Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Trick Or Treat?


I have found a few major differences between living in the South and living in Ohio. One of those differences is how people interact socially.

Most of my Southern friends are hard pressed to come up with a description of the best party they've ever attended. Most of my Ohio friends find it almost impossible to choose just one.

Norma and Howard Lamprecht, our Worthington, Ohio, neighbors threw the most well-planned, elaborate parties one can imagine. Many of them were costume parties. If invited to such an event, one did not let them down.

I've forgotten the actual year we wore the above costumes to their Halloween party but I'll never forget the wonderful time we always had at the Lamprecht's house.

Too bad you can't see my spike heels. Did we look glamorous or what?

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

An Artistic Adventure











My wonderful artist friend, Sally Arnold, invites our Southern Colours art group to her home in the North Georgia Mountains every year for a painting excursion. That's Sally on the left, looking like a Scottish lassie. We usually plan our trips around the full moon with the goal of painting outdoors in the moonlight. Alas, the clouds rolled in this year and the only moonlight appeared at 4:00 a.m. just before we were scheduled to leave on Saturday morning. Who would have thought that, after experiencing a three-year drought, we would have rain almost the entire time we were there?

But devoted artists are an intrepid lot. Although we didn't paint in the moonlight, the rain didn't prevent us from producing beautiful paintings. We went for a walk when we arrived on Thursday in order to decide upon which perfect vista we would each paint. Sally then delivered us via her 4-wheeler, along with our many art supplies, to our chosen spots.

I had barely gotten set up and spent about 20 minutes on my painting at her pond when it started to rain. Sally came tooling over the hill to rescue me. There is something to be said about knowing when to quit or being forced to quit. My painting of her pond that you see below turned out to be my favorite of the weekend. I had grandiose plans of painting all kinds of tree reflections in the water but now I'm not so sure that would have been an improvement.

We overcame a rainy day on Friday and produced wonderful paintings from the front porch, the back porch, under the porch, the bedroom windows, and the shed beside the storage barn. As usual, there were beautiful still life opportunities set up in Sally's studio. I painted under the shed on Friday morning and from the front bedroom window in the afternoon.

In between we ate, planned what we were going to eat, ate again, and did exciting things like tai chi exercises in our pajamas before breakfast. Sally planned a great project of making molded concrete garden ornaments from real leaves so that each of us would have something beautiful to bring home.

Sally is one of the most talented and versatile artists I know. She is the only member of our group who has explored the art of encaustics (the ancient art of painting with pigments in bees wax) and she gave us a demo Friday evening while some of us were wondering exactly how long we could stay awake. The mountain air seemed to put us to bed earlier somehow.

Just as we were leaving on Saturday morning, the sun came out and Sally's father-in-law came barreling over the hill on his 4-wheeler with a big bag of apples for us to share. All of us were reminded, once again, that a very special group of people has come together in our Southern Colours Art Association. I am fortunate, indeed, to have such friends.





If you'd like to see more, click on Visit Southern Colours at the right of this page and then click on A Glimpse At Our Activities.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Meet My Grandma






Since I wrote about Grandpa a few weeks ago, I can't neglect my Grandma. The two of them were complete opposites.

He was fiery, had a hot temper, cussed like a sailor, and never darkened the door of a church except for funerals. Even then, he sometimes had to be coaxed. She was patient, mild-mannered, and never raised her voice; a devout Christian who never missed a church service. When faced with a situation she didn't like, she would look you in the eyes and softly say, "I wish you wouldn't do that." Those kind words were enough to stop me, and even Grandpa, in our tracks. My mother, her daughter-in-law, loved Grandma wholeheartedly and once told me that, if there was ever a saint put here on earth, it was my Grandma. I can't think of a more wonderful compliment from a daughter-in-law.

Grandma was an expert seamstress who didn't just sew and do alterations; she could design and cut her own patterns. In addition to more mundane things, Grandma once made band uniforms for the local high school and she remade an authentic WW II Japanese kimono into a more American robe at the request of the wife who had received it. It was the first time I'd ever felt silk.

Grandma's room always contained scraps of material that were far more beautiful than anything our family could afford. I was allowed to practice sewing with some of those scraps and guess who had the loveliest doll clothes in all of Leon.
I never had a store-bought dress or coat until after I started high school. My homemade clothes, many made from fabric that was reclaimed from my aunts' cast-offs, were beautiful. I especially remember a gorgeous brown wool coat with copper-colored lining and a dress my Dad called my princess dress (because I looked like a princess in it). It was made from reclaimed flour sack material. And, yes, flour did come in muslin sacks.

I still have scraps of that red silk Japanese kimono. I have the wool and velvet comforter we made together. Grandma helped me piece it and taught me to embroider at the same time. We lined it with turquoise silk fabric from a WW II parachute. I was eleven years old when it was finished. After looking at the picture above, I know you will agree that it is beautiful, as is that red scrap of the Japanese kimono and her pin cushion. I also have the first cross-stitched sampler I did, with her supervision, at age six. The tangible things I have are precious to me although they have no monetary value. The intangible gifts she gave me are more precious than diamonds and pearls.

Here is my tribute to my Grandma, Arminta May Casto Burns:

MY GRANDMA

My grandma made my life replete,
With kind, soft words so very sweet.
I never heard her raise her voice,
Except in song, and to rejoice.

For every single path she trod,
Was guided by her faith in God.
And it was her true belief,
He’d help her o’er the stormy reefs.

She made me dresses trimmed in lace.
I still can see her lovely face.
In the garden we would hoe,
And she taught me how to sew.

My treasure was her button box,
And I still have her biscuit crock.
We cooked and canned and did the dishes,
While we talked about our wishes.

We skimmed the cream, made cottage cheese,
Snapped the beans and shelled the peas.
We planted flowers of every hue,
And looked for fairies in the dew.

She helped me make a crazy quilt,
And, block by block, it slowly built,
Into a keepsake I still love.
I’m sure she’s smiling from above.

Her auburn hair was long and bright.
She let me brush it every night.
And just before I went to bed,
She listened to the prayers I said.

I think of Grandma as so meek,
But not to be construed as weak.
Her self-control reached every length,
And so her meekness was her strength.

It wasn’t that a race was won,
But that I knew when I was done,
That I had giv’n my very best,
And God had helped me in my quest.

Through every challenge and through strife,
My Grandma sought to mold her life,
To be the best that she could be,
And by doing so, taught me.

By Sarah Anne Burns

Thursday, October 9, 2008

The Winner of the Worst Teacher Award Is.........

MR. HAINES!

I didn't plan to talk about teachers again but more memories of poor teachers came pouring in from my friends.

One teacher stands out from all the rest: Mr. Haines – he who made examples of an overweight girl vs. a thin girl in front of their class.

Mr. Haines taught thirteen and fourteen year old students. Based on what I've heard, he didn't like girls; or perhaps he didn't like children. More examples of his misdeeds were forthcoming:

One day he asked if any of the girls had a mirror. When my friend raised her hand, Mr. Haines had her bring her mirror to the front of the room and stand there, looking at herself in her mirror, chewing her gum, until he told her she could sit down.

That same girl borrowed her friend's typewriter and worked especially hard to turn in a paper that was perfect. It was a time when many students didn't have typewriters. When she handed her paper to Mr. Haines, he gave her a smirking look and said, "I'd better not see another one like this."


So, Mr. Haines, wherever you are, please do not wait for any of your former students to show up with a special Hallmark card for you. Do not wait for any of them to tell you how you inspired them to be a teacher too. And, if you have gone on to your just rewards, may your eternity be spent as a student in a classroom with a teacher just like you were.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Not-So-Favorite Teachers


After writing about favorite elementary school teachers, I promised to share my friends' and my memories of not-so-favorite teachers. Some of those memories are surprising. They range from incompetence and laziness to actions that were downright cruel.

Reading these made me realize how much power teachers hold in their hands. Not one of my friends has forgotten their best or worst teachers. Children's lives are shaped for either better or worse by teachers. They are either encouraged or discouraged by teachers. Teachers can help children blossom and grow or damage fragile egos. Good teachers create a learning environment that's exciting while poor teachers merely get through the day or take out their personal frustrations on defenseless children. The unfortunate part is that wonderful teachers usually get the same pay as terrible teachers.

Since I'm a firm believer that history should be accurate, the names of not-so-favorite teachers have not been changed or hidden to protect the guilty.

Some not-so-favorite teachers were:

Mrs. Foglesong, my junior history teacher. She slept through 6th period while making us memorize 10 new dates a week. She made me hate history while I was living in a place filled with wonderful historical events. I learned all about them as an adult – no thanks to Mrs. Foglesong.

Mrs. Burts, my Spanish teacher who spoke Spanish with a Georgia drawl. I had just come up to Georgia from Ft. Lauderdale and couldn't understand all of the Southern accents. So the "Southern Spanish" didn't click with me. I could understand it if I looked at it in the book but never felt like I could speak it because of the way she talked.

It would have to be between two teachers. Mrs. Kracofe who taught shorthand and bookkeeping (terrible teacher) and Mrs. Uhller who taught English. She was a bad teacher but in spite of her I got good grades in English.

Mr. Pierce. I had him for a world history class. He was a very abrupt person and he would say different things from one day to the next. There was one guy who would raise his hand and say, "Mr. Pierce, yesterday you said……" The teacher would say, "I lied," and keep going with his lecture. That same boy (an Air Force kid) fell asleep in our class one day… .last class of the day. He made us all slip out quietly without waking him up. All of the AF kids had a very long ride to Tyndal, the base, and I think someone went back to wake him up to be sure he got to the bus.

It goes without saying...Mr. Haines. One time he called Judy Hahn and me to the front of the class and had us stand with our arms down at our sides...the point being that Judy was heavy and her arms went out far and I was thin and mine didn't. He was not a very compassionate or nice man as I look back on it.

Mr. Troy, the band teacher. I was trying to learn to play the snare drum and he would yell, scream, and turn red in the face when someone made a mistake. We had to practice on wooden blocks. We didn't get to use the real drums very often because they made too much noise. I never did learn to play the snare drum.

I forgot her name……….she amused herself by being sarcastic and constantly reminding me that I had a small mind and I deserved the poor grades I got.

Mrs. Jackson. She spent every class toadying to the children of wealthy, more prominent people and totally ignored the rest of us. Most of us stopped raising our hands when we knew the answers because she would never call on us. I don't think she even noticed.

Those of you who have children and grandchildren in school might want to ask them about their most and least favorite teachers. Their answers may surprise you.

P.S. Click on the image and read part of a story from Carl's First Grade Reader.