I’m preparing to submit My Favorite Mother-In-Law to the Portland Book Festival. They ask for a media kit and I’m told to include five key points about the book. It’s a document used to spark questions during an interview.
This gives me a chance to look back at the book, the process, Greta, and my imaginary friends. Perhaps you’ll enjoy an early look…
Insider Perspective on Assisted Living
Now that I’m a resident, I’m allowed to loiter in the hallways, and I frequently do so outside Greta’s door, located on the main avenue between assisted living and the dining room. There is a lot of foot traffic.
As members of a community, our perspective on “life on the inside” differs from our visitors. Insiders share a common experience, unavailable to outsiders. Children take their parents out for Sunday brunch and don’t know the bingo caller is getting replaced. They don’t hear the gossip at the men’s table in the corner of the dining hall. They didn’t see the body bag being wheeled out of memory care last Thursday.
Outsiders assume this place is little more than a foyer to a mortuary. They are wrong.
Aging Gracefully
I’ve been twenty-five for about four decades. This month, I awoke to find I’m suddenly sixty-five. I use adverbs sparingly, but in this case, “suddenly” fits.
As we get older, we define ourselves by who we used to be, rather than who we will become. When I was ten, I wanted to be a scientist. When I was twenty, I wanted a career. When thirty, I climbed the corporate ladder. Forty, I wanted more free time. Fifty, I relied on what I had learned. Sixty, I try to leave my career behind. My older friends in the Evergreen Meadows Senior Community re-live their lives. Some of them remember less as their days proceed. We remember songs, our homes, our farms, our children.
Aging isn’t preparing to die. Aging is about using our unique skills gained over a lifetime.
Religion
God thinks I’m sweet, but oh-so-dumb. I find it necessary to describe “him” in terms of a human presence, complete with arms, legs, and emotions, because I can’t wrap my head around a totally abstract God. “He” (she? it? them? they?) can’t explain to me how I am wrong because I don’t have the cognitive skills.
Of all the themes I touch on in this book, religion seems to be one of the most emotional for readers. I have heard opinions from the entire spectrum: Ultra-Conservative-Catholic to former-Catholic-Now-Atheist. Not that the religious spectrum doesn’t include other faiths; just that the spectrum seems to start and finish with flavors of the catholic church.
Greta was proud of her Catholicism. But it didn’t prevent her from appreciating the beauty of other people with different religions.
Anthropomorphism and Imaginary Friends
The chair behaves like any kennel dog being considered for adoption, straightens its shoulders and looks at us with a hopeful expression.
I gave myself permission to fade between reality and fantasy. I write about a ghost salesperson, an intolerant muse, an anthropomorphized dog, and an apprehensive chair. These characters exist in the same rooms as my senior friends. Sometimes my senior friends fade across into their world.
I’m sure there are literary reasons I shouldn’t do this. But it amuses me.
Greta
“You’ll get to see Gene again, right?” I put down the five of clubs for two points.
“Because if anyone is in heaven, he’s in heaven.” Greta plays a seven of clubs. I play the two of diamonds, she plays the seven of hearts for a count of 31 and two more points.
I play the five of spades. “Yeah – I think you two will play cards.”
“In heaven?” Greta asks? She plays the eight of hearts for one point. “Well, they better play for nickels. Gene wins a lot.”
I was careful writing dialog with Greta. After all, she is (was) a real person and I respect her. That respect demands I not put my thoughts or words in her mouth. I took her quotes from recorded conversations with her or from direct recollections from trusted relatives.
There are others who will exploit her life to validate their own ideas. I wrote a chapter about them, but left it out of the final draft. Greta wouldn’t like it if I shared my bile in a book about her.