My peers

We were walking arm in arm, three old broads who have know each other since childhood.
I the youngest by just a couple of years.The oldest probably 8 or 9 years my senior.
The Veldstraat in Ghent Belgium is a shopping street.
We had started there, walked by shops full of the latest styles. We made fun of the young who came out with shorter and shorter skirts. Hair with rainbow color streaks. Overly done black make up around the eyes almost looking like football players ready for the game.
We sure had a great time talking about our own mothers and how they would see this scenario now.
Of course I had to tell when my mother unexpectedly visited me in the Inno tearoom.
I was with a few of my girlfriend's not yet 15, blond hair down my back but once out of the house I changed it to the side sweep a la Veronica Lake (unacceptable to Mother) , then when we girls met at the tearoom we would gossip and one package of cigarettes did the delivery around the table.
I had no idea what to do with it so I puffed and puffed and blew a lot of smoke but inhaled nothing .
I did not know that the waitress the enemy. She called my mother at work and there she stood with the steel eyes. Took the cigarette out of my hand, looked at the girls. Said "Au revoir" and dragged me to the ladies room where my hair was again combed with a middle stripe, a comb on each side with a little pink bow on it.

My story brought my friends in tears of laughter, they had all known Mme. D. ,my mother, and sometimes they had to do with her antics after we all became adults.

At the end of the Veldstraat E. decided it was dessert time and coffee, so we found a cozy pattiserie in
de Volderstaat. We made sure we had enough whipped cream to last us a few hours. The stories continued.
A. had been my neighbor at one point, our enclosed back "yard" was very small , all cement and the outhouse and the coal and potato bins in a little cove next to that. The pump was outside and in the winter we had to make sure to have hot water on hand to break the ice before we could pump water for our coffee and face washing. A7 foot brick wall separated us. When my Mom yelled they would often yell back with an answer for her. When I got married in 1951 and bought a record player they complained that I was listening to Ima Sumac with all her vocals, I had 3 records, Johny Lane, Ima and Nat King Cole. What did they want from me? They wanted me to move out which I did after 1 year with mother and husband.

Finishing our coffee and on to another street and A. the elder, liked a little bit liquor, she could hold it too.
One wine for me and I will dance on the table or under it.
So the next big bar with lots of room we settled in and it was A's turn to treat.
They knew her and the barman from behind the counter said "Een kleintje,voor jou?"
( a little one meaning all hard liquor in small glass)
together E and I settled for a calmer beer.
More stories ...remember when....more laughter....
Then A. said that every Saturday she had to watch her husband as he would get a ladder and try to see above the wall when I sat in the galvanized tub to take my bath. I had not known that at the time but found out later so I started to put the tub in the corner next to the coal so he would not see me.
My turn to treat so another kleintje and another beer or two.
We started to entertain a few people who came in, they wanted to laugh with us.

It was a great afternoon and it was the last time I saw them.
We all 3 stood together and cried while hugging. We knew.

Yesterday I heard that A. has dementia and almost burned her house down with cooking sausages till they turned into smoke and alerted the gal next door.
E. has a new knee, totalled her car a few months ago but came out OK.
Her husband is older, he is pushing 89, like me he is deaf but he learned how to use the computer and writes me jokes every day, as well as to 121 other people.

We were young once and now we are leaving one at a time.....
Memories of the three broads in Ghent are still with me....I would hope that A. can find them now and then in her new world.

RENOIR THE MOVIE 2013

Source

Pierre-Auguste Renoir paints on the French Riviera in 1915 after his wife dies and his son is wounded in a battle. He finds a young woman named Andrée and she becomes his last model.

Search For: Michel Bouquet · Christa Theret · Vincent Rottiers

 

ok SO what is it with me. Some critics had "bad" things to say about this film. It was too slow, the script was "empty" etc...etc...it is now about 2 weeks since I saw it and it haunts me every day.

I keep replaying scenes in front of me and each one is like a tableau ready to be painted.

 

Have I been an artist wife for too long?

Did I find similarities in the life of Renoir and ours? No.

First of all , Renoir is very old here. Michel Bouquet does not have to say much. His old man grunts tell a whole conversation. He is also at this point in life a rich man and has sold a lot of his work.

He suffers from arthritis to he point that he does not want to give up to paint "something" just "anything".

He does try.

His cripple fingers have to be bound with the brush inside.

His entourage makes up his palette , now ochre, now blue, now white , not that much....

The little dobs of paint are waiting for the shaky hand.

I sit there in the quiet of the movie house with "ears on" and I can hear every word, it is in French.

I am feeling his pain and I want to cry.

 

The day after delivering Sabrina I woke up with fat swollen feet. To stand on them was like walking on thousands of spikes. The doctor said that I had "gout". Gave me some pills and sent me home.

"Gout" back home was a priest disease or the Baron down the street from the school, he had it too.

Mother said :"They eat too much rich food and drink too much wine!".

I was afraid to write mother. What was she going to think?

Next my hands became swollen and ugly. The pain was worse and worse.

I could not pick up a coffee pot to pour coffee and I could not comb the girls long hair.

As I watch Renoir sitting there and often screaming out I forgot it was a movie and felt for him like he was sitting next to me. I figured he had courage and willpower to want to continue to paint.

My ordeal lasted 9 years until a "bad" drug called Butazolidin put me totally in remission and life was good again. I was 28 when it started. My stomach was so bad from all the aspirins I took that I ate every meal with papaya for easy digestion.

 

The staff in the Renoir house brings in a new model hoping to have him in a better mood.

She (Christa Theret) is gorgeous. Not a fake anything on her. Gorgeous hair, no fake eyelashes, no filled up breast. Not a Hollywood scenario. She poses with great grace for the master. There is a twinkle in his old eyes. One can guess what he is thinking. Yes, the past, it seems that a lot of models came in found their way to his bed and were later dismissed. 

 

My mind wanders and I remember asking Bob when we were first together if he had done a lot of work with nudes. Not sure of myself as an artist wife I wanted all phases covered.

Bob answered with smiles.
"Yes, he said, in Chouinard we were required to do nude sketches. Live models came in all the time. The class was always completely full and I was as usual always late. So I ended up with the view of a crack in a rear end sitting in front of me. When I did get a chance to sketch a front of a lady she was about 300 lbs. So I lost my appetite for nude work".

I did not know if I should believe this or not but I figured no young chick with boobs under her chin was going to end up in my house.

I did not have to fear. Bob was in love with still life. He said they did not move (the models) and he got to eat them afterwards. 

Not so when we lived in Spain and he had a commission to do a fish with vegetables....

we went to the mercado and looked at all the fishes. He did not like any of them. One of the merchants had a short fuse with my husband and started to yell things we had not taken up yet in our Spanish conversations book. I kept telling the man "Es un pintor," like that was going to make the grade. I held up a fish and then pinches my nose and showed that we wanted mucho colores on the fish.

He got the picture and brought out the smelliest fish with blues and greens. Bob was in heaven.

I stayed on the balcony when he painted.

So back to the movie which had every scene set up to look like a natural painting. I could not get enough of it. Slow...the reviews say...I liked it slow, seeing the trees the river, the kids and girls in long skirts stepping stone to stone. At one point Renoir from behind his easel tells his friend :Oh, how very pretty!

I did not think that he was a dirty old man, I thought like Bob when it was beautiful he would say so.

I wrote this before but when we were in Rome in 1969 all I saw was one Lola Brigida after another. Voluptuous black haired beauties. Bob never said a word until we came to the beggar lady on the church steps. Her face a map of lines, deep worn out lines on a skin like leather. He gave her money and asked if he could photograph her as she was so beautiful. She smiled, she did not have teeth but he made her day.

Somewhere I have that picture and it sure made my trip. The man was a peach.

One does not truly know who in the film is the main object, the painter, the model or his son (Vincent Rottiers). It is a three part scenario. Not much melodrama except that the son comes back hurt from the war and then must return.

But we all know that Jean Renoir came to Hollywood and married Andree, the model, but later divorced.

In real life I think the fantasy ended there.

My life of remembering goes on and how lucky I am.

Instead of sitting by a cool river Bob and I would walk into the Spanish sugar cane fields and find a place to sit so he could do a watercolor of a finca. Not just any finca..the right one. The hot sun did not bother him then nor I, so we found this little stone bridge over a dried up creek and took up residence.

I had the Casera drinks ,cheese and fresh bread if we got hungry. Bob had sketched in his finca when out of nowhere came dozens of goats. We scrambled papers, brushes and pencils as they surely where headed for us. We were sitting on their "salt" on the bridge. They needed the salt to continue their day. The herder thought it was hilarious. I bet Renoir would have said:"how very pretty ". We never forgot and so I could like it all again while watching the grand master on film.They called him "Patron".

Why don't you drive, You are not stupid

No sooner did I talk and I annoyed my mother.
She told the story during the rest of her life.
I would get ready for bed and say: ”Jeannotje downstairs”
She’d reply “UPSTAIRS”
I sternly : “No, Jeannotje downstairs”
This routine was the beginning of my confusion with directions.
Mother wanted a perfect child and this was a bit of a hitch.

Over the years I would try to adjust the right brain and ask people “stupid” questions:
“Does this escalator go up or down?”
Especially difficult in airports when I often see a choice and both are filled with people going so many places.

So later in life people asked :
“why don’t you drive? You’ r not stupid!”
“Well , thank you for thinking that at least I have a brain”.

I did drive. I drove for 4 years in the 1960’s in New Jersey on Highway 1.
Thank you very much. I did it! With babies in the back fighting! I did it!

My ex purchased a 1951 Buick. I had my photo taken by it like a movie star caressing the top of the Buick. I was so proud. Our first car!!!!
“Look, Ma, we have a car”.
A big car it was , a monster, no power brakes or power steering, just brute force
From your hands and feet and the vehicle was like a tank.
X husband taught me how to drive it. Patience he was lacking. Understanding that I was not sure when to turn left or right was not left for him to absorb.
I heard words like “stupid women drivers”…..and more.
I wanted to drive in the worst way.
Driving was equal to freedom.

So I drove, I obtained a license under bad circumstances, waiting in line for hours in the NJ heat I told the guy that I did not feel well.
I had turned over more cones than they had there.
Parallel parking was just not my expertise.
The man said:”I think you are going to faint, here is your license and go home”
The angels sang that day!!!!

So I drove my husband to work ,piled children in the back, wee ones and friends and one day the brakes went out. I was near “2 Guys from Harrison” supermarket to pick up Joe . What to do? I drove around the parking around and around letting go of the pedal and slowly we came to a stop against the wall of the market.
Not a dent in the Buick, children safe, moi wondering what the hell was I doing in a car.
After the Buick came a better choice a Ford Fairlane, think it was a 1954 or 55.
I could manage that better and took us all to Ashbury beach when mother came to visit.  Still I felt uncomfortable every time I stepped in a car. Took of my shoes, I needed to feel the pedal. Drove badly with both feet to the ready to stop. You are not supposed to do that, Jeannot. One day you will hit both at the same time.

When I needed to make a left I would go around the block till I was facing the right street , I just refused to make left turns. Why is that? You ask. Well it takes me minutes at time to figure out where my left is.

Imagine sitting in front of a light and trying to make the sign of the cross before you know which hand is the left. People honk at you , they want you to go to hell for all they care. Make a move, lady, I have things to do. Even in the sixties this did happen.

We moved to San Jose California, yes, we knew the way!
I needed to renew my license. Rumor had it they were very strict.
I still drove but figured that the Californians were all nuts on the streets.
Wild cowboys they were. I would perspire when I delivered my Avon products.
I was with a client when Kennedy got shot, I ran to my car (then a station wagon) and got home in no time. Later I figured out that I had not noticed the red lights and stop signs, I had just plowed through them.

I stopped driving. I did not get a California piece of paper to say I was safe on the road. I started to figure out that one day I would kill somebody, my children, or myself. I was not a driver. Period. Live with it.

Living with it all these decades was somewhat easy as husband numero uno loved driving and we had always some place we loved to see in our new state. We had purchased a 17 foot trailer in N.J. and spent our days in the parks.

Husband numero dos did not tell me when we first met that he could not drive.
He lived in San Fran for years after art school and who needs a car when you can climb these lovely mountain streets in a glorious cable car.
His sister had a Thunderbird with some horses under the hood who liked to run fast. She gave Bob lessons and soon he became my designated driver for all occasions.
He loved it, the girls loved it. After my divorce I was left with a broken down car which ran on 4 whatever. Speed it had not but luck was always with us as the car would break down we were always in front of a garage. The girls would giggle and say that we made it again to the right place.

It was not too many years ago that I found out what was “wrong “ with me.
Nothing. I am right brained and so be it. A form of dyslexia and a host of other things work different for a right brainer and a left brain. My mother was left brain and could never understand that I was not exactly like her.
Even late in life people tell me :”You can do it!! Try it!”
It is not a question if I can do it but the question is can I do it well? The answer is NO. I know I would make a faux turn one day and cause a lot of damage.
Do all the people with dyslexia give up driving ? Of course not but are they safe drivers is a question I would have.

I do not “live” with the anxiety of it , this is me but imagine the nerve I had a couple of years ago to think I could go back to beading and designing jewelry. After all I did it with Bob in the 70’s , I can do it again.
I forgot that having a composition of beads in my head and putting them on the string in the right order is just another matter altogether.
Add to this old age and vertigo.
I have made necklaces OK and even sold them but you have no idea how much sweat and even tears it took to execute them.

Do not ask me why I am not driving, be happy that I don’t. You are safer that way.

Black out

How odd are we human beings.
Prime example:
Last night, late in the evening we had a black out.
Half the town in the dark.

Usually when I walk Bijou about 9 PM I do not wander I stay close to the house and I look around to make sure I am alone on the street. Afraid of the Boogy man? Well I truly do not know, I am just overly cautious.

After awhile when the lights went out the house became too warm, the silence a bit too quiet.
I ventured out as Bob had already left and found people walking slowly in all directions, some with flashlights and some feeling their way along the sidewalks. I found new neighbors and we talked, this one reminded me of the 30's when people did exactly that, they went outside, the kids would play with friends and women shared new gossip.

For some odd reason without lights I felt safer than all the nights I walk Bijou under the blue city lights.

The old lady

She was in her eighties when we met. I doubt that was 5 feet tall, a petite and round little jewel.
She liked to wear turbans over her silky white sparse hair. Only cotton dresses just down to past her knees and then two fragile looking legs moved her down her steps to admire her flowers.

White flowers were her favorites, she loved the white roses and at one time in her life she had a garden full but also a big vegetable garden.

When you talked to her you could see her eyes dancing, now and then she would giggle, a little girls giggle.
I never saw her angry but I hear that did happen once in a blue moon. It seemed like life for her was on a scale and the scale always stayed in the middle. It did not tip to the sad side nor to the very happy side.
She did take it one day at a time without fuss.

She told me that she was born in Indiana, she'd giggle at that and exclaim I am a Hoosier !.....
My father was a builder and a crook. Often we kids were packed up in the middle of the night and on
to another town and start all over again.
"That is why, she said, I never got to keep my dolls, they were always left in the last house".
Now in the winter of her days she would enjoy the dolls she had collected and received as presents from her kids. She would fix their hair while she'd talk about the past and she would just grin.
It was like a victory her.
She now lived in Santa Cruz California.

She came from a large family, I forget how many but sisters and brothers all over the place.
Her mother was a Christian Scientist, so she followed what Mom taught her.
It must have been early in the stages of Mary Baker Eddy's movement.
She like her mom, read every day her lesson. The Bible and a designated part in the Science and
Health book by M B Eddy. It was a routine she did not want to miss, it set the tone of the day and she'd smile. It was a religion which worked for her.

One day she took me aside and showed me what appeared to be shingles. She was in great pain. My mother had them for almost a year. I knew what that was all about. In between the pangs she'd giggle and say that soon it will all be gone. It always works that way, was her comment.
I was in misery to watch her, I begged to take her to the doctor, she'd answer "No Way!"
Then I struck a bargain with her I said I give you 5 days till I come back and if they are not gone I will take you to see someone.

She thought it all very funny. She said :"My practitioner is "working" for me, it will be gone because it is not truly there" I had heard that song before and I had seen healings but I did not have the faith.
Upon my return she quickly dragged me in the bedroom the sores were almost dried up and no longer hurt her. She giggled. Oh! Yeh of little faith came to my mind and I had a hard time believing what I saw. The skin looked like my Mom's by the end of a year struggle and vitamins.

She delivered 8 children. 4 boys, 4 girls. By the time the last one came in 1933 she told her husband that the bed was now off limits. No more. She told me that she figured enough was enough.
Her husband was a house painter and it was said in Santa Cruz that when he finished a house  the paint job would last 50 years. In fact in 1969 I was shown a Victorian mansion which he had painted years ago.It looked like brand new paint. Problem was that he had severe asthma attacks and he scoffed at C.S. religion and did not get much help from the medical front either. The fumes of the paint would put him in bed for weeks. Much work he could not accomplish.

War came and she had 4 stars on her window, her 4 boys all gone to fight and kill. I believe they were all in the Pacific Theatre. One of them became a Marauder, their battles were horrible in Batan and all over the area. A miracle he made it home.He is now listed with the other Marauders on their site. The last son was short of his High School graduation by a few days when the Army told him to come and be ready for the Philippines and the General with the pipe. He had just turned 18. His big adventures outside the beachtown was to get a bus to San Francisco to see a Disney film. Now he was on a boat to islands.

That boy became my husband in 1969. His mother treated me with so much love and tenderness that I could never forget her. She told my husband that she had tried to see what faults I had and she could not find any. (I could have given her pointers). She accepted me like her own and also my two girls my husband had adopted. My girls were in heaven and always wanted to hug and kiss her , all their relatives were in Europe and they needed a "Grandma". She'd laugh and tell them "Get off me you silly girls". She did not like all this kissing business. She did the same to my husband and me.

In 1970 we decided to move to Spain for 5 years, get the girls away from the rapidly growing drug scene of the West. I was afraid to tell her. When we did, she just looked at us, not a whimper not a tear. She said:You got to do what you got to do, just write me often and I will too. She did!!

In Spain we had a baby boy and she was excited in her mail briefings. In  late 1974 we came home to live in the East coast quite by accident and we promised her that we would visit very soon.
I can't remember what year we finally made the cross country trip with our son Bobby.
I could hardly contain myself to show off this kid and our teen age girls. The girls ready to pounce on her.

She opened the screen door and said:"Well look who is here!"
Come in. She still looked the same, the turban was snow white on her white hair but the red apron just gave her a bit of color. Her skin was always like parchment, so fine and gorgeous even with a few wrinkles.
We rushed in and she turned to us with a big smile and said: Sit down a spell because I am watching my show and will talk to you later. The show was Lawrence Welk and his polkas.
We called the sisters and we crowded the small house like sardines in a tin.
We were back and she was still alive. All of us in tears and hugging and she said: "No reason to cry they are back, enjoy and don't have fights". (brothers and sisters do that sometimes).

Her house had been built in 1926 by her husband and his friends and family. 4 rooms later a bathroom added on a large piece of land.  Up the street a bit the Pacific Ocean, play ground for the children when Mom was tired. The house was made from wood, left overs from a church which burned and the family gathered all what was usable.
She loved the house, she had lady friends come and pick her up and visit with her.
I believe she passed on at age 87 , she never had medical help in her life. Never had an aspirin. Never saw a nurse or a doctor.

My husband  took over the spiritual teachings of his mother. He was and died a Christian Scientist.
Even when his memory was gone he would tell me :"You know I am a Christian Scientist". I smiled and said I know , dear. He took lessons from Kay Kyser (musician and big band leader) then in Chapel Hill N.C. Kay was also a very well known practitioner for Christian Scientist, he also was able to give lessons in the field. Something very much controlled by the Church.

Bob studied with him for some time until Kay felt that he was ready to do some healing work.
He did but for the family and if someone asked him.
When his mother was  near her end she was in a C.S. Home in San Francisco. His sister also was ill with cancer of the throat. He "worked" and "worked" hours and hours for their healing and it was not to be.
When his Mom left us he was devastated , the same with his sister. He could not function very well as he was a very emotional person. For 2 years he did not put a paint brush in his hands. He brooded.
He told me he just could not work. After 2 years my dander was up and I just told him that he had to do something, work in a grocery store or do things to help others in a physical way. We were quite broke by then and he had an agent who was begging for his work.
The thought of being a bag boy shook him a bit so he went back to painting gorgeous still lives, portraits etc...

My mother in law was an absolute angel to me. Maybe she is still watching over us and has her son back...maybe...maybe...wish I could believe it.

Now this is where I live:

Life tends to give you curves, no I am not thinking about the derriere sticking out ,I am thinking of curves in the road of life.

I was quite settled with AGAIN a small shop in a mall situation. I did not have to be there to sell and Sabrina working nearby would check it out and dust and send me orders:"keep making necklaces, Mom".

It was near perfect except that the winter months in these tourist places are very bare in sales. So I did get a bit upset when I paid rent every month and the returns were small.
The same happened to the landlord who owns the building he did not like to receive late rent payments or none at all and the lady in charge of the mall just did not have the capital to continue so she received a notice to close up shop forever and have everybody out in a few days.

Not a happy camper was I, Talking about campers, they are about to come in this month in droves, they come from the big city,yes, that one , New York , and all surroundings. Our camps are always full.
The parents shop to see what the North Carolinians make in crafts.

The girls and I, the grandson and his friends came together and in a couple of days my shop was no more. Where did it go? Boxes in the kitchen, my work/office room, the hall way, my bedroom .....
So this is a major move but my energy has to kick in.

I started Etsy 2 days ago. that is with my own designs in jewelry.
on Ebay I put the enormous stock I have in vintage jewelry , then I have 3 areas for the donations to my favorite thrift shops. I am hoping to have this all sorted out in 2 weeks. (????)

meanwhile you can find out that I have been working overtime by checking:
https://www.etsy.com/shop/peddler777

and I am jeannot777 on eBay

Back to the photographing and listing

I WANT, I WANT, I WANT.........

Judge Judy tells it like it is "I want to be 6 feet tall and 30 years old".

It is not going to happen she follows and tells the defendant to "cool it".

Made me think of all the "I want" I had as a kid.
First of all I would not have dared to tell my mom that I "wanted", I'd beat around the bush and say things like it would be nice if we had money and I could have roller skates. The return answer was a "Mom LOOK"! Then she said :"What you will skate on the cobblestone road outside?"
So I went to an overnight with a girl friend and she had skates and lived in the city with sidewalks.
Her feet were smaller than mine so I pretended I fit in one, curled my toes and we held hands and skates each with one skate. I was in heaven and had leg cramps. My friend, Liliane, was not that amused but I had my chance to wear A roller skate.

I wanted to be a ballerina, cousin had pink ballet slippers and I felt the tip of the toes to be very hard, the slippers were pink satin. I caressed them and held them she must have had a size 4 ,she was petite and French ancestry, I was tall and pure Flemish for hundreds of years, sturdy, folk.
So Mom and I would look in the windows of Lilly De Munter dancing school. It was right across from the castle of the Counts in Ghent. The little girls looked like butterflies , so gracious, so lovely in tutu's even during instruction time. Lily knew how to use her public by the windows. When she was teaching you always saw people lined in front of her house. The sidewalk was narrow and the tram came right up to the walkway (still does) .Mom would push people around and tell them we were there first to "look".

Knowing I would not go to that school nor have ballet slippers I decided to walk on my toes, it did not take me long to walk like an arrow, toes and feet straight and I walked around the house like a ballerina.

I did not know that we were poor, I thought we did not have money for certain things. My father was a police man and my Mom a "housewife". Mom, I am sure did not think of starting a career albeit she had a very good education. Educated in a convent boarding school, she knew how to embroider, (no knitting that was for peasants), play the violin, speak fluent French , Flemish and English. The best part of her education was that she could type and take dictation!!!

As I grew older I knew that the "I want" thoughts had to be stiffled, it was not a time when parents told their kids :"you can be whatever you want to be". At least I did not hear that in my house. I was already pidgeon holed in the category "get married, have babies, tolerate your husbands mistakes as long as he brings home the money, " Added by : live close to Mama (her words).

I wanted to be an airline hostess, I was as blind as a bat, you could not have glasses and contacts were not yet in our vocabulary.
I wanted to sing in a choir, joined one by accident and was told to just stand there and NOT sing but lip sing.Said the director: stand tall look pretty and be quiet!".
I thought I could sing, I still do but it is not in the right key, so what?

Fortunately I never wanted to be an actress, I could not remember poems in school and would rearrange the lines to my understanding of what a poem should sound like. Remembering a script seemed like a nightmare to me. I would rewrite it all when it would be time to be on stage. Not good for me. Not an "I want"

I wanted to play tennis, there it was again, no money for club fees, for white outfits for special shoes for a racket and lessons. When I started to work in the papermill office (with Mom) they built a tennis court of sorts. A guy who could not play would teach me. We were a sight I am sure chasing the ball to and fro, me in my "office" dress and he in his good suit. It was warm that day , very warm. I did not give up, I was going to play by golly and play well and then things started to get dark and I fainted. I was brought to the "infirmerie" and had a sun stroke. Mother said: You can't take the heat, this is not for you so stop it.

Office installed a rec room with ping pong tables. Now I had it this was for moi!
Needed: a paddle and balls. We always found extra ones of them and I started to play, the guys already knew how and were discouraging me. Mother decided we would swipe the paddles and balls at night learn at home and replace them in the morning. I did not know what she had in mind.
At home we had a large round table in the middle of the small kitchen.A fort of a table, sturdy, served as washing dishes on them, cut and cook vegetables on them, put out wash basin on to wash our faces and tons of other activities.

Mother  said we would play on here. Round? , Yes, said she ,stop complaining.
I can't remember what our "net" in the middle was but she invented something to show our bounderies.
We played for hours, Mom was heavy all her life but she was a lot more agile than I was and could outrun me. She was the athletic type, I was the wrought iron gate type in my movements (that is what the gymnastic teacher told me so I had to believe him) I did learn to be a good ping pong player and we even went into tournaments at the sister companies. One "I want" accomplished thanks to Mom.

Today my "I want" are over with. I learned a long time ago that if I wanted something in the material world then I would work for it and get it myself. I'd buy a "goodie" at an auction and turn to Bob and he'd smile and say:"I am so glad you got that". He never asked about the money, we were one unit so why bother to ask anything. Love that man!!! He would have been 87 today, June 8th. I do WANT HIM BACK
it is not going to happen so be content with all what you do have, Jeannot. Better health for one thing. Great kids and grandkids, a house, a garden not to forget my Bijou, Maltese, dream boat of a dog.
And an invention called a computer......wowsy....

A PUBLIC THANK YOU NOTE TO ALL MY INTERNET FRIEND AND MY OLD FRIENDS AND FAMILY

The last years with Bob were extremely difficult.
I had not time for visitors nor did I want them to come and see Bob the way he was.
Bob in return would probably have told them to get the.....out of his house...
he hated people coming in and at time even hated me here.

What kept me going on many days was emails.
I made friends with people I will never meet in person but they are like sisters to me.
Often I would write while the tears would flow down my face.
In the next ten minutes a letter would appear with a joke, a connection, a do not give up note, an I love you and want to hug you wish. I would read it over and over again and I would calm down and tell
myself that I was not alone.

When my grandson was diagnosed with a fast moving child cancer, Ewing Sarcoma, I was in total disbelief. It was followed with the certain knowledge that he was not going to be able to fight it.
Months I went to bed with that thought and in tears , I would wake up think of Zack and start to cry again.
I became depressed at all the different decisions which had to be made. Where to go for treatment? Zack wanted to stay in NC near his friends. So then the protocol was started and week after week treatments in cancer center or in hospital stays. Slowly I was beginning to see that he was still strong, he was still smiling even on  bad days. I was getting hope where despair had lodged, I stopped the crying as much as possible. Idid not ever want him to see me upset, we are very close. We just plain adore each other. I am his last grandparent , he lost 3 of them in just a few years. He does not want me to go very soon either.

On facebook I started to hear from my new FB friends. Emails, little noted here and there.
"He will be just fine" We are praying for him. The pages were filled with positive energy flowing out of the computer into my being. What would I have done without all of you????I may never hold your face to give you a smooch on your cheek but in my heart I see every one of you and I know how much life you gave Zack and his family and his Meme.
Now I am starting to cry again.....enough already...you old broad...accept the love from your friends, your family  and feel lucky.
Thank you very much, you know who you are.

UPS AND DOWNS EMOTIONS, AND MESSED UP OFFICE ...AGAIN

Last week end was one of joy and of complete exhaustion on my part.

Preparing for Zack's school graduation and then right after that a quick bite to eat and then travel in the dark in between the most gorgeous mountains around us. Stopping around 1 am in Virginia so we can be ready to see the ceremony at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg , 10 am in the morning.

Watching Zack walk the stage and seeing people all over the audience standing up for him plus his whole class of 2013 not to mention that we had a full row of Kensinger, Ladds, Fishers and all who are attached to these names. 17 of us showed up.

Zack was smiling so much that I am sure his face had to crack by late evening.
I can't imagine how much relief he felt. A year of hell behind him. The name Cancer erased from his medicine chart. He is a survivor, he is my hero, he did this with an enormous will power not to be a victim but a survivor.

Sabrina was our driver of choice since we were in her car. She does not like long distance driving but by golly she was not going to miss the graduation of her nephew Nicholas Kensinger Ladd.
After 4 years in North Carolina University in Asheville he graduated with what I do not remember, something to do with ecology (I think) then he went on to do 4 more years in Virginia Tech and came out a doctor in homeopathy. Now on his way for another 4 years in Wake Forrest Hospital and finishing as a psychiatrist.
This stuff is mind boggling for me, 12 years till you get out of High School then another 12 years. After awhile you must surely be tired of bringing apples to the teachers.

I am proud of these kids. My American Grandchildren. I was nearsighted when I came here and only thought of having American children , I did not even dare to think there were going to be a bunch more.

I wish my husband would have been here to see it.
Maybe he did.

All of this traveling made this girl have monster ankles and feet. Vertigo in the middle of the vestibule of the gorgeous building in VA Tech.The marble steps dancing in front of my eyes and they would not stand still.

Nicks brother had graduated here some years back. In fact he was in the building next door when the shooting took place. A week or so later he had his emotional graduation. I could not go as I was still primary care giver to old Bob. When I heard about the emotions at that graduation I am glad I had not been there.
It must have been unreal. This shooting made a big change in my grandson.

So no sooner am I home on Sunday, trying to rest on Monday and the next day I find myself in the Bijou shop which has to be empty in a few hours.
Lucky I sold the big gorgeous cabinets and gave the rest of furniture and lamps away.
Zack and friends did all that work.
Brie, Rhonda and I packed.
I wanted to be in charge so I knew which box would house what.
The girls just grouped things around me so I could sit a spell and work.
We were done in no time.
I felt that a mission had been accomplished and it was not until a few days later that it all hit me right between the eyes. Where does all this go now? I started to make corners for the different charitable agencies which have nice thrift shops , I still found a lot that was really nice merchandise so I started to put it on eBay
and decided today that I will post all with a 50% discount to St Jude and Sarcoma Foundation that way I help the cancer research too.
I have my work cut out. After all the vintage jewelry is gone I will continue with my designs and put on Etsy we shall see what will be a help . I do need to recoup some heavy dollars as I did buy a large stock. The disease of a retailer is that they like to have full wagons to sell from, I am not different.....and I tend to be a packrat....I am whispering that as I am not proud of that.

There are days I would like to live like the Shakers and have to hang my chair on the wall before I go to bed.

We had a friend , a bachelor, who was a buyer but did not have a shop. He lived on top of a Goodwill shop and he would be the first to enter the door when they opened, help had already lined up what he liked so his small apartment had wall to wall boxes. One day he gave it all to a charity auction and started with only his cookbooks and pots and pans. Apartment empty. He was elated. Two years later he visited us and I said: How is you apartment?Still empty? He had a diabolic laugh and said:"I think they will have another auction soon and I am their man to fill it and I will then again have an empty apartment."

I will let this lovely blog know if I ever achieve the empty nest......