Another Poem About Mothers

Here's another poem*, a little longer, a little more poignant than the earlier one.

To our daughters, just beginning.

And to our own mothers,

some long gone.

We celebrate you today.

💕

* Poem by Jess Urlichs

A Poem About Mothers

A Poem About Mothers

I like this little poem.

It doesn’t exactly represent a memory of my mom (banging pots in the kitchen before we woke up? Not really). For as long as I can remember, she was involved, to greater or lesser degrees, volunteering outside the home. So whether she was coming or going, she was always deeply preoccupied in whatever she was doing.

That said, we weren’t latchkey kids. She was home more often than not when we came home from school.

So yes. I like this little poem. It speaks to the value of being present. There’s a kind of security in that. Kids always knowing there’s an adult nearby.

Here’s to moms who may not be the best cooks, who may be preoccupied or absorbed in their own lives or interests, but who are downstairs when the kids wake up.

Wading Through Norman Maclean's River

Why I'll Probably Re-Read This Book

Years ago (we’re talking last century!) a friend recommended a novel written by E. Annie Proulx called The Shipping News. I will always read a book when a friend I respect recommends it, and I did read this one. But I admit, it was a bit of a slog. I remember wondering more than once why I continued reading it. But all I could think was, a friend I respect recommended it. So I soldiered on. Eventually I finished the book. 

 

But here’s the weird thing. By the time I reached the end of the novel, I was oddly moved. I remember thinking, as if it had never occurred to me the entire time I was reading, “Ohhh . . . it’s a love story.” 

I had a similar experience when I finished A River Runs Through It, by Norman Maclean, though for a different reason. It’s the oddest book I’ve ever read in that not only does it have no chapter breaks, it literally has no breaks at all. You know how some novels separate sections within a chapter by an extra space? So if you’re reading a long chapter but aren’t able to complete it in one sitting, you may reach that internal break knowing it’s a logical place to pause, even if you’re not finished with that chapter? That’s what I mean by no breaks at all, let alone no chapter breaks. The entire book is literally only one chapter. I’ve never experienced anything like that while reading. 

In that regard, A River Runs Through It is probably a book that should be read in one sitting. Since for a variety of reasons that scenario is not realistic for me, I ended up taking a few weeks to finish the book. My habit of penciling in the spot where I’d stopped reading and then resuming the next day was trickier in this book since there are neither section nor chapter breaks: consequently, I’d usually end up re-reading a paragraph or two before the spot I’d marked in order to re-capture the thread. 

Also, unlike other novels, A River Runs Through It, though referred to as a novella, is, in fact, autobiographical. In that regard, the book lacks the traditional narrative pattern of a novel: there’s no clear beginning-middle-end plot line, no distinct rising action/climax/falling action/denouement that you get when reading a novel. So, there’s a bit of a mismatch between the words on the page (autobiographical) and the expectations of the reader (fictional). At least, there was for me.

In a nutshell, here’s the book: 

Setting: Montana. 

Main Characters: the author himself, his preacher father, his alcoholic brother

Minor Characters: his brother’s wife, his brother’s brother-in-law 

Key Events: fly fishing in one particular river 

Minor Events: Rather than me summarizing, here's a helpful synopsis.

And that pretty much sums it up. There’s not much tension—as mentioned above, no dramatic rising action, at least, not until literally the last few pages. With the exception of getting his brother out of jail once, there’s really not much drama. And the most dramatic part of the story is literally not even discussed. Rather, it’s mentioned in passing. Almost as an afterthought. 

Re-reading my own description, I have to say, it’s not really a book that’s easy to recommend. 

And yet…I do. And I will read it again. Much like my experience reading The Shipping News—reading a book I wasn’t quite getting—I got to the end of A River Runs Through It and had a similar reaction. “Ohhh . . . it’s a love story.” 

But, it's also the writing. The prose. At times funny, at other times breathtakingly lovely. The author hints at a tragedy but doesn’t dwell on it. It’s truly the most understated event in the book. Yet it’s the saddest. Have I mentioned the incredible details about fly fishing? Even if you know nothing about this sport, the author has you baited and hooked. These three men (father and sons) were masterful fishermen. But the best among them was the author's brother. The final pages are of the author and his elderly father watching from the riverbank as the brother battled a monster trout. Ordinary event. Extraordinary prose. 

A River Runs Through It is a book that should be read more than once. Hopefully, my next read will be in one sitting.

Who is Entitled to Privacy?

I've been thinking about death and fame in the aftermath of another celebrity's passing. Though her family has requested privacy, I'm sure we'll start to hear more about the cause of Diane Keaton's death soon. Rumors of her declining health are already beginning to trickle out. 

Does knowing how someone died matter? Whenever a well-known figure dies and the family requests privacy, I find myself struggling with this question. If a person down the street, who I may know by name but am otherwise not involved with personally, suddenly dies, I may feel sadness or empathy, but I'm certainly not entitled to the details of their passing. 

But when a celebrity suddenly dies? The word "entitled" may be too strong, but there is a sense that loss of privacy comes with the territory. This is a person who long ago made a kind of bargain with fame. The benefits of fame may be many, but the costs are often high. One of the costs is privacy. And when a celebrity's cause of death isn't disclosed, questions and speculations are inevitable. 

Anyway, whatever the cause, it's looking more and more as if she had a complicated end. 

May she rest in peace.

****

Diane Keaton January 5, 1946 - October 11, 2025

Taking a Moment to Personify Death

Out of respect for the passing of Robert Redford, Perry and I watched an old episode of Twilight Zone (Season 3, Episode 16) called "Nothing in the Dark," in which Redford was cast as the personification of Death. It first aired in January of 1962. 

Even though I knew ahead of time who he was and what he represented, I watched the story unfold with a bit of anxiety. I wasn't sure how the elderly woman—who for years had been living her life in seclusion behind locked doors, terrified of meeting Death in person—would react when she finally recognized who she had invited inside her house. 

If someone reading this post hasn't watched the episode (we hadn't, so it was new to us), I won't go into many details. But I did want to comment on one aspect of Redford's character (named Harold Beldon). Though his character was kind, gentle, even vulnerable, knowing who he was and why he was there, I kept waiting for him to become evil or bad. Like a demon in disguise. 

When that never happened, when, like a gentleman, he offered the woman his arm for her to take as he escorted her out the door, I realized I was conflating two things unfairly: death and demons. But this episode seems to be suggesting that death, in and of itself, is not evil. Death did not enter her house to hurt her. He entered to escort her to the next life.

I won't bother to explore spiritual or Biblical questions about the afterlife, or faith in God, or sin or hell. Rather, I prefer to stay focused on what this one little 30-minute Twilight Zone episode seemed to be exploring: Death seems terrifying to those of us who are clinging desperately to this life, breathing in and out and living day to day. But what if it's not so terrifying? What if it's simply just the next step?

Anyway, not that I don't want to keep on breathing and living day to day. But these are the thoughts that came to mind this morning. And I was reminded of this lovely poem by Emily Dickinson, who also took a moment to personify Death.