Story From Guest Author

Story Day again - yes, I know I said I may have to give it up, but so far......... and we will see.

So this one is from my sister; she is four and a half years younger than I and it is one of her memories of the trip to Pennsylvania which I wrote about on 2 Feb 2011(story). Her memories differ from mine, since we all experience things differently, especially as children. I was twelve that summer, and she was seven and a half.

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Grandmom And The Outhouse

58th in the Tuesday Story Series

Here is the story of when I first met Grandmom Alice.  

She was smart, independent, tough, resourceful, and a fun loving Grandmother.  

Her name was Alice and I loved her totally.

I finally met her when I was in grammar school.  She was my mother's mom and she lived in Pennsylvania which is where my Mom grew up.  There are 6 kids in my family, I am number 3, and each one was named after someone except me.  That used to bother me until my Mom explained that she and Pop had let Grandmom Alice pick out my name.  Now that made me special.  I was really looking forward to meeting this woman who had picked out my name.

We left our home in Charleston, South Carolina early in the morning when it was still dark.  Mom and Pop piled all 6 of us into the station wagon and tied down the luggage to the top of the car.

Off we went and it took forever, it seemed, to get there.  We played all the usual car games that we knew, count the cows and then burying them in the graveyards, the alphabet game, the license tag game, we sang, we bickered, slept and ate, and kept asking Pop how many more miles to go, and the answer was always the same; "Oh about 85 or 30".  We finally arrived in the dark at a huge farmhouse and straggled out of the car sleepy but excited.  There were more people there than I expected.  I had thought since we were going to meet Grandmom Alice then that was the only person who should be there.  Being the shy type I kinda hid behind everyone else until I finally realized which one of this crowd was my Grandmom.  She gave me a huge hug and I was ok then.

We were scattered off to bed in different rooms and I ended up being in the same room with her.  What fun, I felt so special to be the only one in the room with her.  She tucked me in and I apparently went straight to sleep, because the next thing I know is waking up in total darkness and was about to bust to get to the bathroom.  I woke her up and asked her where the bathroom was and I was slightly puzzled when she pulled this elaborately decorated pot from under the bed.  No, Grandmom, the bathroom is what I want, thinking she was not fully awake.  She said it was this, pointing to the pot (which I later found out was called a chamber pot) or a trip outside to the outhouse.  Outhouse?  What???  Outhouse?!  I think not!  I can wait until morning.  I'm not about to venture outside in the dark to an outhouse!  And no way was I using the pot!  She laughed and said well you will either go now or wait.  So I waited.  Needless to say I did not sleep another wink and finally the sun started to come up.  As soon as it was enough light she got up and took me to the dreaded outhouse.  It was not as bad as my imagination had blown it up to be while I had been waiting for the morning light.  I was relieved, in more ways than one, that I had survived the whole experience.

The rest of the visit was much calmer for me than that first night.  Except for the visit and 

stay over at my Mom's cousin's dairy farm.  But that's another story.

Judith Marie Livingston

 Thank you Judy!!

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What A Friend Does

A friend is one who knows you 
and loves you just the same.
Elbert Hubbard

Those who read this blog regularly know that at times I discuss my illness, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME/CFS), and some of the trials and blessings which have come out of having something chronic and incurable. So far it has been four years and God has seen me through every step of the way. One of the worst aspects is the total loss of your former life, and sadly, usually the total loss of your friends in your former life. Once in a while someone will try to understand and just recently I answered someone's inquiry this way:

“A simplistic way to describe this illness is like having a jar full of spoons sitting on my nightstand, and each morning, there are magically a different number of spoons in there. And then each time I do an activity, I have to "spend" a spoon. So I get up and make the bed - spoon; I take a shower, dry my hair and get dressed - spoon, spoon, spoon. Eat breakfast, water the front porch plants - spoon, spoon. You get the idea. Going to an appointment uses up several spoons. Going to worship uses up several spoons. Interacting socially takes several spoons. I have to be very careful not to use up the day's spoons before the day is over. When I do too much, I flare, and the flare could last a day or several weeks. One of the things I learned about at the specialist was to train myself in "pacing". (Actually, I have a whole book about things I need to do!) Sometimes my body sends out warning signals that I am approaching the limit, and I go lie down. Sometimes it doesn't and that is where the pacing comes in - after a specific amount of time, I lie down anyway. Or at least that is the idea, but often I forget and I pay. Did you see the painting I did and posted to my blog on Sunday? When I am doing art, I get so in the zone, I forget about pain and exhaustion. But if I am not careful, I will cross my line, and once I have finished what I was doing, then I really pay and that's what happened to me Sunday later on. And Monday. And yesterday. I was in agony and I just had to wait it out. And I never know how many spoons will be in the jar the next morning.”

The spoon idea is not original with me (original writer), but I find it the easiest way to explain to people so that they have some idea of my daily life. Most people do not want to rummage through paragraphs of medical discourse, facts, and figures, so this is a good stand in. 

I DO have a friend, who like the Bible says, sticks closer than a brother. We don't get to visit very much, as she teaches full time, and I am not always up to her coming over when she has some free time available. She knew about my spoon explanation and this past week, came over with an extra special gift, and I had to share it with you!

She had found four old spoons, written a verse from Scripture and some words of encouragement for each spoon, rolled them around the spoon stem and tied each with a different color ribbon. Then she tied tissue around an old sundae glass and inserted the spoons. Now I have a bouquet of spoons to look at and if the day is unbearable, I can pick a spoon and open the encouraging note. Being a very visual person, this comforts me more than I can say! Sometimes we spend the short time visiting on my bed, because I am not able to do more than that, and we laugh and encourage each other. I am very thankful for this most special gift from the Lord, and I think my husband is very thankful for me that I have someone else I can talk with. 

The cross stitch in the background is one I had done for my mother many years ago, and brought it home with me when she passed on. The verse says "Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body" (Proverbs 16:24). Together with the spoon arrangement there's enough encouragement for almost any day!

(Click on any picture you wish to see closer.)

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REDUX

You may remember I posted an art piece on the blog on Monday, inviting critique. I really wasn't that pleased with it, and wanted some other view points. The views I received were 100% that it could be improved, so here is the before and after.

(click for details)

(click for details)

I pulled off the tag and the fibers, and sanded down the area. I repainted, collaged scrap papers to the area, added some more paint and then adhered an old clip from my metal scrap stash with some bits of fiber in it. I really do like this a lot more! There is more interest and your eye moves around it better. I think I will save the tags to add to postcards, they don't seem to work well on canvas pieces.

If you want more details about the original art piece, click here.

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Story: The Right Hand

The Right Hand
57th in The Story Series

During the last of her years, my maternal grandmother lived with my parents. She stayed active, doing housework and going for short walks around the yard. When one of the "grands" as she called her grandchildren, would comment on her staying so busy, she would often quote "When I go, I want to go with my boots on." I'm not sure where she came up with that phrase, as she was born and lived most of her life in Pennsylvania, so she obviously did not mean cowboy boots. Perhaps she meant some sort of work boots, or simply nothing in particular, rather just liking the sense it gave her of doing anything to be useful. My grandmother had seen a lot of heartache during her lifetime, but she didn't speak about it often. She read her Bible and she kept busy.

My grandmother, or Grandmother Alice as we called her, could beat just about anyone in Scrabble, even as she entered her 90's. Scrabble is not a game I particularly like, and John even less, but every time we went for a visit to my parents one of us was expected to play with her. Usually it was me. Grandmother Alice had her own set of rules as she got older. She had once been given a Scrabble Dictionary as a Christmas gift and took to using it during the game in her last years. When one of us would say "Grammom, that's cheating!", she would look at us and say "Then why would there be a Dictionary if you weren't supposed to use it? And when do you need it? - during the game!" Her memory was starting to become less reliant, and my mother would make regular trips into the kitchen during the day because Grandmother Alice would often now put pots of food or water on the stove, turn on the burner and then forget they were there.

Then, in April 1991, she experienced a series of small strokes, which dramatically changed her, and my parent's, lives. She could not talk and she was bed bound. Mom and Dad were her primary care takers and they were able to get home health nurses to come to the house and assist. I made a few trips to West Columbia from Charleston to spend time with my grandmother so my mother could get out of the house. The first time I saw her, I remember being somewhat shocked, she was so thin and did not look at all like the Grandmother Alice I had known all my life. During my visits, she would be restless and mumbling and nothing I said or did made any difference. I felt a bit frustrated and helpless as I watched her lying there.

The bedroom was right next to the living room, and the piano was right next to the wall which separated the two rooms. I sat down with a hymnbook and looked through to find some hymns which I knew were her favorites. Now, in reality, I could not play the piano. I had taken lessons in high school, but the only part I could honestly read those many years later were the notes on the Grand Staff lines, the part played by the right hand. And that was because I sang soprano in the church choir. So I would sit and play with my right hand. Thankfully, that was where the melody was, so even if I just picked out the notes, the tune was recognizable. I would sing along if I were familiar enough with the notes, other times, it was a piano "solo". When I would do this, my grandmother would grow quieter, and her eyes would close and she rested. Sometimes, giving up in frustration with my right handed stumbling performance, I would go back into her room and sing to her. That worked almost as well, but she did love the piano.

My grandmother passed away 6 months after her first stroke, 21 Oct. 1991. She was 94 years old at her death. Often I have missed her and for quite a while I would expect to see her when I would visit my parents. I was thankful that the little bit of solace I was able to share was because I could use my right hand; even though it wasn't perfect, it gave her enjoyment and peace.

(To read another story about my grandmother's love for the piano, click here.)

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The Midnight Painting

Another difficult night to get to sleep last night, so up to my studio I went to see if I could get the "wired and tired" down to just "tired". I grabbed a canvas and this is what came from my time in the studio.

Mermaid Illusion

(click for details)

This is a 10 x 10 wrapped canvas. The base was painted in two colors of acrylic and then I added a portion of an old French dictionary page, and two other scraps of paper. On the right is part of a Cavellini postcard I had received, where I succeeded in detaching the body of the peacock from the head when I was trying to separate the paper it was printed on. (If I get more than one of an interesting postcard, I try to reuse it in my art.) I decided - why not just use the tail - so it was placed under the tag I had made earlier. You can't see it, but the tag is covered in granular gel, which is why it looks a bit hazy. I then doodled some shapes, added paint, added oil pastels and tied some colorful couched thread through the tag and out onto the painting. I showed this to my daughter and husband, and this piece got the " I really like it except for...." reaction. My daughter didn't care for the tag, but her first impression was one of a mermaid. My husband has never cared for "those thready things" when they show up in my creations. It's an experiment piece, so I don't mind the critiquing. In fact, I'll step out on a limb here - what don't you care for about this piece? Really, let me know! :)

UPDATE - I redid the painting and it's at this link. Check it out!

While I was on the porch, I took a quick shot of Cossette eating. :)

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La Grande Soeur

For some reason, Blogger dumped my post and I'm trying again. The post was erased but the comment I had received was still there. ??? Go figure.

Today I worked on a journal page using some of the vintage papers my husband had given me as a birthday gift a few weeks ago. After laying it out and then gluing down the papers, I realized that my original plan was not going to work, and since the vintage image was already glued down, I had to immediately think of another approach. Many artists have a saying about "happy accidents" and that's what this was for me. Having those kinds of accidents or mistakes really gives you good experience and deepens the learning process.

La Grande Soeur

(click for details)

In the first go-round, I had layered vintage French dictionary pages, and the vintage image and applied paint. The image was too far up on the paper (what was I thinking?) to work well, and so I began to look at what else I could use and yet not lose my focus point. I tore yellow tissue paper into strips, layering them on with soft gel medium. I added paper flowers, and punched some smaller flowers out of the left over papers. I added more paint, some texture with pieces of grouting tape, layered some more, added a moth transfer and then made liberal use of my oil pastels. I am pleased with this journey, and now I tell myself of course I meant to put the image that high! The name translates into "The Big Sister" and you can see it at the bottom of the page. Happy accidents - gotta love them as an artist!

Lately people have been telling me that I should sell some of my work, but I don't know. I put so much attention and work into them that they become a bit like my children.

But, I'm still thinking about it!

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