“My Favorite Mother-In-Law” is a memoir by Mark Niemann-Ross, exploring his insider experience as the youngest resident of Evergreen Meadows Senior Community. The book reflects on the unique bond between Mark and Greta, his favorite Mother-In-Law. In the book, he shares humorous anecdotes and touching memories that showcase the respect and affection he feels for Greta and her fellow residents.
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Reviews
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I wholeheartedly enjoyed this book! We get a glimpse into the life of a wonderful woman named Greta and the light-hearted antics of living in a retirement home from the view of her favorite son-in-law. He touched on religion throughout the book with such levity; it was honestly refreshing! Beautifully written!
This book will have you laughing and teary-eyed. What an adventure Mark and Janell have with Greta. I really enjoyed reading about the red chair, also about Ruby. At first I didn’t understand why Greta was not friendly with Ruby, not giving anything away. Then the pictures heist this was funny to me. I believe you will enjoy this book as I do. I will reread this book again.
I give My Favorite Mother In law a 5 Star Review
This is a book in which one can laugh at the same words that could cause tears. Everyone gets older one day at a time. But when do we really take the time to reflect on all the bygone years, and recognize that we are now at the “old” age that was once reserved for our aunts and uncles and grandparents?
Mark brings wonderful insight and humor to the inevitable…I highly recommend My Favorite Mother-in- law!
Excerpt from My Favorite Mother-In-Law
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.
Sixty-five is harder than twenty-five.
When I was twenty-five, I could run a five-minute mile. I flipped a canoe on my shoulders, then down, then up again sixteen times in thirty seconds. I could carry a 250 pound load up a sand dune.
Now my back hurts when I get out of bed in the morning.
When I was twenty-five, I played bass guitar in a rock-and-roll band. I learned music theory. I picked up the banjo and taught myself to sight-read.
Now I can’t remember where I put my keys, much less the key signature of the music I’m practicing.
To document my sudden aging, the United States government sends me paperwork about Social Security and Medicare. I laugh about how those are for old people. I stop laughing when I realize I’m the old people they are talking about.
I have grandchildren. My hair and beard are white. My skin is thinner, my knees complain when I stand up. Industry head-hunters have stopped calling me with job offers.
When I was twenty-five, I strove to be respected by my peers. I worked hard for a fine patina of wisdom. Now I find that patina is easy to come by; it’s called “liver spots.”
This is the first time I’ve gotten old and I am totally unprepared. I was hoping the literature accompanying the Medicare paperwork would offer a seminar (hopefully in some exotic location) about aging gracefully. There are such seminars, but they are taught by forty-year-old celebrities and are mainly concerned about choosing make-up and fashion. Nothing about how an old white guy is supposed to proceed with confidence. (Of course, old white men have never lacked for an undeserved sense of confidence.)
I realize I should observe someone older than myself. If I paid careful attention, I could see their triumphs and their failures. I could take careful notes and optimize my own experience. I need a mentor to show me how to get older.
Fortunate me: I have a perfect mentor and I’m related to her.
My favorite Mother-In-Law!