parents – The Hermits' Rest

Book Report: How to Lose Your Mother

Resilience. That’s the first concept that comes to my mind when I think about Molly Jong-Fast, the author of How to Lose Your Mother: A Daughter’s Memoir (2025). To have made it to adulthood as a functioning human being after experiencing her childhood defines resilience. Some people wouldn’t have made it. Sure, Jong-Fast is a bit messed up, but by gosh, she’s here analyzing the heck out of politics with her inimitable New York accent (Lee loves her podcast).

This memoir covers a pretty crappy year in her life, during which she spent any time not dealing with sickness or death of those around her mulling over the truly baffling history of her relationship with her mother, Erica Jong, author of semi-autobiographical books that were shocking in their time (Fear of Flying, etc.). Jong-Fast spends many pages going over how famous, talented, and interesting her mother was or wasn’t. Mostly, Jong-Fast believes she wasn’t any of those things.

What I found most interesting about this book was that although we have much in common mother-wise, I really had a hard time emphasizing with Jong-Fast. I think I like her, but her negative attitude towards herself got under my skin. I can’t tell you how many times she says she’s a bad daughter or how insistent she is that Jong is a bad mother. She is unable to give either her mother or herself the benefit of the doubt other than a few token attempts.

I guess I’d hoped that all the AA meetings she’s been at would have helped Jong-Fast be kinder to herself, but here she is, still berating herself for not making her mother happy. Sigh.

Yes, Jong was not your average mother. I don’t think she could have been, because other than her final husband, she really only liked or was interested in herself. I honestly can see how her daughter would end up unable to love her like other daughters love their mothers. They both have tried their best, for who they are.

Boundaries. Yeah. They both have problems with boundaries. Jong can’t separate her consciousness from her unconscious self, and Jong-Fast can’t let herself stop trying to get in there with her mom.

Who am I, a therapist? No. So I will stop. Everyone in the book has a therapist of their own anyway, right down the block, like every other service they need. New York is so foreign to me!

So…how to conclude this? The people in this memoir are fascinating and (to me) not like people I know. They live in a world new to me and have experiences unlike mine. Quite educational! And you will certainly find Jong-Fast to be a fascinating human. I just can’t quite figure out the moral to the story unless it’s that you never do know your parents and you certainly can’t fix that when they have dementia.

Cheerful stuff it is not. Well written, though!

Old, Parents, Worries

What were your parents doing at your age?

I’m still feeling old and irrelevant, just like my cousin J. And I’m incredibly sad to be watching my sweet Great Dane, Goldie, swiftly declining. Cancer is just awful. It makes me hesitant to have another giant dog.

And cancer is why I can’t tell you what my mother was doing at my age (pushing 67). She’d been dead four years, thanks to her nicotine addiction. I wish she’d had a less addictive personality. I know she loved us.

I was born, born in the 50s. I already look concerned.

When Dad was 66 I think he was at his happiest. If my memory is correct, he’d met my stepmother and was having fun hanging with friends, traveling, and working in his beloved flower gardens. What a contrast. Dad was great taking care of Mom. He deserved a time to have fun. (He married Flo, a woman just like quirky Mom only without addictions, so he had challenges later!) I loved my dad so much. What a great, flawed, very human human being he was.

Things sure are different for me. My parents grew more prosperous and felt safer as they aged. Boomers like me had no idea what they’d be in for as they grew older. This is not the future I’d envisioned.

Thanks to everyone who’s been reaching out. Knowing I have kind people in my life is a source of comfort.

Not Very Traditional

What traditions have you not kept that your parents had?

It’s a slow news day here at the ranch, so I’ll answer this one. My parents didn’t have many traditions that I can think of, so it’s a little hard to come up with them.

Ah, Easter is a non-tradition for me. Aren’t we a happy 60s family?

I remember they always had a drink or two before dinner. So we always ate later than some of my friends. The drinks were usually vodka and grapefruit juice, but that changed later and Dad had scotch and Mom had morphine. Anyway, I don’t do that. I have wine occasionally before/during dinner and bourbon and an ice cube after. But not all that often.

I do like wine, just not being tipsy anymore (Pexel image)

My parents both thought smoking made them look cool. Dad did look distinguished with his pipe and Mom was elegant with her cigarettes until she wasn’t. I have memories of her vacuuming my room while smoking and leaving long ash caterpillars on the floor. I’d have to re-do it. Mom tried. She had an addiction issue. Watching her die was enough to make me never want to smoke anything, especially since I’d already had so much second-hand smoke that my lungs were weakened. So, not keeping that tradition.

Mom’s floating around up there giving me advice.

They did have a tradition I liked, which was walking the dog (Pumpkin, whom I’ve mentioned before) every night after dinner. Since they were already tipsy, it meant for fun neighbor conversations. I’d walk the dog every evening if I had fewer dogs and a sidewalk. But it was nice and got Mom out of the house while she was sick.

I’d go cuckoo without the dogs. This is an actual cuckoo I saw today.

Damn, that was a downer. I bet this question was supposed to be about holidays or something.

This cheers me up. Squash soup with garlic chives and bread. So good.

Oh! A tradition I wish I’d kept up was having a beautiful garden and propagating plants. Mom was great at hybridizing camellias and daylilies. She grew beautiful orchids in later years. Dad was a great garden designer and loved to keep his lawn and flower beds perfect. I never have been that good or patient with plants but I sure enjoyed watching Dad. He was a great edger.

I just look at plants in case there’s a cool insect on them. That’s a dusky-winged hoverfly.

I guess I sort of maintain the plant tradition with all my native plant observations and how hard I try to protect them. There, I kept one.

Mom was crafty like me. I’ve also kept that family tradition going. This is the border of my sweater. Meh. Maybe it will look better when it’s done.

By the way, new to the Hermits’ Rest website is a page listing all the fungi I’ve identified on iNat.

Yep, We Had Family Traditions

Write about a few of your favorite family traditions.

Ah, I’m sitting in a clean, quiet hotel room, with mindless television and knitting. It’s a perfect time to reminisce about family traditions.

My current family is a bit too chaotic to have a lot of traditions. It’s always something different every day. But my family of origin had a couple I enjoyed at the time and remember fondly.

I’m not home so I can’t scan photos. Here’s our foggy morning.

One I loved was when we lived in south Florida in a family-oriented neighborhood of little cement-block houses. We had a dachshund mix dog named Pumpkin during my college and grad school years. I thought of her as my sister, because she was great to talk to and hang out with. I’m not kidding, I often forgot she was a dog.

Ha! I found a photo of Pumpkin, Dad, and two neighbors.

Anyway, it was my parents’ tradition to take a walk with Pumpkin every evening after dinner. Whenever I was home, I went along with them and my brother. The walk only went to the end of the block, because Mom couldn’t go very far (she was sick a long time, and died when I was 26).

The front of the house, on my 16th birthday. Stylish for 1974.

However, the walks were always fun. We’d talk and joke and comment on the quality of Pumpkin’s poop, which always happened at the corner. (Dad had to go clean it up once a week or so, because they we’d never heard of poop bags in the 80s.) In the winter we’d check to see if she’d produced a “steamer.” Dad loved those.

The walks were often long in time, compared to their length. That’s because we often stopped to talk to the neighbors. My dad and brother were very social. I enjoyed listening to them. It felt so comfortable and convivial. They could talk about all topics, drink beer, tell stories, and get along. They were just nice, hard-working folks. I miss those times.

I realize that hanging out with my family and watching the dog poop is probably a weird tradition, but we all enjoyed it. It was something Mom could do with us, which was so nice. And my Dad and brother were so funny. I’ll treasure our quirky family togetherness time.

Before I left for my 6.5-hour drive to Arkansas, I did get in a little bird watching during the foggy morning. (I haven’t seen the sun since last Saturday.) I’m going to declare our resident loggerhead shrike the Daily Bird, because it matches the sky and trees. Plus, I love watching them grab bugs.

I’m sure the shrike is wishful for the grasshopper season to start! They go into overdrive then.

Let’s Get Positive!

What positive events have taken place in your life over the past year?

Now this is a good question! It’s been quite a challenging year, but the good stuff has been huge. I’m actually doing very well, considering. And here’s why.

Bonus: cool skies, like this sun dog this morning, Thank you, Nature.

Progress with Horsemanship: I’ve gotten to where I can ride Drew, at least on many days. And Apache and I have made so much progress that I can’t stop smiling when I think of it. My nerves are better and he feels better, which is such a great combination.

He’s un-learning a lifetime of holding his head high.

Learning about Birds: I gave the Cornell Ornithology Lab a nice donation this year, because the improvements in the Merlin Bird ID app have made this bird lover know so much more about what lives here at the Hermits’ Rest and wherever I visit. I feel like I have familiar friends everywhere I go now, even with eight similar sparrows here at once.

Since I got no bird pictures today, here’s a Red Admiral I saw in my meditation tree.

Camping in Seneca: one of the best things about this year has been going camping with Lee. It’s been wonderful for our relationship to get away and spend time together (when I’m not hiking solo). He sure loves to drive that thing.

Making Mental Peace with My Family: I’ve worked hard at accepting the way things are with my family. I just want my son and sister happy with their choices. I’m doing much better at accepting the family members who DO talk to me just as they are. And I feel more empathy with my parents, who did the best they could. Even Mom. This kind of thing has helped bring me more peace inside.

What’s good with you? Whatever it is, hold onto it! We’re in for some bumpy times, I think.

Happy Hanukkah for my Jewish friends. It’s such a hard time, especially for those close to me.

Rainy Day Memories

We are still going through boxes from my old house. Lee has been bringing up things from deeper and deeper in the past. For example, he brought in a box I instantly recognized. It was a shoebox covered in contact paper that looked like wood.

I used to love woodgrain contact paper. I covered a dorm fridge and a wall telephone in it while in college.

The box contained my high school diaries, 1972-1975. See why it’s no surprise I like to write blog posts? I’ve always loved journaling. There have been very few years of my life that didn’t have journals, diaries, or some record.

Deep stuff in here (actually, remarkably little deep stuff and remarkably many boring details of what happened in my classes)

I remember writing these diaries and I remember that everyone I knew was aware that I did. What I didn’t remember until I opened the later diaries was that I wrote them in Spanish. As I posted on Facebook, not only did I protect my family from reading it, but also future me.

From my reading of the exciting year of 1974, I came to a couple of conclusions about teen Suna. One, she was driven by hormones. I sure read a lot of details about what various young dudes said and did. They apparently spent more time asking each other who they liked than actually dating, however. I was insanely jealous of two girls my “dream date” seemed interested in. On the other hand, I had plenty of hormones left over for numerous high school band members.

In addition to my secondary theme of what Anita and I bought at the mall, I did something that I’m pretty sure I’m still doing today. I wrote things down partially to convince myself that they were true. Every week it was either “Dream Date is NOT for me,” or “I feel all gooey when I look at Dream Date.” I think I tried very hard to convince myself that person wasn’t important at all to me, but I was lying. I mean, shoot, that guy is STILL someone I am dazzled by even though we broke up in 1985 (all my fault).

Just reading the stuff I wrote gives me an impression of myself that isn’t very good. I don’t think I’d have liked me very much. We were all pretty mean to each other, we had horrible nicknames for teachers and fellow students, and we were overly cliquish. I’m glad I’ve spent the last 50 or so years trying to be less of an asshole, even though I still fail at times.

Any Other Memories, Suna?

Yes, I have memories that are less harsh on myself that showed up in these boxes. There were a lot of old photos that somehow missed my anal-retentive storage organization system. I was charmed to find photos of the playhouse my dad and maternal grandfather made for me and my brother when we were little. Those two mathematical geniuses decided to build it with no right angles, anywhere. Oh my gosh they had fun with their protractors and saws. We loved that thing.

The photo of Dad and Pappy working on it is a treasure. I barely remember my grandfather, because he died soon after this,

The playhouse eventually became Dad’s tool shed after he built us a “treehouse” that we used as older kids. The playhouse still stands.

Another creation of my dad’s that I found pictures of the fishpond. He built this himself of his own design. The photos below were right after he finished. Later he added a pump and turned poor Saint Francis into a fountain. Water came out of the bird’s nest he held (Dad also thought it was Saint Frances for many years – hey, the saint had long hair and wore a dress, plus Dad had a sister named Frances). Lucky for Francis, dad later found a cool rock to be the waterfall, and the birdbath went back to its original purpose.

That’s water hyacinth in there, before we realized it was invasive.

That pond was a real thing of beauty and a highlight of our home. We had huge goldfish and catfish Mom had fished out of Newnan’s Lake as babies. Mom’s favorite story was that a little boy came to visit, wandered behind the house and came running up to his dad, saying, “Good God, Daddy, they gots a LAKE in their back yard!”

The back of the house. Notice the pots and pans on the patio. Mom set the leftovers out for Wendy Pace, the neighbor springer spaniel.

On that note, I’ll just share some photos that gave me warm fuzzy feelings. First, it’s no surprise that I like horses. I unpacked my china horses and giant plastic draft horse and this photo of me embarrassing my dad and kids.

And we can’t forget my first dog, Gwynneth. I got her because that’s the kind of dog I thought would fit our family best. That dog sure barked a lot, but we did love her for 15 years. Even when she was blind!

Welcoming Deaths and Treasuring Lives

It’s an interesting time for me, when it comes to life passages. While I’m fine and not going through a life change, I am privileged to know people who are heading toward the end of their time on this earth, as well as people who are honoring lives of loved ones whose spirits left before their bodies did. I’ve never been one of those people who feared death or worried about it much, but I have always been intrigued about the legacies our loved ones leave behind. So, I’m going to share some stories that have been causing me to think. Some readers who are mutual friends may be familiar with some of these, but I’m not naming names.

Coincidentally, I spent some time this afternoon with my friend Holly, who’s documenting graves at Walkers Creek Cemetery. This one was like a jigsaw puzzle.

The Strong Spirits

My colleagues at La Leche League tend to be people of great fortitude and spiritual depth. My very first role model in living a good life while facing death was my mentor, Roberta Bishop Johnson, who shared many insights and nuggets while she dealt with breast cancer in the 1990s. She made sure she was participating in the lives of her friends, offering up ideas, and sharing her love for her family right up until when she passed. That stuck with me.

Two of my other long-time LLL friends are nearing the ends of their journeys here with us, and both have been incredibly open about sharing their ups and downs, feelings about their bodies and what’s happening to them, and coming to terms with the fact that things are winding down. I really appreciate their openness and willingness to share.

Not everyone is up to doing this; I’ve known people who didn’t share what was going on with them at all, which is a completely understandable option, but takes away their friends and families’ ability to share life with them as fully as possible while they are here. But I get it; people don’t want to appear to whine, to bring others down, or to share the painful details.

For me, learning about how these two women have made sure to do things they’ve always wanted to do, while they can (one married the love of her life, and one made sure to get in travel with her children, especially to the beach), how they carefully planned for things after they are gone, and how they enjoyed their friends and family to the fullest all contributed to making me much more comfortable with dying on your own terms. I’m not saying they are lucky, but they do have the luxury of knowing what is happening and being able to plan accordingly. I know my dad would have liked that chance, so much.

One thing that comforts me greatly about knowing I won’t have these friends around much longer is that I know their spirits and legacies will remain. After Roberta passed away, I could still hear her tell me what she thought about what I was doing in my life. And I also still hear my dad (and tell him stuff; I can’t help it). We will feel these generous friends with us for years.

This tree growing around a t-post reminds me of the struggle to fight unwelcome things growing inside us. Sometimes you just have to accept them and keep growing anyway.

The Ones Whose Losses Happened before Death

Another set of friends I’ve learned a lot from in the past few weeks are two dear local friends whose mothers passed away recently, but had been gone in spirit since an Alzheimer’s diagnosis. These women felt like they’d lost their parents long before they actually passed away.

One just had the memorial get-together with her extended family, and it was more of a nice gathering to share good memories and enjoy each other. The mourning had happened years ago, when they lost her personality, or essence, or something. The other friend seems to have gone more into business mode, of taking care of details. She had been so kind to her mother, though, even with the difficulties of COVID. Who could blame her for feeling some relief and just wanting to move on to the next phase?

I feel a lot of sympathy for these people and their families. They’re sad, yet relieved that their parents aren’t dealing with confusion now (though, I know some people with dementia who are happy just as they are…it varies so much).

Takeaways

Watching all these events as a third party, not intimately involved like families are, has taught me some lessons, maybe not consciously. I think the reason I’ve gotten a second horse and plan to start lessons again is that I want to do these things while I still can. And getting a swimming pool installed and making the ranch house look better, too, were things I’d been putting off or giving up on. But, if I can’t have fun now, when am I supposed to?

To show how far I will go to make things fun, I spent quite some time trying to line up my head and my hat so it would look like I am wearing a tiny cowboy hat.

AND, as I’ve been telling myself for the last couple of years, I need to recommit to being with people who bring me joy and make my life pleasant, go places and do things that expand my mind, and take the time to find the fun in whatever I’m doing. I think that’s the key to enjoying whatever time we have here in this life–enjoying where you are and who you are with NOW.

With love in my heart for my friends heading toward big transitions or recovering from them, I invite you all to do something fun with someone you care about.