Dawn Olderr-Montalvo
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Stories (7)
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The Village
I cannot begin to name all the people who have helped me raise my children. As a single mom of 3 boys whose ages cover a 10-year span, I was always thanking some parent or friend for coming to my rescue when I needed to be in more than one place at one time. But as my family was torn apart by mental illness there were a handful of people who went above and beyond. This is my thank you to the village, all of those who stepped up when my kids needed them.
By Dawn Olderr-Montalvo4 years ago in Families
Illusions
If shopping were an Olympic sport my mother would have held multiple gold medals. Mary Lou seldom paid full price for anything and yet valued quality. She new every bargain basement and discount outlet in our city of Chicago and workers at these establishments frequently knew her by name, giving her tips on upcoming sales and warning her off items that may not measure up once she got them home. To her, shopping was not a sprint but a marathon. She started early in the morning and went well into night and could easily spend 2 or 3 hours in one store. As a kid, shopping with my mom was tortuous. I dreaded being dragged from store to store while she thoroughly searched racks and aisles, going back to the same aisle multiple times as she made decisions about which items were worth her limited amount of cash and which were better left behind,
By Dawn Olderr-Montalvo4 years ago in Fiction
Vision
My mother sewed and so did my grandmother before her. Curtains, slipcovers, clothing, Halloween costumes, Barbie dresses, the pair were unstoppable. I remember they had scissors for every purpose. There were scissors in the kitchen for food prep, the orange-handled Fiskars kept in my mother's desk or coupons or general use, scissors for little hands, scissors for big. long-pointed scissors for cutting hair but my mother’s most precious belonging were her dress-making shears. They were mysterious to me, shiny, silver, and sharp, I’d watch fascinated as they would glide through fabric with the slightest effort. I was not allowed to touch them and warned they were only for cloth and scolded should I dare to steal them for paper.
By Dawn Olderr-Montalvo5 years ago in Humans
