Tags
1924, critical critique please?, Hamburg, memoir, New York, S.S. Resolute, transistions & tense changes?
April 1991
Slats of plastic block all but pinholes of yellow spring glow from the sole window. I perch in a Forest Service-green plastic upholstered chair pulled up to the left side of the hospital bed that sprouts a daunting array of wires, cords, tubes, buttons, and geegaws. My Tandy laptop, a primitive version of those devices that would soon become ubiquitous, balances on the table of my knees.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to crack the blinds just a bit?”
“No. Hurts my eyes.” The voice is almost unrecognizable—flat and grumpy.
Grasping at something to break the emptiness, my mind rumbles for a question to prime the pump. “So Mom, tell me about the trip to America. What was that like? Was it frightening or exciting?”
After a too-long pause, the diminished form answers with little enthusiasm.
~~
April 1991 was an awkward time for my mother and me. No—it was an awkward time for me; it was an agonizing time for mother. All her life mom had relied on self-diagnosis and the talismans of vitamins, minerals, enzymes, and determination to hold doctors and hospitals at bay. Ten days earlier she’d called me in Boise to ask for my help—a first. Now, sitting beside her hospital bed in Fort Collins, I felt responsible for the heaviness of time. The following day she was scheduled for a surgical procedure that would enable long-term kidney dialysis. She’d been putting this off for over a year. As a means of filling long, empty hours of doing nothing, I mined mother’s memories. Through the years, I’d overheard many intriguing family tales, but I’d only listened to the exciting parts and retained none of the important details nor the threads that connected the stories. Perhaps now, with nothing to sidetrack me, I could record them. Balancing the laptop on my knees, I coaxed her. She was tired and lethargic, but grateful to have a distraction. Her voice was hollow and lifeless, devoid of her characteristic flamboyance. At times, some vision would breathe a half-hearted grin into her voice:
“Yah. I wasn’t quite eleven yet. It was Oct 25, 1924. . . .”
Then silence, again. Such a simple answer seemed to suck all the energy out of her. Had she gone to sleep? Was she breathing? Journalists make interviewing look so easy, I thought as I stared at the indistinct lump under the white bedclothes. Desperate to get the memories flowing I blurted out another question. “What was the voyage like?” God, what a lame question. Without bothering to open her eyes, Mom sucked in stale, medicinal air and began to describe the events that brought her to America. Little by little the story of mother’s childhood emerged as I sat beside her bed.
~~
It took ten days for the S.S.”Resolute” to cross the Atlantic from Hamburg to New York City. For a child of eleven, the trip was a grand adventure. It was also an opportunity to distance herself from the hubbub and turmoil of a large extended family of aunts and uncles and cousins. For her mother, Nora, the journey was less adventure and a lot more uncertainty and discomfort. Nora had already paid a dear price for falling in love with a German. . . .
Keith said:
Linda, thanks for the painful storytelling within the story. You are making us live it with you as it unfolds. Your message is important. Thanks for sharing it, Keith
LikeLike
rangewriter said:
Thanks, Keith. Labor of love. Trying to breathe life into it.
LikeLike
Larry Mickelson said:
Yep! You are a wonderful storyteller. But now for my complaints. Don’t leave us hanging again with the story. The last one had a young girl going West on the train. What the hell? What happened to her? And your mom’s story is already very interesting. What can we hope for? And when?
LikeLike
rangewriter said:
Yeah, that’s the problem with rolling out a work in progress in installments. It’s very confusing. Sorry. I’ll try to get things in order. Eventually, I hope to have them all in order in one category. You will see my mom converge with a young girl on a train. Hopefully. Down the road…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Nandini said:
May be, you should write a book! I’ll definitely buy it. 😀
LikeLike
rangewriter said:
Be careful, Nandini, you may just have to live up to that promise. (When you’re a grandma!) lol
LikeLiked by 1 person
Nandini said:
Then I wouldn’t mind at all. I would have a lot of time to read. 😉
LikeLike
rangewriter said:
You’re a good sport, my friend.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bryan Hemming said:
You certainly do have a talent for storytelling, Linda and your work is respiring quite well enough without any need to breathe even more life into it.
When writing, I sometimes suffer the same problem you describe in your reply to Larry Mickelson. Though the bits don’t always come out in an order that makes most sense to the reader, that’s the way they do it, and that’s the way I have to write them. At first, at least.
It is very important to get down as much as possible before arranging it all into some sort of more coherent draft, especially in the form you appear to be working on, which looks as if it’s going to go back and forth between several different periods of time.
Though the process may be frustrating for some readers – in itself that can be seen as a sort of compliment – for writers it is interesting to witness someone else experiencing similar difficulties to their own.
Not every writer starts with a plot from beginning to end in mind and I suspect there are far fewer than people might imagine. Many allow the story to unfold in the telling to the point where it seems to be writing itself. And that is tremendously exciting and rewarding.
LikeLiked by 2 people
rangewriter said:
Bryan, your words are encouraging. I have worked through this project so many times and from so many angles that my words bore me to tears. But the story demands to be told.
I do intend to switch back and forth in time and to weave the story between 2 voices. I worry about transitions and losing my reader if I’m too abrupt. But you are right, editing can do wonders for those issues.
I worry that I’m better at beginnings than I am at sustenance. Trying the bits and pieces out on the blog is my way of replacing a writers’ group that disbanded a few years back. I need some sort of commitment to keep sticking my head back into this. But I risk irking my faithful followers in doling it out as I am. Oh well. I’m so encouraged by your comment, that I’m going to stick my nose back in again today. Thank you!
LikeLike
Glenda said:
I certainly appreciate all the insights into Yri’s life. Thanks Linda, and yes it should be a book!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
rangewriter said:
Thanks for the encouragement, Glenda. I think you know the monkey on my back. It hasn’t surfaced lately, but I suspect it may now that I have revisited this topic. When that happens, I’ll be crying on your shoulder.
LikeLike
Lynz Real Cooking said:
I love this, is it true? love!
LikeLike
rangewriter said:
Thanks, Lynn. It’s as true as my research is accurate and Yry’s personal account was true.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lynz Real Cooking said:
Love this! I mean who was this to you?
LikeLike
rangewriter said:
It is my mother and I. I have started a new series, My Life with an Enigma. This should have been the first entry, however, I posted a few other segments prematurely. I fear it may be difficult to follow, as I will be jumping back and forth time-wise and shifting narrative voice. I’m not good at the mechanics of this!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lynz Real Cooking said:
I thought it was and I love it! Wow I do love it!
LikeLike
rangewriter said:
Thanks Lynn! I really appreciate that. BTW, how do you spell your first name?
LikeLike
Doreen Pendgracs said:
Hi Linda. This is exciting! It is wonderful that you are attempting to record your mom’s story and bring it to us. Too many times, people get old and forget the stories before someone asks for them. And then they are lost forever. So stick with it, girl. You will be glad you did!
LikeLike
rangewriter said:
Thanks, Doreen. I hope my blogging community will hold me to the grindstone. 😉
LikeLike
moondustwriter said:
Linda its a good beginning that draws the reader in and as an editor that’s what I tell my writers. Your personal expression also pull the reader up alongside your mother’s bed.
LikeLike
rangewriter said:
Thanks, Moondustwriter! As I proceed, I anticipate problems with balancing my voice/presence with the real story, which belongs to my mother. Please fire away, when you notice me drifting!
LikeLike
Pingback: My Life with an Enigma – Introduction | Rangewriter
Barb Hurwitz said:
Linda– this is such a wonderful account of your mothers childhood and young adulthood. I will look forward to continue reading her story. You are a great writer.
LikeLike
rangewriter said:
OMG, Barb! So wonderful to hear from you! I miss you. Catching fleeting glances of you and your ski buddies is not enough.
Thank you for your encouragement. Meanwhile, I’m trying to make this thing more user friendly. At the moment, if you start with this introduction and hit the “continue” link at the end of each post, that should lead you consecutively through the “My Life with an Enigma” category. I’m looking for some other navigation options too. Hopefully it won’t be to disjointed as you read. Thank you, thank you, Barb!
LikeLike