I Am My Mama's Daughter

Today I found a fantastic new magazine, Boho. On their website I found this. I guess I am a Bohemian --- and proud of it.

I have been suffering from writer's block. After making my pledge that I was going to be happy no matter what --- well society as we knew it started to crumble and I started to watch the news and worry.

My mama was a world class olympic triathalon of a worrier. It's a shame that worriers don't get to have an actual event - she would have brought home the gold.





As all good daughters do I attempt to rebel. I have tried to rebel against this prediliction for ages. Sometimes more successfully than others. My mom has been gone a few years. Sometimes now I remember some of her momisms and have to laugh out loud.





I grew up in the seventies a well protected, private school girl who loved her rock and roll. Along with this was a love of long haired musicians. I must have been about 13 when I hung a bunch of their posters in my room. My mom saw this and took the posters down claiming "She was not about to raise a bohemian". I didn't even know what that meant - but it sounded right up my alley.



Later through the years when she went to describe me she would call me a bohemian. (Mom was a dyed in the wool Liz Claiborne seperates kind of gal). I think she said it with pride and perhaps a little envy.