I'M NO LONGER LOST AND I'M REPLENISHING MY WELL

Finally, I'm replenishing my well. I've been lost since before this new year. But because I have more desire and time, I'm looking for ways to reclaim my creativity. I've had problems picking up a pen or brush to write or paint. And because of this, I've not been as fulfilled and I want to recapture my feelings of excitement in creating my ideas.

I've pulled out many of my old magazines that have inspired me over the years.  I really enjoy the "Victoria" magazines I've saved since 1983. They are filled with large colorful pictures of beautiful art, home interiors, and luscious looking dishes of food with the recipes printed in the back of the magazine. I've perused them daily. I've surfed the net, as well,  looking at art that appeals to me.  I've discovered interesting blogs that artists publish with pictures I find most attractive. What really is fun is to look at Bohemian Art Design. That is new to me. This is an interesting blog: Blogs,<http://bohemianpages.blogspot.com/search/label/Home%20decor. After seeing pictures on this blog, I find it fun using my old furniture in new ways and accenting it. I'm thinking outside the same old boxes, which artists are told to do.

On Monday, we drove to Round Top, Texashttp://www.roundtoptexasantiques.com/ to see what was happening at the Antique shows. There were vendor tents up and down the road for twenty miles on both ends of Warrenton. There were so many old, scarred, and long forgotten objects sitting by the road and  in tents,  it was impossible to weed through it all. I love shabby chic so it was tempting to jump in the abyss. We laughed at a sign that read, "shabby shit". My husband said, "That's the truth." Although it was a beautiful sun shiny day, not too warm or not too cool, I didn't have the energy to even stop and look at much, so I chose to be very selective.

We drove on to Round Top and when we stopped at  Royers Round Top Cafe, http://www.royersroundtopcafe.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=113:hours&catid=3:schedule&Itemid=5we found it was closed.
 A lady at the front, said they are closed on Monday and since they are expecting "80,000 people" this week, we would have to make reservations on any other day. She recommended Royer's daughter's little place, "Pie Haven", down the street in the square. After eating a delicious slice of vegetable pie  I spotted a cute little house across the square with pictures of a woman outside. I told Walter Bert to hang up his handicap sign and I would be back shortly. When I got to the door, I left my yummy cool raspberry tea from my lunch on a table on the porch and walked in. What a treat, when I walked in to find paintings all over the small gallery house. The artist is a delightful lady, Beth Anderson,http://www.bethandersonart.com/image  with whom I spent forty-five minutes. I soaked in her adorable art and her pleasant arty news and exchange of information. She encouraged me to start painting again and said how important it is. I knew she was right because when I do paint I'm very content and look forward to getting back to my work every day.

I skimmed a few other shops, but knew I was satisfied with what I had found, already. So, I returned to my napping husband and said, "Okay, I think I've been stimulated enough. Let's go home so I can start painting. I looked down at his cool drink that he bought at the Pie Haven and said, "Oh no. I left my drink at Beth's." He said, "No problem, I'll drive you back and you can get it."

When he drove around the square to the side of the gallery, I said, "You better give me some money. I hate to go back and not buy anything." He pulled out a twenty dollar bill and as I sat there wondering what I could buy in the gallery for twenty bucks, Beth walked out to the porch and picked up my cool plastic glass of delicious raspberry tea, poured it on the flower bed and walked back into the gallery. I started laughing and laughing. If we had gotten there a few minutes earlier, I would have retrieved my tea and bought a piece of art or at least a post card. As it was, Walter Bert said, "Boy, that's luck, it saved me twenty bucks."

I answered, "Yes, but now you have to drive back to Pie Haven so I can buy another cool glass of raspberry tea and I'll save my money so I can return to Beth's some day and buy one of her darling pieces of art."I'm looking forward to it already.

For those who are interested in going to Round Top this week, check the Texas Monthly April 2013 issue and you will get a good idea of what to expect and advice on where to go. There is a great article, "Treasure This".

Help, I'm Behind and Lost.My First Post of 2013, January 11, 2013

I have not posted in a long time. Since December 1st, 2012. I read that Georgia O'Keefe could not be creative when she was surrounded by domestic affairs. That seems to be the case with me. My husband's surgery three days after my last post has definitely kept me preoccupied. Then preparing for Christmas. My adult grandchildren always look forward to coming to our house for the holidays. I admit I enjoy preparing for their visits.  Days afterwards, the tree needs to be dismantled and the house another going over, but I haven't felt like it. Nor have I felt like getting creative. I haven't read a book, written, or painted, since the first of December.  I dare say I do want to paint, but not in the mood to pull out the paints and to get after it. It is difficult to focus and concentrate.

My writing has suffered as of late. In "The New Beginning," the post I wrote on the first day of last year, I stated my goals. When I looked over them, I recognized I did write more on my blog throughout the year.  I wrote more memoirs than I believed I could or would. But, I did have more free time to reflect. And one resolution that I stated was to give more of myself to my loved ones. It was one I think I fulfilled. But, as a result, I am less creative during the difficult times of caring for my husband and listening to my other loved ones, who are in distress from time to time. Or is this just an excuse? Time will tell.

Sterling loves the Raphael paintings of the Renaissance period. I want to paint a portrait of Raphael for his birthday. Artists sometimes copy the art of the masters. This will give me a chance to do so, as well, when I can get my act together. Well, at least this is a start, now that I'm writing. Does anyone else have this problem?

MORE RACIST ATTACKS ON COMPETENT BLACKS IN THE PUBLIC EYE

Today I read an interesting article in The Daily Beast. It is written well and explains why we hear the same talking points over and over by the republicans who are trying to discredit Ambassador Rice.  Please read it to stay informed of their latest racism attacks against a black woman.

http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/12/01/susan-rice-just-another-incompetent-black-woman.html 

THE MASSACRE OF TEXAS PILGRIMS

Remember our Texas Pilgrims This Thanksgiving. HAPPY THANKSGIVING 

This is an excerpt from an essay published in "The Community Messenger" (November, 1998), by Janine Stubbs

   
     Texas had pilgrims as did  New England.  LaSalle and his Pilgrims from France came to the shores of  Texas after they were blown off course in stormy seas, similar to those who arrived at Plymouth from England. They were also blown off course in stormy seas.  While the New England Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock, instead of Virginia, as planned, the Texas Pilgrims landed on the shores of Galveston and then Matagorda Bay, although they were headed for the mouth of the Mississippi River in what is now, Louisiana, where they intended to settle.

     Pilgrims journeyed long distances for religious purposes, similar to LaSalle's Pilgrims and the New England Pilgrims. LaSalle's Pilgrims were brave and gallant from good families who left France with missionary priests. They planned to convert the natives to Catholicism. They gave daily prayers, masses and their high priority was the building of the first Christian place of worship in Texas. It was "made of plaster over mud and covered with skins" inside their fort. The New England Pilgrims we study, unlike the French were more interested in doing away with anything Catholic. They wanted to separate from the  Church of England, they believed was too Catholic. They were known as Separatists.

     While the Texas Pilgrims arrived in Texas on January 1st, 1685 and the New England Pilgrims arrived in November of 1620, Texas Pilgrims could have arrived in November months earlier, had not LaSalle become seriously ill which required a stay-over on an island in the Caribbean.

     The traditional New England dinner we celebrate is similar to what the New England Pilgrims had in their celebration of Thanksgiving. They purportedly ate corn, pumpkins, and other harvest foods, along with turkey and trimmings. Priests, who recorded their arrival in Texas with LaSalle, mention their foods as being, corn, ducks, goats, fish and bustards(a kind of crane.) We know at other stops the French indulged upon crocodiles; perhaps this too could have been part of their menu at Matagorda Bay.

     The Indians the French met in Texas were not as friendly as those the New England Pilgrims met. The New England Indians reportedly helped the Pilgrims from England to survive, while the Indians the French Pilgrims met are given much blame for the demise of the French Settlers and their settlement near Matagorda Bay. Diseases took many French lives and one of LaSalle's men murdered him . But the aggressive Karankawas killed the remainder of the French Pilgrims.

     While we traditionally celebrate Thanksgiving according to the style of the New England Pilgrims, who arrived 65 years before our French Pilgrims, I think we should also remember our French Pilgrims,  who were significant to Texas history. Maybe have a modern day toast with a glass of good wine, if you can't get duck, goat, fish or bustard.  And I think crocodiles are still an endangered species.      

OBSERVING RACISM IN TEXAS: THE WHITE FRAME AGAIN

I'm proud to announce:

"Racism Review,"a scholarly blog,  published my paper about racism during this pre-election time. See "Observing Racism in Texas: The White Frame Again." Click on the following link: Once you reach the website, Racism Review, scroll down to the article, "Observing Racism in Texas............".
Or type in the title, "Observing Racism in Texas........." in the search section of  "Racism Review blog.
http://www.racismreview.com/

EDITH WHARTON'S SEXY LOVE AFFAIR

   Jennie Fields draws me into her multi-layered historical novel of the Pulitzer Prize

winner Edith Wharton, in "The Age of Desire."  Since my viewing of  Wharton’s,

"The Age of Innocence" (movie) several years ago,  as a sociology teacher, I was

intrigued with her stories set and plotted in the highly stratified society of New York

and Europe,  in the late nineteenth century,  and early twentieth century. Similarly,

this book can be seen in the same sociological framework, as well as a work of art.

     Fields captures the time period when women normally had little education or

opportunities to succeed in the publishing business and anywhere else for that matter.

Using primary sources of diaries and letters recently discovered, Fields highlights

Wharton’s relationship with her tutor (from her childhood) to her middle-age years,

in which Anna Bahlmann was her in-house secretary/servant and confidante, who

loves Edith, but sometimes disapproves of her friends and the choices she makes. But

Anna was always available and a crutch for Wharton during the most difficult of times.                                                                                                          

     Fields flashes scenes of Wharton’s miserable marriage to a bi-polar husband, in

a marriage she seemed to be unable to do anything about, as many women were at that

time. Women in the Upper- Class seldom had the freedom to select their lifetime

partners. But unlike the life that most women experienced, she lived a luxurious and an

extremely active life, as an intellectual and widely traveled professional woman. To

escape her mundane marital life, Wharton traveled widely, back and forth to Europe.

Particularly, to Paris. She kept company with other intellectuals such as Henry James and

Morton Fullerton. The latter gentleman, the handsome, well-dressed writer Fullerton,

who smelled of lavender, was the one she engaged with in a torrid love affair. He excited

her mind as well as her sexual desires. For, it was Fullerton who brought her to multiple

orgasms, which again, was seldom experienced by women at that time, as well as today.

If you accept the findings of sociological surveys done in recent studies.   Fields

describes the love scenes with her tantalizing use of words that might excite some of the

most prudish women that read it today. Her love scenes between Wharton and her lover,

Fullerton, are indeed filled with descriptions of lurid desire.

      Fields has a magical use of words, not only when describing Wharton’s relationships,

but when she richly describes the Paris scenes and the beautiful homes where Wharton

lived.  In the most eloquent manner, Fields brings us to the scenes as if we were

observing a movie in a tightly woven story.                                        

     I highly recommend Jennie Field’s beautifully written book, The Age of Desire,

to all adults. Especially, to students of history, sociology, and Edith Wharton fans.

View all my reviews

I WAS DOUSED WITH CHEMICALS AND A QUARTER OF ME WAS MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD

My visiting blog writer this week is Ann Kennedy, who writes about her hair. Ann and I are   "cohorts" who have lived through the same era. Our models were movie stars such as Shirley Temple above. Ann and I have a lot in common. For one, we experienced the same problems with our straight hair. Since curly hair was so popular as we grew up, our mothers did everything they could to help our hair look like the movie stars we idolized. It wasn't much fun to have to go through the many attempts to curl our hair during our young lives.
   
All I can say is we had very straight hair. There are not many pictures that describe our hair because so few girls had straight hair or so it seemed. We were cute like the picture below, but it wasn't enough.

                                                         
Ann's creative story tells us about the hair products that gave our poor hair such agony. Actually, it's a memoir, using the  Point of View of her hair. I know you will enjoy this, as much as I do.

Ann is my grandson Wally's maternal grandmother who comes from a family of colorful storytellers. Her father was the illustrious Wick Fowler, who was a journalist during World War II, was a friend to Lyndon B. Johnson and cooked his famous Wick Fowler's Two-Alarm Chili numerous times at the White House. Ann and her brother, Gordon Fowler, owned and operated the Wick Fowler Two Alarm Chili Company in Austin for years, until they sold it and retired about twenty years ago. The Terlingua Chili Cook-Off held annually in Terlingua, Texas is a celebration pioneered by Wick Fowler. Ann has many colorful stories that I hope she continues to give us.



                                       


           I Was Doused With Chemicals and A Quarter of Me Was Murdered in Cold Blood:
                                            The Story of Ann's Hair
               


I am Ann's Head of  Hair. Seventy years ago, I was a very light blonde color that was sometimes braided by Ann's mom.  I wanted to stay straight, and did so. I made those braids slide, separate and fall apart as fast as anything. Even as she realized Ann wasn't going to sing and dance and be the world's child star, ol' shirley Temple's curls looked real cute to Ann's mom. I was hoisted into a seat at a beauty shop.  Above me, a giant bowl with electric coils hanging from it looked like trouble. I recited my motto, "stay straight," but

to no avail. By the end of a long day, I had been twisted,  heated, drenched in stinging, smelly chemicals-tortured into curls. Ann's mom was thrilled.  I stayed awake for 3 nights, willing myself to remember my motto. It worked! On the 3rd day,  all those hateful curls went back to my straight self. I won the first of many battles with curly hair.
                                               
After about a decade of failures, Ann's mom, grandmother, and aunts came up
with an idea-a pair of thinning shears that would thin out enough of my hair to make it hold a curl. At least a quarter of me  was murdered in cold blood by those shears.

                                                           
The smug, satisfied look on those motherly faces was more than I could tolerate.
I quickly re-bounded - thicker and straighter than ever. My opponents had been Ann's mom and those people at nasty "beauty shops."

Then along came a horror called "Toni's Home Permanent." Ann's mom fell for
all those successful stories in magazines,  along with glamour shots of famous stars
and models, all with "Toni" curls. Ha! I could beat back a "Toni"in one day.

I liked being dried in front of a fireplace or hanging out of a car window, to dry
in the wind. When I was 16, a hair dryer, a boring old thing, entered my formerly
fun life. I made it blow up in Ann's hand a few years later.

A short time later a mad scientist came up with "hairspray" (cough, cough!). I was hair sprayed nearly to death,  in places from a Neiman- Marcus Salon to a motel room in Terlingua.

                                                 
                                                             
     
I rejuvinated myself at 18 years old. My new home in Galveston meant Mother
Nature was my ally, with her humid, damp ocean breezes. I was at my best that year.                            
                                                    

                                                   
                                                   
My confidence level stayed high throughout the arrival of "hot rollers."Useless
things,  those hot rollers.

                                                       

For the next 20 years, until I turned 50, I was content. Worn in a simple ponytail, I welcomed just a rubber band and scarf. Sadly, my worst day came at a store called Frost Brothers. Ann and her mom thought they would relegate me back to training camp. They bought a wig to completely cover me up. I fought back like a girl, scratched, itched, and turned up my temperature, made that wig too loose or too tight-anything to make her sorry.

                                                       
That ridiculous wig went to a teacher and is, even now, being worn by rug-rats in
their silly little school plays. I won, as usual, and was happily turned back in to my
ponytail self.
                       

                                                     

I have been washed in everything from baby shampoo to Tide Soap to "Mane
and Tail." Been conditioned with concoctions from mayonaise to beer to oil from
nuts grown in New Zealand. I remain, at 73, a rather odd color (tan? gray?blonde?)
but as straight and slick as a No. 2 pencil.

                                                         The (Split) End


Can you relate to Ann's story of her hair? Today straight is in. I know Ann's hair is
much happier, as is mine. Because I too wear my hair in a pony tail most of the time.