Alice, sorry for this late comment a week after post but first off I second Pamela R’s comment! Secondly, my mother was a screamer, a thrower, and a cryer also and it occurred to me that may be the reason our paths seem to cross, albeit sporadically, as we move through life. We experienced that specific kind of pain early on and are forever connected. Thank you SO much for bridging my experience with yours. You have a gift! Xxooo
Just loved this and everything about it, from the beauty of the prose to the sense of longing expressed! And among many other thoughts as I read through, which others have expressed, I found myself thinking, Write this! Write a novel that allows you to enter the world you wished for so deeply - that scene of the children and their ponies!! That's a novel I'd love to read.
"Beautiful." As was this post. It was a shock to me when first I learned how hard your life was after your father passed... and as you know, I remember writing a sympathy note to your family (or did we just write your mom?) along with the rest of our class. I imagine schools/classes don't do that anymore. There were so many stunning phrases and metaphors in this Alice! "The sight of them in the grey dusk carried me through a sliding door into a life I also wanted..." The image of you pulling on your "tights and knee high boots" - so familiar, so evocative of an era. And Rose Lane... what a name! It conjures such a sense of picture perfect lives behind those walls. At various times, the reminder "don't judge your interiors by other people's exteriors" has been a boost ... and learning more about your childhood has been that for me. I am happy your wistful reflections and walk brought you HOME to your cozy cat and dear husband making a yummy pasta dinner!
What a beautiful recollection which made me think on a number of things.
I’ve been a trad-wife and never felt as if I was shortchanged in life. I love that I was there for the kids, the kids’ schools and interests, my husband and my home and that I could put many hours into volunteer work. However - I always made sure I had ‘me’ time - to be creative, to be alone and at peace. Most of the time it worked. I guess if someone asked me - I would say, to paraphrase a famous quote by Jonathan Swift: I have lived all the days of my life. I’m content.
My son did not come home for Thanksgiving this year. Growing up, I was forced to drive my brothers to my biological father in NoVa until I refused to do so. I thought a lot this holiday about when I chose not to go home anymore and why... and how I never considered how that might have impacted my parents until now. We are all little children, always and forever. The hurt remains.
No words, Al. But i remember a lot of this. And my own longing for something different and warm and beautiful. So interesting I should find it on my own. In many ways. I surrendered to the longing as a quiet companion in the back seat of my life. My Gertie sits up front with me, my constant. I still don't know what I will be when I grow up.
Love your writing. I remember as a child riding in the backseat of the car at night trying to look inside all the houses we passed with their lights on and windows unadorned wondering what their lives were like. I think I probably still do this as an adult.
“Beautiful.”
Beautiful.
How is it possible that the most radical person I know has a trad wife within! This moved me deeply. Thank you.
Alice, sorry for this late comment a week after post but first off I second Pamela R’s comment! Secondly, my mother was a screamer, a thrower, and a cryer also and it occurred to me that may be the reason our paths seem to cross, albeit sporadically, as we move through life. We experienced that specific kind of pain early on and are forever connected. Thank you SO much for bridging my experience with yours. You have a gift! Xxooo
Just loved this and everything about it, from the beauty of the prose to the sense of longing expressed! And among many other thoughts as I read through, which others have expressed, I found myself thinking, Write this! Write a novel that allows you to enter the world you wished for so deeply - that scene of the children and their ponies!! That's a novel I'd love to read.
"Beautiful." As was this post. It was a shock to me when first I learned how hard your life was after your father passed... and as you know, I remember writing a sympathy note to your family (or did we just write your mom?) along with the rest of our class. I imagine schools/classes don't do that anymore. There were so many stunning phrases and metaphors in this Alice! "The sight of them in the grey dusk carried me through a sliding door into a life I also wanted..." The image of you pulling on your "tights and knee high boots" - so familiar, so evocative of an era. And Rose Lane... what a name! It conjures such a sense of picture perfect lives behind those walls. At various times, the reminder "don't judge your interiors by other people's exteriors" has been a boost ... and learning more about your childhood has been that for me. I am happy your wistful reflections and walk brought you HOME to your cozy cat and dear husband making a yummy pasta dinner!
Oh so relatable. ♥️
Beautiful. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in your craft class!
What a beautiful recollection which made me think on a number of things.
I’ve been a trad-wife and never felt as if I was shortchanged in life. I love that I was there for the kids, the kids’ schools and interests, my husband and my home and that I could put many hours into volunteer work. However - I always made sure I had ‘me’ time - to be creative, to be alone and at peace. Most of the time it worked. I guess if someone asked me - I would say, to paraphrase a famous quote by Jonathan Swift: I have lived all the days of my life. I’m content.
Lovely. Thank you.
My son did not come home for Thanksgiving this year. Growing up, I was forced to drive my brothers to my biological father in NoVa until I refused to do so. I thought a lot this holiday about when I chose not to go home anymore and why... and how I never considered how that might have impacted my parents until now. We are all little children, always and forever. The hurt remains.
Deep breath. Alice just beautiful. Seven is when mom went to the Institute for nine months. The loss of a parent at such a tender age is god awful.
Grief is it a yearning for what was or what could have been. And yet I can’t imagine not having a career. My work which is so important to me, to you.
No words, Al. But i remember a lot of this. And my own longing for something different and warm and beautiful. So interesting I should find it on my own. In many ways. I surrendered to the longing as a quiet companion in the back seat of my life. My Gertie sits up front with me, my constant. I still don't know what I will be when I grow up.
Oh, Alice, I love this so much, I've gone limp. xo
Oh, Alice. I love this.
Oh, my dear. Thank you for this deeply rich reflection, burnished dark gold.🙏🏽💛
Love your writing. I remember as a child riding in the backseat of the car at night trying to look inside all the houses we passed with their lights on and windows unadorned wondering what their lives were like. I think I probably still do this as an adult.