15 Days of Thankfulness: Teachers

Day 10

From the first through fifth grades, my art teacher was Mrs. Shaw. She was a small, dark-haired lady with a big imagination, and my inspiration to continue in the arts until I, too, was an art teacher. I haven't thought about her in years, but I still have one of the projects I made in her class- an imaginary animal. It was the first time I'd worked in clay that could be fired. My imaginary animal has a low, flat body with a dog's head and alligator's feet. He's not particularly scary- in fact, he has red lips curled into a smile. He was on display in the principle's office for a couple of years. Right now he's packed away in a box somewhere waiting for both of us to get a new home.

My scholastic career was less than stellar. Being in school was preferable than being involved in all the drama at home, but our little neighborhood school was nothing special. It was just like every other school in the 60's and 70's. So other than art class, nothing really caught my eye-and I don't remember the names of most of my teachers.

What I do have a clear memory of was becoming a teacher- and art teacher, in a private school for children with learning disabilities. I worked with most of the student individually on an individual basis, then gathered all my IEPs and reviewed them with the school psychologist. Charlotte Taylor was a fascinating woman- she'd managed to earn her PhD while quietly enduring the insults of post-polio syndrome. She walked with crutches, but she could drive a car-an Audi. We became fast friends outside of school, and Charlotte was the first person outside the family who had faith in who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do with my life. She encouraged me in earning my post graduate degrees and inspired me to go to seminary...and she introduced me to Al Anon, where I learned to cope with my grandmother's alcoholism and Pop's anger. I owe a huge debt to this woman and I wish she was still in my life, but she's gone to a better place a while ago.

For these two wonderful women who touched my life, I am thankful.

15 Days of Thankfulness: Those From Your Past

DAY 3
My grandparents raised me, so there was a little disconnect in my childhood. My mother and her sister-much to their chagrin- were more like my peers. Begrudgingly, they were required to treat me as an equal because that's how my grandparents viewed things. Truth to be told, there was barely a generation between us. I called my Grandmother "Mom", so the grandmother element was missing....until Aunt Laura moved next door.

Aunt Laura was actually the mother of one of our neighbors. She was born and raised in Wilmington and lived happily in Browntown, the ethnically Polish part of town. 'Browntown' was like a lot of the other European immigrant  neighborhoods on the west side-a little run down and dog-eared and only existed because the Roman Catholic Church had a parish there. That's how it is today: all the ethnic areas are grouped around large Catholic parishes-St Anne's (Irish), St. Mary's( Latino), St.Hedwig's (Polish), St Anthony's (Italian). In the late 1960's, the neighborhoods were starting to decline, so Aunt Laura's son moved her into the little house next door to us.

The house next door to us had been vacant for years. Mrs.Usselton, the former elderly resident, had been deceased for years. She was about as mean and disagreeable as anyone could get, so when Aunt Laura moved in, it was like a breath of fresh air. Her tiny house-one bedroom, kitchen, living room, bath and boiler room was little more than a box, but it was always bright and inviting.

Aunt Laura became the missing grandmother in my life. She was spry and lively, despite being deaf. She wore a hearing aid, but you could still hear her TV in our living room when the windows were open. All the neighbors knew what we were doing, because I had to yell so Aunt Laura could hear me. When I got hoarse, it was time to go home.

A couple times a week Mom would fix a plate of food after we'd had supper and tell me to take it over to Aunt Laura. I spent my pre-teens to late 20's in that little yellow kitchen with the tan tile, mostly drinking coffee, and playing Rummy. She taught me to make jelly and introduced me to Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, and I think she read every murder mystery paperback available. There was always a pile under the couch to choose from. Some nights we'd just sit and read, each with our own individual books until one of us fell asleep. We used to watch the Perry Mason show together faithfully (It's a good thing CSI wasn't on TV then, or we'd never have gotten her away from the television again!)

When company was expected-usually her friend Mae who still lived in Browntown- she'd make sandwiches from canned corned beef , and what she called an Orange Jello Cake (with orange butter cream frosting). And percolated coffee...always 'the good stuff' for company.

While I was away my senior year in college, Aunt Laura developed bladder cancer, and the next spring, she was gone. Aunt Laura was 91 years 'young' when she died.  She had a habit of saying," So and so's all dressed up and no place to go.", and she made me promise to say it when she died...and I did. The night of her viewing, he son stood next to me in front of her casket as I lovingly looked down at my 'grandma' of  18 years and  only half-way seriously intoned, " Poor Laura- all dressed up and no place to go!"

Christmas was her absolute favorite holiday. She made the red corduroy dress she's wearing in the photo. She would only wear it on Christmas and Valentine's Day.  Aunt Laura out did herself making an extraordinary array of cookies before the holidays.  I  still use some of her recipes to make my own cookies at Yule.

Two of my most cherished possessions came from Aunt Laura- I have the two white plastic reindeer (circa 1950's) that were her favorites. They were the first ornaments on her tree every year and the last to be taken off ( I still carry out this ritual in her memory.)
I rescued them from the trash when her kids cleaned out her house after her death; they didn't care about them. I was astonished because I was certain they were family heirlooms. It turns out hey didn't have the same memories I had.  They should have come around to visit their mother more often- she only loved three blocks away.  It was their loss, believe me. She was a treasure- my treasure- and I am forever thankful for having her in my life.

Don't forget to visit my friend Cordelia's blog- 15 Days of Thankfulness was originally her idea! Visit her at:(cordeliascauldron.blogspot.com)

15 Days of Thankfulness: My Favorite Veteran

This is Day Two of the 15 Days of Thankfulness,: My Favorite Veteran- and it's timed to launch on Veterans Day. I've already written my blog about that subject here a few days ago: http://amethjera.blogspot.com/2011/11/flanders-fields.html.

When I sat down at the keyboard, I was at a loss as to what I wanted to write about. I tell recollections about my Grandfather all the time that include stories of his military service- how he was in the Army for 11 years as a cook for the First Engineers-the famous Big Red One.

But to be honest, every one of my friends-and all of you who have served in the military to preserve our rights are my hero. Every one of you.

My favorite Veteran is the last one I've met. Thank you for putting yourself on the line for me. Thank you for your sacrifice of service- even if you've never been deployed overseas or into a combat theater.

Thanks for all the crap you took at boot camp, moving your family from place to place and disrupting your home life, the time you spent training for a specialty, and endangering your life. My own life has been made better because of you. My personal freedoms have been preserved. Defending my home land is one less worry I have because I know you were there. Thanks especially for your humanitarian service when you were called out to bring food and medical supplies or drove a 'water buffalo' to a disaster area. You made my job easier when I was out running an emergency shelter for the Red Cross: not only was I glad to see you when you arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw those green vehicles pulling up, because I knew I would be able to fulfill my own duty to those in need. Thank you for all the times we have laughed, cried and freaked out together in the line of duty. It has been an honor to serve with you.



Today, wear something to honor your favorite Veteran- it can be a Buddy Poppy, an American flag pin, or another token representing civic pride and thanks giving for the sacrifice of members of our armed forces. Because every day should be Veterans Day.

Let the Blessings Begin!

"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today and creates a vision for tomorrow."
-Melody Beattie

My friend Cordelia over at Cordelia's Cauldron has begun a blog series/ challenge entitled 15 Days of Thankfulness. I'm picking up the gauntlet and asking that you do the same if your write a blog, or to urge the author of your favorite blog to join us. Many  have been deeply affected by living in such an unstable economy, it's easy to let negativity slip in and color our thinking. There's a lot to worry about. There's a mountain of crap looming over us casting a shadow of doubt. It's really, really hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel and believe it could actually be daylight and not the head lamp of a train coming to mow us down.

 I wrote this post at this time last year:http://amethjera.blogspot.com/2010/11/normal-0-false-false-false.html  It began with the same quote I've used above, because I believe those words sum up the core essence of gratitude pretty well for me.

It's easy to for me to loose sight of what is good in my life. I always remember the big things, but the little ones often get plowed under...and it's the simple, everyday things that make my life tolerable, especially the space in my head that I'm occupying presently. The little things enhance so much of my life and make it better. But I forget...we all forget.

November 10 - Day 1 - An author, artist and musician you are thankful for.

Author
 

"Poe"  by David Gough

I love to read. I was that dorky kid who loved going to study hall in the library because it meant I could get a book off the shelf and get lost in it. Reading fired my imagination and made me want more out of my life. I knew early on that I would never be satisfied just sitting at home: I wanted to go places and do things. There was never a lot of money in our house for extras, so there were few vacations. But a book from the library cost nothing and allowed me to travel around the world and beyond. I could be a time traveler and go back to the beginnings of history in the pages of the classics. One week I was in Rome, the next in New York, and I never left the comfort of my bedroom. I could go places and do things only limited by my imagination and the card catalog in the local library. I gave up a whole week at camp one summer to read Bram Stoker's Dracula.


I read all types of books, but I love a good mystery with a lot of plot twists. Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, Oscar Wilde, Edgar Allen Poe were all my best friends, and still are, but I've added Anne Rice, Patricia Cornwell, Dan Brown and a few theologians to the gang.

La Bella Mano by Rosetti

(I adore all things Victorian because it can go to either extreame with me: beautiful or macabre, depending on my mood. I suspect I was either born out of time or had another lifetime then, because I can transported back to that time so easily.)


Artist


My college education began by studying the fine arts, and at one time I  intended to be an artist by trade. I taught art for nearly ten years in both public and private school and for special populations. My greatest joy as an art teacher was when I could help someone release creativity they never dreamed they had. For a while I worked at the Delaware Art Museum, where I was surrounded by paintings by Howard Pyle, N.C.Wyeth, his son Andrew and his grandson Jamie, Joan Sloan, and the largest collection of Pre-Raphelite art in the world. Every day I could stand in front of the originals- and oft times the artist's sketches- of The Mermaid, Marooned or La Bella Mano. Dante Gabriel Rosetti is my favorite  artist of the Pre-Raphelite Brotherhood, because I adore his model Alexa Wilding (who may have been his mistress).



Musician


I am a sucker for singer-songwriters. I simply love hearing a song sung by the composer because that artist knows how the lyrics were intended to sound, they know the inflection and the emotion behind those words better than anyone. My taste in music is broad: Classical, Jazz, Celtic, 80's Pop Rock,Broadway Show tunes, Cowboy Western and 1960's era Folk. My cell's ringtone is Pachebel's Canon, but my screensaver is a photo of Rick Springfield strapped into and tearing up an electric guitar playing  the solo of Jessie's Girl in concert.  Some days I want to hear Michael Crawford sing The Phantom, others I want to meditate to Aaron Copeland's Appalachian Spring, or clean house to David Benoit playing The Great Pumpkin Waltz. I have a special place for John Denver, who did Western Country Cowboy songs like nobody else will ever do again. If I have to pick one to be my favorite, it would easily be JD, because we were friends for so long. We became friends because of the music, and it bonded us for a quarter century until his death.

For the artistry of these individuals- and many others, I am thankful.