Peggy Rowe - About My Mother: True Stores of a Horse-Crazy Daughter and Her Baseball-Obsessed Mother: A Memoir

About My Mother

True Stories of a Horse-Crazy Daughter and Her Baseball-Obsessed Mother: A Memoir

2018 Peggy Rowe

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, and photographic, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

Jacket design by Bruce Gore | Gore Studio, Inc.

Jacket front images by iStock & Shutterstock

Jacket back Photo Courtesy of Lee Jeans

Published by Forefront Books.

ISBN: 9781948677165

ISBN: 9781948677172 (eBook)

Thanks to friend, editor, and writer Michele Wojo Wojciechowski, who read every word of my book, loved it, and told me sothen helped me fix it (www.WojosWorld.com). If there are mistakes, blame them on my last-minute changes. Writers are never finished!

Im grateful to Rick Bitzelberger for his insight and encouragement and to Mary, Jade, and all the other smart, patient people at mikeroweWORKS for their help.

Thanks to Zest Social Media Solutions for putting the book together. Who knew that it was so complicated?

Last, but not least, thanks to all of Mikes Little Facebook Friends, who have read my texts and letters and asked me to write a book. See, I do read your entertaining comments! A special thanks to those of you who believe that Mike actually does my writing. You flatter me more than you know!

To: My parents, Thelma and Carl Knobel, who were always on the right side of parenting. I once asked my mother why she and Dad didnt have more children. Her responseThe two that we had were perfect also happens to be an excellent description of my parents.

To: Janet, a positive influence in my lifekind, smart, ladylike, and always setting a good exampleto this day.

To: John, who took it in his stride when I decided that writing was more important than ironing and dusting and fixing breakfast. Hes a far, far better husband than he is a writing critic, as he claims to love everything I write. Unless, of course, hes just plain smart.

To: Three sons who remain a priority in my life as well as the beneficiaries of their grandparents wisdom and love.

Mike, who has taught me much about writing, and who generously shares his fans and his people with me. I couldnt have done this without you.

Scott, who has given us a wonderful, loving family, and who tirelessly shares his fascination for sci-fi and fantasy with me. Waiting for your book!

Phil, my karaoke connection, who makes me smile, brings out my mothering instincts, and reminds me what is important in life.

When my mother finally finished the manuscript for her new book, she asked me if I wanted to write the foreword.

That depends, I said. Is it any good?

Well, she said, Ive sent it off to several publishers. They all say its terrific!

Hey, thats great, I said. Which publisher did you decide to go with?

Oh, they all passed, she said.

What? Why?

They told me a collection of loosely connected stories about a woman no one has ever heard of might be a tough sell in todays highly competitive marketplace.

I see. So then... who exactly is publishing this book of yours?

Well, after you write the foreword, you could do it. I thought maybe you could do it!

Friends of my Facebook page know that my mother has a unique way of getting me to do things. A couple of years ago, after I neglected to return her phone calls in a timely fashion, she posted a short note on my public Facebook page. It read:

Dear Mike,

I assume youre not returning my calls because youre busy making a television show. Or something. But I see that you still have time to chat with your little Facebook friends! Would you prefer to communicate publicly? Im happy to do so, if its more convenient for you.

Warmly,

Mom

Obviously, a note like this, posted in front of five million people, prompted some predictable feedback from my loyal fan base.

Good grief, Mike, call your mother this instant! Whats the matter with you?

Seriously? Youre too busy for your own mother? What kind of person are you?

Sensing a social media backlash, I called my mother posthaste.

She didnt pick up. I tried again and was sent straight to voicemail.

Clearly, Mom was otherwise engaged, reveling no doubt in the hundreds of sympathetic comments inspired by her passive-aggressive cry for attention. So I left her a message thanking her for turning my fans against me and asking for a return call at her earliest convenience.

What I got instead, a few hours later, was a 1,300-word email that began like this:

Dear Mike, I was trying to reach you because something happened the other day I simply had to share...

For years, my mother has been sending me true stories she simply had to share. Some are amusing. Some are touching. Some are laugh-out-loud funny. Well, this was a funny onea true story that chronicled the mysterious vanishing of her beloved blue purse at the local Walmart and the subsequent drama surrounding its unlikely recovery. She called it Old Blue, and when I finished reading it, I called my mother again, this time to tell herfor the umpteenth timethat she really should write a book. Once again, my call was sent straight to voicemail. So I hung up, hit the video button on my iPhone, and recorded Old Blue from my kitchen table. Then I posted the video on Facebook, jumped into a waiting Uber, and left town for a few days to shoot another episode of something or other.

When I returned, Old Blue had been viewed over fifty million times. Im not even kidding. Fifty. Million. Times. And the feedback was unlike anything Ive ever seen. Literally tens of thousands of comments, all begging my mother to write a book.

Oh my God, they said, youre the next Erma Bombeck! Youre the next Nora Ephron! Youre the next Betty White!

By the time the dust settled, Old Blue had reached well over a hundred million people and caught the eye of several major publishers, all of whom invited my mother to write a book of humorous essays about her relationship with The Dirty Jobs Guy.

Its a slam dunk, said one editor. A no-brainer, said another. A guaranteed bestseller, said a third.

Mom asked me, What do you think, Mike? Is a collection of amusing stories about The Dirty Jobs Guy a guaranteed bestseller?

Beats me, I said. But if thats what the big boys say, go for it. Dad will be thrilled. We can all go on a book tour together.

Six months later, I wasnt exactly surprised to receive a 40,000-word email from my mother, broken down into fourteen short stories. Nor was I surprised to discover that each story was packed with warmth and humor and pathos and all the other stuff I expected to find in the stories I knew shed been working on.

I was, however, surprised to learn that these stories had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with a woman no one has ever heard ofmy grandmother. A subject the publishers said would prove to be a tough sell in todays highly competitive marketplace.

Maybe theyre right. Maybe the only way to sell a book these days is to publish something by an established author or rely on some kind of celebrity angle. I dont know. All I can tell you for sure is that my mother doesnt care about slam dunks, no-brainers, or guaranteed bestsellers. She writes what she wants to write about, as these stories conclusively prove. They arrived in my inbox exactly as you see them now, along with a bio, an epilogue, multiple quotes from family members, dozens of photos from days gone by, and everything else a competent printer might require to churn out a book. Everything but a foreword.