At Thanksgiving we went through all the family pictures and found cool old shots from the Detroit ad agency Campbell-Ewald, where my late father was creative director in the late 1960s. And where my late mother—who looked from some angles like the Peggy Olson character in Mad Men—was a star copywriter. (And not yet my mom, or Dad's wife.)
Dad hated Mad Men, because as he said, "You don't make great ads by drinking and screwing all day."
And I don't see any liquor bottles in these pictures, do you? Just cigarettes.
Nevertheless, my parents did somehow find each other for second marriages. She quit the agency before they got married.
And they were happy.
And then I came along, and my younger sister, Piper.
And things got pretty complicated.
I'm working on a family memoir.
(That sentence has been true for so long that I should have it tattooed onto my typing hands—left hand, "I'm working on," right hand, "a family memoir.")
But I'm hard at it lately, because I'm coming to the conclusion that I can't stop until I'm finished. I only wonder what I mean by "finished."
Wish me luck.