Monday morning sun flower

Sunflower has come far in a month.  The more I consider, the more I believe it was Glinda by Sunflower last week. Sunflower is another three inches tall and has a lovely bud.

My dad’s army

I don’t know how it began, but around the supper table at 729 Moraine, three children piped up, "Dad, dad, tell us a story about Sarge".  When I had been a teenager for some time, and long after stories about Sarge weren’t requested, I realized my Dad was Sarge.  Curiously, I never asked him.

Sarge was an NCO in this man’s Army.  Dad joined the Army in September, 1924, days after turning 17 on August 28.  At that point he was bouncing between the Akron Children’s Home and Charity Latch School.  I can find no information on Charity Latch School, but it sounds like an ominous destination for a tall, smart and probably willful young man.  Dad was more than six feet, and certainly that tall as a teenager.  Like many young men, the Army was his alternative to having no future.

The 1930 Census had my dad in Ft. Benning, Georgia, the locus of his stories.  He loved the south and the heat; he hated the lingering effects of malaria.  Sadly,  I don't remember a lot from the stories we demanded almost every night.

Before the good stories, though, here are a couple of snippets.   They stole watermelons from farmer’s fields, punched their fist through to get the seedless core and left the trail of destruction behind them in the field.  I wonder how they saw so well in the dark.  Narrow escapes from buckshot were recounted.  Mom didn't like the watermelon stories.

In those days there was a soft drink bottler, or two, in every town. Cliquot Club and White Rock ginger ale.  Nichol Cola.  Barq’s root beer.  Nehi.  Orange Crush.  You could buy stock in any of them, pennies a share.  Coca Cola stock was the same crap shoot in 1924 as any other bottled drink company.  Apparently dad took a flyer on the stock market with his pay; his reminiscence was only the guys who bought Coca Cola got rich.

Dad was a communications officer.  A  telegraph and radio man.  His equipment was big, and went on maneuvers packed on mules.  He had a large brown discoloration on his shin that mom told me much later came from a mule kick.

Then there was the new recruit sent to find a left handed spanner.

But the story we hollered for over and over was the pie stretcher.

A new recruit was assigned to KP duty there in Company A.  When he worked his way through peeling all the potatoes Cook scratched his head for a bit for the next job and then realized he didn’t have enough pies for all the men for dinner.  “Son, I want you to go over to Company B and ask Cook to borrow the pie stretcher.”

Over at Company B, of course, the pie stretcher had just been lent to Company C, so the new fellow was sent over there to retrieve it.

The story of the adventures of this new recruit looking for the elusive pie stretcher always went on until mom said it was time to clear the table.

 early 1900s photo Pack mule of U.S. Army Signal Corps, used for carrying storage batteries for the field wireless telegraph  

I’m exhausted

When I picked up Laura and Charlotte last Monday, I had my camera, to see what had transpired in art class that day.  I liked the pictures and sent some to the art academy that evening. 

The Art Academy is staffed almost entirely by volunteers.  When my pictures showed up in the e-mail box, the director (part time) asked me to take more, for their advertising and brochures.  I can take pictures of the backs of kids as well as anyone, so what the heck.  In fact, that cute little picture of my man Will transporting his picture went right on the art academy’s Face Book page.

I’ve spent afternoons this past week ankle deep in arty youngsters contained in two spaces of a not overly large open plan building that also contains displays of art for sale.  Paintings, pottery, sculpture, glass. 

These ten youngsters ranged from maybe six (Will’s little brother) to nine and ten—my two.  I understand that until the Friday before the class started there were only four registered.  The master teacher, an artist in town, took them all, and she and the volunteers steered the ship all week.

Will deduced early on that I was taking pictures.  He spread the word.  Smile a lot for that lady; she likes to take your picture.  Children sensed those over the shoulder moments and turned right into the camera before my trigger finger triggered.  One little girl quit turning left with me as I circled behind her, stopped and whirled the other direction to be head on with her treasure.

I quit keeping the program straight.  The volunteers sorted out kids by skill, attention span and ability to keep themselves occupied.  The first day was the big circle/cycle painting and the coiled basket. 

There was a lot of drawing for a couple of days, and then little copper enamel circles at the end.  Oh, yes, and a solar system. My biggest impression was movement, voices, and volunteers keeping the flow working.  Children circulating.  Children talking.   

Did I mention customers.  In the generic sense, not actual.  Town has been overloaded with people of late, and they kept coming through, too.  Will’s little brother scooched himself out of the aisle frequently.  And graciously. 

My two, plus Caroline, go back next week for felting, tie-die and weaving.  That’s three.  I hear only four are registered.  We’ll see how many kids really are spread around come Monday afternoon.

Summer around town

I had to run errands after I dropped the girls at Art Camp, and I kept my camera out because I wanted some pictures on a beautiful summer afternoon.

These are categorical, not chronological.  Fortunately, I only cross the main street going to the Art Academy.  There are more bicycles, tourists and cars than roads and sidewalks to contain them.

I went to a gallery in town, Elements Gallery.  It's Steve and Deb Bures' gallery, widely known porcelain artists.

I like the lamp standard in the lot behind the gallery.

I had to drop books at the library, and knew I wanted a picture of their sidewalk lamps.  This is the only straight one.  I hope they can fund repairs on the rest.

Then, I wanted the lamps at the Village Hall on the way home.  Every Christmas the clerks put red cellophane in one and green in the other.

I saw someone by the sunflower

On my way to work this morning.

Was it Glinda?