing session and the phone rang. It was Lillian, one of Paul’s salesladies and she had to attend a closing. As there was no one in the office she asked me to answer the phone. I said I would come right over. I got to the office and found work for me plus a man who was waiting to see Paul. When Paul returned, I left, went to the laundry to pick up Paul’s shirts, drove home, walked Morty around the block, then had my lunch of cherry yogurt and black coffee. Dashed back to the office where there was a lot of work waiting for me; sales agreements and appraisals to type, filing, answering the phone, and talking to the people who came and went. By 5 o’clock I was ready to do nothing.

Journal Entry: August 28, 1972

Old Samuel Johnson was wise when he advised Boswell to keep a detailed journal. Now that I have tried to do that myself for a couple of days, I can see how much can be learned by this practice. It is definitely the best way to learn to write. One can’t be a writer by only the desire. That is the way I would like it to happen to me, but I am going to follow the idea as much as I possibly can, and, who knows, it may bring something out of me. Then it may not. The notes shall be burned, in that case! And they shall be burned in any case!

Journal Entry: August 30, 1972

I decided this morning that between vacuuming the downstairs and writing in this journal, I would choose writing. It is not quite the parallel to life and death when we are told to choose life, but in thinking it over, not too thoughtfully, I really think that I have much more to gain by writing. I am learning to think more clearly by putting my thoughts on paper and feel that by doing this writing consistently, I will someday develop a style of sorts. It is definitely a skill which should improve with practice. As for the vacuuming, the house will be a little more dustless for a little while, until the dust returns. And it shall return! I really don’t think that I have gained a thing as a person by the cleaning, except of course, it is a more comfortable environment to live in.

Journal Entry: July 31, 1973

I read an article in the Readers Digest on how to be your own best friend. One of the things you should do, according to the article, is talk to yourself.

Instead of talking to myself, I shall endeavor to write a note—or a letter—or a book to myself. This way I will have a record of what I’m telling myself. Also, I’ll be able to see in black and white whether or not my advice is worth heeding. OK, here goes! I must start to change some habits. I would guess that a good way to start changing would be to list a few bad habits.

1. Get up earlier to do the housework in order to have more time to do things that I enjoy, or think I would enjoy doing, i.e.: writing, painting, talking on the phone, visiting old friends, shopping, visiting museums, reading, listening to music, studying a new subject, walking, swimming, bowling, playing tennis, doing something nice for someone who is lonely.
2. Learning not to answer personal questions. I have a friend who asks questions bluntly and right to the point. I am not clever and cannot answer obliquely, but I find that I am always, as much as I don’t want to, answering with the truth. How does one answer evasively? I could say: I don’t remember. No comment. I’ll tell you later. I’ll have to look it up. I don’t think I should say. It is something I can’t talk about at this time. Or I could answer a question with a question: Why do you ask?

My mom, trying so hard to get to writing, to express her thoughts and ideas on paper. There were long gaps in her journals as she needed to work in my father’s office. She was also born in a time when wives were responsible for taking care of the home and their husbands. Long before there was such a thing as blogging, she managed to fill journals over a period of forty years with her thoughts and feelings.

Journal Entry: October 8, 1974

I recently read an essay by William Safire* about keeping a diary, and it inspired me to do so. That was probably at least a month ago, and until now I have not even put pen to paper. He had four rules.

Briefly:

1. You own the diary. Keep it that way, not necessarily every day, as some days, the less written, the better.
2. Write for yourself, like a future letter to yourself.
3. Write what cannot be reconstructed, like a poignant personal moment, what you wish you had said, your predictions about your own tribulations etc.
4. Write lightly.

Well here goes, again! The past few days have been peaceful ones for me and I am happy. Evidently, my nature is such that I am more tuned in when I don’t have too much stress. Stress to me, is having too many obligations, trying to be all things to many, and, mostly, my husband. I am not too clear on this subject, but I do know when I am over my head with things to do, and I am uncomfortable and perhaps the word is...