I love my Mom.<\/p>\n
As I write, I am less than 36 hours from departing and it seemed poetic to start where I started. \u00a0To reach out and record my Mom. \u00a0This act is not without some complications. \u00a0My Mom and I enjoy the fullest spectrum of mother-daughter angst and, I think you will hear, joy. \u00a0But both have been tempered these recent years with the onset of dementia (I suppose mine as well as her’s) and I approached our time together gently and without expectations.<\/p>\n
All four of my grandparents were Armenian. \u00a0All four were refugee’s having lost most, and in some cases, all of their families. \u00a0It is the generational differences in our experiences and our realities that has largly defined our relationship. \u00a0I will confess that it is those distinctions, and not our shared experiences, that have dominated my perceptions. \u00a0But today, as I listened closely, for the first time in many years, all I could feel was the thread that binds us. \u00a0Today, it is clear, I am Alice<\/p>\n
[rtmp3 url=”https:\/\/dl.dropbox.com\/u\/108166614\/Audio2012\/Alice%20Dorian.mp3″ title=”Alice Dorian”]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
‘We have such a wonderful country that there isn’t any one thing that would make it better…’
\nAlice Dorian Continue reading