tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57965213180451182032024-03-08T03:33:27.010-08:00455-GIRLSRandom musings about motherhood, mother loss, writing, and whatever's going on in Topanga Canyon, CAHope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.comBlogger97125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-19814701753140273132013-07-27T21:24:00.000-07:002013-07-27T21:24:58.969-07:00Dear Iowa City<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKslFCRrAH8U1hTX_6FKhUcAEVbkXhKvnYsIp7_bmsFb_7C2g9b4nEr2_S-lIGEAGGFtORoHST_R459Gx2o5jh6MzDlC7MKQhV0Q45P5qIE1PiveUAXpBxIoHIs9ww8YTXALJ5aWFkxrI/s1600/iowa_city_fireworks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKslFCRrAH8U1hTX_6FKhUcAEVbkXhKvnYsIp7_bmsFb_7C2g9b4nEr2_S-lIGEAGGFtORoHST_R459Gx2o5jh6MzDlC7MKQhV0Q45P5qIE1PiveUAXpBxIoHIs9ww8YTXALJ5aWFkxrI/s320/iowa_city_fireworks.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dear
Iowa City,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ve
known you for a long time now, three years as a full-time resident and more
than fifteen summers as a visitor. So I’m speaking from experience
when I say: You’ve really outdone yourself this year.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Normally, the Julys you
offer are--in a word--intolerable. You're partial to Julys with triple-digit heat indexes. Julys
with humidity so thick we’re still swimming through it at 11 p.m., Julys with automated phone calls at 1 p.m. warning us to stay inside. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">But this
year, four consecutive days of temperate
weather and nights that require long sleeves—at the end of July, no less!--are an unexpected, welcome gift. With stunts like this, you remind us you’re
capable of moments of profound humanity and crippling beauty, and that despite your
frequently intolerable conditions, hope of improvement still exists. You’re
like the Middle East of the Midwest, Iowa City. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">As
a graduate student at your university, I taught the equivalent of freshman
composition for three years. When we graded papers, my fellow instructors I used what we called “The Shit
Sandwich”. It began with a few lines of
praise for whatever was currently working in a paper--and being a UNESCO City of
Literature and home to so many writers per capita, Iowa City, you know there’s
always <i>something</i> of value in a piece
of prose, and if not, that it’s permissible to lie—followed by multiple, lengthy
paragraphs about everything that <i>wasn't </i>working and needed to be fixed, and ending with a few lines
of lukewarm praise that essentially repeated the opening lines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Your
summers, Iowa City, are usually a Shit Sandwich. They start with a stunning week or two in June, followed by months of physical torture, and ending
with a week or two in early September so
gorgeous, and so reminiscent of mid-June, that we remember why we put up
with you for the other 11 months of the year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">But
because I know you, Iowa City, I know what comes next. You can’t fool me. This summer is going to be an inverted Shit Sandwich. The
oppressive heat that greeted me upon arrival two weeks ago will return, probably very soon. And it will last for a long time. Probably until I leave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">This
summer, the bread is in the middle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
could be upset about this, Iowa City. But I’m not. That’s where your brilliance
comes in. You know that just a few days of unanticipated, exquisite weather in
July are enough to change our minds about you. We will forgive you the rest of the summer this year. We will forgive you mostly everything. Very possibly, some of those hundreds of writers who've come here for summer workshops will decide to move here permanently. Or at least buy summer homes. That would
be a good thing, Iowa City. Maybe even strategic. Because you have a lot of inexplicably large and ugly new
condo complexes you're going to somehow need to fill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">In
conclusion, Iowa City, I offer you my gratitude for these past few days. They’ve been the
highlight of my summer. I won’t soon forget them. Yes, I do realize that an inverted
Shit Sandwich is still a Shit Sandwich. But this year you’ve taught me something important: Sometimes the middle is a fine place to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I
could say a few things about winter, too, but let’s not go there right now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Your faithful friend,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hope </span></div>
</div>
Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-69339062551702683702012-10-02T13:21:00.000-07:002012-10-02T13:21:00.072-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEoFtIvO1qtXhyphenhyphenwPlBc-4vMMA94TLa_kRM1v7bbIoJUBsivhoCJGKCPzQTZnTj61m43LjmiXSKshm3Swm0X3iwhfo07U8X-x5RaGtr61wKQWo3rph9qZmrIkSKlfmjTGqB4v9tnMf1-Y/s1600/County+of+LA+seal.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEoFtIvO1qtXhyphenhyphenwPlBc-4vMMA94TLa_kRM1v7bbIoJUBsivhoCJGKCPzQTZnTj61m43LjmiXSKshm3Swm0X3iwhfo07U8X-x5RaGtr61wKQWo3rph9qZmrIkSKlfmjTGqB4v9tnMf1-Y/s320/County+of+LA+seal.png" /></a></div><br />
Please join me in Pasadena, California, on October 18 for the <a href="http://dpw.lacounty.gov/general/leadershipconference/AboutUs.cfm">Women's Leadership Legacy Conference</a>, sponsored by LA County. It's open to the public and more than 600 women are expected to attend. I'll be one of the keynote speakers, talking about how to locate the inspirational journey in the story of your life. My dear friend and fellow author<a href="http://www.christineschwab.com"> Christine Schwab </a>will be speaking there as well. Looking forward to a full day of inspiration!!Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-77541095178965884122012-07-24T21:08:00.001-07:002012-07-24T21:09:58.065-07:00New Children's Book for Grandmotherless Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEQzN001kA7Wq0hBxhyphenhyphenvachENcCvBwYlUyaUXnRuZgWdXTonMJDQFNVjn4dKQY1koW7PCTSWLnEQ0fW58KfOcWRhfpwB3xdRoI5mEXrcoM_Blt4RDKxA2rW1cH1aPHvsX8fxuOJMMBS0/s1600/My+Name+is+Rebecca+Romm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEQzN001kA7Wq0hBxhyphenhyphenvachENcCvBwYlUyaUXnRuZgWdXTonMJDQFNVjn4dKQY1koW7PCTSWLnEQ0fW58KfOcWRhfpwB3xdRoI5mEXrcoM_Blt4RDKxA2rW1cH1aPHvsX8fxuOJMMBS0/s320/My+Name+is+Rebecca+Romm.jpg" /></a></div><br />
My Name is Rebecca Romm, Named for My Mother's Mom is a new children's book by Rachel Levy Lesser about a girl who learns about the grandmother she's named for, who died before she was born. It's a lovely idea, and may inspire talk with kids about their namesakes and/or grandmothers they never knew. Click <a href="http://tinyurl.com/cow8k3u">here</a> to see the book's Amazon page.Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-26948258660232939842012-07-22T08:05:00.002-07:002012-07-22T08:06:25.629-07:00Research Opportunity for Motherless DaughtersI'm posting this on behalf of a graduate psychology student doing a dissertation on women who've lost mothers to suicide. Please feel free to contact her if you fit the description and would like to participate.<br />
<br />
Olivia Schlapfer Colmer, a PhD candidate in the Marriage and Family Therapy (MFT) program at Nova Southeastern University, and survivor of her mother's suicide is looking for help for her dissertation. She wants to interview women who have lost their biological mothers to suicide, preferably but not exclusively while in their twenties.<br />
<br />
These in depth, approximately one to two hour face-to-face interviews will explore daughter’s experiences of loss, how these experiences have affected their sense of self, and their relationships with others including their deceased mother.<br />
<br />
She will travel to do interviews if needed. For more information, questions or concerns, please contact her at oscolmer@gmail.com or 305) 299-9490 .Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-91017367981007469442012-06-04T16:21:00.000-07:002012-06-04T16:22:48.894-07:00Mothers, Cookbooks, and Apple Pie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE52fx1yDC87QHCCaXiXr2j2yeUGJsDNYQTaYtZdUlAe1vByaIHsrdN6CdnTW-3VD5orhg4zA3NHNgfQUReqtu_b-oT7JStV4tVV4NIP2TYkbUpd5XoDYVLm0eyf1NKRc1T1FmEVGtSYg/s1600/IMG_0138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE52fx1yDC87QHCCaXiXr2j2yeUGJsDNYQTaYtZdUlAe1vByaIHsrdN6CdnTW-3VD5orhg4zA3NHNgfQUReqtu_b-oT7JStV4tVV4NIP2TYkbUpd5XoDYVLm0eyf1NKRc1T1FmEVGtSYg/s320/IMG_0138.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
For years, my daughters have been asking me to teach them how to bake an apple pie. I suppose they view it as a gold standard of domesticity, the kind of task and knowledge that mothers naturally pass on to their girls and that they therefore expect to receive. Problem is, I’m not much of a cook and can hardly claim expertise in any matters domestic, partly because I lost my mom before I realized these things were valuable to learn—she knew how to bake an apple pie, though lemon meringue was her trademark—and partly, I suppose, because willfully refusing to learn how to bake pies effectively separates me from my mother and therefore, in a form of twisted logic, from her fate. I’ve felt guilty about having two daughters who want to bake, though, as if somehow I’m not stepping up to the maternal plate in the manner they want or need. <br />
<br />
Isn’t pie baking (and knitting, and sewing, and knowing how to use a Crock Pot, and all the things I’ve taken halfhearted stabs at during the years and then promptly abandoned) just part of what mothers <i>do</i>?<br />
<br />
And then this past Sunday while my husband was on a trip to New York I found myself home with the girls with a leisurely afternoon and no plans, a rarity for us three. For a reason that still escapes me, even as I sit here writing, I decided it would be a fine day to learn how to bake an apple pie.<br />
<br />
I started by Googling “basic apple pie recipe.” The ever-trusty Cooks.com came right to the rescue, but something about referring to a laptop or iPad screen while baking felt fundamentally wrong. I decided to look in my rarely-touched stash of cookbooks for a useful alternative. My new-ish <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Better-Homes-Gardens-New-Cookbook/dp/0553577956/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1338851860&sr=8-2">Better Homes and Gardens cookbook</a> didn’t have a recipe for apple pie. (I know. That surprised me, too.) An older <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Original-York-Times-Cookbook-Hardcover/dp/B0088CJW1A/ref=sr_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1338851917&sr=1-8">New York Times Cookbook </a>I picked up somewhere years ago didn’t have one, either. It started to occur to me that cookbooks either a) assume that everyone with an interest in cooking already knows how to cook an apple pie; or b) an apple pie is just too basic for their readerships, who’d rather learn how to make apple-strawberry-rhubarb gluten-free latticed cobbler extravaganzas, or some such.<br />
<br />
In the end, the recipe I found was almost exactly the one on Cooks.com and came from my mother’s old Better Homes and Garden cookbook from the early 1960s. I inherited the book when I left for college, or maybe I just took it with me without asking; I honestly don’t remember, but I’ve carried it with me from state to state, house to house, for the past 30 years. The book was a staple of my childhood, with its red-and-white checked hard looseleaf cover and silver-ring binder interior. The printed looseleaf pages have turned sepia with age, and over the years someone (my mother? me during college?) unclipped some of the baking recipes and tucked them inside the front cover without clipping them back in. But there about 2/3 of the way into the book, right where they belonged, were the recipes and instructions for double pie crusts and a simple apple pie. <br />
<br />
The girls and I had most of the ingredients on hand – flour, salt, butter, apples, cinnamon, nutmeg, and sugar. We also had my mother’s wooden rolling pin and her big, plastic<a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/Vintage-Tupperware-1965-Pastry-Sheet-Pizza-Pie-Mat-Rexall-Drugs-VG-Condition-WOW-/270987114221?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_0&hash=item3f181736ed#ht_994w"> Tupperware mat </a>with the concentric circles that tell you how wide to roll the dough for 8-, 9-, and 10-inch pies. My daughters love that mat. It looks progressive and vintage at the same time. They also like knowing the rolling pin we’re using is the one from my childhood home. Baking this pie was practically a three-generational effort, or as close to it as we could get. <br />
<br />
With three people on the job, the pie took about 45 minutes of prep time and about 30 minutes of oven time. And the result was much better than you’d expect from three cooks who’d never tried it before, even after Eden and I got absorbed in a logo guessing game on my iPad and didn’t hear the oven timer go off for at least five minutes after the pie should have been done. Oops. <br />
<br />
I don’t harbor any illusions that I’ll become a master baker, or magically transform into a crafty mom. I still don’t knit, and I still can’t sew. Most nights will still find me playing board games or proofreading high school papers rather than wielding a Cuisinart. But there was a certain, deep satisfaction that came from tackling that pie, from discovering it wasn’t as difficult or as mystifying as I’d imagined from a distance, and from having my mother participate in the enterprise with the two granddaughters she never met, even if it was just through her possessions. My older daughter, who took most of the pie to school to school today for a lunchtime picnic, asked if she could inherit the cookbook one day. Which will be exactly the right place for it to land. <br />Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-63956796356418056792012-05-13T09:09:00.002-07:002012-05-13T09:16:00.401-07:00An Open Letter to Motherless Daughters on Mother's DayI’m sitting here at my kitchen table just a few hours before Mother’s Day officially begins. Motherless Daughters Day – the day designated by motherless women nationwide to honor mother’s who are no longer with us – is about to draw to a close. <br />
<br />
Today I spoke to a group of forty women in West Los Angeles where Irene Rubaum-Keller, the therapist who leads <a href="http://www.motherlessdaughtersbiz.com">Motherless Daughters of Los Angeles</a>, has been organizing annual Motherless Daughters Day luncheons for sixteen years. At the end all the women joined hands to create a Circle of Remembrance and we went around, one by one, and said our names and our mothers’ names out loud.<br />
<br />
“Hope, daughter of Marcia.”<br />
<br />
It’s been thirty one years since my mother died, and a lot of life stepped in to start filling the void. I’m married now, with two daughters of my own, and I don’t get to say my mother’s name out loud nearly as much as I’d like to. I very rarely say it in the same sentence as mine. Except, once a year, the Circle of Remembrance presents the opportunity again and I’m so thankful it does.<br />
<br />
My mother died of breast cancer in 1981, when I was seventeen and she was 41. Ten years later I started writing <i>Motherless Daughters</i>, the kind of book I’d gone looking for when she first died. Since its publication in ‘94 I’ve traveled around the world speaking with groups of motherless women and hearing their stories. I’ve met extraordinary women, and heard phenomenal stories of loss, recovery and rebirth. This year, more than any other year—though I’m not sure why—I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned these past eighteen years, especially from the women I’ve met, and three truisms quickly come to mind: <br />
<br />
<b>1. Mourning takes a lifetime</b>. This is hardly groundbreaking news today, but in 1994 when MD was first released it was a revelation to many readers who didn’t realize that Kubler-Ross’s stages of grief had been developed for those who had terminal illnesses rather than those who were grieving their deaths. <br />
I remember saying to my editor when I first started writing <i>Motherless Daughters</i>, “I can’t tell readers that mourning lasts a lifetime. Nobody wants to hear that.” But then I thought, “Many of these women, as children, were denied the truths about their mother’s death, and about grieving. Even if they wind up resenting me for it, they deserve to be told the truth as adults.” What happened was exactly the opposite: readers appreciated learning that they weren’t abnormal. They thanked me for validating their feelings and giving them the facts. After a mother dies a new kind of “normal” settles in, one in which the mother is always missing and forever missed, and that’s okay. Only when we accept and make peace with this we will find this new equilibrium.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Healing comes through community and from sharing our stories with others.</b> In 1995, the Motherless Daughters non-profit organization started to field the flood of requests for support groups for motherless women. To our knowledge, no such groups had ever been held before. We ran some trial groups in New York City before sending the template out to other sites. Today, dozens of groups are being led around the country, both therapeutic and social, including Motherless Daughters of Chicago; <a href="http://http://motherlessdaughtersoforangecounty.org/index.html">Motherless Daughters of Orange County,</a> California; and Metro Detroit Motherless Daughters, as well as many others organized through <a href="http://http://www.meetup.com/find/?keywords=motherless+daughters&mcId=&mcName=&lat=&lon=&userFreeform=&gcResults=&submitButton=Search&op=search">Meetup.com</a>, including Motherless Daughters of Washington, D.C., New York City, Denver, Miami, Charlotte, North Carolina; and the more than 200 women who belong to the <a href="http://http://www.meetup.com/motherlessdaug-11/">Mamma Mia Sisterhood in Atlanta, Georgia</a>. The long-term survival of these groups reveals that through community we can regain the very comfort, courage, and strength we once lost.<br />
<br />
<b>3. When bad things happen to good people, good things can nonetheless result.</b> It’s so much easier to focus on what we don’t have than on what we do. But as individuals, we always have the power to reframe an experiences so that something negative can be seen as positive. A very smart therapist (who also happens to be my mother’s sister) once told me, “If you believe, ‘My life is difficult because my mother died,’ then your life is always going to be difficult, because your mother is always going to be dead.” But once we let that initial belief start to thaw, to melt down to “My life is difficult right now, but it won’t always be that way,” and then to “Not everything in my life is difficult” eventually leading to “Good things have come my way because my mother died,”—as unlikely as that may sound to some of you at the moment-- our perceptions start to take on a different hue. I would venture to bet that any motherless woman can identify three or four things in her life that make her feel fortunate, or that bring her joy, and if she traces them backwards through the series of life choices and events that made them possible, like a flow chart in reverse, I’d bet that at least one or two of them would relate back to circumstances surrounding a mother’s death. <br />
<br />
In my case, my husband, my children, and my community all date back to that pivotal event when I was seventeen, because if I hadn’t felt the need to write Motherless Daughters I never would have joined with other women to start a national organization, which wouldn’t have needed to rent cheap office space in New York City, and then I never would have met the man who rented us a piece of his office suite in Times Square, the man who became my husband and whose job moved us out to Los Angeles, and who became the father of my two daughters, whom I can’t imagine living without. I could say it was the book brought them all into my life, but I never would have written the book if my mother hadn’t died. <br />
<br />
All of this has taught me…well, what, exactly? Something so simple it feels almost glaringly obvious. It’s that I’ve learned how to practice gratitude for my loss. This may sound impossible to anyone who’s still actively grieving—and who is right where she should be, right now-- but over time it becomes apparent that the death of a mothers does, eventually, lead to blessings in a daughter’s life. She will be stronger, more empathetic, and more resilient than she otherwise may have been. She will find joy, often in unexpected places. Over time, she will help younger women cope with their losses as role model and mentor. <br />
<br />
When I first saw the <a href="http://http://www.itgetsbetter.org/">“It Gets Better” </a>project for LBGT teens I wondered if we all should do something similar for motherless girls. Because I receive emails every week from teens whose losses are still very recent. They wonder how long this feeling will last and if it will ever go away, and ask me if they will ever be happy again.<br />
<br />
It gets better. Truly, it does.<br />
<br />
And so today, on Mother’s Day, I encourage everyone to take a moment to practice gratitude, and to identify just one thing in your life that is good, and that you can trace back to your early loss. Just one thing. <br />
What I choose to be grateful for today is the opportunity to have been the one who got to write the book I needed to find so badly myself when I was seventeen. And also for all the readers (that’s two things to be grateful for, but who’s counting?) who’ve supported the book, and the motherless daughters movement, for the past eighteen years. You, more than anyone, have taught me that from shared experience comes solidarity, and from solidarity comes community, and from community comes a unique and special form of strength. <br />
<br />
Many blessings to you all on this Mother’s Day, 2012. <br />
<br />
With thanks and all best everything,<br />
Hope<br />
<br />
(adapted from a talk presented to <a href="http://www.motherlessdaughtersbiz.com">Motherless Daughters of Los Angeles</a>, May 21, 2012)Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-90604659196615123482012-05-04T07:15:00.001-07:002012-05-04T07:15:43.735-07:00New Survey for Motherless Daughters OnlineAre you a woman who lost her mother before age 16? Would you be willing to help a psychology trainee in Surrey, England, with her research? This <a href="http://www.fahs.surrey.ac.uk/survey/loss/">quick online survey</a> will help further research in parental bereavement. I took a look at it and it's designed very sensitively. I'd take it myself except I was 17 when my mother died. Please participate if you're interested!Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-30662191829745681882012-03-05T14:47:00.002-08:002012-03-05T16:01:27.797-08:00Motherhood and Writing: Thoughts from AWP<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLd_IB50hwXOb3B8gB96EeP_pKVKJ-D8jsDNbXSZaMl3I7iJNK_nBVDQVfqnuS5xFnVfdx5C5JOqk5hEowK_7ti1RO1ScsT2KaT2bQRVilT9rr2y-s6FeUWEHCH20t6tKcF-XMiR5QMvM/s1600/Chicago+skyline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="190" width="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLd_IB50hwXOb3B8gB96EeP_pKVKJ-D8jsDNbXSZaMl3I7iJNK_nBVDQVfqnuS5xFnVfdx5C5JOqk5hEowK_7ti1RO1ScsT2KaT2bQRVilT9rr2y-s6FeUWEHCH20t6tKcF-XMiR5QMvM/s320/Chicago+skyline.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I just spent the weekend in Chicago at the Associated Writing Programs (AWP) annual convention, where 10,000 writers, teachers of writing, and students of writing packed into two Loop hotels listening to panels and readings for two and a half days. <br />
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It was <i>fabulous</i> fun.<br />
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The AWP conference is a once-a-year opportunity to reconnect with far-flung friends from graduate school and the writing and teaching worlds. It’s also the way to stay current on developments in the field and hear writers I admire read from and talk about their work. I usually sit on one or two panels each year and this year’s was a highlight. <a href="http://www.katevogl.com">Kate St. Vincent Vogl</a>, author of the memoir <i>Lost and Found</i>, brought together five women writers—including <a href="http://www.katehopper.com">Kate Hopper</a>, <a href="http://www.katyread.com">Katy Read</a>, and <a href="http://www.jillmccorkle.com">Jill McCorkle</a>--to talk about motherhood and writing. Two hundred audience members filled the room, indicating this is a subject writers want, even need, to hear more about.<br />
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Several writers came up to me afterward to say how much they’d enjoyed what we each had to say, so I thought I’d post a slightly edited version of my eight-minute talk here for those who couldn’t make it. The title of the panel was “Barefoot, Pregnant, and at the Writer’s Desk.” Try to imagine me at a podium in a cream sweater, a long black skirt, black boots, still battling slight jet-lag, as you read:<br />
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“Like some of my fellow panelists, I was already a working writer when my kids came along, and so instead of finding a way to fit writing into family life, my writing life needed to expand to include room for a child. At first, I’d thought it would be possible to step sideways and create a natural space for a family, and then we’d all happily coexist on the same plane. It didn’t take me long to discover the naivete of this plan. Two weeks with a colicky infant, to be exact. <br />
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Before motherhood, my days were largely unstructured. I ate when I was hungry, sped out the door to literary events on short notice, and wrote until late in the night. My subject matter was mainly mother-daughter relationships from the perspective of a daughter, specifically a daughter without a mother. After my own two daughters came along, I still wrote about mother-daughter relationships, only now mainly from the perspective of a mother. <br />
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Now my daughters are ages 14 and 10, and on a day-to-day basis I have very little separation between my life as a writer and my life as a mother. I write about family life, in the midst of family life, not at a critical remove from it. I have an office outside of the house to give me some physical distance from the constant flood of requests that would otherwise fill my waking hours, but I try to fit my writing hours, which are usually flexible, into the family schedule, which is not always so flexible, given school schedules, babysitter availability, and my husband’s work and travel. In an ideal world, my writing hours would be my daughters’ school hours, from 8:30 to 3. With the help of a babysitter twice a week I have a thirty-six hour work week, which certainly sounds reasonable for a writer. <br />
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It’s just too bad I can hardly craft a usable paragraph during daylight hours.<br />
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If you’re a born and raised New Yorker like me, it’s always easier to focus on what you don’t have than what you do, so I’ll share that list first. <br />
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Because I’m a mother and a writer, usually in that order, here is the list of things I absolutely cannot do:<br />
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1. Spend three months, or two, or even one, at a writer’s colony starting, working on, or finishing a book. (Thirty whole days? Seriously?)<br />
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2. Shower every day. <br />
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3. Take a visiting professor job, or any teaching job, anywhere but in our hometown.<br />
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4. Be a travel writer. Unless it’s possible to make a living off one assignment per year that just happens to fall over Christmas or Spring Break.<br />
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5. Be a foreign correspondent. Unless Pasadena counts.<br />
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6. Be a mom who can volunteer in the classroom on the same day and time every week and still hope to get work done by deadline. Instead, I’m the mom who goes on random field trips and takes over at the last minute when others can’t make their shifts. <br />
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7. Stay at literary events past 9 p.m. on a weeknight (not with a chronic 6:15 a.m. wake-up call to get the kids to school).<br />
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8. Write every day during my peak creative hours, which are between 5 p.m. and midnight. <br />
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9. Be the kind of wife who feels nothing but gratitude when my husband spontaneously says, “I’ll take the kids for the next half-hour, honey, so you can sit down and write.” <br />
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10. Expect with any semblance of reason that when I wake up on any given morning, my work day won’t be interrupted by a forgotten lunchbox; an urgent need for violin rosin; a book report left on the kitchen table; a half-day of school I forgot about; an emergency trip to Michael’s Art Supply store to buy numerous tiny, expensive items to build a California mission; a headache; a stomach ache; a broken retainer; or a case of head lice. <i>Again</i>. And all I can say about that is -- if you’ve never been pulled away from a crushing book deadline, the kind where the editor is tugging on your pages all the way from New York, by a call from the elementary school nurse at 10 a.m. saying that ¼ of your daughter’s fourth-grade class has lice, including her, and that every member of your family needs to be checked since you probably all have it, and every piece of bedding in the house needs to be washed in hot water, and all the stuffed animals quarantined in garbage bags, and all the mattresses vacuumed, <i>today</i>, then … you weren’t living in my house last month. <br />
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Now, having gotten all that out of the way -- here's the list of things I <i>can </i>do precisely because I’m a writer and a mother:<br />
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1. Fully appreciate the importance of detail. As in, “What exactly did Mr. Cott say when you were sent to his office? I need to know the exact dialogue before I call the school.” <br />
<br />
2. Budget my time very efficiently. Because my writing time is so pre-circumscribed, I have to get as much done in six hours as I possibly can. This is where setting realistic expectations is essential. Thinking I can accomplish ten hours of work in six only sets me up for disappointment. Most of us simply can’t produce as much work after children as we could before them, except for the select and enviable few who find motherhood jumpstarts their creative writing energies and inspires them to produce. <br />
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3. Write from first-hand knowledge about pre-natal tests, complicated deliveries, home birth, the Tooth Fairy, and the week my 11-year-old daughter had to bring a flour-sack baby to school and pretend to be its mother. <br />
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4. Help my kids ace their spelling tests and edit ninth-grade English essays. Algebra II, however, is a lost cause.<br />
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5. Bring a nineteen-month-old on a book tour, which was a whole lot more fun than I thought it would be.<br />
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6. Write a comic essay with my teenage daughter and perform it together (Look for us on stage March 12 at <a href="http://www.sparkoffrose.com">Spark Off Rose</a> in Pacific Palisades!)<br />
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7. Take my kids to see where Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, and Anne Frank once lived, as well as drag them to all the former log homes of Laura Ingalls Wilder.<br />
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8. Discover a whole new list of vocabulary words and idioms I can now use in essays and stories. Like “Chill,” “Bro,” “and “Epic Fail.”<br />
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9. Recognize the ironies, the metaphors, the character arcs, the turning points, and the dramatic high points of everyday life as they occur. <br />
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10. Discover a whole range of emotions I never knew existed, and wouldn’t have otherwise experienced.<br />
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I’ve long thought that as a mother writer (or a writing mother) – it’s a very good thing that I’m creative. Because creativity, flexibility, and adaptability are the three main prerequisites for this job. My biggest challenge in the workplace has been finding a way to carve out enough consecutive hours, on a regular basis, to produce quality work. The gift of a quiet, solitary half-hour, while greatly appreciated, is only long enough to start clearing the mind of clutter and barely starting to sink into the work. On a good day for me, a half-hour’s worth of writing can produce one decent paragraph. <br />
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Long before I was married, when I was still in graduate school and working on my first book, I discovered that my natural Cicadian rhythm makes me most creative between five and midnight. After my first daughter was born I tried to shift my writing hours to daytime, with very mixed results. Daylight and I do very well together for administrative tasks and teaching, but my creative hat won’t stay on my head until 5 p.m., no matter how hard I try to make it stick. And for parents, those key hours between five and midnight mean dinner, dishes, homework, bath time, bedtime, and first feedings – events that can’t be skipped over or ignored in favor of crafting a perfect page.<br />
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My solution, when I’m on deadline, is to function as a binge writer. That means every third or fourth weekend my husband takes the kids from a Friday school pick-up through Sunday night and I check into a hotel up in Ventura, California – strategically chosen because it’s an hour and fifteen minute drive from our house, close enough to get home quickly in an emergency but far enough away that I won’t get any surprise dinner guests. <br />
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I stay in the hotel room for three days straight, leaving only for meals – and sometimes not even then – and crank out as many pages as I can. The immersion in the work, without interruption, allows me to write better and faster than I can during a regular day. I produce more pages in that one weekend than I normally do in two weeks of weekday writing. It’s not an ideal situation, and it sometimes extends my deadlines, but it’s worked moderately well so far: I’ve written three books this way since 2004. Not a book a year like some writers can produce, not even close, but it’s a pace that allows me to be both mother and writer and – at least some of the time – allows me to feel that I’m doing both pretty well.<br />
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And so for me, writing and motherhood are neither a balancing act nor a juggle, but more of a pendulum that swings from one extreme to the other. I’m either working very hard on a book (some of the time) and making that my primary focus, or deliberately reducing my work load (as often as I can afford to) to spend time exclusively with my husband and kids. It makes for a feast-or-famine family life to be sure, and I’ve often wondered if or how it adversely affects my kids to have me so fully present much of the time but so lightly available some of the time. It’s all they’ve ever known, since I’ve been writing for as long as they’ve existed, and I imagine that to them while it’s not always preferable it’s a certain kind of normal. I’ll have to wait until they’re older and can tell me, to know for sure. <br />
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I once read an interview with the Israeli author Savyon Liebrecht, in which she said that every child a woman has is a book she doesn’t write. And although that sounded awfully harsh to me the first time I heard it, I thought about it a great deal and would say that for me, it’s been pretty true. The first two years of each of my daughter’s lives—about the time it takes me to write a book—were years when newborn care and sleep deprivation and the awe of having an infant and toddler in the house made it impossible for me to work full time. I did sell a book proposal when my second daughter was six months old, but it took four years for me to finish it. So while it’s true that I probably would have been more prolific if I didn’t have two children to care for, that equation begs the question: would I rather have eight books and no children, or six books and two children? As far as I’m concerned, there <i>isn’t</i> any question there."<br />
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For a series of postings about the AWP Conference, check out the <i>Minneapolis StarTribune</i> blog. Here's a link to the <a
href="http://http://www.startribune.com/entertainment/blogs/141373683.html">final installment</a> by writer and teacher Barrie Jean Borich.Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-30691985903883410632012-02-13T12:06:00.000-08:002012-02-13T12:06:16.326-08:00Free Teleseminar About Writing!Please join me on February 14 at 11:30 AM PST for a one-hour discussion about the writing life, hosted by New York Times bestselling author <a href="http://www.jenniferlauck.com">Jennifer Lauck</a>, author of the memoirs <i>Blackbird, Still Waters</i>, and the recent <i>Found</i>, as well as the essay collection <i>Show Me the Way</i>. Read about all of Jen's books <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=jennifer+lauck&x=0&y=0">here</a>. <br />
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<br />
When: Valentine's Day, Tues, 2/14 @ 11:30 AM PST<br />
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How: Call (218) 632-0550 & enter access code: 854364#<br />
Announce your name, where you hail from and then mute your<br />
end of the call by hitting *6.<br />
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Questions: If you have a question for me or Jen, send it to Jen at jclauck@gmail.com<br />
and she'll open the call live so you can speak. <br />
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And check out Jen's memoir writing site and her list of fabulous upcoming classes at <a href="http://www.jenniferlauckmemoirwriting.com">her writing web site.</a> <br />
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Hope to be speaking with you soon,<br />
<br />
HopeHope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-86173313541462383472011-10-22T16:32:00.000-07:002011-10-22T16:37:20.940-07:00Come Write the Story of Your Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-UAQwYA_cAN4ci8Xytzm7XIwjYBL6NJmTYeKdqaCcE0bvAtuE5U0opq5P_BSOPSmBV4fdFgnZqvXvq91UuC_jPVedHrn_JBSk6SN9ZhuGu5thKIOowB8cSYXYzKilkNpbOFT7NbhyphenhyphenqM/s1600/Ojai+Writers+Conf+pass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-UAQwYA_cAN4ci8Xytzm7XIwjYBL6NJmTYeKdqaCcE0bvAtuE5U0opq5P_BSOPSmBV4fdFgnZqvXvq91UuC_jPVedHrn_JBSk6SN9ZhuGu5thKIOowB8cSYXYzKilkNpbOFT7NbhyphenhyphenqM/s320/Ojai+Writers+Conf+pass.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Please join me and other instructors on November 11-13 in Ojai, California for the Ojai Writers' Conference, where I'll be speaking at the Saturday luncheon and leading a one-day workshop on Sunday for memoir writers of all levels. <br />
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My Sunday workshop, “Transforming Real-Life Events into Story,” will help guide your anecdotes from entertaining dinner-party stories to actual, publishable products. You'll receive information about the four basic elements of successful memoirs, including structure, detail and description, characterization, and scene versus summary. Short writing exercises will be incorporated into the day to help you flex your memoir muscles, and brief excerpts of published works will be handed out as examples. By the end of this workshop you’ll have tools to start a 750- to 1500-word short memoir, and maybe even a few first-draft pages. <br />
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Cost is $149 Times: 9am-Noon (break for lunch) and 1:30-4:30pm. Mention "Hope sent me" when you register and receive a free, signed copy of <i>The Possibility of Everything</i>!<br />
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For more info and registration details, go to the <a href="http://ojaiwritersconference.wordpress.com/">Ojai Writers' Conference web site. </a><br />
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And check back for information about memoir workshops next July at the Iowa Summer Writers Festival in Iowa City, and October in Paris!!Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-20424967464573620302011-05-27T15:15:00.000-07:002011-05-27T15:16:30.357-07:00Ojai Writers Conference Next Weekend--June 3-5, 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqd1-vAi6nrvgz-yvl3zXg7bL_tc3QSbQGYjVd2ArJMjtK5S13djeDFpJUrEzj-_DniSFezOcvUz9zYYGzpaJnM6obUHxWXcrZGVz3DYPvBT4-jA_p-l9KeOYXZ89kzlc-yhu5ghwLMs/s1600/Ojai+Writers+Conf+pass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqd1-vAi6nrvgz-yvl3zXg7bL_tc3QSbQGYjVd2ArJMjtK5S13djeDFpJUrEzj-_DniSFezOcvUz9zYYGzpaJnM6obUHxWXcrZGVz3DYPvBT4-jA_p-l9KeOYXZ89kzlc-yhu5ghwLMs/s320/Ojai+Writers+Conf+pass.jpg" /></a></div><br />
For all aspiring and practicing writers out there: next weekend (June 3-5) is the first <a href="http://ojaiwritersconference.wordpress.com/">Ojai Writers Conference</a> in beautiful Ojai, CA. It features Friday pre-conference workshops in memoir, screenwriting, essay writing, and myth, a Saturday VIP luncheon, and workshops and talks all day Saturday and Sunday morning as well. It's limited to only 100 participants but as of today there are still spaces left. Come for one day or all three!<br />
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I'll be teaching a personal essay workshop on Friday from 1-4, speaking at the luncheon on Saturday, and talking about the distinction between memoir and personal essay--and which one is best for your unique story--on Saturday late afternoon. <br />
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Click <a href="http://ojaiwritersconference.wordpress.com/schedule/">here</a> for more info.<br />
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Hope to see some of you there!!Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-70476527617941815992011-05-08T10:59:00.000-07:002011-05-08T11:01:06.679-07:00On the Occasion of Mother's DayWishing you all a most beautiful and peaceful Mother's Day, in recognition of those of you whose continuous and loving efforts will create our next citizens of the world. And with thanks to you for sharing the steps of your journey with the rest of us who so benefit from your experiences and stories. <br />
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I know this is a solemn day for those of us who've lost mothers, and I'd like to recognize those who have passed as well. This July will mark the 30th anniversary of my mother's death, and there hasn't been a Mother's Day since then when I haven't thought of her, missed her, and been grateful for what she did give me in our short time together. So on this day I'd also like to honor the mothers who are no longer with us, and acknowledging that we are all part of the strong and varied chain of female experience. <br />
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With gratitude and admiration for us who are doing the work, and all who have done it in the past,<br />
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HopeHope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-81248436768953559242011-03-21T20:21:00.000-07:002011-04-26T07:49:52.957-07:00New Writing Workshop, May 13-15Only two seats are left in the Intro to Creative Nonfiction writing workshop in Santa Monica. Please contact me soon if you'd like one of them!<br />
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The workshop will run from 3 p.m. Friday afternoon, May 13, through dinner on Sunday, May 15, and will be held at the historic Georgian Hotel--just steps from the Santa Monica Pier and beach. Our guest speaker on Sunday will be <a href="http://www.beautifuljimkey.com/author.htm">Mim Eichler Rivas</a>, author of more than a dozen nonfiction books, including <i>Beautiful Jim Key</i> and <i>The Pursuit of Happyness</i>. Cost is $450 and writers of all levels are welcome. <br />
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More detailed information can be found <a href="http://wordsetcetera.weebly.com/los-angeles.html">here</a>.<br />
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If you're interested, please email me at hopeedelman@gmail.com for registration forms. Hope to see you in May--<br />
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HopeHope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-79870179718017824582011-03-17T08:26:00.000-07:002011-03-17T08:43:39.335-07:00Motherless Daughters' Guides: Please Share Your IdeasIn the 17 years since <i>Motherless Daughters</i> was first published I've heard from thousands of readers who've written in to share their individual stories. Among the many common experiences we share, one tends to surface frequently: without a mother, many of us feel we lack much of the basic information women need and that women with mothers naturally possess and we don't know who or how to ask. <br />
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I think of a woman I met back in the early 1990s, whose story appears in the first edition of <i>Motherless Daughters</i>, who told me about stealing an etiquette book from her local library when she was about eleven and reading it cover-to-cover when she got home because she was so hungry for information about how to be a woman, and so afraid of doing the wrong things, after her mother died when she was nine. All these years that story has stuck with me and it's no less poignant or heartbreaking now than it was eighteen years ago. I thought of it again the other night as I was explaining the elusive rules about thank-you notes to my thirteen-year-old daughter. If I weren't here to tell her, how would she know when to send them or what to write? Would she even know she was supposed to send thank-you notes at all?<br />
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<i>Motherless Daughters</i> was meant to be an overview book that identified and explained a phenomenon rather than a self-help book or how-to manual. But lately I've been wondering if, in addition, motherless girls and women would also benefit from short, very practical guidebooks to navigating some of the situations and life events that mothers typically teach daughters how to manage or actually steer them through. And of course, plenty of women with mothers don't get what they feel they need from them, so these guides might be helpful for them, too. <br />
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At the very bottom of this page I've made a list of the subjects that come up most in reader mail, and for which motherless women often feel in need of guidance or advice. Would you be willing to take a look and let me know which would be or would have been most useful for you? Please scroll all the way down to find the poll and to vote. This will give me an idea of which one(s) to start with or if this is even a good idea. (The titles listed in the polls are only placeholders at the moment to convey the main ideas; hopefully I'll come up with better ones later, or please suggest one or more that you like.) And please feel free to suggest guides that aren't on the list, or comments about the idea in general in the comments section below.<br />
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Would you buy any of these guides for yourself? For someone you know? Would you like to see several bundled together in a set? How would you like the information to be presented? Or do you feel that <i>Motherless Daughters</i> and <i>Motherless Mothers</i> have already covered this material sufficiently for you?<br />
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Very much looking forward to your thoughts,<br />
HopeHope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-58114648958355583062011-03-08T13:20:00.001-08:002011-03-10T22:49:52.727-08:00Call for StoriesHave you or anyone you know ever found yourself feeling as if you're living from one crisis to another? Does this describe your childhood, or maybe your adult years? When interviewing women for <i>Motherless Daughters</i> and <i>Motherless Mothers</i>, I was surprised and disheartened to discover how often mother loss was only one in a series of adverse events for many women, and that they felt they'd been shaped for better and for worse by periodic crises which they had no way to anticipate and therefore no way to prepare.<br />
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I've been thinking about this for a long time, because this was very much my story after my mother died. For the next 23 years I had a deeply kind and well-meaning father who also drank heavily and was prone to intermittent breakdowns related to the alcohol and the toll it took on his health. The pattern of leapfrogging from one difficult event to another, and feeling that my life could only be enjoyed in between his exclamation points, came to characterize my adult life. After he died six years ago it took a long time for me to release the feeling that the next crisis was somewhere around the next corner, just waiting to erupt.<br />
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I imagine this must be the case for many of us with loved ones who suffer from addictions, chronic health problems, mental illness, eating disorders, or just garden-variety difficult behavior. (And very possibly other conditions. Please feel free to chime in.) Also, those of us who have protracted strings of just really bad luck.<br />
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My belief is that children raised in these kind of environments (as many motherless daughters are) get wired in a very specific way that in part determines their behavior patterns in adulthood, and also that adults who encounter such situations later in life (through marriage, parenthood, or other relationships) have to develop their own strategies to find fulfillment in between the episodes. And yet I've also met many women who have been able to transcend this and live happy, fulfilling lives not just in spite of, but sometimes because of, the exclamation points pushed into their paths.<br />
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I'm wondering if this might be a worthy topic for a future book. What do you think? And if this sounds familiar to anyone, and you'd be willing to share your story, please email me at hopeedelman@gmail.com for more details. Confidentiality and anonymity assured.<br />
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Many thanks,<br />
HopeHope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-69607671050870104792011-03-03T15:30:00.000-08:002011-03-03T15:39:14.445-08:00Twittereriteaneeters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinnFoLeWL0T_ZXrlPQAJDL_PTHNGQ0YRJxPunVp45otjuO4acMsWf7btlB9z8Dysw22YstePrPBLP1_pf8O03FKJD__JlwvaOI1vJA7Jkch_eOf57p57QPjMyBq7ZDEIlNtNk8RiDvkc0/s1600/twitter+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="207" width="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinnFoLeWL0T_ZXrlPQAJDL_PTHNGQ0YRJxPunVp45otjuO4acMsWf7btlB9z8Dysw22YstePrPBLP1_pf8O03FKJD__JlwvaOI1vJA7Jkch_eOf57p57QPjMyBq7ZDEIlNtNk8RiDvkc0/s320/twitter+logo.jpg" /></a></div><br />
What's the accurate label for people who use Twitter. Twitterers? Twitterites? Twittereans? Tweeters?<br />
<br />
Or maybe just Those Who Tweet?<br />
<br />
Nonetheless, I feel oddly compelled to invite everyone who visits here to also sign up for my ramblings and recommendations over <a href="http://twitter.com/hopeedelman">there</a>. Not that you need more ramblings or recommendations filling up your day--god knows all our days are full enough already--but occasionally one of mine might interest you and make you want to share it with your friends. <br />
<br />
Caveat: I am not a fan of karaoke, comma splices, <i>Jersey Shore</i>, and most politicians (with the possible exceptions of Barbara Boxer and Rudy Giuliani at very select times during his first term as mayor of New York) and my Tweets sometimes reflect that. It might be good to know this in advance to avoid unpleasant surprises later.<br />
<br />
If you're wondering what my gripe is with <i>Jersey Shore</i>, it's that I already went to high school with all those people in 1982 so I know what they're going to say pretty much all of the time. <br />
<br />
Yes, I was surprised by how little has changed in 29 years, too.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm <a href="http://twitter.com/hopeedelman">@hopeedelman</a>. See you here and there.Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-67099357540629314592011-03-01T23:36:00.000-08:002011-03-01T23:46:28.324-08:00Parentless Parents by Allison Gilbert<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-frvnqSKvmW1exoGNyP3m-EwwGQgfksgHq0sFXfrT3HoBl15XbMde9y5_imLiq4Sb67Z7Rog2eBjJHoMYIghng4mf96w4zHr5oQx1gi3kHmvvfHZDsCt2REFZ-HsfvxzMu6mXIArQP_k/s1600/Parentless+Parents+book+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="225" width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-frvnqSKvmW1exoGNyP3m-EwwGQgfksgHq0sFXfrT3HoBl15XbMde9y5_imLiq4Sb67Z7Rog2eBjJHoMYIghng4mf96w4zHr5oQx1gi3kHmvvfHZDsCt2REFZ-HsfvxzMu6mXIArQP_k/s320/Parentless+Parents+book+cover.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Anyone who's lost a parent knows how that hole in the family grows even larger after a child is born. Now it's not just a parent who's missing from the equation, it's a grandparent as well. <br />
<br />
What about when of both your parents are gone before your children come along? That's the topic of Allison Gilbert's new book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Parentless-Parents-Mothers-Fathers-Children/dp/1401323510/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1299050698&sr=8-1">Parentless Parents</a>, a careful and documented examination of the particular issues these parents face. <br />
<br />
Gilbert, who mI've known since 2005 when she was working on her collection of interviews with adult orphans, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Always-Too-Soon-Support-Parents/dp/1580051766/ref=pd_sim_b_1">Always Too Soon</a>, was kind enough to take time out of her book-promotion schedule to answer a few questions about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Parentless-Parents-Mothers-Fathers-Children/dp/1401323510/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1299050698&sr=8-1">Parentless Parents</a> for readers of 455-Girls: <br />
<br />
<b>455G: You lost your mother at age 25--before you married and had your children-- and your father when you were 31 and your son was eighteen months old. What were those intervening years like for you? </b><br />
<br />
AG: I had feared becoming a parentless parent long before I ever became one. Once my mother died, I clung to my father. I knew all too well he was my final parent. Because of that, and after the birth of my son, he and I became the closest we'd ever been. I involved him as often as I could -- in everything I did as an expectant mother and later, as a new mom. My dad came with me and my husband when I had ultrasounds. My father jumped at the chance to come with us to get Jake's first haircut. And, then, just like that, he developed a cough and was dead a few weeks later. My father had lung cancer and hadn't smoked in 20 years.<br />
<br />
<b>455G: Many women who come to this blog felt emotionally parentless after their mothers died, even if their fathers are still living. Will your book speak to them as well?</b><br />
<br />
AG: In many ways, even though my father was an enormous comfort to me after my mother died, I felt at times like I was already a parentless parent. My dad was loving, but he couldn't remember all the details I really needed to know as a new mom. He couldn't remember when I started eating solid foods, or how old I was when I first slept through the night. My mom would have likely remembered though, and that's why parenting without her hurt so much, even though I had my dad. <br />
<br />
My father also wasn't a very patient man, and he certainly wouldn't have been willing to hear me drone on and on about cribs, strollers, and color choices for our son's nursery. That kind of inexhaustible interest in my life -- even the smallest, most inconsequential tidbits -- ended for the most part when my mother passed away, and could never be fully replaced. <br />
<br />
Ultimately, because our moms were so often the ones who listened most attentively when we were young, and because our mothers stereotypically made most of the decisions regarding our care, the pain of mother loss can feel especially sharp, sometimes just as intense as being a parentless parent. <br />
<br />
<b>455G: One of the biggest challenges of being parentless is being able to ask for and accept help as a new mother. I remember poring through books for advice after my first daughter was born because I felt embarrassed to go to my friends with basic questions. What practical suggestions do you have for parentless parents who are, so to speak, setting sail alone?</b><br />
<br />
AG: I don't think I was ever embarrassed to ask for help; I just wasn't willing to accept all the help that was around me. In my mind, nobody could measure up to the kind of grandma I imagined my mother would have been, so I pushed nearly everyone close to me away. In particular, I resented that my mother-in-law was just so willing (and capable!) of swooping in and taking over. Ultimately, I realized that all the anger I was clinging to, all that sadness, was hurting me more than anyone else. Gradually I began to get comfortable not only with accepting help -- but also being absolutely grateful for it. This represented nothing less than a sea change in my thinking, and the process has been enormously freeing.<br />
<br />
Emotionally, I understood that my husband and I were both very lucky to have his parents. They are active and engaged and completely loving. And as a matter of simple physical practicality, by learning to embrace help, the enormous pressure I felt being a mom without my mom began to lift. Looking back, it seems that many of the burdens that come along with new motherhood are easier to handle once you accept that no amount anger and self-pity can bring a mother back.<br />
<br />
<b>455G: Support groups have been enormously helpful for many motherless women because they find comfort in the presence of others who understand. You've helped to start several Parentless Parents groups. Can you tell us a little bit about what they offer? <br />
</b><br />
Sure! Parentless Parents support groups are now forming all over the country. They’re developing in several states including California; Oregon; New York; Washington, DC; and Florida. The groups are run by parentless parents, and are a way for parentless parents to meet and exchange ideas, tips, and resources. These groups actually tend to be a lot of fun, because there's instant camaraderie and connection. <br />
<br />
There is also a growing and active Parentless Parents Group page on Facebook. Parents from all over the country (and the world) are coming together to discuss the specific challenges of being a parentless parent. I think the in-person support groups and the Parentless Parents Facebook page are so helpful because sometimes strangers understand you better than your own family and closest friends do. There's no need to explain yourself. We all "get" it. And that's incredibly validating. <br />
<br />
You can find a complete list of Parentless Parents chapters on <a href="http://parentlessparents.com/">www.parentlessparents.com. </a> If a chapter doesn't exist where you live, feel free to start your own! You can find Parentless Parents on Facebook by clicking <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/group.php?gid=77976059211">here</a> and watch the book's trailer <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0vYt8L7qNg">here.</a>Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-46949548143064479562011-02-25T22:53:00.000-08:002011-03-09T15:51:36.724-08:00Floating the Workshop BalloonThe past few weeks have seen a spontaneous flurry of emails asking when my next writing workshop will be held. So I thought I'd send out a feeler about doing one this spring and see if anyone is interested in a three-day Intro to Memoir workshop in Santa Monica, California, from May 13-15. <br />
<br />
I use an eight-step program I developed to help bring writers from an idea to the first draft of a five-page piece in two and a half days. It's a good format for women who want to write about their mothers, though in the past students have come from all over the country to write about every personal topic imaginable. Writers of all levels of experience are welcome, including beginners.<br />
<br />
We meet Friday from 3 to 6 p.m. and Saturday and Sunday from 10 to 6. Cost is typically $450, with breakfasts and Sunday dinner included. The venue is right across the street from the beach, and May is a beautiful month in SoCal. Also included in the price: handouts, unlimited coffee, and an hour with a guest speaker so you don't have to listen to just me for two and a half days straight.<br />
<br />
Also in the zone of possible: the same workshop in Iowa City in early June.<br />
<br />
If you're interested in either of the above, please email me at hopeedelman@gmail.com. <br />
<br />
(This photo is from the Iowa City workshop in May of 2010, taken in my dining room. The giraffe in the far back corner is named Newman.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlZMcZYt159eiP2WTBJUzcROJkPLEjWVOzUBrw8TVIPQlUu5gMMJjY1LARdZyY1Y1ORaH3a_iHrChVSYLvY_acAPrANe0f5QR5ffAM8TQS1Afo8julHEkYAdIRZTdz7zKIDN9DjQyfIk/s1600/IMG_6298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="212" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlZMcZYt159eiP2WTBJUzcROJkPLEjWVOzUBrw8TVIPQlUu5gMMJjY1LARdZyY1Y1ORaH3a_iHrChVSYLvY_acAPrANe0f5QR5ffAM8TQS1Afo8julHEkYAdIRZTdz7zKIDN9DjQyfIk/s320/IMG_6298.JPG" /></a></div>Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-27270150265641064812011-02-21T12:26:00.000-08:002011-02-24T15:19:41.805-08:00Congratulations and thanks to Rosie O'Donnell. And wow!Rosie O'Donnell, who lost her mother to cancer just before her 11th birthday and has been a longtime advocate for motherless daughters, will be getting her own talk show on Oprah's OWN network. In an interview reprinted in the Chicago <i>Sun-Times</i> she talks about learning about her mother's history for an episode of the NBC show "Who Do You Think You Are?"; starting a new talk show; and being a motherless daughter. She also gives a big and very generous shout-out for <i>Motherless Daughters</i>, and tells the story of how I tried to contact her more than 15 years ago when I was first writing the book. <br />
<br />
I was a guest on Rosie's Sirius radio show about a year and a half ago, and she's incredibly warm and smart and plugged in to social issues. I think she's going to do a sensational job with her new TV show.<br />
<br />
I'll reprint an excerpt from her interview below...although I'm always uncomfortable being self-promotional like this, I'm hoping it'll help some readers. And that's always the goal. You can read the whole interview with Rosie <a href="http://www.suntimes.com/entertainment/3842945-417/genealogy-show-helps-rosie-odonnell-face-moms-early-death.html">here</a>. <br />
<br />
You can also watch the episode of "Who Do You Think You Are?" <a href="http://www.nbc.com/who-do-you-think-you-are/video/rosie-odonnell/1296988/">right here</a>. She finds another motherless daughter in her family's history--and lots else.<br />
<br />
<br />
From "Genealogy show helps Rosie O'Donnell face mother's death" Chicago <i>Sun-Times</i>, February 17, 2011<br />
<br />
O’Donnell was only 10 when she lost her beloved mom to cancer.<br />
“Nobody mentioned my mother after she died in 1973. It was like Lord Voldemort. You couldn’t say the name,” she says. “Nobody said ‘mom’ in that house or ‘mommy’ or ‘mother’ from 1973 on. I always wanted to know who she was and what she felt like, and to have her and see her through a woman’s eyes as opposed to a child looking up to their mom.”<br />
O’Donnell says fans approach her all the time to talk about losing mothers to cancer.<br />
“I think no matter what age, when you lose your mom it’s your mommy,” she says. “I remember my friend Jeannie lost a mom who was in her 70s and a grandmother in her 90s and when her grandmother died, she kept calling out, ‘Mommy, mommy.’<br />
“The bottom line is that everybody has that kind of natural, base, primal wound connection, and if it’s severed it becomes a permanent wound,” she says. “My wound is the mother-child connection. But I did find out that when you do search for your lost parent’s past that it does help heal it a little bit.”<br />
O’Donnell has other advice.<br />
“I’ve found that the most helpful thing I could tell anyone to do who has lost their mother is to get the Hope Edelman book <i>Motherless Daughters: The Legacy of Loss</i>,” she says. “When she wrote the book in ’95, she had written me and asked if I could do an interview. I remembered thinking it was going to be cue violin background music. You know, poor celebrities whose mothers have died when they were young. If I had known what that book was really going to be, I would have participated and I would have begun my healing so much earlier.”<br />
The comedian says that as she ages, she also laments.<br />
“It’s weird for me to be 49 years old, a decade more than she lived. I’m getting to things that she never did, like raising teenagers.<br />
“In some ways, she’s lucky,” she jokes.<br />
She sobers and adds, “I’m getting to experience it all, but I don’t have a mother to call and talk to about it.”<br />
<br />
<iframe src="http://www.facebook.com/plugins/like.php?href=http%3A%2F%2F455girls.blogspot.com%2F2011%2F02%2Fcongratulations-and-thanks-to-rosie.html&layout=standard&show_faces=true&width=450&action=like&colorscheme=light&height=80" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="border:none; overflow:hidden; width:450px; height:80px;" allowTransparency="true"></iframe>Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-71023911126223955052011-02-18T22:07:00.000-08:002011-02-18T22:10:32.980-08:00Love Song for SnowSo this afternoon I brought the eighth-grader home from school, and an hour later turned around to bring her to a friend's house for the night. Except during that hour between getting home and needing to leave, the storm at the top of the hill had morphed from steady-but-manageable-rain to crazy-downpour-from-the-apocalypse-complete-with-perfectly-sideways-blowing-wind. <br />
<br />
Still, what can you do? The kid's got to get down the hill. <br />
<br />
I opened the front door and braced myself against the wind. "Ready to make a run for it?" I asked.<br />
<br />
If eye-rolling could make a sound, there would have been a deafening one at our front door right then.<br />
<br />
I sprinted full speed toward the car. Maya walked.<br />
<br />
"What you think is bad I think is just rain," she said as she got into the car. "And you're from New York! And you lived in Iowa!"<br />
<br />
Damned individuation process. If an obvious example of a mother's stupidity doesn't immediately present itself, you can always count on a thirteen-year-old daughter to create one. <br />
<br />
"This is <i>cold </i>rain," I said. "New York and Iowa didn't have <i>cold </i>rain. You got warm rain or you got snow. At least with snow you had something good to show for it in the end. Here, we just get leaking windows." <br />
<br />
Right. I know. I romanticize. And all of you on the East Coast and in the Midwest are probably thinking, "Yeah, yeah, Calfornia girl. Show me one good thing about snow this winter." But what can I say? I <i>like</i> snow. Even when I had to live with it all winter I liked it. I grew up in New York, went to college in Chicago, and did graduate school in Iowa. When you've grown up in those states, winter isn't winter without snow. Some of my best memories from childhood involve waking up in the morning to find a thick blanket of snow covering the neighborhood, and running to the crackly transistor radio in the kitchen to learn that we were having a snow day. And some of my best adolescent memories involve Ski Club nights where my hands and feet and nose were so cold as the ski lift raised us into the black sky, with the mountain gleaming spotlight-white beneath us, and the bone-cracking cold went so deep it skewed all perspective, so that by the time you got to the top you'd be wondering if it would be possible to ever feel sufficiently warm again. <br />
<br />
This is the first winter in ... actually, I think the first winter <i>ever </i>where I won't see snow. Unless you count whatever was still left on the ground in Washington, DC, earlier this month when I was there for a conference and saw glimpses of it speeding by through the window of a cab to and from Dulles. Normally this is the weekend, over President's Day, when we might take the girls to see snow or even, in a particularly good financial year, go skiing for two days. But I'm working triple time this winter, and we just returned in mid-January from the three-week Monster Trip of the Decade to Israel and Rome, so we won't be going anywhere for a good, long time. <br />
<br />
So, snow. I miss you hugely. I miss the way you used to turn brownstone steps into shapeless mounds in New York. I miss the way you required us to crank up the forced steam heat in old Chicago apartment buildings and how the radiators used to hiss and clank all day. <br />
<br />
Ice, I even miss you, and the way you encase tree branches in Iowa like elongated crystal fingers. I loved the way you made me stay inside for a whole day (or three) emerging only to gingerly pick my way down the center of the street to get a carton of milk at the corner market because the roads weren't safe to drive. <br />
<br />
Of course, back then I was single and rarely had any place I absolutely had to go. And certainly nobody who was depending on me for transportation. Now I have a floor of 43 degrees in February, rain that nonetheless feels too cold, and a mad dash to the car while a thirteen-year-old rolls her eyes. <br />
<br />
She's right. It's just rain. Not snow. Just rain. And 43 isn't cold, unless you're naked. Or coffee.<br />
<br />
California: you're making a wimp out of me. <iframe src="http://www.facebook.com/plugins/like.php?href=http%3A%2F%2F455girls.blogspot.com%2F2011%2F02%2Flove-song-for-snow.html&layout=standard&show_faces=true&width=450&action=like&colorscheme=light&height=80" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="border:none; overflow:hidden; width:450px; height:80px;" allowTransparency="true"></iframe>Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-20744443659150702942011-02-16T19:32:00.000-08:002011-02-18T20:35:33.543-08:00The Making of Motherless Daughters<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5veX4N0vwW3QhpLK5biKBPQkXXYfERUNOaJJP-nq4UOYZ2wr63u0PPBQ-PzJpGYF35W3vaZZFQRuULzmE21NwwHPPquRtqF4ZOaPob3ZtzoztxAKQV_eBSgfIi3P_dwtETdwoWs6r0A/s1600/The+Club+header.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 37px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5veX4N0vwW3QhpLK5biKBPQkXXYfERUNOaJJP-nq4UOYZ2wr63u0PPBQ-PzJpGYF35W3vaZZFQRuULzmE21NwwHPPquRtqF4ZOaPob3ZtzoztxAKQV_eBSgfIi3P_dwtETdwoWs6r0A/s320/The+Club+header.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574498332655186674" /></a><br />
There's a really nice, very short clip over at Vimeo from the documentary-in-progress <span style="font-style:italic;">The Club</span> about motherless women--the filmmakers did this interview with me about a year ago, talking about how I found the very first women I interviewed for the book. (Back in the pre-internet era.) They came to my house in LA and we had a beautiful afternoon together. Their hearts are 100 percent in the right place. Filmmakers contact me all the time about making a documentary about motherless daughters, but Carlye and Katie have gotten further along than any of them. Here's hoping they make it all the way to distribution! <br />
<br />
I can't for the life of me figure out how to save this video to my hard drive and embed it, so I'll provide the link <a href="http://vimeo.com/10752359">right here</a>.<br />
<br />
If you're interested in the documentary <span style="font-style:italic;">The Club</span>, you can read more about it and see a trailer featuring Rosie O'Donnell <a href="http://www.theclubdocumentary.com/">here</a> or join The Club's <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Club/111063455580553?ref=ts">Facebook group</a>. <br />
<br />
Congratulations Katie and Carlye! You're doing beautiful work.<br />
<br />
<iframe src="http://www.facebook.com/plugins/like.php?href=http%3A%2F%2F455girls.blogspot.com%2F2011%2F02%2Fmaking-of-motherless-daughters.html&layout=standard&show_faces=true&width=450&action=like&colorscheme=light&height=80" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="border:none; overflow:hidden; width:450px; height:80px;" allowTransparency="true"></iframe>Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-65611851900964179862011-02-16T09:23:00.000-08:002011-02-18T20:34:13.058-08:00A Day at Disneyland<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD4J0B1tq5wRrp7OQLmJKqkA_3HJt0gCPew_Rd9uR2yeEJDqtpXVfij26lg2SARhwh5KLKuAwpqROD0hVvB8oB9gPxvfFe3sIbfVTSCN0bNlglricrgPevsaK6wcE67WpCWXjKtctfgyU/s1600/disney-magic-kingdom.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD4J0B1tq5wRrp7OQLmJKqkA_3HJt0gCPew_Rd9uR2yeEJDqtpXVfij26lg2SARhwh5KLKuAwpqROD0hVvB8oB9gPxvfFe3sIbfVTSCN0bNlglricrgPevsaK6wcE67WpCWXjKtctfgyU/s320/disney-magic-kingdom.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574340097501087346" /></a><br />
When you take five kids to Disneyland for your nine-year-old’s birthday and almost pass out when you see what admission costs for six people; when you watch families from all over the U.S. walking around with those thick-ribbon necklaces covered with character pins they purchased one by one, knowing this might be the only vacation they can take all year; when you see the trash bins (ironically labeled “Waste Please”) overflowing with paper goods and plastic bottles by 3 p.m.; and try to talk the nine-year-olds out of every sugar-laden treat on display that of course they all immediately want; and stand on line with 200 people for a ride that will last four minutes; and then walk to the next line and do it all over again--it’s frighteningly easy to start believing that you’re the only one here who notices or cares about all this excess, who realizes that the money being spent here in one day could probably solve a small nation’s hunger for a week, and it’s all too simple to start feeling smugly superior to everyone around you. And then you see a middle-aged mother and father dressed like Hell’s Angels, pushing a wheelchair with a severely disabled child in it who’s dressed in a Cinderella gown, and you realize, very humbly, that you don’t know anything about anything at all.<br />
<br />
<iframe src="http://www.facebook.com/plugins/like.php?href=http%3A%2F%2F455girls.blogspot.com%2F2011%2F02%2Fday-at-disneyland.html&layout=standard&show_faces=true&width=450&action=like&colorscheme=light&height=80" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="border:none; overflow:hidden; width:450px; height:80px;" allowTransparency="true"></iframe>Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-20840820429557349832011-02-15T16:39:00.000-08:002011-03-02T07:54:35.704-08:00Along the WayLately a lot of people have been asking what I’m up to, and why they haven’t heard from me for a while, and why I haven’t blogged in a long time, and what I’m working on next. Excellent questions, friends. There's one answer to all four questions. My next project is one I'm very excited about. It’s helping Martin Sheen and Emilio Estevez write their father-son memoir about family, fatherhood, and faith, set against the backdrops of Hollywood and northern Spain. At the moment it's titled <span style="font-style:italic;">Along the Way</span>. You can read a brief article about the book <a href="http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/01/19/those-other-guys-martin-sheen-and-emilio-estevez-plan-memoir/">here</a>.<br />
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Most of you probably know Martin Sheen from <span style="font-style:italic;">Apocalypse Now </span>and <span style="font-style:italic;">The West Wing</span> (among other films) and Emilio Estevez from <span style="font-style:italic;">The Breakfast Club </span>and <span style="font-style:italic;">The Mighty Ducks</span> trilogy(among other films, including <span style="font-style:italic;">Bobby</span>, which he wrote and directed). They’ve recently made a new film together called <span style="font-style:italic;">The Way</span> which was filmed along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route in Spain. <br />
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As soon as you have a chance to see this movie, run—do not walk!—to the theater. It’s the story of a father who scatters his estranged son’s ashes along the Camino after his son dies on his first day trekking. If that sounds like a downer it’s really not, because it’s also about the odd assortment of people he befriends how he walks and how they change his life. The story is absolutely inspiring and the cinematography is absolutely stunning. You’ll want to book a ticket to northern Spain and hit the path by the time it’s done. <br />
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And that’s all I’m saying until the book comes out. <br />
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Father’s Day 2012. Or sooner. I’m planning to write like the wind.<br />
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Happy February to all,<br />
Hope<br />
<iframe src="http://www.facebook.com/plugins/like.php?href=lhttp%3A%2F%2F455girls.blogspot.com%2F2011%2F02%2Falong-way.html&layout=standard&show_faces=true&width=450&action=like&colorscheme=light&height=80" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="border:none; overflow:hidden; width:450px; height:80px;" allowTransparency="true"></iframe>Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-40574626347947984472010-10-31T17:51:00.000-07:002011-02-18T20:37:52.584-08:00My New Favorite TV Show. You'll Be Surprised.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyn6g_1SSDGJEUkM8drAjRBmIsQ5IkJNiZ28LyZ5Q0Xw2EGsRGdUwzrho5wMpEtBkZCE30hFvCq26qXRnSamhPgUO68PIDzQlaB1bbRMfFySq67YcPSCyXSO_L7ziXnmATaP0cWLaD1g/s1600/Billy+the+Exterminator.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyn6g_1SSDGJEUkM8drAjRBmIsQ5IkJNiZ28LyZ5Q0Xw2EGsRGdUwzrho5wMpEtBkZCE30hFvCq26qXRnSamhPgUO68PIDzQlaB1bbRMfFySq67YcPSCyXSO_L7ziXnmATaP0cWLaD1g/s320/Billy+the+Exterminator.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534379116857430258" /></a><br />
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The other night I stumbled upon <span style="font-style:italic;">Billy the Exterminator</span> on A&E, and I’m going to go out on a limb here to admit: I’m hooked. If you haven’t seen it yet, it’s a reality show a about a tough-guy exterminator who drives around greater Shreveport, Louisiana, in an enormous black Toyota Tundra pickup truck emblazoned with his company’s name--Vex-Con--on both sides, and takes on tough-guy exterminator jobs that include (but are not limited to) snakes, rats, cockroaches, crocodiles, foxes tearing up backyards, squirrels trapped in fireplaces, and in one unforgettable episode, a possum carcass rotting underneath someone’s house. <br />
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There is no job too large, too small, or too gross for this guy.<br />
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Billy Bretherton--that’s his name. He’s a former Air Force sergeant—I’m guessing he’s in his mid to late 40s—with a penchant for a black cowboy hat, thin wraparound black shades, black leather, chains and studs. Think Axl Rose meets the Orkin guy and you’ve got the idea. Though I’m not sure how I’d react if my Orkin guy showed up sporting motorcycle boots and a weird little goatee. It’d definitely make Thursday mornings more interesting around here.<br />
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Billy’s family co-stars with him and They. Are. Priceless. His mother, Donnie--a wisecracking Southern mama with excellent pouffy blond hair--calls Billy on the cell phone about every ten minutes with a new, challenging, and reliably disgusting or dangerous job, thus giving him the opportunity to slip in educational moments (while talking to her) about the biological or physiological risks homeowners will face if he doesn’t get there fast. (“A rotting animal under a house can be a <span style="font-style:italic;">breeding ground</span> for bacteria and disease.”) There’s also Billy’s father, Big Bill, whose main purpose seems to be moping around in the background while he recovers from a recent heart attack and worries about the business end of things. Billy is often joined in the field by his younger brother, Ricky, who’s categorically stuck in 1985, layered, blond collar-length hair and all. Ricky is my favorite. I think of him as the biggest risk taker of the clan, since he’s apparently allergic to wasps yet, despite his mother’s frequent warnings to bring his EpiPen or wear a mask, consistently ignores her advice in favor of honoring his Inner Dude. In one episode he goes up in a cherry picker with Billy to destroy two wasp nests under the eaves of a hotel roof, with only his bare hands to protect his bare face. You can't help thinking, if this guy is really at risk for anaphylactic shock, is he crazy? Or dumb? Or both? <br />
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Billy and Ricky call each other “dude” and “man.” A <span style="font-style:italic;">lot</span>.<br />
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As with many reality shows, a fair amount of this one is probably scripted, but something about it feels like it has an edge of authenticity to me. For one thing, the critters all look real. (Anyone who actually knows me knows I have a lifelong phobia of rats, so I have to flip the channel whenever he pulls one out of a trap.) And sure, Billy is a character, maybe even an invented one, but Vex-Con does have what looks like a legitimate web site and business that could have predated the show. Or maybe it’s the gritty surroundings of semi-rural Louisiana that lend the show its credibility. Definitely the clients look real; this is no beauty pageant.When an elderly guy with a lung condition sheepishly drawls about Billy’s stomping, leather-and-chains arrival at his cockroach-infested trailer, “Well, he looked kinda scary but I knew he was the one for the job. He looked like he was ready to kill <span style="font-style:italic;">something</span>” you have to at least hope a line like that wasn’t scripted.<br />
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Plus, these client scenarios—I’m not sure they could be invented. I always found it insulting to the collective intelligence when Jeff Corwin’s just happened to <span style="font-style:italic;">stumble </span>upon a rare viper while trekking through the jungle with a cameraman. Corwin’s expressions of anticipation and surprise at those moments were so disingenuous the veil between real life and cinematic orchestration evaporated on the spot. But think about it: would anyone right-minded let producers infest their trailer home with 10,000 dead and living cockroaches just for six minutes of televised notoriety? Or stick a rotting possum carcass under their bathroom floor so A&E viewers can learn that their house smells really, really bad? I kind of think not. <br />
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I was a guest on an episode of a reality show about six years ago, back when these types of shows were still relatively new. Naively, I still thought that much of what we were seeing on these shows was real. So I was completely unprepared for the amount of stage direction that took place, like producers watching the action on a back-room screen sending orders into the cameraman’s earpiece about how to direct group conversations, and having to reshoot “natural” scenes to do them differently the second time. And this was a very well-respected, well meaning show. The premise was a group of women who wanted to change their lives for different reasons were put up in a mansion in downtown Chicago and assigned life coaches to help them achieve their goals. I was there because one of the women was a motherless daughter trying to find out information about a mother who had died when she was very young. She felt she couldn’t move forward in her life until she found out the details of her mother’s life and death. I was brought in to have dinner with her and the local Motherless Daughters group, and to then go back to the house with her and see some art projects she had made to commemorate her mother’s life.<br />
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The experience was decidedly more surreal than real. Oh, what the hell: I'll be honest. It was a total mind f&#*. It's like finding yourself at a board meeting completely different than the one you thought you were attending, and you have to learn the rules of protocol on the spot so you can play along. <br />
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At one point I was brought into a back room for an interview and was instructed to begin speaking a sentence with the opening line, “When she told me about her stepfather, I was thinking…” What I really wanted to say was, “When she told me about her stepfather, I was thinking, ‘This woman needs a good psychologist, not a life coach,” but instead I said something blandly educational about motherless women’s relationships with their stepfathers. I felt obligated to offer something helpful and useful and to sound like an expert, given that I’d been flown out to Chicago, fed a five-star dinner, and put up at the Hotel W for a night. In other words, I was deliberately not being real, because I was trying to please people who seemed to have a very clear idea of what they wanted me to say. But maybe I was dead wrong about that. Maybe being honest would have been better, and maybe that was really what they wanted, because whatever I said didn’t wind up making the final cut. If I’d been authentically myself in that moment at least I would have been speaking a truth instead of trying to participate in a form of packaged and manipulated truth that, in the end, isn’t very real at all. <br />
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All this is a long way of saying that I know reality shows aren't really “real.” Just like memoir, they start with the raw material of life (which is often slow and dull in its purest form) and are then shaped and edited it into a narrative package that entertains. The closest thing to a Real reality show I can remember was back in 1973, when PBS ran the documentary <span style="font-style:italic;">An American Family,</span> after filming the everyday domestic dramas of the Loud family of Santa Barbara for seven months. Anyone remember them? I was only nine, but I watched it religiously. Over the course of the season the typical American family was exposed as the anti-<span style="font-style:italic;">Brady Bunch</span>. The parents’ marriage started to unravel (whose wouldn’t, with TV cameras in your kitchen every minute?). Their oldest son, Lance, was revealed to be gay. By the end of the show, we realized that an experiment to give us all a peek into ordinary middle-class life had devolved into a very big mess. More sociological experiment than award-winning TV, the Loud family should have been our cautionary tale about what happens when you ask people to live authentically in front of a camera. We should have learned back then it can’t be done. <br />
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Of course, this begs the larger question “What is real?” if so much of what’s presented as “real” today is airbrushed, scripted, orchestrated, tweaked, shaped, stretched, or just made up? I don’t know. Maybe all we can ever know for sure is what we feel—the love we have for each other, the grief that comes from loss, the triumph from achievement, the despair from lack of hope, the fear of danger, the exhilaration of risk. <br />
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Lance Loud died in 2001 from complications from a crystal meth addiction, Hepatitis C and HIV. That's about as real as it gets.<br />
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Maybe this is why I’m liking <span style="font-style:italic;">Billy the Exterminator</span> right now. Because once you strip away all the attitude and the bad hair and the “Dudes” and the shades, it feels like it’s just about a guy showing up to help regular people deal with everyday problems. Sometimes a dead rat in a trap really is just a dead rat in a trap. And maybe Billy’s are planted there, but the ones that we trap a couple times a year in the space underneath our bathtub are real. I know that to be true. <br />
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Not that I actually look at them, of course.<br />
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<iframe src="http://www.facebook.com/plugins/like.php?href=http%3A%2F%2F455girls.blogspot.com%2F2010%2F10%2Fmy-new-favorite-tv-show-youll-be.html&layout=standard&show_faces=true&width=450&action=like&colorscheme=light&height=80" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" style="border:none; overflow:hidden; width:450px; height:80px;" allowTransparency="true"></iframe>Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5796521318045118203.post-13491169886700738952010-10-25T10:17:00.000-07:002010-10-25T10:19:28.637-07:00An Open Note to Kids in Topanga<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbX-HkMZlzDKSPoJnuKH3Mn48CaeIuMTnjIAOekYTW5S7e8jgdtsJdCHisQmcarf-0mEv2t8PyhkHL3KowxaSg6F9qSW166mil9GJQq72pnMimjDQe8SqrQVPVxqcmdFMcxOqn5Sxsgo/s1600/IMG_6660.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbX-HkMZlzDKSPoJnuKH3Mn48CaeIuMTnjIAOekYTW5S7e8jgdtsJdCHisQmcarf-0mEv2t8PyhkHL3KowxaSg6F9qSW166mil9GJQq72pnMimjDQe8SqrQVPVxqcmdFMcxOqn5Sxsgo/s320/IMG_6660.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532034396047095922" /></a><br /><br />It is NOT FUNNY at all to leave a rubber baby rattlesnake on the file cabinet in the upstairs office when Mom is home alone. Not funny at all.Hope Edelmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17482110995601087155noreply@blogger.com1