Orchid in the Gulf and a Story: Storms

Once of the graces that has been given to me during this illness, is the ability to create art. It's somewhat sporadic as I have to spend so much time lying down. This time I wanted to create something special for another sufferer, who is also a friend. I found out her favorite colors - yellow and the colors of the Gulf of Mexico. She has to travel to get to the Gulf, so she doesn't get to spend time there now. She also loves flowers.

Orchid In The Gulf

(click to see details)

I knew I wanted to be able to get it to her as soon as possible, so I chose a small wrapped canvas- 8 x 8. It is mixed media, with collage, gel medium, acrylic paint and oil pastels. The flower comes from an old English botany book, and I made a copy to transfer on. However, it did not do very well and I ended up painting most of it. I also included  a postage stamp to bring out the bits of red, and a strip of muslin, dyed blue with paint, runs along the bottom. I love to extend my collage to the sides, so what you see collaged folds over the edges. I chose that particular flower because of the colors, they resembled the colors of the Gulf water. She notified me when she received it, and she loves it. That just makes my day!

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STORMS

61st in the Tuesday Story Series

Watching the path of Sandy for the past several days, and praying for all of the people in the congested area it was aimed for, could only bring back memories of another severe hurricane we went through in 1989 in Charleston - Hurricane Hugo. It made landfall in the Charleston area about midnight on 21 September and wreaked havoc through the early morning hours of 22 September. 

When I was a child, we went through Hurricane Gracie in 1959, and it was a Category 4 when it hit the South Carolina coast. We battened down the hatches and rode it out, since no one was warned to leave. I was eleven at the time, and a few memories that stand out to me was the wind and rain, the fact that my mother boiled several dozen eggs and when it was over, she stated "Well, I was expecting buckets and things to be flying through the air! Wasn't anything like that!" She was from Pennsylvania and this was her first hurricane to go through. The major damage from that storm was in Beaufort SC, although we were without electricity for a couple of days.

When Hugo started taking aim at Charleston, I was not concerned. By that time, I had been through numerous hurricanes and thought it would be just like the others. We made preparations and settled in to wait. When the electricity went off around 10 PM, that was the last we would see of it until 8 days later. Tabitha was about 6 years old, and doesn't remember anything about the storm, just the aftermath.  We had bedded her down on the floor of our closet, as it was the most protected place in the house.

Hugo made dead aim at Charleston, and I remember when the eye went over around midnight, we went outside and there was not a bit of wind. The stars were gorgeous and several neighbors called back and forth to make sure we were all okay. Then the wind started picking up and we all scooted back inside.

During that first half, we had heard all 15 trees fall, and each time they hit the ground, our stone fireplace shook. We heard several tornadoes go though between our row of houses and the houses behind us, and they do sound like trains! In another story, I will describe in more details about the destruction and how it affected us. For now, I will just say we were all right, but after that whenever a hurricane took direct aim at us, I packed the car and left for my parents. John stayed at work, in the emergency center area, because he couldn't leave. 

Hugo was a Category 4 when it slammed into our area, and the damage from it was the costliest in the US history till that time. Now, it's ranked as the 11th costliest storm to have made landfall in the US.

And they still built large beach houses right at the water's edge after that. Dumbest thing I ever saw.

Come see my latest postcards I've received on Postcards Buffet!

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.)

Come see my latest postcards I've received on Postcards Buffet!

Texture and A Story: "BOMBS!"

I started another on-line workshop, this one about texture. I love using texture in my art, so I am enjoying learning new ways to create it. This lesson was about implying texture with just paint, so that was interesting to learn. The first picture was when I was about halfway through, and the second is the finished piece. The scan doesn't show it as real as I would like, but you can get the idea! Nothing but acrylic paint, stamp & stencil.

(click for details)

(click for details)

I'm looking forward to the next lesson, and will share it with you when I've done it!

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BOMBS!

47th in the Tuesday Story Series

My family moved to the Charleston area in the early 1950's. Our first home was in a housing area of small frame homes built for Vets and active servicemen with families, between the Air Force Base and the Navy Base. At that time our family had three children so we all fit comfortably into the small house, which had a big yard to play in. We lived there until my parents bought a home on James Island. We loved the Charleston area, it was far from the overdeveloped place it is now. 

We would often go into the old city to the movie theatres to watch the latest cowboy movie (think Gene Autry or Roy Rogers) and I remember that before the movie would start, they would play newsreels shorts, or short adventure segments (High Adventures with Lowell Thomas). Since World War ll had only occurred a few years before,  the newsreels would often show American victories, or something about the equipment used in the War such as tanks, B-52 bombers with bombs being dropped, or war ships. Of course, there would be great musical fanfare with the shorts, and nothing gruesome or disturbing was shown, after all this was family fare! (Unlike today, I'm sorry to say.) But even those images still made an impact, as I found out later.

My brother, who was 15 months younger than me, and I loved the trips to the movies, and we loved to play in the back yard. Often we took turns with what we'd play - house or Army Men, both of us willing to be part of either one. One day in late spring or early summer, we were outside playing when we happened to look up and saw things in the air that frightened us terribly!

"BOMBS! BOMBS!!!!" - we went screaming into the house to our mother, who was very surprised and startled to hear this and grabbing my baby sister, came running back out of the house with us as we pointed into the air - "See Mom?? SEE? BOMBS!!"

She calmed down and then calmed us down -"No, no! Those aren't bombs, they're dirigibles. They fly with air in them, it's OK! They won't hurt us!" Well, to two small children, they certainly looked like bombs! After a few minutes, we started calming down, and watched these huge spherical objects float over us slowly, looking ungainly yet graceful. I can still see that in my mind's eye, it was a very strange sight!

Actually, I now know they were blimps, not dirigibles. Blimps did not have a rigid interior cage like dirigibles did, they were more like giant balloons. The US Navy actually had a fleet of 10 of these blimps, called LTA's (Lighter Than Air) before the War, and then Congress authorized production of 200 more. They were workhorses of the Navy, especially patrolling all coastlines, and carried depth charges to use when a German U-Boat was spotted. The loss of American ships dwindled quite a bit once the Navy started using the blimps to patrol the coast.  German U-Boats had inflected a lot of damage to the Navy right off the USA coastline before these LTA's were put into service. I do not know why these particular blimps were in the Charleston area that year (1954), but the LTA's were used until they were phased out in November 1961. Of course, I was unaware of all this as I stood there watching those cigar shaped aircraft sail quietly overhead!

A WW2-era National Archives photo, looking north at the runway at Charleston (note the blimp at the center of the picture).

If you are interested in learning more about these little known airships, click here and here, or do a Google search. Bet you didn't know the Goodyear Blimp had such a proud heritage!

Click on any photo to see details.

Come see my latest postcards I've received on Postcards Buffet!

Tag Tuesday - NADA, and a Story: Tale of Two Bridges, part 2

No Tag Tuesday today at Kard Krazy, Louise has some other obligations, but will have a challenge up for next Tuesday. In the meantime, here is another collage on tyvek with acrylic paint.

(click for detail)

I did another one to practice letting the paints flow into each other, which was the object of the lesson. This is actually not finished, but I am waiting for a template to come in the mail to complete it. When everything is finished, I'll put it on here for you to see!

TALE OF TWO BRIDGES (Part Two)

With Apologies to Charles Dickens

(10th in the Tuesday Story series)

Last week I gave a brief history of the first bridge to cross the Cooper River in Charleston SC. In 1966, the Silas Pearman Bridge opened next to the Grace bridge, and immediately both bridges were locally referred to as the "New" Cooper River Bridge and the "Old" Cooper River Bridge. The Pearman bridge was built to help relieve the traffic congestion on the old bridge, and after it opened crossing the river on the Grace bridge was designated as off-limits to anything heavier than a dump truck. By this time, the Grace was 37 years old and the maintenance crews were having a hard time keeping up with the natural deterioration that takes place on a steel bridge. Rusty areas were a common sight and it creaked and groaned, especially in high wind. More than one Charleston resident would wonder aloud if the bridge would just collapse into the river one day. Yet it was still heavily used.

The Pearman bridge was designed with three 12 foot lanes, two bearing traffic from Charleston to Mt. Pleasant and the third lane was reversible. The explanation given for the reversible lane was that this design would help alleviate rush hour traffic. Above the lanes were lights: a green check for "Yes this lane is open for you to drive in your direction" or a red X for "No you don't - it's for the other direction". Well, it's almost surprising how many people did not look up at those bright lights. There were several head on collisions unfortunately, and finally the reversible lane became permanent. So now the bridge had two permanent lanes going north and one lane going south towards Charleston.

Here's a photo of the Pearman bridge before it was dismantled. Now, notice anything odd about it? There are no divisions between the south bound and north bound lanes! Many people continued to lose their lives in collisions on this bridge while officials frantically searched for a way to divide them safely. Nothing ever worked satisfactorily, and in my humble opinion, this was a very poor design from the beginning!

In 2005, The Ravenel Bridge was opened, and the other two bridges were taken down. The new bridge is lovely, and even has a separate lane for pedestrian traffic. It has 8 twelve foot lanes and is high enough for the largest ship heading to the ports to move under it with ease. It's a bridge whose time was long overdue, and it certainly makes things easier for those on both sides of the river. However, I do miss those silhouettes of the other bridges, once among the most immediate images of Charleston! For many my age, it's hard to think of Charleston any other way.

If you were wondering how the bridges were dismantled, this video 

will give you a quick hint!

Tag Tuesday - Postcard, and a Story: Tale of Two Bridges, part 1

Anything to do with a postcard, that's the theme at Kard Krazy today.

(click for details)

I copied the back of an old French postcard and made it into a tag, extra postage stamps were added and I rubber stamped flowers on the tag. Embellishments include striped tape, velvet flower and 3 tiny keys; distress inks were also used.

TALE OF TWO BRIDGES (Part One)

with apologies to Charles Dickens

(9th in a series of Tuesday Stories)

As I have mentioned before, we lived in Charleston SC before moving up to the mountains. Charleston is a very historic city and has a lot to offer anyone who visits it, from history to nature and enjoying the beaches. However, two of its landmarks are no longer there, but they are etched into the memories of many people - the bridges which crossed the Cooper River.

The first bridge, named the Grace Memorial bridge for a former city mayor, was quite a feat for its time. When it was built, it connected Charleston with Mt. Pleasant and Hwy. 17, which was a major North/South highway long before interstates were built. The Grace bridge was completed and opened in 1929.

As you can see from this old postcard from my collection, it was a very big deal and when it was opened, Charlestonians celebrated for three days! Each lane was only ten feet wide and it was two way traffic. Of course, the cars were much smaller back then!

Opening Day

It remained the only bridge over the Cooper River until construction was started on another bridge in the early 1960's. By this time, traffic was very heavy across the bridge and cars and trucks were much larger than the bridge was built to handle. I remember when my father used to take us for Sunday drives, he often maneuvered the trip to include the bridge, much to my mother's dismay and the children's excitement! It was breathtaking in several ways- both the view and the adrenalin rush of having cars and big tractor trailers come toward you with no room for mistakes. When I had driver's ed in high school, we were required to drive over the bridge before we could pass our driving test. 

Sometimes drivers approaching the bridge from the Mt. Pleasant side would simply stop when the bridge loomed into view, and be afraid to proceed. The county police began offering a service to drivers who would cross the bridge - one officer would drive their car over, and the other officer would follow in the patrol car! In 1946, a freighter hit the bridge, taking out a span and several people lost their lives when their cars plunged into the river far below.

When the Pearman bridge opened, authorities made the Grace a one way bridge coming toward Charleston. A lot of folks would still be nervous driving over it and would drive squarely down the middle. I remember being behind some of those poor people (usually with an out of state tag) and I would get so irritated because not only could I not go around them, they were driving much slower than I wanted to go. When my daughter got her license, she began to drive over the bridge and handled it very well. 

I loved that old bridge, it was great fun to go over in a motorcycle, and I was fearless driving my Excursion over it. I think having driven it when it was two way traffic made driving it as a one way bridge seem a piece of cake. It was like a roller coaster - a steep incline, then almost down to the ground in the middle and back up another incline to finish the trip. When a car broke down on the bridge, there was no place to pull over (except at the middle section of the bridge) so traffic would be backed up for hours. When Charleston started holding its Bridge Run in 1978, they would use the Grace Bridge (also known as the Old Cooper River Bridge by this time) until the bridge became too fragile to withstand the constant pounding of hundreds of pairs of feet. I never ran the bridge, but I did walk in the Walkers group and it was a glorious view to be at the top of a span and see the land and water. 

(Next week, the conclusion of the story)

If you want an idea of how narrow the lanes were on the Grace, this video is a good way to find out.