January 15, 2011 by Deb Maher

Mothers & Daughters

I’m thinking of her today. Her gentle voice and proud image linger about me.

The relationship between a mother and her daughter can follow many paths. A childhood friend was incredibly close to her mom. The two of them talked, laughed and shared silly secrets. Yet another good friend and her mother were like strangers; they barely spoke. At various times I have envied both. Why?

She was generous in her legacies. I cannot fault her for that.

From her I learned the value of family. She was an at-home wife and mother with a large family. At a time when bottle-feeding was rampant in America, she breastfed her babies. When store-bought Wonder Bread became the national favorite, she kneaded and baked wholesome homemade bread and cinnamon buns filling our home with an awesome aroma. Our childhood meals always saw us seated together around the table. As a young mother through the 1950s and 1960s, she regularly used her Kodak, snapping pictures of all those she loved and recording our history for posterity. Throughout her life, she treasured family and family gatherings.

She also loved to read. Another cherished legacy, one that led to my writing. From my earliest days, I saw scores of books on the shelves of our living room – REBECCA, WUTHERING HEIGHTS, JANE EYRE, and a magnificent edition of the complete works of William Shakespeare. In junior high, I brought home Victoria Holt’s MISTRESS OF MELLYN from the school library; that started our shared immersion into gothic romance and then romantic suspense. How she loved those books – a rambling cliff side mansion, a dark, brooding hero, a heroine in danger. Sometimes, I think she saw herself in the role.

From her I learned dignity, self-esteem and stubbornness. She took great pride in her appearance. Each morning, and whenever she left the house, she would preen in front the mirror, freshening her make-up and hair. For nearly four decades she sold Avon cosmetics. It brought in some cash, but it also brought luxury into her life. In her last years, after we all convinced her she was too ill to continue with it, she secretly signed up again and struggled to sell for another year.

Still, there were aspects of her character that I rejected. Parts of her were a puzzle I could not solve, a riddle I never understood. Sometimes, I think I will spend my remaining years trying to understand her, and our relationship. Penance.

It’s now been 3½ years since she left us. Today, she would have been 83.

Happy birthday, Mom. I love you. ∞

May 25, 2009 by Deb Maher

Wisconsin

The voice of my home state beckons and I hear her call. In a few days, I’ll board a small plane and fly west toward Wisconsin. wisconsin violet My siblings and their families all live there and there my mother rests eternally on a hillside overlooking the town. I’ll visit her, of course, to whisper a prayer, and to place blue flowers on her grave. More than anything, to remember.

On the weekend, our family will gather to celebrate our time together. The long-range forecast calls for 75° with sunny skies. Blissful. Over picnic lunches followed up with wickedly delicious sweets and Norwegian strong coffee, we’ll nibble and sip, sharing pictures, reliving childhood stories and those of our lives today. I’ll reacquaint myself with my nieces, nephews, and grandnieces – all growing up too fast. My siblings and I will get by on too little sleep and grow hoarse with our late night talks.

Late in the week, after our last driveway hugs, I’ll drive north in my rental car to Green Bay to attend the WisRWA Write Touch Conference.

Five or six years ago, I joined WisRWA as a distance member. I’ve come to cherish friends WisRWA made there, and on the Yahoo! loops. At the annual conference, we listen to speakers, and pitch our books to agents and editors. And, as with family, we grow hoarse with late night talks about our writing, our stories, our lives.

My visits to Wisconsin refresh my soul. To hear the sounds of my youth, to be wrapped in the arms of shared memories and values, is a gift I give myself. I’ve been away too long. ∞

May 10, 2009 by Deb Maher

Happy Mother’s Day

Her name was Sophie. I’ve learned what I know of her through the generosity of distant cousins. Ed & Sophie This picture is a precious gift from one of them. She is the mother of my father’s father’s father – my great-great grandmother.

A French Canadian, Sophie was born in Quebec in 1835. She died in northern Minnesota in 1914. Her children were all born in Quebec, in the same town and province where she and her husband were born, christened, and married. Where their parents and grand-parents had lived before them, all the way back to the early 1600’s when a few adventurous souls crossed the ocean from France.

In those years before automatic washing machines, microwave ovens, or supermarkets, Sophie bore and raised eleven children – five sons, six daughters. Imagine! 😯 My three sons kept me busy. I know little of her social status, save what I can discern from the photo, and from what I know of our overall family. Regardless, her life was far different than ours is today.

Sophie moved to Minnesota when she and Edouard were older, most likely because their oldest son, my great-grandfather, moved there. Families stay together, when they can. She survived her husband by four years, dying in 1914 at the age of 79. She would not see her oldest son, my great-grandfather, die in an automobile accident in 1917, nor her grandsons travel to France to fight with the Expeditionary Forces in the first World War.

She lived a good life, I think. It shows in her sweet face, and in the way she gently rests her hand on her husband’s shoulder. Her DNA runs through my veins, intermingled with the DNA of so many other mothers. Though I never knew her, we share a bond – both of blood, and in our love of family.

I wish we could have sat together at her kitchen table, just once, to chat over a cup of coffee. I would like to have met this French speaking g-g-grandmother of mine, to have known her and about her life. Somehow, I think she might laugh at that. Maybe that’s why I write history….to understand the life Sophie and my other ancestors led.

To you, and to all mothers both here and now departed, Happy Mother’s Day!

April 19, 2009 by Deb Maher

Generations

At a recent work-related conference, leona I attended a fascinating workshop given by Dr. Wendi Lee Foltz. Titled Generations at Work, the goals were to help understand the generations and learn how to work together more effectively. We discussed the four generations in today’s workplace, and brainstormed about events that shaped their lives, molding them into who they are.

The WWII Generation, born before 1940, endured the Depression and World War II. They are the value keepers, the traditionalists.

The Baby Boomers are post-WWII children who came of age during the VietNam War. Rebellious in their youth, they went on to recreate the 60-hour work week. College education for women started to become the accepted norm.

Generation X, children of the Baby Boomers, work to live. They are unimpressed, want a fun environment, and value praise.

The Millenials, aka Gen Y, born after 1980, are entering the workplace, and only now are being defined. They’ve grown up with computers in hand, and are achievement-oriented techies.

As a writer, I later wondered how these values influence what we read. How do they determine what is popular in the marketplace, especially within the realm of romance novels?

In the last 100 years, we’ve gone from the early 20th century inspirational writings of Grace Livingston Hill, to Georgette Heyer who created the well-researched modern Regency, to Daphne DuMaurier and her stories of haunting romantic suspense. DuMaurier led us into the realm of the historical and gothic romance – Victoria Holt and Phyllis Whitney. Then came Kathleen Woodiwiss in the early 1970’s with a new type of historical romance, and the world of romance exploded into multiple sub-genres, each written to meet the needs of the generations.

This glimpse at various generations helped me understand the WWII Generation’s love of Holt & Whitney’s modern gothic novel with their helpless appearing heroines and strong, brooding heroes. It helped me, too, understand the emergence of Chick Lit – a sub-genre created by and for the fun-loving, intelligent Generation X’ers. Loosening sexual standards has brought an increase in Erotica and, counter-acting that, more popularity for Inspirational reading. Our to-be-read piles now hold everything from Scottish Highland historicals to witty Romantic Comedies.