How quickly time passes ! babies

On the 29th of August, my oldest son Chris celebrated his 45 birthday....What! When did that happen.  I  remember the day he was born like it was yesterday.  My grandmother called the hospital to say how happy she was.  She was living in Richmond with my uncle at the time, and could not wait to see him.  He was a beautiful baby and good.  Learning how to make formula, change diapers, and manage my time was not easy.  We stayed with my mother the first two weeks.  When we finally took Chris home reality hit.

I ran out of formula and he was hungry.  He waled and I fretted until I got his bottle ready.  I never got behind in making the bottles up again. We had our wonderful golden retriever, Cedar, who was a year at the time.  She immediately took to protecting Chris.  She would rock his cradle with her nose. A workman came to the door and she got between the workman and the baby, growling softly.  When he got old enough to crawl he would pull up on her and as she walked he learned to walk along with her.  With this help he walked at 9 months old.  This was both a blessing and a curse.   Nine month old babies have no fear. I found him standing in an open window the only thing between him and the outside was a screen.  He had climbed up on a bed and crawled onto a radiator to see the children, who were playing outside our window.  Fortunately we were on the first floor.  He did walk for my grandmother on his own for the first time.  She was thrilled.

This was my beginning of being a mother.  Three years later Scott arrive on June 10, 1970, what a wonderful blessing.  Five years after Scott's arrival Lewis, another blessing, joined the scene December 20, 1975.  Our family was complete.

While the boys were young Tom, Tink, was a wonderful father.  He loved his boys.  We had a happy life together. 

Drawing Strength from Art

For the last few years I have concentrated on taking care of my Mother and on our business. Between these things and trying to manage a home that has some sort of order, I have found very little time for myself.  Recently Lewis, my youngest son, suggested that I start painting a series of paintings of icebergs with the idea that I would prepare for a show of my work.  Now, I have a purpose for doing my art.
It has taken me a lot to get back into my art.  Lewis suggested that I paint Icebergs....It has been so hot that I understand Global Warming better than I used to.  However, I do remember some really Hot summers in the 1950's.

So with the idea fresh in my mind I get on line and order new or at least more and newer art supplies.  Several colors that I felt necessary to add to my palette for painting Icebergs.  Just writing about it makes me feel cool.  Everything arrived a while back and last week I started my first painting.

It truly has been years since I have been excited about my art.  I've struggled with paintings, that I was just not crazy about.  I blamed this on the fact that I am a full time care taker for my mother, who is well into dementia.  Not fair, the blame must be put squarely on my shoulders.  I let my enthusiasm slip.  I did not make time for myself. Shame on me.  In order to take care of some one you love and do a good job, you should not forget about your own interest or yourself.

Once I start painting something that I love from nature, I become fascinated.  I can not wait to get home and finish fixing dinner, so that I can work on the next painting.  I have done several paintings of snow in the past and icebergs were not that different in concept and color.

Looking up photos of Icebergs on line just fuels the enthusiasm.  There is such a wide variety of forms, shapes and colors.  Daylight, night, even northern lights what inspirations to draw from.  It has been several weeks and I have now done four good size paintings.  I got so excited that I got on line and ordered six canvases in primed linen. Also a large tube of white paint and a few more brushes.  I even talked to my son Chris about making me some floating frames out of walnut.

Having a mission really gets me going.


I ordered canvases and fresh paints, as well as a few good brushes.  My art has always paid for itself, ever since I first started painting.  I remember sending one of the first paintings  to my Dad's gallery to be framed.  He called me, and said, that a lady had come in and had loved my painting could he sell it to her.  I was amazed that someone would actually buy one of my paintings.  This happened at a time when I was recuperating from surgery and  going thru a divorce.What a boost to my ego.

I should have remembered that my art work had gotten me through the trauma of my divorce.  It had allowed me to clear my head, and relax.  Why I had failed to make time for my art?  It was beyond me.  Maybe having a new purpose to paint was a way for me to remember that art is one of the best therapies available. It's cost was off set by rewards both physical and mental.  When I practice my art I relax totally concentrating on the task at hand of rendering my subject onto the canvas.  I have realized that my work is spiritual as well as physical.  I am putting down the subject, but also I am projecting part of my spiritual feelings unto to canvas or board with my paints.

Painting Icebergs....Who would have thought that would get me excited about my art again.  I went on line and found all sorts of images of icebergs, ice flows and Glaciers.  I took the images and had them blown up to a manageable size.  I used these as a jumping off point for my paintings.  These were my inspiration.  I can not always go to the locations, where I want to get my photos that I work from.  I am limited because of my mobility.  I have always been a keen observer of nature.  I have watched the clouds, the mountains, the hills and streams from the passenger window of a car.  When I was more able I walked through the fields and woods of both Virginia and Vermont.  While living in Vermont, I vividly remember the ski mobile rides on the old logging trails, and the walk up the woods on packed snow to see a beaver pond.  I adsorbed as much nature as possible.

While still in school my grandfather would take us on long rides in the car.  His father was a Methodist minister and  when we would exclaim over a beautiful sky or a wonderful sunset, he would quote "The heavens declare the Glory of the Lord and the firmament showeth His handiwork."  I took this to heart and have always sort out inspiration from nature.

Once again I have been diverted from my art.  I have been floundering.  My life was once more consumed by taking care of mother.  I have after getting her settled into assisted living tried to get my mind once more on my art, but I have found it hard to unwind from always being there for someone else.  I can feel myself relaxing and i will return to my art.

the liberated Women of the 1960's

I have become very concerned with the great women that I have known and loved through out the years.  many of us lived out the women's liberation movement. It is all fine and dandy that women can hold down jobs once reserved as a men's only club.  The down  side of the whole scenario is that now women are trapped.

I realize that now it is not so much as a choice as it is a necessity for mothers to work.  The catch is that when they do work the expense of day care for their children is almost as much a month as rent or a house payment.  We have gotten so dependent on quick foods, fast foods, ready made frozen, or packaged foods, that we have almost forgotten how to make things from scratch.

I worry about the American family.  Sitting around the dinner table was where we were able to talk about the things that happened during our day.  If there was a problem at school or a bully, parents found out at the table.  I found that sometimes I had to get a child on a one to one basis, in order to solve a problem.  But in the family group gathered together that was where you discovered any problems.

 Now that we are the liberated women.  We can do just about anything a man can do.  We hold jobs that give us great power.  We stand on our own two feet.  Some how with all this ability, there are still some of us who have fallen into the trap that caught the valiant women of the past.

I still know of women who are still fighting for their rights.  Women who have raised their children, taken care of family members and are now living on the edge, nearly toppling over into the depths of poverty.  Most came from families that were fairly well off.  Some from very rich families at one point, but due to the fickle winds of fate they too are teetering on the edge.  How can this be?

We knew our rights.  We did not have to stay in a marriage if it was not comfortable.  We stood up for what we knew was right, defended our children, left abusive marriages, or marriages where our moral standards were not met.  A few were caught in a marriage where they were deserted by their husbands for another woman or even more painful for a man. 

Now that my generation is in our sixties some of us have fallen into poverty.  Several of my friends are working as long as they can in order to be able to live comfortably.  One divorced mother of three, attained her much sort after goal of obtaining her Doctor's Degree at a late age was not able to find long term employment, worries about her next job and faces education bills probably for life.  Another friend, a divorced mother, has worked for 30 years for a charity which is on the edge of folding.  There is no retirement fund.  Another friend thought she could rely on the family trust.  Unfortunately by the time she received the trust money there was not enough left to carry through a year. She also spent her life caring for family, having never worked for wages.  No one thought to pay Social Security on the time she gave to her family.  The worse part is that she was married but a few weeks shy of the ten years required to draw on her husbands Social Security, this was before the ten year requirement.  She has no money, no social security, no medicare.  We believe in being strong southern women, holding our heads high, and walking proud.  A lot of this was not our fault.  Where did we go so wrong. Too busy just living life to make long term plans.  Too head strong?  We can think quick on our feet. Now is the time to do so. I send my love to all the women of the 1960's, be brave never loose hope.  Love has got to be what it is all about. 

Pardon me for getting somewhat morose.  Some of these stories are so sad.  I want to try to find a plan. The ones that have married and stayed married are doing well. 

Is There a Price for Living Well ?

Money fortunately has not been the foremost thing ever in my mind.  However, it does help to be able to pay ones bills and to be able to purchase the things that one needs.  When I married my husband, who was a college teacher at the time, I realized that we would never be rich.

My whole adult life I have never had a lot of money, but I have had enough to fill my needs.  The thing about not having a lot is that your children grow up knowing that they need to work for things.  In spite of the lack of monetary assets,  I have had a very good and fulling life.

Some times things get in the way of enjoying the beauty of nature.  When we lived in Vermont, the boys and I had a great deal of fun walking through the fields and woods.  We lived outside of town in a redone one room school house.  Our eight foot tall windows looked out to open fields and to the view of Burke Mountain.  There was a stream, a tributary of the Connecticut River, that ran behind our house.  We would walk through our woods down a hill to the stream.  Our golden retriever, Cedar, would beg to be allowed to run down to the river for a swim on hot days.

The boys and I would go up a hill across from our house and pick blackberries.  We found part of an old orchard right next to the old school house.  We picked small apples and I made apple sauce.  It was some of the best I ever had.  Maybe it was because we found the apples and made the sauce ourselves. 

Making something yourself from scratch gives you such a great sense of achievement. My mother made a lot of my clothes as I was growing up.  No one else had dresses like mine.  When I was complimented on my new dress, I would smile and say proudly, "My Mother made it, Thank you."

I started writing this about money not meaning everything.  Because people relate money with class.  Having class has nothing to do with money.  You could have all the money in the world and not have class.  According to what class is when linked to monetary standards, I fall into the lower class.  However the way I was raised and the education that I have as well as my manners says something quite different.  Class should not be judged by money but by a whole different standard.

After the civil war, the south was impoverished.  Families who were once wealthy  plantation owners were hard pressed to make a living.  My great grandmother was born just after the civil war. She was taught to walk with her head held high and her back straight.  I remember her as a ninety year old lady who took a walk every afternoon with her cane. She walked as if she were a queen.  She was regal and a lady in every possible way. ( Viola Mae Spence Jones)  Our family was instilled with the idea of who we were.  We were brought up to be ladies and gentlemen.  Money was essential, but not the most important thing.  Manners, education, and how to handle yourself in society were very important.  As far as we were concerned no one was better than we were. We not above being kind and thoughtful of others. Class is how you act and how you treat other people, not how much money you have.