Oh Hai...ku

My mom started writing this year. She found herself with some free time and remembered how much she used to enjoy writing. She writes for herself, she writes for her online writing teacher, and she writes for me. Which is my favorite. She recently sent me a poem, an early birthday poem. It made me cry. I would say that is a sign of a very good writer. I appreciate that she is doing something for herself, I appreciate that she is working at her art. I appreciate the kind of role model that makes her for bean. It is good to have people in your life doing creative things, it's inspiring.

My mom's latest writing adventure has her writing Haiku's. She didn't realize I was such a lover of the medium. And true to form, I like to write a wee haiku once in awhile not fully understanding the history or the technical side of them, and my mother! She went head first into learning every thing there is to learn about the art. The history, the different styles, the technical side, the art side...all of the sides. And just as I promised myself I would blog daily she has promised herself to haiku daily. She even started a blog as a place to "jot her thoughts" in Haiku form.

My grandpa used to comment to me "Are you your mother's daughter or what?" it was usually in response to me acting silly, or singing, or dancing. My dad will comment to my mom, "You and your daughter are so much alike" usually when she is being stubborn or a total nut. But for all that we are alike, for the silliness that is genetic, there are pretty distinct differences too. And when we wobble down our own paths and end up in the same place, say at Haiku's, even then we go about them in such different ways. There is no one else in my life that I share this relationship with. Where as I go about writing in a lackadaisical fashion, she has discipline. Where I dabble and hop and skip, she learns and engulfs herself. I've learned a lot from her because of that. I've learned a lot from her period.

A haiku for my mom.

My name in cursive 

On my moms old baseball mitt

Her fault, she taught me

xoxo