Author Archives: Susan

Catholic School in the 1950’s

Every time I think, I’ve written my last memoir about my experiences as a young girl who was raised as a Catholic and attended twelve years of Catholic School. I remember yet another experience that has lain dormant deep down in my oldest memories.

Catholic School Classroom in the 1950s

In fact, almost every experience I had up until my eighteenth birthday affected my relationship with the Catholic Church and the nuns that taught me everything from basic math to calculus, how to read and write English Grammar properly, and how to read Latin and speak French. I still retain the ability to read French after almost fifty years. Thanks to Sister Renard, my French teacher, for three years. And more than any other lesson I learned was self-control and knowing when to keep my mouth shut. And keeping a secret is not necessarily a lie.

I come from a fairly large Catholic family. I had five sisters and one brother. My twin sister and I were the youngest. We were born in 1951. And my middle sisters were seven and eight years older than me, and my twin. My older sister Jean was thirteen years older than us, and my brother was nineteen years older. Both my older brother and my sister Jean have passed away.

My next two older sisters both attended Catholic School through high school. I do not know how their Catholic School education affected them, but I do know how it affected me. Of course, since my older sisters and my twin, and I attended school, we were all affected and part of the baby boomer generation. After World War II there was a tremendous increase in the number of babies born after World War II when American soldiers returned from serving time in the military during WWII and the Korean War.

Elementary Catholic School classrooms were overcrowded. In first grade, I didn’t have my own seat. At first, I sat on the windowsill, and later I got my own desk and chair, but it was parked directly behind a large post that supported the ceiling. And I could only see the blackboard if I stuck my head out on either side of the pole. I could hear everything alright, but I could see anything but that pole, including what was written on the blackboard. At first, I would raise my hand to get the attention Sister John Michael’s attention, but she either couldn’t see my arm flagging her down, or she was intentionally ignoring me.

I was a quiet kid and tried to keep my head down and out of trouble for the most part. Really, the last thing you wanted to do was gain the attention of any of the nuns during your tenure as a Catholic School student. Because if you did, you would get your name written on the blackboard, and you would have to stay after school and do chores or write things like I will not talk during class one hundred times. I used to go down the page and write each word one hundred times and then do the same for all the other words until they were written one hundred times.

During my elementary school years, I had two lay teachers, Miss Norris and Mr. McElliot, my fifth-grade teacher. It just so happened that Mr. McElliot knew my older brother and had worked with him at the Maple Shade Post Office. And he told me that my brother was one of the smartest people he ever met. I had always been extremely proud of my brother, Harry, because he was the first person in my family to go to college and earned his Ph.D. in Psychology.

Later, my sister, Elizabeth, went to college. She earned a nursing degree and also taught high school. I went to college when I was thirty-six to the Tyler School of Art in Pennsylvania and earned two degrees in art by the time I was forty. My English teachers at Tyler always asked me if I attended Catholic School because of my grasp of grammar and literature. And the ability to write a coherent sentence and spell correctly.

Aside from learning reading, writing, and Arithmetic in Catholic School, I learned self-control. Because if you didn’t know how to sit quietly in the classroom, you would get your hand whacked with a wooden ruler with a metal edge. Over the eight years I attended Catholic grade school, I had my head bashed into the blackboard multiple times. Usually, it was for passing notes to other students. But, more often, it was because I had a difficult time doing math, especially the higher maths like geometry and algebra. You will be happy to know that eventually, I did finally grasps math. But, it didn’t occur until much later when as an adult, I decided to volunteer to teach basic skills to adults who didn’t graduate from high school and were trying to earn their GED. I purchased a math book and then went through it from beginning to end and finally taught myself math. And I was then able to teach that skill to my GED students. But, I really owed the nuns for their perseverance in trying to teach me math for twelve years.

When I look back at the twelve years that I spent in Catholic School, the year that stands out the most for me was fourth grade when Sister Joseph Catherine was my teacher. My fourth-grade class was held in the basement of the Catholic School on the stage. Because the school was so overpopulated by students that they ran out of classrooms. Sister Joseph Catherine was petite. In fact, she was only a few inches taller than I was at nine years old. But within her small stature was hiding a whole lot of repressed rage and anger. I have no idea what she was so mad about, but it was clear to everyone that had ears and eyes in their head that they better not cross her. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.

But for no reason that I was ever able to discern Sister Joseph, Catherine picked me to be her constant companion and slave. Everywhere she went, I went. And I had to carry her books and whatever else she needed to be transported from one place to another. In class, it behooved everyone to do as she told, or there would be hell to pay. I can not remember what I did in her classroom to aggravate her, but one day she called me up to the blackboard to solve a math problem. As I have mentioned, math was not a strong point for me. So, Sister Joseph Catherine wrote a problem on the blackboard with chalk and called me up to solve it.

Of course, my mind went completely blank, one reason being my difficulty with math and, secondly, because she was standing behind me berating me at the top of her voice about how stupid I was. This did not encourage me. I just stood there dumbfounded, my mind blank, shaking like a leaf. She came up behind me and banged my head repeatedly into the blackboard in front of the whole class. Who for once was completely silent. Not a word was said. I don’t remember how the incident ended. I did know that my days of being her slave were over. And I refused to follow her around and carry her stuff. When I went home, I told my parents what happened, and my mother said she was going to go and talk to Sister Joseph Catherine. And I begged her now to because I thought it would get worse for me in the classroom.

Looking back on it, I think I should have let my mother have a word with her, a harsh word. Maybe it would have prevented all of Sister Joseph Catherine from physically attacking any future students. Fortunately, the following year in the fifth grade, I had Mr. McElliot as a teacher. And he was a great teacher that made learning fun and interesting. He encouraged us to ask questions and have opinions. Needless to say, I did much better in his class. And he encouraged us to go to the library and read and learn about the world. And that is exactly what I did for the rest of my life.

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THE COLLEGE GRIND

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Sara had always considered herself to be an optimist. She looks forward to each new day as a new beginning. And an opportunity to do better than she had the day before. She is one of those people who always see the light at the end of the tunnel. Each morning when she wakes up, she looks out her bedroom window, and rain or shine, she is happy that she has the opportunity to begin a new day.

Princeton University

When Sara hits any roadblocks in her life, she finds a way around it and believes she was better for having overcome them. Her confidence in herself grew and grew. She had always been an independent person who prided herself on her ability to create her own success and not rely on other people.

Sara is a person with a big heart, and she is always willing to lend a helping hand to anyone who needs it. Sara has always set goals for herself from the time she was a little girl playing hopscotch on the sidewalk in front of her house. She wouldn’t give up until she hopped all the way to the end of the hopscotch and back again without touching her other foot to the ground. And when she succeeded, she would smile from ear to ear and jump up and down. Her girlfriends always laughed at her for getting so excited over a game of hopscotch.

As Sara grew up, she set higher and higher goals for herself. She always wanted to have the highest grade point average in her class, and she was the president of her class all through eight years of grade school and four years of high school. She was the valedictorian of her senior year in high school at graduation. And she was accepted into every college she applied to during her senior year. She decided that she would only attend the best university in the USA. She was accepted at Harvard, Princeton, and Yale. She decided on Princeton University since it had the highest rating of all the universities in America. She was offered a full scholarship.

Girls Dorm Princeton Univesity

Sara had a lot of girlfriends but hadn’t dated at all during high school since she felt her education was more important than dating, which she considered to be a waste of her time. She had no plans to get married any time soon, if at all. Her parents had divorced when she was in the third grade, and her memories of the time before that were of her parents arguing and disagreeing with each other all day and night. She had no desire to replicate that experience in her own life.

Her Freshman year at Princeton was challenging, to say the least. Princeton had a beautiful campus, and only the cream of the crop was accepted as students who would be expected to direct all their energy and time to their studies which were a preparation for their future. Sara had planned on her future being driven by her desire to make new strides in Biological Research. Sara believed that biological research helps us understand all of the living world and its many species, including humans, to function and evolve. And ultimately will advance improvements in medicine, biotechnology, and many other areas of biology, which will improve the quality of life for all the life on our planet.

During her third year at the university, Sara had to declare her major. This was always a stressful time for students since it was not unknown for students to be conflicted by their many interests, and picking one major was a kind of litmus test to see which students had evolved enough in their years at the university to make adult decisions about their future lives. And how they wanted to use that time. Sara had always known what she wanted to do with her life. But still, because of the high pressure, Sara found herself questioning her choice to the point that she was having difficulty falling asleep in the few hours of sleep that she allowed herself. And in addition, she found her appetite had decreased to the point that between little rest and poor appetite, she had lost considerable weight and energy.

Finally, one of her friends at the university stopped by Sara’s door room and ask if she could take a few minutes out of her studies for a short discussion. Sara looked at her friend and thought that she must be having some boyfriend issues. Sara had no experience with boyfriends since she didn’t date and had no desire to waste her time on the drama of young love that she saw all around her at the university. When her friend, Miriam, ask her if she could come in, Sara sighed and said, “Well, just for a little while. I just started doing the research on my thesis, Miriam.”

“Well, you are probably not going to like what I have to say, but here goes. I and the rest of your friends are concerned with your well-being. You don’t get much sleep, you never do anything that is fun or relaxing, but most of all, you are concerned about how much weight you have lost. Are you eating at all? Have you developed some sort of eating disorder? You know that the university has people that can address issues like this. What do you say? How about we go set up an appointment and see if there is a real problem or you just not getting enough sleep and not eating regularly?”

“What, I don’t have an eating disorder; I’m busy. I have a lot of work and research to do in a short amount of time. I supposed I do forget to eat occasionally. But it’s not a big deal. I’m young, and I will rebound, and in time I will finish my studies and move on to the real working world. Which I’m sure will be even more challenging than going to university, don’t you think?”

Miriam responded,” Could you please just stand up next to me and look in the mirror? If you remember, we were both about the same weight and height when we arrived here on campus three years ago. So, would you please come to look in the mirror?”

Sara hemmed and hawed for a moment, and then she said, “Alright, but this better not take too long. I have a great deal of work to do. And then she walked over to the mirror and stood next to Miriam, and looked into the mirror. They both looked in the mirror and then at each other. And Miriam said, “Well, how do you think you look?”

“Well, if I were, to be honest, I’d have to say that I do look somewhat thinner. But that’s not surprising; I have been working night and day. And so do most of the students here that wish to excel in their studies. Their futures depend upon it. “

“Do you notice your clothes are hanging off of you? How about how thing your face is compared to mine? Your clothes are falling off of you. You don’t eat much, you rarely sleep. How do you expect to excel at anything when you’re starving yourself and not sleeping at all? And you work night and day. You never take a break, ever.”

“Yes, I can see I lost some weight, and we are all tired. But, we are working towards our futures, and that takes time and lots and lots of effort, sometimes going without sleep.”
“Yes, but how far are you going to get if you are starving yourself and not sleeping? Shouldn’t your health and well-being be the number one priority?”

“Yes, but sometimes I just don’t have enough time to think about eating and sleeping.”
“How about if you make a compromise? How about if every morning you come down to the cafeteria with me and eat a light breakfast, and then at dinner time, we go down and eat dinner together? Maybe once in a great while, we can splurge and go out for pizza or something. What do you say?”
“Breakfast and dinner too, oh come on, that’s too much. And then Sara began to laugh. “OK, OK, breakfast and dinner, and once in a great while, go out for pizza. But that’s it.”

“Awesome, let’s celebrate by going out for that pizza right now. What do you say?”

“ I say, I’m slammed but OK, but then I have to come right back here and get busy working on my research paper, deal?”

“Yes, deal, so throw on some shoes, grab your purse, and let’s get that pizza with all the toppings. What do you say, Sara?”

“OK, let’s hit the road and get a pizza. I can almost taste it right now.”

“Me, too. Let’s hit the road.”

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LIFE’S HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS

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I guess you could say I’ve always been somewhat of a loner. Although throughout most of my life, I’ve always maintained a “best friend.” My best friend has not always been a fellow human being. Currently, my best friends are my dogs. And so far, they have proven to be the most loyal and loving, and accepting best friends. I suppose my peculiar ways have a tendency to “put people off.”

Watercolor I painted of my house where I grew up in and the Catholic Church that defined who I became as an adult in many ways.

Oh, you’re wondering what traits I have that put people off. Well, my sense of humor. I have to admit I’m a sarcastic person. Not mean sarcastic, but funny sarcastic. Although not everyone ‘gets” my sense of humor. I have something of a trigger finger when it comes to responding to people’s comments. It’s no sooner out of your mouth than I have a sarcastic remark to counter it. I think I’m a riot, but not everyone would agree.

And then there’s my almost total lack of interest in my outward appearance. Especially if I’m at home and working around the outside or out in the garden, I will definitely be wearing my oldest, most worn-out clothes I own. So, you happen to come over to my house without forwarning me. Well, you can expect me to look pretty much like I haven’t showered or washed my clothes recently. If you let me know you are coming in advance, you can be sure that I will take a quick shower and change my clothes. And I will have something for you to eat when you arrive. Without warning and I most likely will have an empty fridge, and you’ll be lucky to get more than a glass of water or tea. What can I say?

Downtown Maple Shade in the 1950s

Oh, there I go off the track again. I was explaining how I am somewhat of a loner and usually only have one close friend at any given time. And in recent years, most of my closest friends have been dogs, cats, and birds. And they may not even be my dogs, cats, or birds. They could very well be my neighbor’s pets. In fact, my best and closest friend when I was a young child was a stray cat named Strottles. He was an ancient orange cat. He was covered with scars from his many battles with neighbors’ male cats. He came to our side door every day and would meow until I came outside and gave him his share of hugs, scratches, and petting.

And in addition, I befriended all the neighbor’s pets, including cats and dogs. I went out of my way to talk to all the older people in the neighborhood, who often lived alone. And they were more than happy to make my acquaintance and befriend me. I found that they were good listeners and were never in a hurry. And they always seemed entranced by the stories I would tell them about the adventures I experienced in our neighborhood and the rest of the town that I lived in as well. My parents gave me full rein. As long as I was home for lunch or dinner on time, all was copesetic. In fact, they rarely asked where I had been or what I had been up to in fact. Even at the age of six, I was allowed to go out on my own as long as I wasn’t late for meals or bedtime. I kid you not.

I met some interesting people on my excursions. And once I was old enough to ride a bike, there was no stopping me. I traveled to all the surrounding towns on that bike. There was no stopping me. And like I said, my parents never asked where I had been or what I had been up to. Go figure.

My family in the 1950’s

One of my favorite haunts was the local library, which was only two rooms. I used to go there at least once or twice a week, even before I was old enough to get a library book. I would pick out a bunch of books and spend several hours perusing them from the front cover to the last page. Sometimes, the librarians would greet me with ‘Oh boy, do we have a book for you.” And then I would be in book heaven for the next couple of hours. I made friends with all the local merchants. Needless to say, the local bakery and its employees became best friends of mine. I was their official taste tester. I can’t express just how much I loved all things sweet, from cakes to pies, to cookies.

And then there was the shoemaker. His shop was right around the corner from the Ben Franklin 5&10. I’ll tell you about that later. Anyway, Tony the shoemaker was one of my favorite people to visit because he was always happy to see me, and sometimes I brought him a treat from the bakery. He came from Italy, and I loved hearing him talk with his Italian accent. He liked to hear all my stories about the people I talked to around town. He knew most of them as he was the only shoemaker in town.

Then, I would stop at the Rexall Drug Store and then the 5&10 cent store where you could actually purchase things for a nickel or a dime. I liked to collect foreign stamps when I was a kid. And you could buy a whole bunch of used stamps for fifty cents or a dollar if you had that much money. There were so many treasures to be found in that 5&10 store. I could spend hours in there just walking up and down the aisles. Sometimes, I would find some coins on the sidewalk when I was walking around downtown, and then before you could say whoop de doo., I would run down the street to the 5&10 and spend that money like it was burning a hole in my pocket.

Saint Mary of the Angel’s Academy, where I attended high school.

Oh, but the best thing of all was the Roxy Theater, where every Saturday, you could watch a movie for twenty-five cents. I used to go with all my friends, sometimes school friends, and sometimes neighborhood kids. I would bring my lunch with me in a brown paper bag. My best neighborhood friend lived three houses away from me. We did everything together. At least everything during the summer, but during the school year, she used to sleep in late on Saturday morning, and then she would have to clean her room. So, I didn’t usually see her until we went to the children’s mass on Sunday. I was always talking and laughing during Mass and causing some kind of ruckus, and getting in trouble with the nuns.

After Mass, I would run home and eat a big Sunday breakfast with my family, and then I would be off on my bike. On Sunday,I spent most of my time alone because my friend’s family spent the day together. I didn’t have to be home except for breakfast and then at dinner time. I spent Sunday riding my bike around or taking long walks. Where I would stop and visit all the neighbor’s dogs and cats. And sometimes, I would go and visit all the older people in my neighborhood who lived alone. They always seemed happy to see me, and sometimes they offered me cake. And you know, I never said no to a piece of cake. And they all loved hearing my stories about the people in town, sometimes, I embellished the stories somewhat, but that just made them more interesting. I guess that’s when I began my journey of being a storyteller.

One time during Summer vacation, all the neighborhood kids were all outside playing Hide and Seek, and I was with my best friend. And I decided to tell her a story. I told her that I was actually an alien from outer space and came from another planet. And I was going to take her back with me to my planet. Apparently, I told the story so well that she believed me. Even though she knew me all her life, anyway, she said she didn’t want to go live on another planet, and she started crying buckets of tears. I couldn’t calm her down enough to tell her I was just telling a story. And it wasn’t true.

So, I had to take her home so her mother could calm her down. I tried to explain to her mother that I was just telling her one of my stories, but she was mad all the same. I have to admit I never told my mother and father about making my best friend cry. Because they had told me many times that one of these days, I was going to get into trouble for telling my tall tales.

I became friends with the old lady that lived across the street from my house. She was a widow and lived all alone. My best friend and I used to go over to Mrs. McFarland’s house and play with our dolls on her big swing. Once, Mrs. McFarland brought her childhood doll outside to show us. It was made of China and had real hair on its head. I loved Mrs. McFarland because whenever I came over to her yard, she would come outside and talk to me and tell me stories about her life. Mrs. McFarland only had one and a half arms. She told me that she was born like that, and her one arm only went down as far as her elbow.

But that didn’t stop Mrs. McFarland. She took care of herself and her house and did all the gardening in her yard. Her favorite flowers were roses and tulips. She used to tell me all the names of the flowers and how to take care of them. She inspired me to become a gardener when I grew up. And here I am, the age she was when I first became friends with her. And now I am a gardener and like nothing better than spending the day outside, tending my flower. Mrs. McFarland had a gigantic Weeping Willow in her yard, and she used to let me climb it. And now I planted a Weeping Willow in my yard here in North Carolina. When I was about sixteen years old, she passed away, and every time I looked across the street at her house, I missed her.

Over the course of my life, I have always found my own company to be satisfying. And I have always had many hobbies and interests. I love to read, draw and paint, and make things. I made all my own clothes for years and my children when they were young. When I was thirty-six, I made the decision to go to college and learn how to draw and paint. I graduated from college when I was forty with a degree in Art Education and a Bachelor of Arts Degree. I taught art for years, and often my students would sit out in my garden and draw or paint pictures of my plants and flowers. Along the way, I started writing short stories, and when I retired here to North Carolina, I decided to start a writer’s blog on the internet that was six years ago. And here I am, still going strong. You never know what life will have in store for you and where it will take you. I have lived in New Jersey, Florida, California, and the past eight years in North Carolina. I met some interesting people when I was working for the Elizabeth Warren Campaign. And at the Animal Sanctuary, I have been volunteering for the last eight years, three mornings a week.

As long as my heart and mind are still working, I will keep active and motivated to learn, meet new people, and grow as a human being. Life is short and goes by quickly, so whatever you do, make the most of it. Be kind to all you meet along life’s highways and byways. You never know what life has planned for you. Keep an open heart and an open mind, and a smile on your face.

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YOU WERE NEVER PROMISED PARADISE

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I had moved out of my parent’s house the Summer I turned eighteen and graduated from high school. I had planned my exit for years since I was a Junior in High School. My parents had a volatile relationship. By that, I mean they argued night and day. And often, the verbal arguments turned physical. I can not begin to count the number of times that I came downstairs to our kitchen and found my mother sitting at the kitchen table with an icepack on her face.

My mother would look at me with a weird grin on her face. I never understood what she was smiling about. When I was younger, I would run over to her and say,” Mommy, are you alright? What happened? Did you fall down again?” She always told me she tripped and fell and hit her head. I couldn’t understand why she fell down so often. Then I would hug her and say, “Mommy, please be careful and try not to fall down.”

Of course, as I grew older, I realized that all the yelling and screaming every night was followed by my father hitting or punching my mother. And in the morning, the trashcan in the kitchen would be filled to the brim with empty beer bottles. At first, I thought it was just my dad drinking a lot of beer. But at some point, I think about the time I was going to Middle School, I realized that they were both drinking beer or wine every night. And that is when they would start arguing. And the arguing evolved into knock-down, drag-down brawls in the kitchen or sometimes in their bedroom. I didn’t know anything else. I thought everyone’s parents had verbal and physical fights every night.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was invited to a birthday party that was also a sleepover at my best friend Kathleen’s house. Six other girls from our class were invited. We had so much fun playing games. And watching a scary movie and eating junk food until we felt sick, screaming and hitting each other. But they never did. In fact, Kathleen’s mother brought tray after tray of food and sodas and, finally, the birthday cake for all of us to eat. And she smiled and hugged us and said, “Thank you, girls, for coming to Kathleen’s birthday party, and thank you for all the wonderful presents.

I didn’t have any money to buy Kathleen a present, so I made her a present. It was a drawing of her and me playing at the park, swinging on the swings, and going down the slide. When we were little. Kathleen gave me a big smile when she opened it. And said, I love it, Coleen. I will treasure it always.”

All the other kids had brought games and toys for her. But my father yelled at me when I asked him for a couple of dollars to buy my best friend a birthday present. He said,” What do you think that we are made of money?”

Around ten o’clock, Kathleen’s mom said, “ok, girls, it’s time for everyone to go to sleep. If anyone has to go to the bathroom, now is the time to do it. We were all sleeping on the living room floor in sleeping bags that Kathleen’s mother had laid out. We didn’t go to sleep right away. We whispered to each other and laughed. I kept waiting for Kathleen’s mother or father to come into the living room, yell at us, and tell us to shut up, but she never did. After a while, we all quieted down and stopped talking. But I laid awake for a long- long time waiting for the yelling and screaming and fighting to begin, but it never did. It was so quiet I had a hard time falling asleep since I was used to yelling, screaming all night long. Finally, I fell asleep, and for the first time in my life, I slept all through the night without being afraid or crying.

In the morning, Kathleen’s mother crept into the living room and said, “OK, sleepyheads, time to come into the kitchen for a special breakfast. We all slowly woke up and stumbled into the kitchen. Kathleen’s mother had made special pancakes with smiling faces on them and magic candles in the middle that looked like they were burning, but no matter how many times we tried to blow the candles out, they wouldn’t blow out. The pancakes had blueberries in them, which were my favorite fruit, and I gulped them down. And Kathleen’s mother said, Coleen, there’s more where that came from, so take your time. And she smiled at me and patted me on the head. I ducked because I thought she was going to hit me. But she didn’t. She just gave me another blueberry pancake.

After breakfast, Kathleen’s mother said, “ I have a surprise for you. We will all go to the roller rink and roller skating. Don’t worry about having skates because. We will rent them when we arrive. We’re going to leave in about a half hour, so everyone go and brush your teeth and comb your hair, wash your faces and get dressed. And then we’ll be on our way.”

Everyone started yelling and saying, “Hurrah.” I had never been skating and didn’t know how to skate. I went over to Kathleen’s mom and said, “I don’t know how to skate.” She said, “Well, don’t you worry about that. I’ll show you how and we’ll start out slow until you get the hang of it. And I’ll hold your hand until you feel like you can do it on your own, OK.” I nodded my head, and she said now go get dressed so we can all be on our way and have a lot of fun. And you know what else? I’m going to tell you a secret. I was afraid of what she was going to say. But, she said, “We are going to skate until lunchtime, and then we are going to have a pizza party at the roller rink and have an ice cream cake after. How do you like that?”

“I like that, and I love pizza. My father doesn’t like it, and he never lets my mother buy it. I can’t wait. Kathleen’s mother gave me a hug and said, Coleen, you are welcome to come to our house every time we have pizza. I know that Kathleen would love to have you come over since you are her best friend.”

“I’m her best friend, really?”

“Of course, Coleen. You’re her best friend. Now, let’s get ready to go. Shall we?”

And then I ran into the bathroom, washed my face and hands, and brushed my teeth extra long. Then I looked into their bathroom mirror and saw a smiling face looking back at me. And I was surprised when I realized it was my own face smiling at me. And then I ran into the living room and said, “Well, I’m ready.” And everybody laughed because I hadn’t changed out of my pajamas yet. So, I ran back into the bathroom and put my clothes on, and the next thing I knew, we were all pilling into the van and on our way to the roller rink.

It was the best day of my life. I know it was Kathleen’s birthday, but it felt like a gift to me. Roller skate with my friends, eat pizza, and drink sodas and then ice cream. I ate so much that I almost threw up after lunch when I started roller skating. Kathleen’s mom said, “Maybe we should wait a little while before we roller skate. So, our food will get digested. So, we all sang Happy Birthday to Kathleen and gave her a pinch to grow an inch.

At the end of the day, we were full of food, and our legs were tired from roller skating, but it was the best day of my life. And I knew I would never forget it. After we left the roller rink, Kathleen’s mother said she had to call my mother to make sure she was home. So, after a few moments, she came back to the van and said, “Coleen, your Mom had a little accident, but she is going to be OK in a few days, but until then, you will be staying at my house.”

“Is my mother going to be alright?” Yes, she will be fine in a few days, but your dad is not going to be home for a while. So, that’s why you are staying with us until your Mom is all better. Later today, I will go over to your house and get some of your clothes, school stuff, and anything else you need, you can tell me, and I’ll get that too.”

I knew my father had probably hit my mom, and I wished he would never come back. I loved my dad, but he was always mean to my mother and hurt her. Kathleen’s mom said, “After I see your mom, I’ll tell her you will be safe and sound at our house until she feels all better. And that she doesn’t have to worry about you.”

“Can I go see my mom at the hospital?”

“Of course, you can, but maybe tomorrow would be a better day after she rests for a while. But, if she is up to it, I’ll ask her to give you a call from the hospital. “

“Really, OK. Please tell my mom that I love her.”

“Oh, I know your mother loves you right back with all her heart. Everything is going to be alright.”

And everything was OK. I stayed at Kathleen’s house for two weeks until my mother left the hospital. I never saw my dad again because after he got out of jail, my parents got a divorce. I still missed my dad; even after all he did, I still loved him. But, after a while, my mom and I were alright. I don’t know if my father ever talked to my mother. If he did, she never told me.

Kathleen and I stayed friends all the way through high school. And we both applied to the same college and were accepted. We were roommates for four years. And when we graduated at the top of our class. Kathleen’s mother and my mom came together to watch us. They had become friends over the years. Sometimes, I think about my dad and miss him. But, I had to accept that everything in life doesn’t always have a happy ending for everyone.

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ADVERSITY CAN BE A GOOD SCHOOL

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Catholic Elementary School

I’m older than most of the people who may be reading this, but still, I think my experiences may resonate with some of you at some level. I believe that the experiences I had and endured made me the person I ultimately became. When I was quite young in elementary school, I can remember making the decision to be true to myself at a young age. Even if that meant some people didn’t like me, including some of my family members. In a way, I became my own best friend.

The fact is that I’m not your run-of-the-mill person. I never follow the crowd. I didn’t try to fit in. I don’t and never felt the need to follow trends. I attended Catholic Parochial School, which means that I was forced o wear a uniform and shoes that everyone else wore. And woe be him or her who didn’t obey those rules and regulations.

I followed the rules regarding wearing the uniforms, including the hideous shoes, and wore a beanie. I didn’t have a choice. But, I didn’t agree with or follow all the rules regarding believing every word taught by the nuns. I was a quiet child, but I had my own mind and my own thoughts, and they often conflicted with the rules and the punishment that the nuns subjected children to in the 1960s. We were told in Church and our classrooms that wherever two or more of us gathered, there would be love. That certainly was not true in my experience for the twelve years I attended Catholic school.

I was a quiet child in the classroom. But, outside the classroom, I was always making jokes and telling tall stories to my friends and anyone who would listen. I’ve always had a highly active imagination.

Because I had a tendency to joke around with m fellow students, I found myself being hit with rulers with metal edges and being put in the boiler room for hours by the nuns. Or worst of all, being ridiculed in front of the class if I was asked a question. My mind would often go blank when I was asked a question out of the blue. And I would just stand there, struck dumb.

After twelve long years of these types of experiences, I developed the mindset of a prisoner of war. I recall one experience when I was in fourth grade. Sister Joseph Catherine, who was teaching us, called me up to Blackboard and asked me to complete the arithmetic problem. I was so frightened that I couldn’t think straight.

Susan Culver- high school graduation picture

And she yelled at me, came up behind me, grabbed me by my ponytail, and slammed my head repeatedly into the blackboard. After that, I tried to keep myself on guard against any type of behavior that might draw attention to myself around people with whom I was unfamiliar. People always described me as shy, but I wasn’t shy. I was protecting myself.

Some of my school experiences helped develop my imagination. For instance, this was a release from my everyday experiences that I had no control over. We had to go to confession on the First Friday of the month. As a child, I didn’t believe I really committed any mortal or venial sins as the nuns suggested that we all did. So, the week before I had to go to Confession, I used to spend some time making up some “good” sins to tell the priest in the confessional. I did this every first Friday of every month for the eight years that I attended Catholic grade school. Father Nolan (the priest I always confessed my sins to) said, “And are you sorry for all these sins you committed?’ And I would answer,” Yes, Father.” And then, for penance, he would tell me to” say three Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.” I hadn’t committed any sins other than lying to the priest once a month about my sins.

Although the nuns were strict with all kids, they were particularly strict and tough on the boys, especially in the eighth grade. The nun that taught my eighth-grade class didn’t seem to have a problem pushing a boy down a flight of stairs if he acted out. I never understood why they were allowed to do that to anyone. At one point, I decided to tell my parents what was going on in school. And my mother said, “Do you want me to go up and talk to the nuns?” I said, “No.” Because I was afraid, that would make everything worse. Looking back, I wish I had told my parents to talk to the nuns to stop abusing me and the other kids.

In addition, my parents shouldn’t have left it up to me to decide what should be done. They should have taken matters into their own hands and complained to the school or perhaps removed me from Catholic School and enrolled me in the local public schools.

In addition, I live two houses away from the Catholic School, so whenever the nuns needed help in the classroom after school, during Summer break, or after a snowstorm, I was called in to help. Also, I had to go up to the convent where the nuns lived. It was about five blocks from my home. And I had to clean the storage room where the nun’s canned food was stored. And clean the cans and the room from top to bottom once a week. I’m not sure, but it’s possible that my parents were getting a discount on the Catholic School tuition because of the work we did in the convent, and in the school, in the summer and in the winter.

Of course, not all my experiences in Catholic School were negative ones. I made a great many friends. And I learned how to spell and do basic math. But, what I learned most thoroughly was English Grammar and writing. And to this day, I appreciate this skill that I’m still benefiting from in my writing and my ability to express myself verbally and in the written word.

I learned self-discipline and how to work hard and be thorough in everything I attempted to do in life. And overall, I have to say in every job I ever had in my life, I always excelled. I benefited from what the nuns taught me, albeit hard-won lessons.

This is me writing a new story.

I don’t really know how Catholic School children are disciplined nowadays. But, I hope by this point, the Catholic Schools and teachers have some deeper understanding and knowledge about child development and keeping control of a classroom without verbal and physical abuse of any kind. When I got married and had children, I enrolled them in public school. There was no way I would have wanted them to have the same experiences that I and my generation had to endure in the 1950s and ’60s.

So, overall, Catholic School was not entirely a negative experience, but it is one I wouldn’t want to repeat. It helped shape who I am to this day, and that is a strong, moral, hard-working, intelligent, and creative person who is not afraid of trying something new to this day. I am self-confident about my skills and my abilities. I’ve had to face many challenges during my life, but here I am, still intact and ready to face anything life has to offer me. In other words, What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger comes from an aphorism of the 19th-century German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. It is generally used as an affirmation of resilience.

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AND THEY’RE OFF

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As far back as I remember in my childhood, I recall my father talking about the Garden State Race Track in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. My father was a man who liked to gamble, play cards and bet on the horses. For years he bought lottery tickets. He even bought 55O cards from the Catholic Church. On one occasion, my mother and my father celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and they spent a weekend at a hotel on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City. My father played the slots and played cards. The trip was a wedding anniversary gift for my parents from my siblings and me. It was the first time my mother actually had a vacation of any sort.

I recall my father calling his bookie on our kitchen phone and placing bets. And occasionally, my father would bring my mother and me with him when he drove into Philly at night to place a bet directly with his bookie. For my mother and myself, it was an outing to the city. As we rarely went anywhere out of town, let alone visiting Philadelphia. My father- 1960's

But one of the most outstanding memories I have is of my father and the Garden State Race Track, which was located in Cherry Hill, New Jersey—a town next to Maple Shade, New Jersey, where I grew up. My father won a photography contest through the local newspaper, the Courier Post. He took two photographs of a race at the Garden State Track. One was a panoramic image of the crowd watching the horses take off, shouting and screaming and jumping up and down. The second shot was of that same crowd looking in the opposite direction tearing up their tickets and throwing them in the air, and then slowly floating down to the grounds if they lost their bets. My father submitted these pictures, and they appeared on the front page of the Courier Post, and he won prize money.

I don’t know how much money my dad won. But it was probably more money than he ever had in his pocket at any one time. And so my father invited all my siblings, including myself, to go out to dinner at a restaurant that my sister-in-law’s brother owned. It was the one and only time that we all went out to dinner together with my parents. And it is one of my best and fondest memories of my family together and laughing and enjoying our time together as a family.

The Garden State track spurred a lot of activity and entertainment-oriented growth in Cherry Hill. In addition to the Garden State Track, a man whose name was Mori developed the Race Tack. He built the Cherry Hill Inn and the Cherry Hill FarmLogdge, and then finally, the Cherry Hill Shopping Center. Not to mention the fabulous and luxurious Rickshaw Inn on the opposite side of the Garden State Park Race Track. And eventually, The Latin Casino, where stars such as Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Liberace appeared to entertain the locals near and far.

And addition, I took an adult night class at Cherry Hill High School, and it was being taught by none other than Jack Engelhard, the writer. He is known for his love of horse racing at the Cherry Hill Race Track and for writing books such as The Horseman, which became almost automatically a best seller, Indecent Proposal, and many more. It was his night class that inspired me to continue writing and growing as a writer. He often spoke of his love of horse races and the Garden State Track. And I have been doing just that. I have written a book and over three hundred short stories. You can find these stories at:https://susanaculver.com.

And then, I was offered an opportunity to show some of my Art Work at the Garden State Track, and I jumped at the chance. You can see one of my more popular artworks, a drawing illustrated in this blog. It is called “The Race.”.

The Race

So, as you can see, my father’s love of Horse Racing and gambling has been an inspiration of sorts. Although I had never been a gambler at heart before I moved to North Carolina, I hit the gambling machines at Trump Casino in Atlantic and took home $900.00 right out of his {Trump’s} pocket, you could say. So, when you play, you win some, you lose some. But you just got to know when it’s time to fold up those cards and hit the road. At the same time, you have more than lint in your pockets.

And maybe sometime in the future, before my time runs out, I’ll find my way back to Cherry Hill and revisit my father’s favorite place on the planet. Although it has changed and evolved over time since my Dad passed away, he probably wouldn’t recognize it. So, maybe it’s better to keep those memories safe and hidden away. I will always treasure those memories of my father and what an interesting and complex man he was. He was a voracious reader on every subject, including Eastern religions, although he never went to church.

My father inspired me with his example to continue to learn and grow and be creative. In fact, his lifelong example of his thirst for knowledge inspired me to go to college when I was thirty-six. I applied to all the art schools in the Philadelphia area and was accepted at all of them. I chose to attend Temple University, Tyler School of Art. And I graduated at forty in the top ten percent of Temple’s graduating class. It was one of the best experiences I ever had and one that I am immensely proud of. And I want to thank my father for his example of continuing to grow and learn throughout my life.

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God, I’m so fricking tired of this shit. Every morning I get up early, wake the damn kids up and feed them their fricking Cocoa Puffs. This is the thanks I get. That piece of shit won’t start again. I just had the battery replaced. So, what the hell is wrong with that bucket of bolts now? I’ll have to wake up Gerry and see if he can get it started. I have to take those brats to school. I have to go to traffic court for that trumped-up DUI ticket.

“Gerry, wake up. The hoopty car won’t start again. Get up.”

“What, what the hell do you want now? I just got to sleep a couple of hours ago. God, can’t you keep those kids quiet and turn down that damn TV.”

“Don’t you go to sleep again, you lazy good for nothing? You’re just another example of how I try to help people, and they end up taking advantage of me.”

“Alright, alright, let me put some pants on and take a piss. Can you give me five minutes?”

“Five minutes, that’s it. You get your sorry ass out on the curb and help me. You have been living here for a year and a half, and you never lift a hand to help me. And I let that brat of yours live here too. When you leave, she’s going with you. Keep that in mind.”

God, it’s so cold out here. What am I going to do if he can’t fix it? I’m tapped out. I used up all the child support this month already. That old bag of a mother won’t lend me another dime. I spend the SSI money on heating oil. My exes won’t fork over any more money. My credit cards are maxed out. Crap.

“Well, it’s about time you got your sorry ass out here. What took you so long?”

“I’m here now; let me try it. You probably just flooded it.”

“Well, can you fix it or not?”

“Not. I don’t know. Maybe the alternators dead, or it needs a new ignition system. You’ll have to take it up to Pep Boys and get it checked out. I’m going back to bed.”

“The hell you are. If I don’t get this piece of crap running, we’re all screwed. Do you have any money you didn’t tell me about?”

“Oh yeah, my hidden assets. You take my disability check the second I get it. Where would I get any money?’

“You think I don’t know that you’re selling meth out of my trailer out back. Come on, hand it over right now, or get the hell out of here. And take that skanky daughter of yours with you. I’m sick of her waking me up all night with her constant hacking. She always seems to have money for her smokes. Where’s she getting that money on her back?”

“Hey, don’t you talk about my daughter like that? Here I’ve got fifty bucks, that’s it.

“That’s not enough. I have to find some more money fast. I’m just going to take a credit card out in Harry’s name. I did the same thing with the older two. I don’t have any choice.”

“What the hell are you talking about? A credit card in Harry’s name; he’s only seven years old. And you did that to the other two too? Man, you really are one crappy mother. You’re always calling them names and knocking them around. Now you’re screwing up their credit too. What are you going to do next? Make Sissy prostitute herself?”

“She probably already does. But she won’t give me any money. Right now, I’m going to call my mother. See if she can come and pick up the kids and take them to school and then drop me off at court. I have to take care of that bogus DUI.

After traffic court, Meghan stands outside the police station trying to decide what to do next when her cell phone rings.

“Meghan, it’s your Aunt Tilly.”

“I know who it is, Aunt Tilly. What do you want? I’m having a hell of a bad day, and it’s not even lunchtime.”

“Meghan, it’s your Uncle Morty; he’s really bad. If you want to see him again, you better get your ass over here now. He isn’t going to last much longer.”

All I ever do is give, give, and give. All I ever get back is crap. Nobody appreciates anything I do. How I keep food on the table and clothes on their backs. They never lift a hand to help me. Now I have to go visit my Uncle. What’s next? Do I have to serve food at the homeless shelter? Next thing I know, I’ll be living in the shelter along with those two brats of mine.

“Hi, Aunt Tilly. I got here as fast as I could. I had to go to court today. My car broke down again, and I had to take the bus to get here. It’s cold as hell out here. Can I come in? Can you give me a cup of coffee? I could eat too. I haven’t eaten anything today. I’ll go see Uncle Morty while you’re doing that.”

Oh, Jeez, look at him. He looks like he is about to breathe his last breath. God, it freaking stinks in here. I hate old people. They stink. I ought to get a medal for this.

“Hi, Uncle Joe, it’s me, Meghan, I came to see how you’re doing. Aunt Tilly called this morning and said you weren’t feeling too well. Uncle Joe raises his limp hand and signals for Meghan to come closer. She leans in, and his breath almost knocks her over.

“Jeez, Uncle Morty, would it kill you to rinse out with some Listerine once in a while? So, what do you want to tell me?”

She hears him whisper, “Here. You were always my favorite.”

He hands her a paper. She looks down, and it’s a check. At that moment, she sees his hand drop-down, and he releases a long sour breath. She looks at him and lifts one of his baggy eyelids. He’s dead. She screams at the top of her lungs. Her aunt comes running in.

“For the love of god, what are you whaling about? You scared the hell out of me.”

Meghan points at Uncle Joe. Aunt Tilly says,” Well, if that don’t beat all. The first time I’m out of this dam room for more than five minutes, and he croaks. He was always such an inconsiderate bastard. What’s that in your hand?”

Meghan looks down at her hand and says, “I forgot. He handed this to me and told me I was his favorite. “It’s a check for…oh my god, it’s for one hundred thousand dollars. Is this for real?”

“Yeah, it’s real. He said he was going to leave you something. But I thought he was going to leave you his baseball card collection. He said that you and he used to collect those when you were a kid. And he took you to all the Phillies games. I guess you were his favorite. He didn’t leave your mother anything.”

“Holy crap, this is the answer to my prayers. Thanks, Aunt Tilly. I gotta be going. Let me know if I can do anything to help with the funeral. I have to get home to pick up the kids from school. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, you’re leaving now? Aren’t you going to at least wait until the mortician comes to pick up your uncle?”

“Naw, I can’t now, Aunt Tilly. I’ll call you later.” Meghan takes the 402 express bus home and gets off in front of the bank. She wants to cash the check before her aunt decides to stop payment on it or something. She walks up to the bank teller and hands the check over. “I want to cash this check. Can you put it all in one-hundred-dollar bills?”

The bank teller takes a look at the check and gives Meghan a look over too. “Can you wait a minute, please? I have to talk to the manager. I don’t know if we have enough cash on hand at this branch. We may have to contact the main branch to get this amount.”

About twenty minutes later, the manager calls Meghan over to her office. Here you go, Ms. Mullen; sorry for the wait. We had to get the cash from the main bank. I put the money in an envelope for you. I don’t recommend you walk around with this much cash. Perhaps you would like to open up a savings account and place some of this money here for safekeeping.”

“What? No, no, I’ll be taking it to… to my accountant tomorrow morning. Don’t worry about it. Thanks.”

Oh, my freaking god, I’m rich, rich. Finally, I got what I deserved all these years. The first thing I’m going to do is get rid of that freaking piece of shit car and get those freeloaders out of my house. Then I’m going to take a vacation by myself. Maybe I’ll get lucky and meet a rich guy on a cruise or something, somebody with class.

One month later, Meghan returns from a gambling cruise on the Mississippi. Her pockets are empty, and no rich guy in tow. Her mother meets her at the door.

“Well, it’s about dam time that you showed up, Meghan. These brats of yours are driving me half crazy. I had to let Gerry and his daughter move back in. I couldn’t cover your bills by myself. You neglected to leave me any money while you took your vacation. Your car still isn’t working. I hope you saved some of that money to get a new car or at least get that junker fixed. The least you could have done was stay for your Uncles funeral. Aunt Tilly was really pissed when you didn’t show up.”

“Goddam, it all to hell. Can’t I ever catch a break?

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SPRING BREAK

COMING OF RETIREMENT AGE AS A BABY BOOMER

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I have spent the last seven years since I retired reflecting on my life and experiences. And how those experiences have influenced the person I have become. I believe my parents had the most effect on the development of my personality.

My father worked hard his entire adult life as the Head Dispatcher for SEPTA for over forty years to provide for our family. He was strict and had high standards. He expected his children to achieve. He also had a short fuse, and woe be the person who behaved in a way that he disapproved of. My mother was a kind and loving person who never said anything hurtful to anyone in her life. At times she worked outside of our home, cleaning other people’s houses and cleaning the public school, and occasionally she did ironing for other people.

When I was attending St. Mary of the Angel’s Academy, she worked in the employee’s kitchen at Wanamaker’s Department Store to help offset the cost of the tuition. She was in her early sixties at the time. She was a deeply devout woman and went to Mass every day of her life.

St. Mary of the Angels Academy

Every afternoon she could be found saying the rosary in her bedroom.

I was born into a family of four children, and I have a fraternal twin. Having six children was not an unusual size family when I was born in 1951. I had friends who had eleven children in their families. Since there was no reliable form of birth control at the time. And the Catholic church frowned on birth control.

I grew up two houses down from Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church and elementary school. I attended twelve years of Catholic School and eight years at OLPH Parochial school. And then four years at St. Mary of the Angels Academy. Which was an all-girl school located in Haddonfield, New Jersey.

For those of you who are not familiar with the Baby Boomer Generation, I have noticed over the years that many of us share similar characteristics. Characteristics were no doubt modeled by our parents. We have a strong and focused work ethic. We worked hard for everything we achieved, and it was not handed to us. We are not afraid of challenges.

And even now, those of us who are retired engage in volunteer work. Before I retired, I took a class to learn how to teach English as a second language to people who migrated to the USA and spoke limited English. In addition, I taught Basic Skills to people who didn’t have the opportunity to finish high school and wanted to get a GED so that they were able to get better-paying jobs.

The Boomers learned how to be self-reliant and independent and have strong work ethics. We are self-reliant and confident and are not afraid to challenge any practices in our workplace. We had to learn to be competitive in our search for employment since there were so many people in our generation and, therefore, competition for employment in the workplace.

For those of us who wanted to attend college but whose families could not afford to send us, we set goals to do so outside the norm—for instance, going to junior college and going to school over time to earn college degrees. As for myself, I made the decision to attend college at the age of thirty-six. I had two children at home at the time. I applied to Temple Tyler School of Art and the Hussian School of Art, and Moore College of Art, which was a woman’s college. I was accepted at all the schools I where I applied.

Tyler School of Art

I made the decision to attend Temple University in Philadelphia because they offered me a full scholarship for the first year based on my portfolio. I graduated from Temple University when I was forty years old. My children were ten and seven at the time. It was a challenge to balance my role as a parent, wife, and college student. I often only had two or three hours of sleep at night during the week. And during the summer, I used to babysit the daughter of a friend of mine. I graduated in the top ten percent of Temple University with a 4.0 average and two degrees, Fine Art and Art Education.

When I graduated from Temple University, I found that there were precious few teaching positions in public schools for Art teachers since public schools in the early 1990s were cutting back their budgets in Art and Music. After applying to every school in the three surrounding counties for almost a year, I decided that I was going to start my own school. We decided to move to a bigger home that could accommodate teaching art. And we found it in Pitman, New Jersey. The house was over 4,000 square feet and used to be owned by a Doctor of neuropsychology. He and his wife had passed away over eight years before that. And as you can imagine, the house was in need of a great deal of work since the house had remained empty for all those years. And so, the first thing we had to do was have a new roof on the home.

I spent many months working and painting the doctor’s three patients’ rooms and preparing them for classrooms to teach art. I spent many years teaching students that came to my classes, both children during the day and adults at night. I taught classes in drawing and painting and the basics of three-dimensional art.

It was fulfilling and challenging work. We lived in that house for twenty-four years. We sold it when we were preparing to retire to North Carolina. It was extremely difficult to leave our home since we had put so many years living there and improving it for years. This Included a garden that I created over many, many years. We ended up selling the house to a younger couple that had two children. The husband was a lawyer who set up his office in what had been my art studios. I have to admit the day that we went to the settlement was one of the most difficult days of my life. I still miss that house and all the friends and neighbors that we had come to love in our twenty-four years in Pitman.

I believe that my personality and the influences that surrounded me growing up in the Baby Generation gave me the confidence and willpower to meet challenges in my life that were often difficult. Over my lifetime, I moved from my parent’s home to my own apartment when I was twenty. I moved to Florida when I was twenty- two to be near the young man I fell in love with. And eventually, we were married and moved to Santa Barbara, California, where my husband attended Brooks Institute to study Photography. We moved back to New Jersey when he graduated and bought a small house in Pennsauken, NJ, where we lived for fourteen years and had our two children, who are now adults.

Animal Edventure Susan talking to Montana a cocatoo

Animal Edventure Susan talking to Montana, a cockatoo.

And now here I am in North Carolina, where we moved to at retirement. And we didn’t know a soul here but made our home here all the same. I volunteered as a Guardian Ad Litem in the Smithfield Court House, representing at-risk children. And for the past seven years going on eight years, I have been volunteering at an animal sanctuary called Animal Edventure, where I have taken care of Macaws, Parrots, and Pheasants. I’m still going strong and don’t have any plans to stop at any time in the near future. I almost forgot to mention that I created WRITE ON, my writer’s blog on the internet, and have been writing and publishing a new story every week going on six years.

I don’t know what else I may do in the future but have no doubt I will continue to create and grow for the remainder of my life, for however long that may be. I will keep on, keeping on. Have no doubt—Susan A. Culver, artist, and writer.

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