During my most recent visit home to Oregon, my mother allowed me to recreate a photo taken of her on Easter Sunday, 1941, when she was six years old. She stood in the same spot in front of her lilac bush holding the same Peter Rabbit of 70 years ago. I consider myself incredibly lucky to have been raised by two wonderful people, my mother and father. (Three actually, as my mother’s mother lived with us and part of her is in all of us). My childhood memories are happy and full of love and caring. My mother introduced us to music, art and literature. She would argue this, but she is a talented artist. She sends handmade cards of her own drawings. Here are some of her original watercolors.
My mother’s sketch of the Røldal Stavkirke in Norway.