My Mother, Myself

A Gutsy Revelation

(My long-sleeved swimshirt)

The following is a prompt on solitude from my writing class, Writing in the Dark (WITD,) which you can subscribe to free on Substack and read the Diane Seuss poem (here.) Click on the title “Toward Pleasure”

I will be joining WITD in Elkhorn, Wisconsin this summer at Camp Wandawega. Yes, it’s been awhile since I was at summer camp!

In her poem, “My favorite scent is my own funk, my least favorite scent, other,”

the poet, Diane Seuss, is celebrating solitude. This is my rendition:

My Favorite Quirk

My favorite quirk is keeping the doors locked

The window blinds drawn

Roman shade covering the front door glass

I’m not home, don’t bother to knock

When asked the inevitable question

“I heard after water aerobics you go home and write

Imagine writing on purpose. It was bad enough in school.”

There’s a stigma in a community where people come

To Florida to have fun, vacation, and party

An enigma, I stick to my routine, breaking it only

To teach line dancing to a large group of party goers

I don’t make friends easily. Too wary, my heart

Chamber ajar, ready to close in an instant.

I can be wooed, my lover attests

With a Coleman stove on the beach

Oysters Rockefeller, a side of shrimp scampi, and I’m yours

If you’re me, you place your beach towel away from others

Swim in the deep end of the pool

Like my mother who wore white gloves to the bank

I wear a long-sleeved swimshirt to cover my body

Because of the sun, you ask? That too, I answer.

THE GUTSY REVELATION

My entire life I was sure I was not like my mother nor did I ever want to be. My mother was leery of friendships—”They’ll turn on you, talk behind your back, hurt you,” she warned me. She wore gloves and a hat every time she left the house. It was what set her apart, showed our remote little town she was a lady.

It never occurred to me I did the same thing by always keeping myself aloof, my shyness covering up my standoffishness, even to my long-sleeved swimshirt that was different from all the other swimmers.

It wasn’t until I wrote the above poem and read it out loud that I recognized how similar we were. If you read Paper Bags, my novel, you know my mother had no filter.

Unfortunately, I’ve been channeling her lately in my own way by making suggestions about how people ought to be when they haven’t asked me my opinion. I guess the good thing is I recognize it when it happens and even though I can’t stop it, I can remedy the faux pas with an apology. “Sorry, I’m channeling my mother,” I say. :-)

I’d love to hear in the COMMENTS if/how you’ve found yourself channeling your mother and how it sits with you.

As always, thank you for subscribing to Get Gutsy. It’s my way of keeping in contact with you. I love it when you comment with your own stories. The best!

Get Gutsy together,

Trish

Link for my novel, Paper Bags. https://woodhallpress.com/paper-bags