Meet Lotus: The Prodigal Farmer's Wife in CLOVER BLUE

"Life gets mighty precious when there's less time of it to waste." --Bonnie Raitt

I remember when my mom turned fifty and all hell broke loose in our house. She shuffled off the yoke of her existence as a devoted pastor's wife and went back to college to expand her horizons. Mom would stay up late, poring over books and homework. She eventually graduated with honors, using her degree to become a financial aide counselor at the same college she'd attended.

My mom with my dad and me in 1961

Although he lovingly supported my mother's educational aspirations, I think on some level my dad mourned the loss of his dutiful wife, and realized that her going back to school was likely the first step of his beloved's path to asserting her autonomy. And he was right. My mom was barely twenty when they'd married. Forty years and seven children later, they separated. My dad was heartbroken. My mom, on the other hand, bloomed like a rose, until the piercing thorn of cancer took her permanently from all of us at the age of sixty-four. 

Saffron Freedom Community, the 1970s commune in CLOVER BLUE, is full of youthful people who aspire to create a Utopian society free from the constraints of social norms. Except for a couple of trusted neighbors, outsiders are forbidden from entering SFC. One of those exceptions is Lois Fuller, the farm wife who buys eggs from the commune that borders their property. Mrs. Fuller is a former school teacher who once had aspirations of studying art. She loves spending time with the Saffrron children, encouraging them to explore their interests in art and literature. The more time she spends at SFC the more envious she becomes of their lifestyle, eventually going so far as to want to join them:

“Look, I know I’m a lot older than all of you, but I’ve been every age you are.” She turns toward Goji, who listens thoughtfully. “Every time I set foot in this community it feels like coming home to that idealistic version of myself, the dreams I lost somewhere along the way.”

Goji leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. “You are like a flower, opening. So very beautiful. I think we should call you Lotus instead of Lois.”

Lotus reminds me a little of my own mother and a lot of myself. Today, on Mother's Day, I want to honor all those mothers who made huge sacrifices to care for the children and those who chose to pursue their dreams, simultaneously or eventually. I also want to honor the women who either couldn't or chose not to have kids. Mothering isn't about giving birth so much as it's about nurturing. We are all mothers in one way or another. Some of us plant gardens. Some of us protect and care for the planet and her creatures. Some of us make art. And some of us write books.

*******

Only two weeks until the release of CLOVER BLUE. If your mother grew up in the 1960s/1970s she might enjoy this book. And you might learn a little something about her...

 Available for pre-order now. 

Empty Nest, Full Heart

I was just sixteen years old when I left my parents' home to marry a boy the next town over. I'm quite certain some people assumed it was because I "had to" get married. But I wasn't pregnant, I was merely foolish. And stubborn. Really, really stubborn. I actually believed that by moving away, I'd show my mom and dad just how much they'd miss their petulant, free-spirited daughter. Ha!

Looking back, I can only imagine the private happy dance they shared when I was out of their hair. Sure they'd miss me. They loved me. But man did I make their life difficult. I skipped school. I smoked pot. I went to parties. I played hooky from church. I pretty much did the opposite of everything they demanded of me. Not because I didn't love them--I did--but because I thought I knew better than them.

My emancipation came with a price. Suddenly I was in charge of me. I had to figure out how to pay bills which meant getting a job while also finishing high school. I learned how to balance a checkbook, shop for the best deals on groceries, cook meals and run a household. I even learned to change my own oil and spark plugs. At first it was fun, this perpetual date with my high school sweetheart and being addressed as "Mrs." by my teachers. Then one year later I did end up pregnant and gave birth just weeks before my high school graduation. Suddenly it was no longer just me playing house; I was now responsible for another life. 

In THIS I KNOW my young protagonist's mother suffers from postpartum depression. There's a very intimate scene between mother and daughter, when Grace sees her mama for the first time as Isabelle Carter the woman with hopes and dreams instead of the person who sews her dresses, cooks her meals and combs the tangles out of her hair. 

Mama stands and walks across the porch to look out over the meadow. She’s barefoot and wearing a sleeveless sundress with tiny yellow flowers on it that I’ve never seen before. It doesn’t have any pockets. All of Mama’s clothes have pockets. Most of the time they’re full. She turns around and leans back against the railing. Mama looks radiant in spite of the topic of our conversation. I can’t remember seeing her this happy. Ever. Which worries me.

I chose to symbolize the 1960s mother archetype as the family custodian, cleaning behind and picking up after her husband and five children. In this particular scene, Mama escapes reality by envisioning her dream house with a porch swing that overlooks a flowered meadow. She liberates herself from her expected role by wearing a sundress without any pockets. The dress says I'm free and unburdened. Of course, this scares the daylights out of Grace, who tries to convince her mother that she is loved, but what she's really saying is that she's needed.

I remember very clearly the day my youngest son left for college. I cried all the way home. I'd finally gotten that longed-for emancipation and it sucked. Although I cherish my idyllic, child-free adult life, I still miss being needed to tie a shoe, to kiss a hurt, or to comfort a heartbroken teen. My pockets might be empty of broken crayons and baby spoons, but my heart is so full of the memory of each of their young faces as they toddled toward me, arms outstretched, brimming with unbridled trust. 

Parents: What about you? Are you dreading or looking forward to a life without dependents? If your nest is currently empty, are you enjoying your more care-free life? Would you let your adult children move back home to save money on living expenses? 

**********

THIS I KNOW by Eldonna Edwards is available at your favorite Independent and Online Bookstores:

B&N Hudson BooksellersAmazon Target BAMIndieBound Walmart

The Healing Power of Music

"Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows. Lies the seed, that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose." --from "The Rose" by Gordon Wills, sung by Bette Midler

My mother had an amazing voice and she love, love, loved to sing. I remember how she'd hum her favorite hymns as she washed dishes or ironed my dad's shirts, and especially when she sat at her sewing machine.  I'd watch her lean into the lever with her knee, pushing the fabric past the needle, bubble-tipped straight pins clenched firmly between her lips. I always worried she'd accidentally swallow one but she never did. And she never stopped humming.

I don't know if I inherited my mother's voice, but I'm pretty sure my love for music came from her. From the time I was a small child, I'd volunteer to sing in church and auditioned for school musicals. At the age of twelve my older sister Mary Beth gave me a beginner guitar, a thing my other sister Nita never forgave her for because I considered that guitar a license to sing all the live long day. Singing brought me joy. It brought Nita to tears, and not in a good way.

When I created the character of Isabelle, wife to the Rev. Henry Carter and mother to four daughters in THIS I KNOW, I gave her my own mother's beautiful voice. And then I took it away from her when Mrs. Carter suffers an unbearable loss. I wanted the reader to feel her deafening silence, how grief not only stills our hearts, it will come like a thief for your tongue and the soul that feeds it. But also how music just might be the one thing to make you feel whole again.

The other day I drove home from a literary event feeling exhausted. Not just from a busy day, but from the heaviness of recent heartbreaking news, the dreadful political noise, and not knowing how to rise above the ennui resulting from day-to-day information overload. I have so much to be happy about--a new book coming out, living where other people vacation, and exceptional good health. And yet here I was, sighing as I exited the 101 toward the Pacific coast.

I turned on the radio hoping to cheer myself up. I surfed from channel-to-channel without landing on the perfect song. I turned it off again, choosing the hum of tires on pavement over bubblegum pop. It was in the silence that I heard my mother whisper, "Come on, Donna Sue." That's what she called me when she was being playful. "Sing us a song." 

And so I did. I sang, nay, belted out a rendition of The Rose that cleared the fog from my lungs and the dread from brain. I sang it three times until, pulling into the driveway, I felt an imaginary pair of wings unfold as I emptied myself from the car and floated into the house.

What about you? Is there a song that lifts you out of a funk? What was your relationship with music growing up? 

**************************

THIS I KNOW by Eldonna Edwards releases 04.24.18

"Once in a while you read a book that just takes your breath away with its beauty and truth. This I Know is such a book.This is one of the most beautiful coming of age stories I’ve ever read, and it will stay with me for a long, long time."  --Rosemary S., Librarian