I was introduced to Erma's writings about 1980 when I was barely 20; married and green as can be about life, marriage, and motherhood. I remember sitting in the break room at work clipping coupons with my fellow insurance policy typists (yes, we actually used those bulky paper-fed white-out demanding archaic machines....). In between discussing whether Smitty's, Safeway, Fry's, Basha's or Bayless had the best deals that week in groceries I always checked out Erma's current article in the local Phoenix paper. There was the chuckling and then the passing of it around the table--chuckle some more. As time went by my life changed, my family grew but everything about Erma's weekly article in the paper always gave me something to relate to and smile about. The more life experience I had, the more appreciation I developed for her awesome, humble, sincere and realistic approach to life. She wrote about "The Supermom". Oh, yeah, I knew one. House clean, cupboards perfectly organized, laundry sorted, folded and put away; kids dressed in matching designer digs all day..... oh, all done before Supermom goes to work....I was a frazzed stay-at-home mom who believed if the kids had clean diapers and clothes on whether they matched or not was quite an accomplishment. I'll never forget her article about women who could hide their pregnancies for months on end. I had a stick skinny (Supermom) friend who could do that. Yeah, right before giving birth she looked like a knot in a clothesline. I was just a little more like Erma. Conceive, stand up, get dressed, whoops! Gotta get the box of maternity clothes out of the attic. In addition to learning to laugh about myself  I also gained insight into some of the more serious experiences about which she wrote. I remember her article about how a mother loves the child that needs her the most during their time of crisis. At that time I had not experienced that as a mother yet it helped me understand why I felt unloved as a child during my sister's 8 year bout with a rare cancer; a battle she eventually lost. Five years ago I did experience this from a mother's perspective as I spent the night by my son's bed in intensive care following his dramatic illness and diagnosis with Juvenille Diabetes.

   By the time Erma's books were gaining in popularity and her articles were everywhere my closet writer mom (mother of ten with stories that would win prizes) began to become a fellow fan of Erma's. She collected every book and howled with laughter as she read this soul-sister's rendition of life. My mom's personal favorite was "The Grass is Always Greener over the Septic Tank." I'm sure her experience running a very populous household and a mini-farm that had a septic tank was part of her appreciation, but the story of she and my sister digging a connection to the city sewer one night when it came down our street surely contributed to the humor she found there. This after having had shall we say a "septic meltdown" that left her in the driveway with a wheel barrow full of, well, you know, just as the women of the local congregation pulled up to pay a visit. I hope somebody wrote all this down....  Since my mother passed away last year I am proud to own her Erma Bombeck book collection. I miss my mom. I miss Erma's writings. I felt the pang of the loss of a great writer when she left us. No one has taken her place. I have fantasized about trying it myself. I have my first article started in my half-witted brain. Being also a resident of the greater Phoenix area (I know "Loehmanns") and also from Central Ohio I think I'm a lot like Erma. Heavens, my first article was going to be "Nobody Told Me My Eyebrows Would Fall" followed by "Why can't I kill the Oleander growing over my Septic Tank Line?" but, alas, it's all in my head. Nobody can fill Erma's shoes. Because her feat was just too big.