When Mom was a little kid, her Dad called her a "banty rooster." I just looked it up: "This term is used to describe the behavior of some short men who may tend to walk with a swagger and adopt a somewhat exaggerated male posture. They are called banty roosters after the bantam rooster both because of their size and because their behavior can "out-rooster" the more standard sized rooster." I never thought of it until now, but my first skype name was "blustery rooster" and I called my art room in Ramona the "Psychic Rooster Studio" after an article in the Weekly World News about a guy who's pet rooster, Roy, wouldn't let him leave the house one day, consequently saving him from a plane crash. I have a poster in my living room by Gary Houston of a rooster man with a guitar. I was born in the Chinese year of the rooster and I live on Hancock Street. Oh, it's all coming together now.
Mom was physically adventurous and a good sport, going along with my dad's long off-the-trail hikes- I remember her once finding a piece of asphalt, dropping to her knees and kissing it then running uphill with excitement towards what must be a road. She joined Dad in becoming members of the N.S.S. - National Speleological Society- which meant we descended hanging metal ladders into mud holes, unrolling a ball of twine so that we could find our way out. She was, and still is, a flirt, often attracting men in grocery stores who want to know how to cook an eggplant or choose a cantaloupe.
Last night I got to hear Alison Bechdel read out of her new book, "Are You My Mother." I'm fascinated with her layers and "strands" and how she uses other authors (Woolf, Winnicott, Seuss) to tell her story. Everywhere I turn these days and nights, there's diary. First there was the mom's diary in "Tiny Furniture," then I re-read "Fun Home" where Bechdel shows the onset of an OCD episode in her childhood diary which becomes so intrusive her mom takes over and writes the little girl's diary for her, as she dictates. Next came a novel by Louise Erdrich where a woman keeps two diaries- one that she knows her husband is reading, so manipulates, (creepy) and the other which she keeps in a bank vault and tells the truth. In the current "O" magazine, there's an article by a woman who "reads" her mother's diaries after her death (I won't spoil the strange surprise for you), and now, in Bechdel's new book, she uses her mom's diary and also Virginia Woolf's.
When I got my haircut last week, Robin and I talked about the Mortified show and I said how I'd love for Serra to be in it- "She has such great stuff! She has this one entry where she writes about her new romance and how jealous I am." Robin asked if Serra lets me read her diary. "Well, we used to always read to each other out of our diaries, and I have her teen diaries, so the other day, I just took a peek at the first page..." Robin asked how my mom felt about Mortified. Mom's words were, spoken flatly, "I don't get it." I told her my Mom probably has bad feelings about my diary, from the times she read it when I was at school. "She's such a snoop." "Yeah," Robin said all smart-like, "She's such a snoop."
This is turning into a long post. It's just that I'm putting some stuff together here, as I think about the next phase of Mortified, whereupon teen Donna loses her innocence. It's vulnerable material coming up... and why would I share that stuff? Cuz that's what writers do. And hopefully, the sharing benefits more than myself.
I wish my Mom had a diary I could sneak a peek at.
At her granddaughter Serra's wedding, 2009
Great stuff, mom. I love reading about grandma rooster and her sparky adventures. I feel a bit banty myself, at times.
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