I have a favorite book.
It isn't a novel, biography, fantasy or really anything of that sort. It is a worn, green, pocket-sized book whose
title page says in calligraphy;
Addresses,
Phone Numbers, And Such Like…
The book is filled with my mother’s handwriting; loopy,
smooth and somehow, kind. In case you are questioning my taste in
books, this one is not full of
addresses but instead, little stories. You
can see for yourself what they are like:
 |
| (click on the picture if your eyesight isn't what it used to be ;) |
You’ll notice about two-thirds of the way down this page, a
one-line story about me. When I was
five, I discovered fuzzy, colorful caterpillars in our yard and excitedly but mistakenly
called them “callepitters” for a long time.
Now I am twenty-five years old, and that little one-line entry
represents a lot to me because it reminds me that my mom was listening.
To put this in perspective, in 1993 my mom had eight
children ages 2-12 to take care of. (!!!) She was packing lunches, giving rides,
feeding babies, doing laundry, cleaning house and any number of other motherly
tasks. Can you imagine then, finding the
energy to notice a slight mispronunciation from a five-year old, seeing the
humor in it, and taking the time to write
it down? But she did, and I am so grateful! Especially because now, I have the chance and
the desire to be that kind of mom too.
My sisters and I are reviving a project that our mom started
years ago—a published, adorably illustrated version of that little green book
and I am so excited to share it!
