Tuesday, February 24, 2015

I'm Writing, I'm writing . . .

No I Am Not

All day yesterday to write, I have today free to write - Can't seem to put ANY thought or scrap of a sentence together.

I read Larry McMurtry's essay he published on storytelling for the Texas Classics literary series  where he talks about 'the woman' who as a young girl was swapped for 50 skunk hides - he saw her many times as he was growing up - his dad sometimes would give her a ride into town - she never spoke, never uttered a word, just stood by the side of the road until someone picked her up so she could do what ever she had to do in town; 'she lived to bear the trapper many children.'

The essay is full and rich in detail as he goes on to tell how his grandparents arrived in the vast open empty country to settle and populate the land with children that scattered far and wide. Rich rural stories, we have all read and loved, like ."Lonesome Dove" to name one of about 30 novels.  See what I mean - I know, give it up, Helen, take the high road - be honorable - just fall on your sword.

His '(My) grandparents were - - potent word - - pioneers.'

I see a glimmer of hope here - my grandparents and parents were pioneers of sorts. Traversing an ocean to reach the land of the free but instead of wagons to reach the far reaches of  Texas, my grandparents  traveled by train where factories were waiting for the men, land too, precious land that would take years of toil in those factories to purchase their prized pieces of of that rick black loam, because like the McMurtrys  - land, owning it - made them  free, not beholden to any other man.

My grandfather and father were business partners, the women were rulers of the house - my mother, was exceptionally beautiful, so young, raised by the nuns in Italy, knew only books, music and fancy needle work. My grandmother, her mother-in-law knew only hard work, raised to take care of the men and children,  to cook, clean, tend the fruit and vegetable gardens. The women raised in to two different worlds, one of privilege and one of laborers.

My mother was beautiful, my father was handsome. My grandparents were the rock and foundation of our lives . . .

(I won't fall on my sword today)


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