When I was on FB, I was shocked to find Mom's vase being advertised on there. It was sold for $350.
BTW, Blogpost in its stupendous wisdom will not allow me to enlarge the photo of the vase, as something else appears and blocks it.
Vintage Fenice Art Pottery Vase Beige Brown w/ Grape Design Made in Italy As Is. It sold for $350. I believe the vase was her mom's, Gramma Lily's.
I'm enjoying my Acrylics Art Class, taught by Jane Behrends, at Abington Adult Evening School.
Last night was Open House. All classes met in one of the cafeterias and displayed their wares on tables.
One class was teaching Ukukele. What a delightful sound they made as a group.
The Watercolor Class featured very professional paintings.
And the Woodcarvers were wonderful. The teacher had never heard of Ralph Nelms, who, in his retirement years, I believe, drove a school bus, and was also a wood carver. His wood carvings were on display at the old Upper Moreland Library. Got in touch with him and wrote a story about him for the Philadelphia Inquirer.
He lived nearby on Division Avenue.
Many prizes were given away in our Acrylics Class. I was happy that my friend Bill Babb won First Prize for his many-colored Bison.
It was raining when I drove over to the high school, so I wrapped my two paintings in my red sweater and found my way to the brightly-lit noisy cafeteria.
There they were! My class. Really talented people.
I quickly named my two paintings. The winner I titled "Moonlight Phone" and the artist, I wrote, was Ruth Picasso.
This morning I learned that my story "The Napkin Thief" was published by the publication "Manifest Station."
Dunno the meaning of 'manifest station' - looked it up but couldn't figger it out. I thought maybe it's a phrase used by Tolstoy. That idea just popped into my head.
The Napkin Thief has been rejected numerous times, so I was happy it finally found a home.
Read it here.
Story mentions that when I worked at Maryknoll Missioners in Ossining, NY, I pilfered a beautiful wooden file box from the office and replaced it with a plastic one.
Here they are.
The endless painting of my bedroom and hall continues. I allus like to show before and after photos, so here goes.
Of course she remembered. When we lived on Glenmore Road in Shaker Heights, my parents had an artist come out and paint a mural on the dining room wall.
The five of us kids had never seen anything like it!!! Nor had Aunt Ethel and Uncle Dave. Or the next-door neighbor, The Turnocks.
I sent David Kime a thank-you note for a donation he made for the Compass. I wanted to write a new poem to include in the envelope.
I sat upstairs in my upstairs office and typed the words
MY NEW CARPET
but couldn't think of a darn thing to day.
I stood, walked around, and began.
Before posting it - it's 9:25 am - I asked Dan's permish.
BTW, was gonna do some grocery shopping early this morning and then pick up Scott from the train, but my car was FILLED with frost and I could NOT get it off the windows, so I went back inside.
MY NEW CARPET
Let’s go for an archeological dig
in my upstairs office
knowing that after I’m
gone someone else
will tear down the walls
and begin again. Remember
when this was Dan’s room?
That weed-smoking, hip-
hop singing, comic-book
reading son of mine blew
my mind with his devil
may care ways, a mind that
unbeknownst to his mom
created a torn-paper collage
of desires, this same boy
who called his nursery school
teacher Miss Bev, “the one with
the big pink lips.”
The new carpet covers all this
buries it, a glimmer of
memory swishing like
the vast room that once
housed the Travis Boys
I sit now, a small sparrow,
inhaling the new carpet smell
Olefin, twelve percent Nylon
it could be grass tickling
my bare feet
or sand from when my
Jewish ancestors lived in
tents with fragrant date
palms flopping in the
hot desert breeze
My rolling desk chair
slides across the nubby
white carpet sprinkled
with flowering pinks and blues
a Matisse of a carpet
with nary a crumb
nor an eyelash nor
a fingernail to mar it
but shall in time
bear the melodies
of Leonard Cohen
and my own queriesof who I am.