memoir

I've been reading a string of memoirs lately. I have a friend who loves to talks books and shares the ones she's enjoyed. Well, its been one dysfunctional family after another for a couple of months now. What I don't know is whether I am relieved to have had such a normal upbringing in comparison or distressed to relate to so much of it.

It makes me not want to ever read another Mother and Father were a wreck and I came out okay sort of book. Or even think of writing one. We each have our treasure- that event which we wrap our life around like the oyster muscle around the pearl. Bad analogy because the pearl is a beautiful thing. The oyster a bit of smelly slime. And my life though defined in large part by yet another dysfunction junction is ordinary. Marked by tragedy. Decorated with moments of great enlightenment. Touched by family and emotion. And still going strong.

Its all about the next generation now. The son and daughter and their paths. My path is well marked. And frankly I don't need to know where it goes anymore. I'm in this for today. But the children as they struggle and question and work to illuminate their quest- that is the point. Of me, my parents and each set of parents back into time immemorial. We are all standing behind and around them. Watching them. Hoping for the best.

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