August 28, 2016
One hundred and two years ago, a little girl was born in Montreal, Canada. Seven months later, her mother carried her across the border in Vermont, eventually making their way to Los Angeles. The little girl was brilliant and an artist, but because boys were more important than girls, her parents used their money to only educate her brother. She became a hairdresser, married at 19, and when she was 21 buried her first child, a daughter. Her mother died three years later, followed by her husband when she was only 32. She married my father seven months later, and celebrated my birth after trying to get pregnant for two years. She lost her second husband when she was 47 and never married again. Her beautiful heart was too fragile.
The little girl born in Montreal 102 years ago today was my mother. She taught me to love books, to always be curious, and the importance of having fun, being kind, and loving.