Rich Or Poor

What is a Rich Man?

By B.D. Adams

©2017

H

ow can you meet a rich man? I don’t know.

   One woman, I met a long time ago said, “You have to think rich.”

   “Think rich? Like, think about gold and diamonds?” I wanted to verify.

   “No, silly. It’s just a metaphor,” she said.

   I was impressed at her word usage.

   “Like going to polo matches or to art museums?” I asked.

   She gave me a quizzical expression. I understood.

   In my mind, how you live your life would determine if you were rich or not. Money and wealth can be some of it, but the way a life is carried out might be the biggest definition!

   Don’t get me wrong. Financial wealth is not to be sneezed at. That is freedom. That is the difference between hamburgers and lobsters (or any other analogy).

   I understand the idea of “Think Rich.” A woman should dress to impress with that idea. To look rich is as important as the thinking part. Wear silk or cashmere, Chanel or Ralph Lauren! Personally, I love the feel of silk.

   And wear only real jewels – real diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds. The choice of perfume is important, as well.

   Stay away from K-Mart or Walmart. Hey, I shop at those stores, but then I’m not trying to snag a rich man.

   Of course, honesty and communication would be a plus, no matter if the man is rich or not. Those qualities should be paramount!

   What kind of man do I have? I have a man who is honest, communicates very well, and truly loves me. In other words, I have a rich man!!

A Partridge

And a Partridge!

by

B.D. Adams

©2016

   As Danny walked home from school in Rhode Island, this cold, January afternoon, he was moderately anticipating his birthday in a few weeks. He would become sixteen. Girls were “sweet sixteen.” What were boys? Sour Sixteen? He chuckled a little to himself.

   He didn’t care what they called it as long as he got his mom’s birthday pie! Danny always asked for pie instead of cake. Her cakes were good, but he preferred pie – lemon meringue pie!

   As he walked along with these thoughts, he drooled somewhat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his coat sleeve and softly smiled.

   He always walked alone. His younger sisters would walk/ride with friends and his brothers were older and had jobs. Two worked with their father in the plastics business. The others had positions in different businesses. And, when not working, they were in the garage working on their Hot-Rods.

   That was what Danny wanted – to be allowed to work on the Hot-Rods! He had a natural desire for that.

   When Danny was about 50 yards from his porch, he noticed there was “something” on the porch. Something not usual. It was definitely not the stack of newspapers for his route.

   When he was on the porch, he saw it was a bird, a bird larger than a dove, but much smaller than a hawk. It was dead.

   Directly, he went inside to unload his books, took his coat off and warmed up a bit. As soon as he would enter the house, he could smell the tantalization aromas of what supper would be that evening. He smelled beef stew and fresh baked bread. His mom was in the kitchen, so he went to her.

   “Hi, Mom,” Danny greeted warmer than his hands were, “Did you know there was a dead bird on the porch?”

   “No. What kind is it?” she asked after she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I thought I heard something on the porch, but I paid it no mind. Thought it was ice coming off the roof.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek. His mom still treated him as if he was a

preschooler.

   He was glad she showed her love to him, but he was about to turn sixteen – he would be hanging more with his older brothers in the garage working on cars. They would now “allow” him more responsibility. That’s what he had prayed for every Sunday.  

   However, now he wanted to include his mom to check out this bird mystery!

   “I don’t know. I came in to put up my books,” he admitted.

   His mom grabbed her sweater as she followed him to the front door. Danny went out without a coat or sweater. He wanted to be tougher than his mother.

   Once outside, by the bird, Danny knelt beside and cautiously turned it over. Mother and son investigated the very still and frozen bird. The bird was definitely dead.

   “What do you think, Danny?” she queried.

   He pulled open a wing and then said, “I think it’s a partridge, the quail family.” He had self-studied some about bird species or breeds of mammals. He was a hunter, but not an avid hunter.

   “I’ll put it in a box and set it on the back porch. Ask Dad about it later.”

   It didn’t take long, the bird was boxed and on the enclosed back porch. His mom went back to the kitchen.

   Now, Danny had to hustle with his Paper-Route. He needed to get done before it got too dark!

===

   After supper, Danny told his dad what was on the back porch.

   His brother Bob, more curious than the other siblings, heard what Danny said to their dad. Dad followed his sons to see what was in the box on the back porch. They all knelt to the floor to better see inside the box.

   Again with care, Danny showed the deceased bird.

   All Bob said was, “Wow. Dead on the porch?”

   “You want Mom to cook it?” his dad asked.

   “Not big enough to eat. Do you think it’s a partridge? That’s what I think it is,” Danny offered.

   His father nodded his head and confirmed, “That’s what it is.”

   Danny was so pleased that he was correct. He felt even more adult. They went back inside.

   Bob had seen the mystery and went somewhere else. Dad and Danny were back in the kitchen, so Dad inquired, “Well, Danny … what do you want to do with your partridge?”

   His partridge? He really didn’t think of it as ‘his.’ “I dunno. What should I do? Bury it?”

   His father now chuckled slightly and suggested, “You could have it stuffed. We could put it on a wall. Probably in your room. Mom wouldn’t allow it in the living room or the parlor.” He chuckled a little more at this thought.

   Danny visualized the stuffed partridge on the wall in his room. It made him a little queasy – he remembered the movie, “Psycho.” Norman stuffed birds, which were seen in the little parlor of the motel’s office. Those thoughts didn’t last very long. Actually, he felt the poor bird deserved a nice, warm resting place.

   “Thanks, Dad. I’d like that idea,” Danny commented with his smile.

===

   Within a day or so, Danny’s dad found a taxidermist not far from them. So, on Saturday morning, Danny and his father went to this business.

   This was the first time Danny had to talk serious with a businessman. He wasn’t comfortable with what he should say or do. Thank goodness his dad was with him.

   “Yes, sir. I’m Raymond Tourigny and this is my son Daniel.” His father understood that this was new for his son. He treated his son with respect. After all, he called him Daniel, not Danny. “Go on … tell him what you want.”

   Nervously, Danny related, “I found this partridge dead on our porch. I didn’t shoot it – no bullet hole,” Danny explained. “Can you make it look alive, natural?” He frowned slightly not sure of the correct wording.

   The taxidermist gave an understanding smile and nodded as he listen to Danny. The fellow went to a bin of wood pieces and took one out and said, “Would this look all right to mount the partridge on?” He handed the piece so the younger Tourigny could agree or disagree.

   Danny took it – felt the angular cut – looked at it in every angle. And then, approved.

   Then, his father leaned to Danny and suggested, “Ask what the fee would be.”

   Danny knew about wood, but had no idea about money except how to collect the money from his Paper-Route customers. So, he asked.

   “Well, Daniel, you like the mounting wood piece. Hmmm.” The fellow rubbed his chin, and then asked, “Is anything important coming up for you?”

   Danny hesitated, but answered, “My birthday’s in a week.”

   “Well, how about $10. Is that too much?” The fellow smiled very widely to Danny.

   Danny looked to his father, who gave his approval. His first business transaction was a success!!

                When Daniel traveled overseas with the Air Force, the partridge was left in his father’s capable hands. Once back in The States, it has been in his homes.

Including where it resides now with us.

New Winter Article

Winter Article - 2015

by

B.D. Adams ©2015

 

            Ah, winter. Pristine, driven snow that washes the landscape with clean white! It takes one’s breath away, the sheer beauty!

            Hog-wash!! It’s fricking cold!!

            I actually like the cold after a wicked hot summer. I love the beauty of the falling snow. Very true. However, the last two winters here in New Hampshire have been anything but pleasant.

            The temperatures for the last two years, I believe, have been in competition with Siberia! To date, snow has built up over six feet where we live. There are places that have had more of that “white stuff.” Our fake, plywood moose stands on the incline of our backyard and has snow to his belly. Morris the Moose stands over 5’. That is how I’ve measured the amount of snow out my kitchen window. Plus, there is supposed to be a new batch this week! Bummer.

            I was born in Texas and lived there until November 1968. From Ft. Worth, I relocated to Ohio to attend OSU. Before then, I had never experienced much snow. Some icy weather, but not much snow.

            Then, I had a rude awakening about the reality of snow in Ohio. Two days before my 19^th Birthday, it snowed two feet! I truly thought I’d die. How could people survive that amount of snow?! And, as I was informed, I needed to prepare myself for even more snow. Sheesh!!

            Well, I managed to tough out that first winter, trudging through the snow on the OSU campus. I wasn’t wild about it, but I was definitely educated about this new season to my still young mind. Mind over matter was another lesson – you dealt with the cold and snow to understand why people stayed in the northern situations.

            For my reasons, I did move back to Texas at one point. It was March and warm in Texas. Let’s face it, I was a Texan. I got a job, got an apartment and decided to stay. My mother was elated that I was “home.” My brother and I got to know each other again, which was kind of nice.

            Because I had lived in a different state (and, I don’t mean the “state of confusion”), my volatile brain had expanded beyond the state of Texas. Weather or attitudes. I went back to Ohio – cold weather and all.

            I would go to Texas, but only to visit.

            Because I so enjoyed the colder climate for winters, I have lived in Brooklyn, NY, Detroit, MI, Alexander, VA and Zweibruecken, Germany (West Germany, at the time), as well as Columbus, OH.

Now, I reside in Alton Bay, NH, since 2007 (the time in NH since 2002). Which is probably even colder than Germany at times! Germany always seemed colder because they measure in Celsius. I believe that Mother Nature has decided to remind all the Global Warming advocates that there is still a lot of Global Cold. She can be very persuasive in her methods – in my humble opinion.

 

 

 

 

Marge & Esther

Marge and Esther

by

B.D. Adams

©2014

            Saturday afternoon. It was a hot, but balmy, Saturday afternoon. Not much activity. Even the birds and the chipmunks were taking a break from flying and scampering.

Marge so enjoyed gardening with the earth’s aromas, to make a bed ready for the next

season. Tilling and weeding and planting in her minor patches. After a few hours of her hot work, she decided to park on her neat, well-swept porch, to sit in her old rickety rocking chair and slowly rock.

She had made lemonade earlier, so ice-cubes were added to the glass pitcher. The pitcher sat with some other glasses on the matching round wicker table between the two porch chairs. You never knew who might stop by. She always liked these days in the late summer. Today, more than hinted that Fall would be welcomed after the Dog Days of summer!

            Her neighborhood was that of vintage residents. She always liked that definition over “where old folks lived.” Vintage, as a good wine! No wine today ... just good lemonade.

Occasionally, grandkids would be visiting at one neighbor’s or another so she’d watch them play. Right now, the only sounds were the buzz of dancing honey bees and the whispered flutter of the leaves. After 73 years of these days, she just sipped her lemonade and watched the warm breeze stir the leaves on her old Mimosa tree and the Cone Flowers and Daisies by her porch. To Marge, this was heaven. She smiled.

In the summer, she felt more comfortable to wear her cotton dresses or skirts of midi-length with sneakers, with or without socks. Her wide-brimmed straw hat completed her summer attire for gardening. Right now, the hat and gloves rested easily on the floor beside her.

Marge laid her head back, closed her eyes and fanned herself with her dish towel as she rocked.

            “Yoohoo,” a sung greeting was said to Marge from the near sidewalk. She opened her eyes and smiled pleasantly to Esther, a vintage friend.

            “Esther ... what are doing out in this heat?”

            “Visiting you, you silly goose,” she said with her happy grin. Esther didn’t wait for an invitation. She went right up on to Marge’s porch, took up the other wicker backed chair with the comfy pillow seat.

            Marge immediately poured lemonade for her friend. The ice cubes chimed against the pitcher. Marge smiled to her.

            Esther took the glass and sipped a few large sips, and then sighed as she said, “Gonna be a hot one.” She continued to grin with a wink.

            Marge gave a wide grin herself and said, “Hope little Sheba comes home.” ¹

            Both women began to laugh loudly with mirth!!

            “Burt Lancaster was soooo handsome in that movie,” Esther said dreamy-eyed. Their laugh wound down. “That was the prettiest I can remember seeing Shirley Booth. Loved her as Hazel ²”

            Marge agreed and poured herself more of the cool drink.

            Both women loved going to the movies. They went together many times, especially to the Theater Deja-vu that showed the vintage movies. Casablanca³ was their favorite!

            Esther always dressed more stylish than Marge. She was trimmer than Marge and would

wear beige linen slacks and silk blouses in the summer. The blouses would be in pastel shades with short sleeves and very clean canvas shoes. Today, her color choice was teal. Her hair was salt and pepper, becoming more salty, in a gathered ponytail off her neck. Marge’s hair was snow white and kept very short.

            “Did you go to church?” Marge asked.

            “Not today.”

            “Oh? Why not?”

            Esther grimaced slightly and said, “Marge ... I don’t go all the time. And, when have you ever been concerned with my religious habits?”

            Then, Marge just gave her a quizzical expression as she leaned more forward to look up to the sky beyond the porch roof.

            “What in the world are you doing?” Esther queried. She tried to see what Marge was trying to see.

            “Just looking to see if my house will get hit by a thunderbolt!” Marge grinned widely.

            Esther playfully jostled Marge’s shoulder. They were good friends and enjoyed their fun.

            “Have you seen Laura today?” Marge inquired.

            Esther shook her head, but then informed, “Saw Madeline and Chester as they sat in the park on the bench.”

            “The same bench?”

            “The same bench.”

            “Hope nothin’ happens to that bench. They would be at a lost,” Marge mused.

            The women gently chuckled and continued to sip.

            “Look ... look over there,” Esther pointed out. “Isn’t that Donald Hopkins?” She took out her glasses from her purse to better see. She adjusted the glasses and affirmed, “Yep ... that’s Donald. He has seemed to be in better spirits since his Elizabeth’s passing.”

            Marge had been divorced for many years and Esther was a widow of many years, as well. In any case, they were without male companions. Marge didn’t care, but Esther always scoped who she could.

            Esther got all a twitter because Donald crossed the street at the corner and headed to Marge’s house. Esther smiled so widely, Marge was afraid she’d rip the corners of her mouth! He came right to the porch with his happy wide smile that made his mustache seem more elongated. It wasn’t waxed today, but it was freshly trimmed. Even with a balding pate, he was an attractive man for his years!

            “Good afternoon, ladies,” he greeted. He had on taupe, twilled slacks. His short-sleeved, light yellow, cotton button shirt did look cool. His casual Dockside shoes looked comfortable. As he got to the porch, he motioned like he wanted sit on the porch near them. The sun was at the other side of the house, so the porch was shaded.

            Esther took the initiative to answer his hand motion with one of her fluttering eye smiles. It was Marge’s porch, but Esther had had her eye on Donald ever since his wife died.

            “Sure is hot today,” Donald mused. He sat near to Esther’s right.

            “Yes, it is, Donald,” Esther replied. She shyly returned her glasses to her purse. Marge had poured a glass of lemonade to hand to him, but Esther took the glass to hand to the new arrival. “Marge and I were just talking about that fact.”

            Donald took the glass from Esther and gulped a few sips. He dabbed his mouth with the back of his hand like a farm worker might in the field.

            “So, what are your plans for this evening, ladies?” Donald queried.

            “Nothing special, Donald. What are your plans?” Esther put on a face that Marge was not there, that Donald only spoke to her. Her eyes fluttered and enticed as best as she could manage.

            “Oh ... I’m always open to suggestions,” he said with his smile.

            Marge had heard this line before by this vintage fellow. He never planned anything. He always looked for that better suggestion from a better companion! To her, he had hinted twice before that they should go to Theater Deja-vu and the ice cream afterwards. His suggestion was only that ... a suggestion. Not a date. She had dressed and waited on her porch for Donald to arrive. He never showed. Marge discovered quite accidently that he did make a “date” that evening with another woman, someone Marge didn’t know.

She’s my neighbor’s aunt. I had to be polite, he informed.

            The other time, he said he had just flat out forgotten that he made any “suggestion.” Donald never apologized. He did bring ice cream to her porch once, to make amends.

            Marge, don’t you forget at times? We’ll go to the movies ... don’t know when, he gave his big smile!

            She knew deep down it would never happen. She was never bothered by his lack of decorum. Her frame of mind was not to worry about something so petty. She never took him seriously again.

            “I don’t know about Marge, but I’ve a mind to go to the concert on the museum’s lawn. A string quartet ... lovely music. Do you like classical music, Donald?”

            He smiled his trademark smile and said, “Yes, ma’am. I sure do.”

            Esther was beside herself! She wanted to continue about her favorite composers, but Donald changed directions. “Many folks milling around?”

            “Not at present, Donald,” Marge calmly said.

Esther shot a disgusted glanced to her friend that said, “Butt out!!” Marge just gave a small grimaced mouth and kept her trap shut.

With her sweet smile and as she touched Donald’s shoulder, she said, “Donald .....”

However, Donald had casually looked back to the by-street and spied someone.

“Well, look who’s walking toward us,” he smiled. “You ladies know Mary Beth Jorden ... don’t you? The other woman is her cousin from Connecticut.”

Of course, they knew M.B. Jorden! One of the wealthiest women in town, a bit younger than Marge and Esther! She was a divorcée of not long.

“Mary Beth!” Donald called to her with a polite wave. When she looked to them, she recognized Donald and gave a pleasant smile. To Esther, he commented quietly, “I promised Mary Beth I’d show her cousin around.” He stood on the walk and pleasantly, briefly took Mary Beth’s hand. She smiled politely to Donald. Both women were dressed fashion chic for the hot weather: capris pants, halter tops, Italian sandals. M.B.’s tan was accentuated by the sparse clothing, the cousin was a bit paler.

“This is Connie, my cousin,” Mary Beth introduced, and then continued to her cousin, “This is Marge and Esther. This is Marge’s home. And, this is Donald Hopkins.”

Connie gave Donald a coy smile with a mild blush.

Donald took Connie’s hand in both of his and sweetly said, “I understand you hail from Connecticut. I have loved my visits to New England.”

“Perhaps, you might visit again,” Connie suggested.

“We’re going to the museum for the concert ... Strings of Summer. Are you two going?” M. B. inquired.

“Uh ... they have other plans. I’ve already asked,” Donald said hurriedly. Donald had almost hog-tied Connie with her arm through his and he began to charge away from Marge and Esther. M. B. was taken aback by Donald’s abrupt reaction. The three departed!

“Well, I never,” Esther huffed towards Donald. She just sipped more lemonade to stay tear-free. Both women were quiet.

            Marge wanted to go to her good friend to hug her, to lessen the hurt she now felt. They had never talked about Donald, but now they both had suffered his rudeness. Marge only hoped Esther would weather this as she had weathered other aspects in her life.

“Looks like it’s gonna be a hot one,” Marge calmly commented.

Esther smiled thoughtfully and said, “Sure hope little Sheba comes home.” She just looked into her glass.

“What’s playing today,” Marge asked.

“To Have and Have Not.” ⁴

“I’ll change my shoes and get my purse.”

Family can be ignored, but good friends are hard to live without!

¹ Come Back, Little Sheba – movie 1952 – Paramount Pictures – Burt Lancaster and Shirley Booth

² Hazel – TV Sitcom 1961 to 1966 – NBC, b&w – CBS, color – Shirley Booth

³ Casablanca - movie 1944 Warner Bros. – Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman

⁴ To Have and Have Not – movie 1944 – Warner Bros. - Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall  

Daniel's Pride

Daniel’s Pride

by

B.D. Adams ©

            Yes ... ‘tis Spring!! Flowers and trees are beginning to poke their little heads above their slumbering locations. After this Winter, everyone and thing has had enough of the brutal cold and ice! Now, however, we can kick back and get those metal (or fiberglass) vehicles ready to cruise or tear-out onto the highways!! Ah, what a melodious sound!!

            Many car enthusiast use the winters to work on their cars. Many have to wait until the warmer days, especially when they’re painting. That has been the situation with Daniel (i.e. Dan & Brandy).

            The biggest debate between me and Daniel for a few years had been what-color(s)-to-paint his 1937 Plymouth Sedan with the fewest nasty looks or other punishments between us. What color would we enjoy, or cringe from each time we looked in the garage?

Uh-huh ... uh-huh ... I see that others have had that dilemma in the past, as well! Last summer, we finally agreed (we used a spray gun) on the colors and we were so happy! We were able put away our boxing gloves.

Originally, we were just going to paint the outside, but then Daniel got the bug to do a full-blown make-over, which meant the interior, to boot! That idea more than appealed to yours truly. I knew how good Daniel was with the detail work! I approved.

Well, the gloves came out again. Not horribly, but enough. Again, colors were the biggest questions. At one point, Daniel wanted all black. That didn’t fly with me. Then, he brought up a light purple shade. I suggested making it a two-tone, like the body. He wanted to go way into debt to get an entire interior kit from a magazine. That definitely got a “nay” vote from moi. After I pointed out our limited funds, he agreed to do what he could do on his own.

I mean, this is his car, the love of his life! It would mean so much more to behoove us to do the work ourselves. Plus, we agreed on the important items. Our decisions have been a labor of love for a car that’s older than either of us.

Now, the body gleams with its paint, the definite, particular stripe encircles/horseshoes the body, the interior styles in a way most people might not imagine ... the new look is all about love!!! And, individuality!!

When a man and a woman can put their talents together on an object that can only be described as a Love Machine, well ... life is good!!

Oh, yes ... the photo below is the Before of the new paint. The After will be unveiled in another month or so ... maybe.  Probably after we return from Daniel’s son’s wedding in California.

           Until then ... keep on Cruisin’!!!!

B.D. Adams 2011

Article - What Makes an Artist

What Makes an Artist

By

B.D. Adams

2014©

            I’ve written a few articles for “The Hanging Image,” a webpage by a good friend ... http://hangingimage.com ... and, I hope to write some more for him. However, just so many articles ... just so many words ... can be written to entice you, the reader, to purchase art for wall decorating, be it paintings or photography. My articles have been written for the webpage, but not many folks seem to A) see the items I have written in the past, or B) have little interest in art or artists! A sad thought.

            Will I give up on my previous endeavors to encourage art? Not on your life! These articles will be my attempt to talk, invite interest in art and photography as art!

            However, I do feel a need to expand on the creators of art ... what makes an artist! Let’s touch on the actual, human side of art. What entices one to pick up a brush and palette with delightful colors to put paint to canvas, or to discover that old, dusty camera from that cluttered closet, to see if it still worked!

            I think that I can divulge the secret that visual artists are created by what they see ... mostly by the desire to be artists!

            I was so inspired, motivated by many artists. However, I was also very frustrated, intimated by these men and women, at times. To be good, one needs to overcome the fear of what to do next; continue to try or give up. I never gave up! 

            For this article, I feel the need to offer a small eulogy for one of my admirations. I was a painter when I first learned of Andrew Wyeth. His art was so thoughtful ... so moving ... so understated. The pieces with people were so “real,” as they depict the casual life of country folks. I was so lucky, when I resided in New York City, that I saw his Helga Paintings at MOMA. His still-lifes and his nature images showed his appreciation of what he saw. Unfortunately, Mr. Wyeth passed away in January 16, 2009 at the age of ninety-one. The world has enjoyed his talent and will continue to enjoy his work because we were blessed with his longevity!

            Was my artwork as good as his?  Well ... I always wanted it to be. However, dear reader, we always look to the pie-in-the-sky for our acceptance.

            I’ve wondered, from time to time, what would have happened with Andrew Wyeth, Pablo Picasso or even Ansel Adams, if they were discouraged from pursuing their art? What if all they heard were the nay-sayers about their art pursuits!

            “Andy!  Whatcha doin’? Makin’ a new drawing? Come on ... play ball with us,” a so-called friend might tease. 

            “What’re ya gonna do for money, Pablo? Ya really think the tourists will buy your stuff?”

            “Hey, Ansel ... why d’you need such a big camera? Anyone can take a snap-shot!”

            Alas, dear readers, this has been the turmoil that all artists endure!!  Look at Vincent Van Gogh, for goodness sake! The poor man was so tormented (and, not only by his mental problem) by the so-called critics! He sliced his right ear from his head to make his statement!  Granted, his method was a bit extreme, but I think you get the point.

           There are many folks ... young or old ... who have thought about trying, who wanted to try, who actually did try ... but, who had been discouraged by “well-meaning” friends and family. It is difficult for the “well-meaning” types, who cannot see beyond the end of their noses, to keep their noses out of the artists’ ... well, you know! To me, we are all artists!!

            It’s only the dedicated artists who shove all negative thoughts to a hidden spot, so they can pursue only what’s important. Their art!

            I am encouraging you to read about artists where you can! Read the morsels that are published in magazines, on websites or books. Artists come in all shapes and forms! The only thing that separates any of us is merely not trying to “see” what’s in front of us!

            As I have hinted in past articles, I too am an artist ... a photographer. When I die and they prepare my body for burial, stop-bath will be what they’ll find in my veins. Sorry ... I digress. My creative life has been full of the ups and downs, all the nay-sayers, that all artists have endured. My career began many, many years ago, when women were not encouraged to succeed in a man’s work. But, I pursued, made my mark!

            In my case, my mother was my biggest nay-sayer! We’d talk on the phone (she lived in Texas and I was in Ohio) and she’d always get around to her mother’s question ... her mother’s nag;  “Oh, honey ... when are you going to get a “real” job? Like as a key-punch operator!” That’s when I’d say good-by and hang up on her. (Yes ... this example will date me.)

            However, once I proved to her that I could make money and not starve and even fly down to Texas for Christmas, she lightened up.  I was even hired to photograph my brother’s wedding (and ... that’s another story)!  Every artist has their stories.

            Writing has become a new art-form for me.  I still create with my cameras, but this is new, and new is a good thing. My next article about photography as an art-form, will be submitted next month.

            Until the next article, take care!  Spring is on its way!!!!