Gee How Quaint

I'm a Page 14 girl

 

A month ago one of the editor's of my alma mater's bi-annual Review magazine asked me to share my story for their publication.  They were doing a story focused on art students from current student's perspective and past students' perspectives.  Anyway, the text is mostly mine for my story, albeit a few small edits.  I was slightly horrified to see that they used a shot of me and my dishes.  It was action they wanted and I guess it was action that they were given.

For the full scoop, follow the link and skip to page 14: Dana Review - A little ditty about an artist...

My grandmother's apron

 

A year ago I received a big, heavy box from my Aunt Pat.  My eyes lit up and my heart sank at the same time.  My grandmother had passed away the year before and I knew that this box contained items of my grandmother's that my Aunt thought that I would like to have.

Stacks of knitting needles and old patterns, costume jewellery, pot holders, small gifts from Grandpa to Grandma, some photos.  I carefully handled each item, reading the notes that my Aunt had pinned to each one.  One of the items from the box was a hostess apron, which my grandmother had worn in the 70's when she was entertaining guests.  To be honest, I don't remember that part of her life.  I was only 1,2 then 3 in the 70's.  I do remember her insatiable appetite for peanut butter, her baking of Angel food cakes for my Diabetic Father and her amazing roasts which were accompanied by 3 different kinds of potatoes and a glass of cold carrot sticks in ice. 

I was devestated when I found out my grandmother had passed away.  I had grown up in the same town as my grandparents.  There were two periods in my life when I lived with them.  Throughout Junior High and High School I was at their house eating lunch at least once a week.

Anyway, this apron is a small tribute to my wonderful Grandmother and all of my wonderful memories of her.  The shape of the apron is inspired by the design of her hostess apron.  The print is inspired by my current country of residence. 

Arline's apron can be found in the Hostess with the Mostest section of www.geehowquaint.com

The merits of growing up in a town where nothing ever happens (and having no money whilst doing it)

The other day as I was outlining my day to a friend, I mentioned that I was going to try to learn a new song on my guitar.  Friend was slightly intrigued and said 'You know how to play guitar as well?'  To which I responded 'Yeah, most people from my town know how to play guitar.  There was nothing else to do.'

That tiny conversation has forced me to reflect on those years from my age of 0 to 18, living in a town halfway between two big cities (Omaha, Nebraska and Denver, Colorado) where entertainment came in three varieties. 'Dragging Main' was one option.  This entailed driving your car on B Street, turning onto Norris Ave and meeting your friends in the Methodist Church parking lot. You then looped around and drove to the other end of the circuit at Dairy Cream Ice Cream, which is now something different entirely.  Option two: slurping down the contents of a friend's parent's alcohol cabinet or drinking in a field.  To be honest, neither one of those options appealed to me. 

The third option was a shopping expedition to North Platte (if you were slightly lucky), Kearney (if you were very lucky) or the big city of Omaha (if the gods had blessed you with money and parents who had the time to take you).  As all of these were not options for me, I had to be creative and find other ways to entertain myself.

I learned how to play guitar when Extreme's 'More Than Words' was popular and yes, that is now part of my play list.  I can also play various songs from Pink Floyd, The Beatles and a few tunes I made up myself.  For entertainment I also threw myself into my art projects.  Art Homework was probably the thing that saved me from mind rotting boredom.  I would work tirelessly drawing still lifes that I had set up in my room.  Although that sounds tragic and nerdy, my drawing skills are rather impressive and realistic (she says with humility).

Recently, I have heard that growing up in Nebraska has caused someone to be very innovative and creative.  Evan Williams, co-founder of Twitter, hails from the land of tornadoes and flat landscapes, cows, chickens and wheat. There is something impressive about growing up in a place where nothing ever happens.  You can't rely on things to entertain you.  You have to find those answers within yourself. 

You're in your what?!

 

On July 6th, this little spindly tornado was spotted by several people in Lancashire.  It just so happens that Husband and I had driven through that area about an hour before the swirling beastie was seen poking down from the heavens.

Of course, the prospect of tornado action in the UK is thrilling to me as I come from a land where tornadoes sweep through several times a year.  I hopped onto the BBC news website to try to find some photographs and this, dear readers, is from a man named Joe.  Caption under photo reads "Me and my family got a great display of the clouds from my attic."

To which I gasped in shock "From your what?? Are you nuts?!"  Because every little midwestern girl from the states knows that you do not go to the attic when there is a tornado lurking nearby! I'm sorry, but at the very whisper of a possible tornado sighting, I would be dashing around the lower levels, finding a windowless closet to fearfully hunker down into.  I would not go gawking out of a window attic.  Tornadoes are unpredictable and like to hop around a bit.  And even though that sucker had not yet touched the earth, within a matter of seconds it could have done and then there may not have been time to run for cover.

Loss Part 4

I knew what the phone call was going to be about the minute I heard my Mother's voice on the phone.  Last week her father had taken a turn for the worst and this was it.  This was the phone call I had been dreading.

Within 12 months, I have lost 4 grandparents.  Even worse, my parents have had their parents pass away.  I can't imagine how unbelievable sad they must be.  And to be honest, it is their sadness that tugs at my heart the most.

Many months ago, I wrote a long tribute to my fabulous and wonderful Grandma and soon after, my determined (and stubborn!) Grandfather.  In small ways, I am still grieving this loss as I had grown up with them living in the same small community as my family.  I even lived with them for two different periods of my life.  When I think that I can't pick up the phone and have a chat, it really hits me that they won't be at the other end of the line.

So, here you have it, my tribute to the wonderful and incredibly loving Mr. R. Baxter.

He always seemed so happy to see his family.  We would see them, if not every week, at least a couple times a month.  They lived in a small town just 30 miles away, so they were always within easy reach.  I liked visiting my grandparents as their house was a haven of great exploration!  I would tinker away on the piano, rifle through my step-mom's clothes from her teenage years (and even wore many outfits), make little books, eat their good food and just generally bask in the glow of just being around them.

I always felt welcomed into this family, as they adopted me into their fold when I was just 4.  I always felt comfortable, loved and cared for.   

So, Mr. Baxter, you have left behind you the loving memories and great regard of a loving, happy, family man.

God Bless you.

from humble beginnings...

 

This is my old town, my home town, my place on the prairie.  McCook, circa 1902, the train yard, to be precise.  When I left, and in fact I am sure when I entered life in McCook, the train yard was not so hustle bustle.

Why am I walking this path, down memory lane?  Well, I think sometimes it is good to reflect on the past to gain a better perspective on your present.

So, there I was, born to a very young couple in this very small community.  My Dad tells me that our house on J Street began as a house for pigs, was converted to a bar and was eventually miraculously turned into a house.  It's as if the building believed in some sort of system of reincarnation: if you are good, you are born to become better and better things.  Perhaps a house for pigs aspires to one day become a house for people.  A lot of hard work went into further renovations in that house. The living room was expanded into the garage space and was even forced up some stairs (also built by my Dad) and stopped at the door to the attic.  These were that stairs that led to nowhere.

I also did a few months (served my time in) a small green trailor by the railroad tracks.  I vaguely remember my friend Cecilia and I scrambling over them, playing around them and not even regarding the long rails as a possible threat. 

There were many years of school, a move to a beautiful, solid house when my little brother entered the scene, the arrival of a sister followed, many more years of school, me working at the local Pizza Hut, graduating, then becoming one of the very few to graduate with a degree from uni.  Apparently, for the over 25's, there are only 16% of us with a degree.  How can that be?!

I have accumulated many experiences along the way.  Some incredibly good, many frightfully bad.  But it is good to take stock of how I began, thousands of miles away, in a dying little town, in a state that not even people in America know the location of. 

How unpredictable this life has been.

Mom and Dad circa 1975

This is a wedding photo (obviously) of my mom and dad.  The other day I received a pack of photographs from my Aunt and was delighted to see the contents.

I love this picture because of the look on my mother's face and of course, the goofy expression on my father's.  What is she thinking?!  Knowing my dad, he has probably just engaged his dry sense of humour.  Therefore, my mom's reaction could be something along the lines of....'I can't believe the rubbish that has just come out of there.'  I have seen this look on my mother's face many times.  And I know that my poor, long suffering husband has been the recipient of this look from me.

North America is being taken over by....lizards!

As I was sitting there, innocently knitting away on my uber trendy knitted jacket (you know the kind I mean...the one with the big buttons and big funky collar) I heard the news reader say "North America is being taken over by....lizards!"  And my first reaction was no, I must not look at the tele just in case they are showing snakes.  I know snakes aren't lizards, but in my mind they are all clumped together as icky wiggly things that just should not be. I hate snakes.  I hate them hate them hate them...

And it was at the moment that my brain kicked in and realised that possibly, quite possibly, this is not the time of year for lizards to be taking over North America.

Ah yes, The Big Snow.  I remember those winters.  I remember transformers bursting in the night sky due to the rain, then the freezing temperatures, then the weight of all that ice.  Kansas City was a horrible place to be this time of year.  I only suffered through two winters there and they were the worst two winters I have ever experienced.

Nebraska news

It saddens me to see the news today.  In my beloved state (okay, I do occasionally knock it, but you can't help but have a certain fondness for the place where you are from) something terrible has happened.  There was a shooting at a popular shopping mall, in which 9 people died and 5 people injured. 

Before moving to the UK, I lived in Omaha whilst going to university.  It is such a great city.  There is a certain vibe about the place...it's friendly, there's lots to do and it has a thriving arts scene (if you take the initiative to seek it out).  Heck, Saddle Creek records (think Bright Eyes) is located in Omaha.

It is such a shame that the only time my homestate is brought to the world's attention is through this terrible event. 

I have been on the phone talking to friends and gasp and shock....one of them had actually been in the parking lot, having just arrived to go on a walk through the mall, when the police arrived in force.  Thank God my lovely friend and her lovely husband are okay.

So, this is my small entry to say that I am thinking of you, my friends in Omaha.  I hope you are all safe and well.

A glimpse into the past

The other day I received such a wonderful treasure through the post.  My lovely Aunt Pat had posted a box of my grandma's things to me.  My grandma had recently passed away back in March (an event that I am still processing) and was quickly followed by the death of my grandpa (which was a terrible blow to the family as well).

Anyway, I don't wish to be depressing about all of this.  What I wanted to share was an insight into the life of a very fantastic woman.  These items pictured show a glimpse into a life that I never knew.  The knitting book dates back to the 60's, when I think my Dad may have been in his early teens, his sisters going through the hell of being teenagers.  There is also a booklet of canning labels as well as a book of poetry written by my great grandmother and given as gifts to her family.  I am sure she never dreamed that her great grand-daughter would be looking through the pages of the book she worked so diligently to create. Inside the box there were also several small handkerchiefs with the most exquisite embroidered images, some of which were my great grandmothers and some of which were my grandma's.

The life that I didn't know, was the life before the endless babysitting of grandchildren, of hosting big family dinners at Thanksgiving and Easter, of shuttling me the Sunday school and feeding me lunch every Wednesday as I attended the Junior High and High school just up the road from where they lived.  It's hard to imagine my grandparents before the time of me, but what a life and time they must have had. 

I do still catch glimpses of them...in the way my Dad is as stubborn as my grandpa used to be (he's also incredibly thoughtful and caring, which I believe to be traces of my grandma).  In the sweet nature of my Aunt Pat who was thoughtful enough to send me these wonderful gifts.  In my Uncle Bill's quiet perseverance and lovely nature....in my Aunt Peggy's larger than life personality and sense of humour and in my Aunt Barb's determination and heart for teaching. 

So I ask myself, what traits have carried through to me?  I think I don't know myself enough yet to have figured that out.