I was a month away from turning 5 years old (so my mom had just turned 31) and our family was on a winter vacation in Florida. But I don't think this is a happy, warm family photo.
My mother looks like she is somewhere else mentally; she seems checked out and unaware that I am even in her lap. I'm not snuggled there, more like plunked, and looking rather glum at that. We seem about as far apart as two people can be who are actually in physical contact with each other.
Mind you, this was the family holiday where it was discovered I had a thing for bright shiny objects, having shoplifted a faceted glass door handle from a hardware store (I think I thought it looked like a diamond), and I also tucked a large, rectangular glass ashtray from the motel room into my little suitcase. I can only imagine that I was somehow attracted to the heft and gleam of that object. I guess I developed my passion for travel souvenirs at a young age!
I plan to write a book about my mother and the experience of being the daughter of this singular woman. I've started writing the stories that could be the basis of the book many times over the years, but have yet to find the exact right angle and approach. I continue to experiment, partly through blogging.
The yet-to-be-book is captured in this photo of a knock-about, skinned-knee, tomboy daughter and her glamorous, remote mother. I just have to find the right 50,000 words (length of a typical novel) to capture and convey the journey we had.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
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