One of the benefits of aging is how the passage of time offers clarity, and with clarity comes a greater understanding of who we were, and who we have become. The Sunday Wishbone chronicles what it was like growing up with a paranoid schizophrenic mother in the 1950s and 1960s, and how that primary relationship affected all my other relationships as an adult – especially my marriage.

After marrying and divorcing John twice (each divorce lasted five years), we somehow manage to remain friends – good friends. When John suggests we give our marriage a third try, I’m afraid I’ll run again at the slightest provocation. “Oh, those divorces were just marriage breaks,” he says with all the confidence in the world. I knew the only way to truly move forward was to go back to where it all started – back to mom and my father and the house on Innes Avenue. It was time to go home.

A story that compels through its specificity, and appeals through its universality, The Sunday Wishbone homes in on the quest to understand the self, and then to accept that self without judgement. We mine the past to better understand the present, to see what we were too young to see then, in order to see ever more clearly now. In the end, It’s the secrets we keep, and the lies we tell ourselves about them, that keep us running our whole lives.