Category Archives: My Memoirs

The Christmas Spirit

Christmas time is here again. At my age, it seems difficult to summon up the Christmas spirit.

Maple Shade, NJ Christmas 1960’s

But when I was a child, it was a different story. I remember the days leading up to Christmas seemed to go by at a snail’s pace. I would ask my mother every day, “How many more days until Christmas, Mom?

She answered, “One less than when you asked me yesterday. Now, why don’t you go find something to do and keep yourself busy.”

If I kept bugging her, she would find something for me to do. “OK, Mom, I think I’ll take a walk. I’ll be back in a little while.”

I decided to walk downtown and look in the windows of the stores. We live in a little town in Southern New Jersey called Maple Shade. And all the stores are decorated for Christmas. We even have a Christmas parade. And Santa Clause takes a ride all over town in the fire truck. And he throws candy to all the kids lined up on the sidewalks. All my friends and I walked down the pike on Main Street to see it yesterday. We had such fun. It was cold outside, so we all wore our winter coats, hats, gloves, and snow boots. Because the day before yesterday, we got over a foot of snow.

As I walked down the street, I noticed that the repair shop had a TV in the window, and it was playing It’s A Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart. I’ve seen this story before, but all the same, I stand there and watch it for quite a while. Of course, I can’t hear the sound, but I know most of the dialogue anyway since I’ve seen it so many times. I decided to walk down to the Five & Dime Store to look at all the cool toys in the window. I asked Santa for a Barbie doll. I hope I get one.

The Christmas Lights along Main Street are beautiful. Of course, they look better when it’s dark out. The volunteer firemen drove up and down Main Street in their Fire Trucks and put up the lights and the Christmas Wreaths with big red bows on them the week before Thanksgiving. I watched them. The Rexall Drug Store is next to the Five & Dime Store. They have a display with a train set riding around on the train tracks, with little houses, churches, trees, and tiny little people walking around. There is even a little dog in the front yard of one of the little houses. At least, I think it’s a dog, but it’s hard to tell because it is so little. Above the houses, Santa is flying through the air with his reindeer, including Rudolph with his red nose. A little stream of smoke is coming out of the train engine’s smokestack. I wish we had one of those going around our tree.

I walk down to the bakery and look in their window. There are so many delicious-looking cakes in the window. My stomach starts growling loudly. My mother says I have a sweet tooth. I’m not sure what that means. But I do love candy and cake. I hope I get candy canes in my Christmas stockings and chocolate kisses with red and green foil wrapped around them. Oh, how I would love to have an éclair too. My mother is making a cake for Christmas. She is an excellent baker. I hope she makes a vanilla cake with shredded coconut on it. I do love coconut. I almost forgot that my mother makes a giant tin of Christmas cookies every Christmas. She puts the cookie dough in a cookie press, squeezes out these cookies in various shapes, and puts different colored sprinkles on them. I always find where she hides the cookie tin in the cellar, and I eat a whole bunch before Christmas.

Walking down Main Street, I see a police car approaching me. The car pulls over, and I hear the policeman calling my name and saying, “Merry Christmas, Susie.”

I walk over to the curb and see it is Mr. Lombardi, our next-door neighbor. He is a policeman in our town. “Merry Christmas, Officer Lombardi,” I scream at the top. And then he waves again and drives away.

I continue walking down the street, and I see a couple of kids from school. I hear them yelling, “Hey Susie, do you want to go and play behind the church?”

“Sure,” I say. When I caught up with them, I saw that they were my friends Helen and Ann Marie.

“What were you up to, Susie?”

“Nothing, just walking downtown and looking in all the store windows. What do you guys want to do?’

“We were just going behind the church and seeing who is playing in the snow. Are you getting anything good for Christmas, Susie?”

“I don’t know what I’ll get, but I asked for a Barbie doll and art supplies. How about you guys? What did you ask for Christmas?”

“I ask for two games, Operation and Twister. I love games, said Ann Marie. “

“I ask for an Easy-Bake oven. said Helen.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.”

We rounded the corner at Main Street and Fellowship Road, and I said, “Let’s have a race to the pump house behind the church. Ready, set, go.”

And we all ran as fast as we could. And at the last minute, I slipped on an icy spot and fell flat on my back. Ann Marie and Helen approached me and said,” Are you alright?”

“Yes.” I manage to say, even though the wind knocked me out.

“Ok, then I bet I can beat you to the pump house Helen yells.” And before I even got up from the icy sidewalk, they ran to the pump house at top speed. I scramble up and start running as fast as I can. I was about to catch up with them when I heard them yelling, “We beat you; we beat you.”

All the same, I kept running, and before you knew it, I was scrambling up the side of the pump tower to the top along with them. There were many kids from Our Lady of Perpetual Help school and some of the public-school kids. And they were climbing hills of snow and sledding across the parking lot. We laughed hard, and the air was so cold I could hardly breathe. I don’t know how long I stayed out there. But I knew by the time I heard my mother yelling, “Susie, it’s time to come home. It was starting to get dark outside. What a day it was, what a day!

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

The Letter

It had been six long years since I heard from my brother. Although to be honest I was the one that moved away not him. But still, he never attempted to contact me. I have always been a letter writer. I prefer writing to calling people because it is easier for me to share my deeper feelings with words on paper rather than on the phone.

Empty Envelope

I‘ve written to him numerous times over those six years and sent an array of birthday cards and Christmas cards. There wasn’t any response from him none at all.

I decided to write a note to my mother and ask her to ask my brother to write to me. She asked him, and he said he would and finally he did. Unfortunately, when I received the “letter” there was only an empty envelope and no letter. Apparently, he forgot to seal the letter or forgot to put the letter in the envelope and seal it.

The day I received the letter I happened to be looking out the front window of my apartment and notice that the mailman was in the process of putting mail in the mailboxes. I watched him as he walked away and then I took the steps two at a time down the stairs from my second-floor apartment. I pulled out the mail and I thought at first it was just more bills. But then I noticed a hand-written legal envelope. And I immediately recognized my brother’s address. I was so happy I couldn’t wait to get upstairs fast enough to my apartment to open it.

The disappointment I felt when I opened the envelope and realized it was empty was profound. Immediately, I felt a tear spring to my eyes. It just felt like a slap in the face. And it reinforced the feeling that I always held that my brother just didn’t care about me at all, not now, not ever. And that he didn’t like me.

The only other correspondence I received from him before was a birthday card when I turned twenty-one. On the front of the card was the legend, “Your parents didn’t know what true happiness was until you were born. And, on the inside, it said, “And then it was too late.” I never forgot what that card said and the effect it had on my self-worth and self-esteem was devastating.

My brother had a sarcastic sense of humor and I suppose he picked that card for me because he thought it was funny. But I did not. It just reinforced to me that my brother did not care about me or how I felt. It felt like a knife driven directly to my heart.

Please don’t tell me that I was being too sensitive. My brother knew that I was a sensitive person and yet he sent me that card. Actions and words have a power that can build you up or they can burn you to the ground.

Anyway, the day I received the empty envelope I called my mother and told her that I got an envelope from my brother but no letter. She must have spoken to my brother about it because a few weeks later I did receive a short letter from my brother. He stated that he had no idea what happened to the original letter and that he had looked all over for it and couldn’t find it. And so, this letter was going to be abbreviated because he was busy with his work and his family responsibilities.

He told me how his kids were doing, and how he and his wife had enjoyed their latest vacation. And he talked about his work. And then he went on to talk about our parents and other family members. He wished me luck and said that hopefully someday I would move back home or at least closer.

There was nothing I could really put my finger on and say he should have said this or he should have said that. But still, whatever it was that I needed to hear from him I didn’t hear it.

I can only speak from my perspective and speculate about how my brother felt about me. He never talked to me at length about anything. When I moved out of state, I was twenty-one and he was forty. We didn’t grow up together. By the time I came into the picture, he was a grown man. He joined the military, not by choice but because he was called up to serve. And then after he returned home, he went to college and later moved out of the country to study for his Ph.D. So, we did not share the usual experiences that siblings share.

But I can remember from a very young age of being in awe of my big brother. He was everything that I would hope to be in life. Someone who was a success, who set goals for his life and achieved them. He was a husband, father, and professional that was making a difference in people’s lives.

I used to brag about my brother to anyone and everyone that would listen. I thought he was the smartest person I knew.

When I finally moved back to my home state after seven years, I realized that living closer wasn’t going to magically bring me closer to my siblings including my brother. I made every effort to see them as often as they allowed which was usually on holidays. I also realized that if I was going to see them then I was the one who was going to have to go visit them, they wouldn’t be visiting me.

By the time I moved back home I was married. My husband and I stayed with my parents at my childhood home for about eight months and then we bought a small house in a neighboring town. We lived there for almost fourteen years. My brother came over twice in those years. We saw each other at family gatherings at Christmas, Fourth of July picnics, baptisms, and weddings and funerals.

It’s not as if there was any kind of animosity between us. We had never an argument or disagreement. It was more like we were strangers that occasionally met over the years at parties but never really got to know one another.

And now the years have flown by quickly. We had children and moved to a bigger home that we renovated. My brother came and looked at our house right after we moved into it and then about fifteen years later we held a family Thanksgiving and my whole extended family came including my brother came.

And my children grew up as children do. My husband and I retired and moved to another state. My brother seemed angry at me when we moved away and he stayed angry. Every time I called him, he asked me,” Are you still happy with your decision to move away? Are you finding what you were looking for? I would respond we moved here because it is less expensive to live here and the housing and taxes are cheaper. Otherwise, my husband and I couldn’t have afforded to retire at all. It was a difficult decision for me to move away from my extended family and one of my daughters. But it was a necessary one for us.

My sister-in-law passed away and my brother told me not to come to the funereal. I kept calling my brother and he persisted in telling me not to call him anymore. He said he would call me when he wanted to talk to me. And the last time I called him, he told me he never wanted to speak to me again. Five days later he passed away. To say I was heartbroken is to minimize the emptiness and heartache I felt and still feel.

I will never have the opportunity to talk to him and tell him how much I loved him all my life. And how much I admired him and looked up to him since I was a young child. I will never see his face again except in family photos.

It will be three years next April since he passed. I do not think about him every day as I did right after our last conversation. But sometimes at night when I can’t fall asleep, I think about him and wish that we had a closer relationship that many people have with their family members.

I will always miss my brother. I am still proud of all his accomplishments and all the people he treated in his practice. He was an intelligent man and a funny one. I can’t speak to his other relationships but I do wish he had made a space in his heart where I could have fit.

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Trick or Treat

Halloween

Gerhard fromPixabay

I had been looking forward to Halloween for months. It’s my favorite holiday next to Christmas. I have been bugging my mother for months to make me a costume but it looks like I‘ll be wearing the same costume again. My sister and I were in a wedding a few years ago we were ring bearers. And since we’re twins, we had to wear the same kind of dress. Even though we don’t look alike at all. I have long, dark blond hair and my sister has dark brown curly hair and is taller than I am.

Anyway, this is the last year, I’ll be wearing the dress since when I tried it on the other day my mother had trouble zipping it up. It was so tight and short. It is above my knees. My mom bought a crown at the Ben Franklin 5 &10 store. She said,

” Susan this year you can be a princess.”

“Ok, Mom,” I said, but I must have made a face at her. She said,” Susan don’t give me that face.”

I guess I make a lot of faces since someone says that to me just about every day of my life. Sometimes people get on my last nerve. Even my mother who is the nicest person I know.

Anyway, I absolutely love Halloween even more than Christmas.” Why you ask because candy that’s why. I love candy more than anything in the world except animals, especially cats. My favorite place in the world is Schuck’s. It is a store around the corner from me. It’s on Main Street next to Harry Fuelle’s grocery store. Anyway, as I was saying Schuck’s is this store that is a luncheonette, they make the best hoagies in the world. And they have a soda fountain and a room where all the teenagers go to listen to the Jude Box and dance. When I get old enough, I’m going to go in there. That is if I ever learn to dance. My sister says I won’t because I have two left feet and I’m a klutz. I have to admit I’m pretty clumsy. “

When Halloween finally arrived, I was so excited I couldn’t eat dinner. My mother said, “Susan, eat something please. You eat like a bird.” One of my sisters, who shall remain nameless said, “yeah, a vulture.”

Then, I said, “shut up.” And my mother got mad since we are not allowed to say “shut up” for some reason. I said, “sorry mom.” But then I stuck my tongue out at the unnamed sister. She said, “Mom, Susie, stuck her tongue out at me.” Which made me stick my tongue out again. Because nobody likes a rat.” My sister said, “She did it again.” My mother said,” that’s enough or neither of you will be going out for Halloween.” And that was the end of our argument.

On Halloween night I squeezed into the now very tight and uncomfortable blue taffeta dress. It is the itchiest material you can imagine. And because it was so tight on me, I could hardly lift my arms. And if I did lift my arms my underwear would show because it is so short. I couldn’t zip it so I had to ask my mother to zip it. She said,” Susie, take a deep breath, I can’t zip it up.” I held my breath and she said, you are going to have to wear a sweater or jack because I can only get it halfway up.”

And that’s when I made a face. “What did I tell you about making faces, Susie?’ I made another face. “I can hardly breathe Mom.” She said, “You’ll be fine.”

That’s what she always said, “You’ll be fine.” If I was standing there breathing my last breath she would say,” you’ll be fine.” If I fell off my bike and broke my leg, she would say, “you’ll be fine.”  One time I had some kind of horrible flu and was throwing up, had a fever and a headache. She rubbed some Vick’s on my chest and said, “stop moaning you’ll be fine.”

My mother never complains about anything. All my friends, mothers always told me, “your mother is a saint. She is going to go straight to heaven.” And then I would cry because I couldn’t bear the idea of my mother dying. Then they would tell me I was such a crybaby. Everyone is always telling me I’m a crybaby. I guess I am because my feelings get hurt easily. Like when my father says, “I don’t know what your biggest problem is that your stupid or your lazy.” I always cried when he said that. And then one of my older sisters would say, “she’s such a crybaby.”

So, after I finally managed to squeeze into the blue dress I ran down to my best friend, Joanie’s house carrying my empty pillowcase. Believe it or not, I would be able to fill the pillowcase not once but twice before the end of the night. I ran up her steps and banged on her front door. Her father answered the door. “Oh, I should have known it would be you. You practically live here.”

“Hi, Mr. Gioiella, is Joanie here?”

“Of course, she’s here, hold onto your britches.” And then he slams the door in my face. Joanie and I always argue about whose father is the biggest grouch. They are so much alike. Joanie is always late, she is slow. She finally shows up at the door and she has an amazing costume on. She is Super Girl and she has make-up on. “Are you wearing make-up?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Nothing you look great.”

What are you supposed to be? Isn’t that the same dress you wore last year?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to be a princess.”

She takes one look at me and says,” better luck next year. Let’s go.”

And off we go. We walk down to the corner and hit all the stores on Main Street. My favorite is the Maple Shade Bakery. They make the best bread and donuts and pastries.

Then we go to the Ben Franklin Store and I pick a cap gun out of the basket. Joan picks a barrette. We see two of our friends there and go over and say hello. And head out to the houses along Main Street down to Fork Landing Road. It is starting to get dark out and all the kids are walking up and down the streets with flashlights. Joan and I are yelling hello to everyone we see at the top of our lungs. We have already eaten so much candy we both feel sick. I actually think I might puke. But that doesn’t stop me from eating more candy. We walk all over town including our own street we decide to stop and empty our pillowcases because they are getting too heavy. Joanie’s mother tries to tell her she has enough and it is getting late. But Joanie starts crying and her mother says, “alright but you better come home by 9:30. And don’t eat anymore.”

We both promised we won’t eat anymore, and at that moment I really don’t think I can eat anymore. There are still a lot of kids running up and down the streets. Most of the little kids have gone home with their parents. Joan and I decide to go across Main Street behind the public elementary school. People are starting to turn their porch lights out. So, we only go to the houses with the light still on since most people have run out of candy by now.

At the last house, we went to I was given a coconut almond bar which is my all-time favorite. “Look what I got, Joan. I think I have enough. Are you ready to go home?”

“Yeah, I’m ready. Tomorrow we can start thinking of what your costume will be for next year since I don’t think you will fit into that dress again.” And then she laughs. Probably not after I eat all the candy I got.”

And we laughed all the way home. You know the kind of laugh kids do when they ate too much junk and are exhausted. The kind where it’s hard to stop laughing long after you remember why you are laughing.

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

STARRY, STARRY NIGHT- A MEMOIR BY SUSAN A. CULVER

I hear my mother’s voice calling me, “Susan, Susan, it’s time to come in now.” I don’t want to go home yet. I gaze up at the inky blue star-lit sky. I imagine that I’m living on one of those far away stars looking down at my younger self. I see myself standing there in the moonlight with a thousand stars above me. My whole life is ahead of me. The lightning bugs are twinkling all around me. I hear the voices of my neighborhood friends laughing at a distance.  I hear my best friend calling out my name. “Susie, Susie, your mom is calling you. You better go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Photo by Robert Culver

I close my eyes and imagine myself on that faraway star lightyears away. And when I wake up in the morning, I don’t recognize the room I’m in. It smells differently. The room is painted in a weird color that I don’t recognize. My sister’s bed isn’t on the other side of the room.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and get up and walk over to the window. I look outside. And where there should be the Lombardi’s house there’s nothing but a barren field. I shove the window open and, in the distance, I hear the sound of bells ringing. I say out loud, “that must be the church bells ringing. But where did the Lombardi’s house go? Where is Mr. Lombardi’s police car? Wait, where is the church? I rub my eyes over and over. I convince myself I must be dreaming. This can’t be real. I creep down the steps as quietly as I can. I’m terrified of what I might find. What if my mother and my father, aren’t there? What then? Will I be alone in this strange world?

When I get down to the bottom step, I peep around the wall and look into the kitchen. I don’t see my mother. Where is she? Where’s my mother? Oh, maybe she’s at Mass? Or maybe she’s in her room getting dressed? “Mom, mom, are you down here?” I call out. She doesn’t answer me. No one does. Then I notice that the kitchen doesn’t look the same. The table is smaller and only has four chairs instead of six.

The light over the table looks like an upside-down umbrella instead of the wagon wheel my father recently put up. There is an eerie glow to the room.

The table isn’t set. My mother always sets the table before she goes to church in the morning. The coffee pot isn’t percolating. I can’t remember any day in my whole life when the coffee pot wasn’t on when I got up in the morning. My parents drink coffee all day, every day.

I slowly creep over to the front window in the kitchen. I’m afraid of what I’ll find or what I won’t find. I look across the street. I stare outside onto Fellowship Road that is right in front of our house. There’s a road there but it’s a dirt road. And I don’t see Mrs. McFarland’s house or her garden. In fact, there aren’t any houses. There are instead miles and miles of fields.

I’m beginning to feel panicky. I break out into a sweat. I yell at the top of my voice, “Mom, Dad, where are you?” No answer. In fact, my voice echoes throughout the house. The house feels empty. As if there is no one else anywhere. I frantically run from one room to the next. My mother’s room has a bed and a dresser. None of her personal things are there. Her rosary isn’t draped across her mirror. The rocking chair that she sits in every day to say the rosary isn’t there. The bedspread I crochet for her isn’t lying at the end of her bed. It’s gone.

I run over and look under the bed for it.  The bedspread isn’t there either. I practically rip off my mother’s closet door in my haste to see if my mother’s clothes are in there. Only empty hangers remain.  I look in my father’s small closet. It is empty, as well. Save for his favorite slippers at the back of his closet. I feel a tear run down my cheek soon, followed by countless more. Where are my father and mother, where are they? Has someone stolen my parents? I hear my voice inside my head, screaming,” I want my mother and father, bring them back, bring them back.” I’m crying hard; I can hardly catch my breath.

I finally manage to breath normally and stop crying. I run out of my parent’s bedroom to the bathroom. I can’t open the door immediately it’s stuck. I yank it as hard as I can. It slams into to me, and bangs into my forehead. I feel a knot rising up. No one is in there, and there aren’t any towels hanging on the racks. My mother’s mirror isn’t sitting on top of the toilet tank, where she always puts it. I look at myself in the mirror. I appear the same except for the tear-streaked cheeks and the knot on my forehead. I touch it gingerly. The pain is real enough.

I don’t know what to do or where to go. And then I remember the phone. I can call one of my older sisters. And they will explain it all to me. Maybe my parents are at one of their houses. I run back into the kitchen and dial my sister’s phone number. The phone rings and rings but no one answers. I call my other sister. No answer. I dial 911. No answer. I call my best friend, no answer. I drop the phone and slide down onto the floor and start sobbing in earnest.

Then I decide to go down into the basement maybe they are all hiding down there for some reason and forgot to tell me. Maybe there’s a hurricane coming and all the phone lines came down. That’s happened before. I practically fly down the steps. I yell out, “ Daddy, Mom, where are you? Are you down here?” No one answers me.

I run over to the bilco doors and push as hard as I can. They fly open and slam down on either side. I step outside into what should be my backyard. The yard I have played softball and pitched tents and played hide and seek every summer of my life.

The Willow tree is there and the benches my father built around the massive tree trunk. This is the place where I seek solace and read all the long summer days away. I wrap my arms around its massive base.

I’m so happy to see something that I love so dearly is still here. The tree that offers me a retreat.When I need to be alone and shade from the sultry and humid Summer days. As I sit there, I look around and see nothing else that is familiar. Not the parking lot of the church, no sign of the pump house in the parking lot that I had climbed up so often and then slid down nearly breaking my neck every time.

I don’t see Popular Avenue that should sit right behind the church parking lot. Nothing, just an empty dirt road with no cars, no kids on bikes riding up and down the street, no kids on roller skates. Nothing, no one just me sitting here hugging my tree.

And then I think, where are the birds? Why aren’t the birds flying in the sky and nesting in my tree? How will I go on without all the birds that I love so well? I close my eyes tightly. And wait and wait and wait.

And the next thing I’m aware of is a bright light shining in my eyes. I can see nothing else. Just the unbearably bright light that blocks out everything else. I try to close my eyes but can’t. I try to raise my arms so I can touch my eyelids and see what is holding them open so wide. I can’t. It feels like something is restraining my arms. I begin to feel panicked. I try to yell out, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I’m screaming as loud as I can inside my head. But I hear only silence. I feel a tear make its lonely way down my cheek. What fresh hell is this? Have I been abducted by aliens? Are they going to experiment on me or cut me up in little pieces?

“Doctor, doctor I think she’s waking up. She’s crying. Untie her, take the light out her eyes.”

“Susan, this is Doctor Buckley, can you hear me? Can you see me?

My throat feels dry, I try to swallow, but I can’t there’s something lodged in my throat. I try to cough. But I can’t.

“Doctor, she’s trying to cough. Can’t you remove the tubes?”

“Yes, Susan, this is going to hurt a little. Take a deep, deep breath, and I’m going to pull the tubes out of your throat.”

Tubes out of my throat. What’s happening? I take a deep breath and feel a terrible sense that something big is pulled from deep in my throat. I cough and it’s out. I begin to see something besides the blinding light. My mother, my mother’s face, is there in front of me. I feel more tears running down my face. I say in a voice that I hardly recognize, “Mom, Mommy, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you and Daddy. There was no one in the house or outside. I called everyone on the phone, and no one answered. Where were you? Why did you leave me all alone?”

“Susan, we didn’t leave you alone. We have been here all along. Do you remember what happened at all?”

“Yes, I remember I woke up and no one was home. Our house looked all different and so did our neighborhood. I couldn’t find anyone. Not even birds, they had all  disappeared.”

“Susan two days ago when you were out playing hid and seek, I called you to come in and you must have fallen and hit your head. The doctor thinks you might have had a seizure. Remember you had them before when you were in church taking Holy Communion? But don’t worry you are going to be perfectly fine. And Susan, we would never leave you alone. We will always be here for you for however long you need us. Until you are grown up.”

I look at my mother’s sweet face and at my father’s face that for once had a smile on it from ear to ear. And I started crying again, only this time it was from happiness. My father said, “Oh no, here comes the waterworks again.”

My mother said, “Oh Harry don’t be such a grouch.”

To read more, enter your email address to Subscribe to my Blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

GROWING UP CATHOLIC IN AMERICA IN THE 1950-1960’s

I was born in 1951at the height of the Baby Boom, which followed WWII. Hence the name Baby Boomers. I was one of a pair (of fraternal twins) Baby B was born seven minutes after my sister, Karen. Catholic families often had many children due to the fact that the only form of birth control that was allowed by the Catholic Church was the” Rhythm Method. Not a particularly reliable birth control method.

Susan Culver- high school graduation picture

We were a part of the ever-growing number of families in the working class. My father was the dispatcher for SEPTA the public bus company in Philadelphia. I grew up in a neighborhood of similar but not identical homes. We all had big backyards. We always had food on the table and clothes on our backs. I was the youngest so it was not uncommon for me to get the hand-me-downs. As did all the youngest in large families in our predominately Irish and Italian neighborhood in Maple Shade, NJ.

There was no “extra money.” However, since most of my friends were in the same boat, I did not consider it a big deal.

Being Catholic in a Catholic neighborhood also meant attending Catholic School. All other kids who didn’t go to Catholic school were called “The Publics.” And for some reason, we were told that this was a fate worse than death. If we misbehaved, we would be threatened with being sent to public school. Something akin to being sent to the third circle of hell.

The Classrooms were often too small for the large numbers of students occupying them. We often had to share books and desks. In first grade, I didn’t have my own desk right away and had to sit on a windowsill.

We were taught by nuns. Who considered themselves to be “brides of Christ.” In elementary school, I had St. Joseph nuns in high school I was taught by Franciscan nuns. The Saint Joseph nuns were a particularly strict order of sisters. They wore heavy woolen habits. Made from yards and yards of fabric. Their “habits” were fitted at the waist with voluminous skirts and a “belt’ that resembled a large rosary with a huge crucifix that hung down in the front. It clicked and clacked as they floated by seemingly without touching the ground. On their foreheads, they wore a “wimple” which was stiff as cardboard. And another piece that covered their chins. And a huge, white bib, that covered them from their necks to their chests, shoulder to shoulder.

I often wondered if they had hair underneath their veils. We were told never to touch the sisters for any reason. They were untouchable. I often wondered if they had ever been regular human beings or entirely another species. We were never brave enough or bold enough to question their words or their behaviors. No matter how unfair or unfathomable it seems to us.

Part of my Catholic School experience was wearing “uniforms.” The Our Lady of Perpetual Help uniform (OLPH) for girls was a maroon jumper with a white short-sleeved blouse, and saddle shoes, which were black and white. And a “beanie,” which was a maroon wool cap with a maroon wool-covered button on the top. Girls had to keep their heads covered at all times, especially in church. The boys wore dark pants, a white shirt, and a tie. The wool uniforms were itchy and uncomfortable especially as the weather became warmer. In the winter, girls were allowed to wear pants under their uniforms outside. But once inside, we had to take them off.

We were expected to stay neat and tidy at all times. My mother was kept busy washing and ironing our uniforms. The nuns kept order in the classrooms at all times. We were not allowed to talk back, or ask questions. Or heaven forbid chew gum in school. If anyone was caught with gum, they were forced to wear it stuck to the end of their nose for the rest of the day. If your behavior was out of line, you would sit in the corner. Your name would be added to a list on the blackboard. It was on there more than three times, you would be in for a world of trouble. And you warned it would go on your “permanent record.”  Which we were told would follow you around for the rest of your life. The final threat was you would be expelled and never heard from again. This would be the ultimate embarrassment for your family, of course. What would the neighbors think?  The sisters were not beyond using physical punishment, either. Rapping the knuckles with a metal-edged ruler, slapping, knocking the more rebellious boys down a short flight of steps. And name-calling, such as stupid, or lazy, was all too common a punishment.

There were some rewards in Catholic School too. You could become a hall monitor. Or you would be given a responsibility such as clapping the blackboard erasers. The greatest honor was being the child who crowned the Blessed Mother statue in the May procession.

On the first Friday of every month, we were all marched up to the church for Confession. There was a lot of pressure involved in going to Confession. Which was considered a Blessed Sacrament. Coming up with good sins to tell the priest, aside from the usual I got in a fight with my brother or sister, I lied. I was a quiet child and didn’t always have good “sins” to tell the priest. Sometimes, I felt compelled to “make up” more interesting transgressions. After Confession, we all had “pure souls.”

On Sunday mornings, we all went to the Children’s Mass at 9 am. During the Mass, if you were foolish enough to commit a transgression, the sisters would come up to the aisle where you were sitting and click a little metal clicker they had in their deep pockets.

My aisle often got into trouble because I always felt a compulsion to make all the girls in my aisle to start laughing. I would do this almost every Sunday without fail. Make a face or fart and cause a domino effect when my friend next to me would laugh, and then each girl next to them to giggle. The nuns would be clicking like crazy. We would be kept after school and punished by having to diagram sentences. Over fifty years later, I can still diagram a sentence.

In Catholic School, the curriculum was basic: reading, writing, arithmetic, history, spelling, science, spelling, English, and, more importantly religion. We had religion every day. In this class, we were given questions and we had to memorize the answer. If you weren’t good at memorizing your career in Catholic School was at risk. It turns out that I have an excellent memory. And I always received straight A’s in Religion and History and spelling. We’re not permitted to question these Religious beliefs. You were expected to believe on Faith. Anything less was considered a sacrilege.

Another important skill all good children needed to learn was the Palmer Method of Writing. We spent endless hours writing in blue books. We filled these books with strokes and ovals. It was tedious and a waste of time, and I was terrible at it since I was bored. We were using dip pens in bottles of ink. By the fifth grade, there were cartridge pens.

At that time there was a great deal of excitement about the Space Program. And a TV was brought into the classroom so we would all observe a space rocket being launched from Cape Canaveral. Not everyone had televisions back then. It was exciting to watch.

As far as sex education, in the eighth grade, we received a lecture. Of course, the boys and girls were in different rooms. The girls learned about menstruation. A very vague explanation was given and pictures of something (supposedly sperm) swimming towards a waiting ovum. No questions were allowed, and we were warned not to discuss this with the boys. One girl was assigned the important task of smuggling the little booklets out of the room under her jacket.

God knows what version of the truth the boys were told. I was still trying to figure out what a hickey was, let alone how someone got pregnant. No one bothered to tell me about the physical manifestations of menstruation, and I had three older sisters.

When it was time for my sister and me to attend high school,  we had to take entrance exams. We were both accepted into St. Mary of the Angels Academy and Holy Cross High School. My parents made the decision that we would attend Saint Mary of the Angel’s Academy because it was an all-girls high school.

I was a shy girl all through my high school years. St. Mary’s was located in Haddonfield, NJ. Which was a higher income area than Maple Shade, NJ, where I grew up. There were some benefits to attending an all-girl school. One was girls didn’t have to fight for attention because there were no boys. In grade school, the nuns always called on the boys. Girls were told it was a known scientific fact that we could not comprehend Math or Science. Many girls at St. Mary’s found out that they were quite intelligent. In fact that they could excel in both Science and Math. We also had a basketball team that competed with other girls’ teams throughout the state of NJ.

The Catholic School system taught me many things: reading, writing, math, history, and basic knowledge of Science, French, and a smattering of Latin. It also taught me self-control, discipline, and determination.

However, it took me years to overcome the lack of self-esteem and inhibitions that sometimes overwhelmed me. Catholic high school did protect us for four additional years from the harsh realities of life. But I don’t know if they did us any favors considering the turmoil of the seventies that awaited us.


CORONA VIRUS- JUNE 6th, 2020

Another week has passed. Spring is nearly over and Summer will arrive in two weeks. I can’t imagine that this summer will be similar to any summer I have experienced during my lifetime. It’s true the heat and humidity will be here and extended daylight too. But few people will be taking vacations at the beach or anywhere else I imagine.

Cows cooling down in the pond

In my travel to my volunteer job at Animal Edventure, I have been fortunate in being able to observe the beautiful farmlands of North Carolina come to life. Two weeks ago, I noticed that the farmers were plowing their fields and that because of all the rain we receive, the grass was greener, and the wildflowers were appearing along the side of the roads.

NC rural farmlands- photos by Bob Culver

Yesterday I noticed that the crops that were just planted a week ago were about ten inches tall. I was amazed at how quickly they grew. Thanks to the hardworking farmers and the Latino migrant workers that come here every year to do the backbreaking work to provide food for our tables. I have never lived in a rural area before, and I have come to have a real appreciation for this landscape.

We will appreciate our friends and family because we now understand how essential they are to our lives and our happiness. And appreciate them all in a new way. We will no longer take anything for granted. Because we realize that any of it or all of it could be lost in a moment.

We know life seems to slip by quickly as we get older. And every moment of our lives should be treasured. Now is the time for all of us to tell people how much we love and care for them. From my own experience, I can tell you that time passes quickly. It seems like yesterday when my children were young and playing in the little blow-up pool in the backyard of our first house. And now they are both adults. It seems in the blink of the eye.

When I was a child, Summer was my favorite time of the year. It was a magical time. I had complete freedom, no school, and so no homework. Endless days of playing with my friends, riding my bike all over town and swimming in my neighbor’s pool, roller skating, walking downtown and going to the 5 & 10 Store, and going to the Matinee downtown every Saturday afternoon. The only bad memories I have was being eaten alive by the mosquitoes.

So no, this won’t be the idyllic Summer we would all love to have. But we can enjoy watching movies with our children or grandchildren, swimming in our backyard pools if we have one. Riding bikes in our neighborhoods or even hiking in the woods if there is one located near where you live. We can still create good memories. It is up to us.

It is strange that with all the unrest in our country that the Corona Virus has barely been mentioned even though it is clearly still here. And the death rate has continued to increase. And we will a surge in the number of people infected because of people protesting and more people attending churches and not observing social distancing or not wearing masks while among crowds of people.

I believe that because of all the pain and loss we are all feeling at this time, we will learn a new appreciation for we took for granted all these years. The violence that has been visited upon American citizens for lawfully protesting the death of yet another black American citizen by police is difficult to digest. There have been rallies across the world to support Black Lives Matter. There have been riots.

I do not support rioters destroying private businesses or looting. This type of action is not acceptable at all. It hurts everyone in the community. But I do understand the emotions behind the looting and rioting. The anger, the frustration, the resentment they have experienced by being treated as less than white people over many generations has an accumulative effect.

As your lives return to normal and you return to your jobs, please keep in mind that the virus is still very much alive and among us. Please continue to social distance and wear masks. I know it’s easy to forget doing to do this. I enjoy talking to people and often have to suppress my inclination to walk over to people and start talking to them. I miss that interaction. I wave at them from a distance and yell out,” Hello, how are you doing?” It feels weird and artificial to me. But I continue to do so because I don’t want to inadvertently become infected or infect someone else because I wasn’t careful enough. We must always remember to first do no harm.

Some day I hope that all of this will just become a distant bad memory. But there are lessons to be learned here. That all lives have value and make a contribution. A contribution that perhaps we never valued before and, now we do. I hope we remember this when all is said and done.

That in order for us to continue to have a free country, there is a price we all have to pay, is to guard that freedom. That our actions have consequences. That every person’s life matters. Regardless of their race, religion, gender, or sexual orientation.

__________________________________

CORONA VIRUS-MAY 30,, 2020

Here in North Carolina this week, we have had more than our share of rain. It has rained nearly every day during the past week. I’m an avid gardener, so I realize that if I want to enjoy flowers and vegetables growing in my garden, rain is necessary. Today it rained so much that the ground in my back yard is sodden. In NC, if you dig down to about ten inches, you will find red clay.

Calla Lillies - photo by Bridget Culver

Calla Lillies- photo by Bridget Culver

The clay inhibits moisture from going deep into the soil. And the accumulated rainfall after a week of rain just sits on top of that clay. When I go to my back yard, I wear boots. The first Spring after we moved here, we planted several young trees. One week it rained so hard one of the young trees, a beautiful dogwood just floated up out of its soil and fell over. I’ve never seen that happen before. We replanted it, but it didn’t survive.

Some people love rain, the way it sounds on the roof as it falls, the fresh smell after the storm. I, too, enjoy these things. But still, I love a sunny day so much more. I feel so happy when I look out the window and see the sun shining. It lifts my spirit.

Jalapeno – Photo by Bob Culver

Today it started to drizzle on my way to Animal Edventure. A thunderstorm is predicted at about 10:30 AM. I arrive at about 7:15 AM. And so, I think I can accomplish my work done before the rain starts. But the rain starts early. The bird building I work in has a metal roof, and the sound that the rain makes on the roof is tremendous. The parrots and Macaws love noise, and they increase their volume as the rain hitting the roof becomes louder. I have to go out of the building several times, and I am thoroughly soaked.

By this time, I accept that it will probably rain all day. I stop letting it bother me. I turn the radio on in the building. The only station that I’m able to tune in is a Country Station, not my favorite kind of music. But I go with it. The birds, including three Macaws, three cockatoos, and twenty parrots, all begin to chime in. They love the rain. And would probably love nothing more than to be out in the rain taking a shower. So all and all we had a good morning in the bird building, singing, and some screaming, screeching and talking.

After I took care of my parrots in the bird building, I go outside to feed the pheasants, chickens, and doves. They don’t seem to mind the rain either. I cleaned out all their water dishes and checked who needed more feed. And I rake out the waste, and I’m finished. I put all my tools away and walk out to my car. The sun shows its face. I was happy to see it even if it is only for a little while.

I hit the country road and start home. When I ‘m about one-half mile from Animal Edventure, I notice a Red-Tailed Hawk sitting on a post of a split rail fence. And flying over the hawk’s head is a wren who is repeatedly dive-bombing the hawks head, hitting it over and over. I realize the wren wants the hawk out of his territory. Possibly she’s protecting her nearby nest. I want to stop and take a picture, but I realize they would both fly away if I did. So, I just slowly drive by them and watch the show. The hawk ignoring the wren as if were little more than a gnat. And the wren unafraid and unrelenting in her desire to protect her nest and babies.

Nature is continuing to do its job, rain upon the earth, offering us the occasional glimpse of the sun, the wren protecting the future generation of wrens.

When I arrive home, I fill up the bird feeders in my yard while the sun still shines. As long as we live upon this planet, nature will continue to provide for the cycle of life. About an hour later, the heavy rain returns, and I watch the storm from the safety of my porch.

As I sit there on my porch chair, my dog Douglas jumps up next to me, and I pet his head. He’s happy that I’m home and is content to lie next to me and continue his nap.

As I sit there, I contemplate all the things that occurred during the past five days, and some of it is heartbreaking. A man’s life was lost because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and his skin was not white. The city he lived in is in turmoil, and his community is angry and reacting.

It is a heartbreaking event, one that we have all heard too many times. I can’t imagine how this will resolve. I wonder how much longer it will take for America to recognize that the color of one’s skin is one small aspect of that person. Would you define a person’s worth by their eye color? This man’s future is forever gone. His family and friends will miss him for the rest of their lives.

The number of people that have died from the virus in America has risen to over 100,000 people. A number so large it’s hard to comprehend. But every single digit represents a single person who is forever lost to their family, their friends. Anything that they could have contributed to our society, to our planet is forever lost.

Anyone who states that the “numbers” aren’t that bad, is a person who does not value human life. A person that values “things” more than life. The accumulated loss of all that this 101thousand lives could have accomplished and could have enriched our lives is incalculable ways and will forever remain unknown. But the loss will be deeply felt for generations to come.

__________________________________

COMING OF AGE

In May of 1989 I turned 38 years old. In July of that same year I celebrated my 14th wedding anniversary to my husband, Bob. I had two young children Jeanette, who was seven years old, and my youngest daughter Bridget was almost four.

Susan Culver- Tyler School of Art ID

In September of 1989 I entered Temple University at Tyler School of Art as a full-time Freshman. I was the first and the only adult to begin undergraduate studies as an adult at the Tyler Campus. I looked young for my age, but by no stretch of the imagination did I look seventeen or eighteen years old.

In 1987 my mother passed away from congestive heart failure. My father died eight months before her from lung cancer. The years that my parents became ill and eventually succumbed to their illnesses were the most difficult and painful I had ever experienced. Their absence from my life was almost unbearable.

But I learned many lessons from those experiences and the most important one I learned from my mother. She revealed to me in the last year before she died that her biggest regrets were not the mistakes, she made. But the things she had not done in her life. I made a vow to myself that I would not make these same mistakes. I didn’t want to come to the end of my life regretting the things not accomplished. I wasn’t going to allow anything to stand in my way for any reason, including fear and money.

I also learned what a strong woman I had become in the years between eighteen and forty. I learned to trust myself as a person with strong values. I realized I had courage and intelligence. It took all those years to believe in myself. I made a conscious decision to not allow anyone to dissuade me for any reason. And that is exactly what I did. I did not listen when I was told I was too old or didn’t have an art background.

Once I made the decision to go to Art School, I spent almost a year building my portfolio. And ultimately, I was accepted into all the art schools I applied at including Temple University and Hussian School of Art and Moore College of Art which is a women’s college.

I chose to attend Temple Tyler School of Art, which was then located in Cheltenham, Pa. I felt this school offered me the opportunity to not only attend a prestigious art school but access to all the classes at the main campus in Philadelphia. Pa., I wanted to learn more than art but also history, science, women studies, and literature.

At one point before I decided to major in art, I also considered becoming a writer. The second reason I choose Temple Tyler School of art was the University offered me full financial aid for the entire Freshman year. This offer was based on my being a woman of a certain age. And the scores I attained in the University entrance exam. And I believed my determination to go to this school played a big part in my acceptance and financial aid.

The first week as a full-time student was a momentous one for me. Here I was in the mid-point of my life and I was a college Freshman.

The First Day

I leave Bridget in the car seat while I walk Jeanette up to the baby sitter’s front door. The baby sitter had a child had in Franklin Elementary School as well. Her daughter happens to be Jeanette’s best friend. She’s one year younger than Jeanette. I have been babysitting her during the summer months for years since she was a young child. They agreed to walk Jeanette to school along with their own child. The school was just down the street. “Bye Jeanette, I’ll see you after school. I love you.”  Jeanette was so happy to be spending time with her best friend Laura, she didn’t look back, she just yelled, “Bye Mom see you later.”

I jump back into the front seat behind the wheel. I look at Bridget. She’s smiling as usual, always a happy little girl. Her eyes were as big as saucers. “OK Bridget you’re going to the First Baptist Christian Day School. And you are going to make a lot of friends and have tons of fun. You’re so lucky.” She smiles at me. I have to admit I felt a little guilty. But I had spent seven years being a stay at home mom. And I thought they would benefit being with other children and adults. They both had a tendency to be somewhat reticent with people they didn’t know.

I held Bridget’s hand tightly as we walk into the school, and into her classroom. I met her teacher, Mrs. Miller. She looks as if she is about seventy-five years old. And I think, Oh how is she going to handle all these little kids?

“Hello, Mrs. Miller, I’m Susan Culver and this is my daughter, Bridget. She’s starting pre-school here today.”

“Well Mrs. Culver don’t you worry Bridget will be just fine here with me.”

“I’m sure she will, however, she has never been in school before or even had a babysitter before now.”

“Yes, yes Mrs. Culver not too worry, she’ll be just fine, be on your way now.”

“Oh yes of course, let me say goodbye first.”

“No, it’s better if mothers don’t make a big fuss when leaving their little ones here.”

“Oh, alright and I walk to the door and then turn back and took a final look at my little girl. Thinking, oh I hope I haven’t made a mistake doing this. “As I look across the room, I see Bridget sitting in a circle with the other little kids singing like she’s been coming here all of her life. She looks happy. I feel the knot in my stomach loosen a bit.

My first day at school was about to begin as well. And I was feeling equal amounts of excitement and fear. I had graduated from high school in 1969. And so, it had been a long, long time since I was in a classroom as a student. But this was the first time I wanted to go to school. I’m excited about learning and being challenged. All the teachers at Tyler wanted the students to learn and grow as an artist. They were all artists as well.

As I pull out into the street next to First Baptist Christian Day School. I am about to meet my first challenge. I have to drive from Merchantville, NJ to Pennsylvania.  And that meant I had to cross the Tacony-Palmyra Bridge to North East Philadelphia and then on to Cheltenham, Pa.

What challenge is that you may ask? Well, the challenge is my fear of bridges and heights. The Tacony Bridge is a drawbridge that allows large ships to go under the bridge to the port at Philadelphia. And I am terrified of bridges. Why, because one time when I was young, under five I was in the car sitting on my mother’s lap. And we were going over the Walt Whitman Bridge. I leaned against the door and the door swung open and I fell out onto the bridge. Luckily my father was at a standstill waiting until the drawbridge closed that was allowing a ship to pass under the bridge.

Tacony-Palmyra Bridge, NJby Arorlin 55 2009

I don’t remember much more than this. Except how angry my father was at me. Even though obviously it wasn’t my fault I was a child, the door wasn’t locked and I was sitting on my mother’s lap and not in my own seat in the back. Of course, back then there weren’t car seats or seat belts for that matter. And my father was mad because it scared him witless when I fell out. And ever since that day I was afraid of going over bridges.

I found out that the first day that I drove over the bridge was I wasn’t afraid anymore. Why, because I was the one doing the driving. Before this, I had always insisted that my husband drives to Philadelphia. Now I had control of my car, and I was safe. That’s the day I overcame my fear of bridges. And it was a good thing because for the next four years sometimes I had to go back and forth twice a day. So, I met that first challenge.

My second challenge was getting to the Tyler School without getting lost. One of my shortcomings is a complete lack of a sense of direction. Never had one, still don’t. My husband Bob wrote clear and precise directions to and from Tyler. And he drew a map. I taped the map to the dashboard to the right of the steering wheel. Thanks to him, I made my way to school and back without getting lost once. Of course, at some point I remembered the route without the map. Although for some reason my brain often has difficulty figuring out how to go home even though it is the same except for the direction I’m headed. It always takes me longer to learn the way back from just about anywhere I go.

As I made my final right turn into the stone walled parking lot of Tyler, I was torn between excitement and trepidation at making it this far in my dream of becoming an artist. Spending a year getting my portfolio prepared, applying to the art schools and participating in the portfolio reviews, and waiting for news of whether I was accepted or not. I was thrilled when I was accepted by all the schools where I applied. And even more thrilled to get financial aid and grants.

As I sat in my car in the parking lot, I look around I realize my car was the only one there. I look at my car clock and I realize that I was once again I would be the first one to arrive. This is a life-long habit, arriving early. After twelve years of Catholic School I was neurotic about being late. As this was practically considered a “Mortal Sin.” And for the next four years I was always the first student to arrive in every class. Which was of benefit to me because it gave me time to study. Time is valuable when you in college. I scheduled every minute of my day. Especially for me a Freshman student who was married and has a house and two small children to take care of. In addition, I made the decision to have two majors, graphic design and art education.

As I walk out of the parking lot, I realize I had no idea where I was supposed to go. I broke out in a sweat. Then I remembered I had a campus map in my backpack. My first class was the Freshman Graphic Design Class. I look on the map for the building and found my way there. I walked over to a man who was trimming some bushes and said,” Hello, my name is Susan Culver. I’m just starting here today. Can you tell me if this is the Graphic Arts Building?”

He said, “yes, it is right through that door at the top of the steps, but you may be a mite early.”
“Thanks so much, I’m a bit nervous this is my first day here. What’s your name?”

“My name is Patrick. I’m one of the groundskeepers here. I worked here for years.”

“Oh, really it’s nice to meet you. Thanks for your help.”

“Your welcome, good luck, Susan.”

After that morning I made it my business to say hello to Patrick every time I saw him. He was my first friend at Tyler. Always pleasant, kind, and welcoming to me and all the other students.

I made my way to the top of the steps and down the hall and found the right room number, no one else was there. Surprise. I sit in the first seat of the front row. I didn’t want to miss a thing. As the students start to arrive almost every one of them asked me if I was the teacher. And I responded, “No, I ‘m a student.”

And they each gave me a funny look and found a seat. One of the students came up to me and said, HI, y name is Lynette Brown.”

“HI Lynette, I’m Susan Culver. My mother’s name was Brown and she was born in Philadelphia. Maybe we’re related.”

She took a long look at me and said,” Somehow I doubt it.” We both laughed. She was a young black student. She was eighteen years old. We both laughed and we started talking. It turns out that we had almost identical class schedules and she was also majoring in Art and Art Education. We spent the better part of the next four years together. We became great friends despite the age difference. We even did our teaching practicums together in our junior and senior years. She was extremely talented, and intelligent. She even enjoyed my sarcastic sense of humor.

One of the promises I made to myself before I started my student career was to make friends with as many people as I could while I was a student. This was not an easy challenge for me since I spent my entire life up to that point being quiet and reticent with people I didn’t know. But starting from that first day of school I made it my business to introduce myself to every student I came into contact with and most of the staff at the campus.

When I went to the student lunchroom for break or lunch if there wasn’t an empty table, I would walk over to one of the tables with an empty seat and say,” Hi, I’m Susan Culver. Would you mind if I sit here and have lunch with you?’ They always said, “Yeah, sure.” And then I would ask everyone at the table, “what class are you taking?” And this is how I became acquainted with every student at the school.

The teachers kept it professional at all times. Even though quite a few of my teachers were about my age. They soon realized that I always had my assignments done on time. And they would call on me to put my artwork up to be critiqued first. And they showed me no pity. I believe all the other students benefited by these critiques because they didn’t want their work to be so harshly critiqued as mine was every day. They learned what not to do, and what was expected by my mistakes.

That first day was only a small taste at what I would experience as an art student. But by far Freshman Life Studies Drawing class was the most challenging for many reasons. It was four hours every day. You had to draw standing up at an easel and the models were mostly young people male and female. One time one of the maintenance workers modeled for our class and he was about fifty. I had a hard time talking to him when I met him in the hall after that. The models had to stand for hours in the same position and they were nude. About five of the Freshman students dropped out of class that first day because they were not prepared to draw nude models. After a time, I started looking at the models as just one more object to draw that reflected light and shadow. And it stopped bothering me altogether.

And so, ended my first day. It was a day that challenged me and changed me for the better.

__________________________________

Corona Virus- May 23rd, 2020

Three and a half years ago when I was driving home from my volunteer job at Animal Edventure, I noticed a small abandoned farmhouse. Its clapboards had long ago lost any paint that had adorned them. The house stands back about thirty feet off the road. Behind the house are two outbuildings crumbling to the ground. The fields behind lie fallow.  On the edge of a road in front of the old house grows a large stand of Prickly Pear Cactus. Oh, I thought I would love to have one of those in my front yard where I get the sun all day.

Abandoned House with Cactus

I decide the next time I come to Animal Edventure on my way home, I’ll stop and cut a couple of pads off. It just so happen that my husband came with me that day to repair some equipment at the sanctuary. On our way home, we pull over in front of the house and park. I  brought some newspapers and a small serrated saw. We cut off two pads and were on our way.

When I arrive home I place the pads in our small greenhouse to heal over. In the meantime we prepare a berm with a mixture of sand, soil, and gravel.

Two weeks later I planted the pads in the berm and happily, they rooted. Over the next two years the cactus flourished. In the second year, several flowers bloom. This year it’s in full bloom.  It reminds me that we can start from a single seed, and in time we will have a fragrant flower or a flowering tree that bears fruit—given time care and effort. Nature can fill an empty space with life.

Flowering Cactus

Photo by Bob Culver

Nature has the ability to recover from catastrophic events. In Australia it has been observed that some of the forests are recovering after being ravaged by fire. There are signs of regrowth across much of eastern Australia. But, we know that if we do not change our ways and stop depleting our planet of all its’ resources. If we continue to pollute the land, the water, and the air. Climate change will continue and worsen. There will be more fires.

Right now at this moment we’re facing challenges that no one in the past one hundred years had to face.  A virus that seems to be intent on eliminating human life from the planet earth. We have the opportunity right now to make choices that protect our fellow man, woman, and child. If we all work together as one, we can and will find an anti-viral to protect any further people from becoming infected. It can limit the number of lives that are lost. People have been unable to work and earn a living. Some people are going hungry. Their basic needs are not being met. We are losing our loved ones, especially older people whose immune systems are unable to fight against this virus. We must acknowledge that all people’s lives have value. No matter their age or if they are rich or poor.

A single flower can bring joy to someone’s life, An older person brings wisdom and experience. All people are capable of making a contribution. Children are the future. We must protect everyone. Every single being is unique and they can not be replaced.

One day in the future humanity will look back at how we handled this experience. And hopefully, they will be able to say people did their best, we valued all people’s lives, they took care of the poor and disenfranchised. Everyone worked together for the benefit of all.

If you reflect on what is going on right now is this the behavior you are seeing? If not, why not? We can all take a step in the right direction. It is not too late. Do the right thing. We all know what it is, we have to make a choice. And you do have the ability to choose right over wrong. Generosity over selfishness. Love over hate.

__________________________________

Corona Virus- May 16th,2020

Corona Virus-May 16th, 2020

This week has brought equal parts of both good and bad. Reminders that life’s challenges help me to become a stronger person. This week I have observed that the Magnolia trees are in full bloom. I so look forward to seeing those majestic flowers every year. And it’s a reminder that life goes on despite what is happening now.
I look forward to the magnificent Crepe Myrtles blooming in a couple of months. We must allow ourselves these moments to enjoy the good things in life that are all around us.

Magnolia Flower- Photo by Bob Culver

One of the animals that I came to love at Animal Edventure met an untimely death. I will so miss her each day when I go there. She was the first one who greeted me, And I pet her from the top of her head to the end of her tail. I would bring her into the main building and feed her and give her something to drink. Such a beautiful animal. Such a short life.

I have faced many difficult times in my life. I believe I faced these times head-on. I look at each challenge and think about what will make this situation better or a least less painful. What can I do?

In 1985 my parents, who were then in their mid-seventies, became ill. My father developed lung cancer, he already had emphysema. He was a heavy smoker his whole life. My mother’s personality and behavior changed drastically. My mother was blind from glaucoma. She lost her vision slowly over time. She didn’t tell anyone what was happening. Her loss of vision affected her profoundly and she became frightened and paranoid. Perhaps it was dementia or as my brother who was a psychologist thought a psychosis. There aren’t words enough to explain how devastatingly painful to see my loving and caring mother change before my eyes to someone I didn’t recognize. I miss her still to this day. Not the person she became at the end of her life but the loving and devoted mother I knew for my whole life up until that time.

My children were only two and five at the time, and I was a stay at home mother for several years. And so, I was able to spend a great deal of time with my parents. My father gave me the power of attorney. I took over their finances and paid their bills and made medical decisions for them. When the time came, I bought their burial plots and their caskets, headstones, and flowers.

Lung cancer is an unforgiving disease and it progressed rapidly. By the time my father shared his symptoms with me, he had large inoperable lesions in his esophagus and right lung. At that time, there was no treatment for him, as the cancer was too advanced. My mother’s mental health deteriorated over this time. I have to admit I have never felt as low at any time in my life as I did during their illness and after their death. My entire family, which was a large one, stepped up to help take care of my parents. It was a sad time for us all.

After my father passed, it was apparent that my mother wouldn’t be able to live by herself. And I hired a woman whose name was Doris Cook to come in and stay with my mother during the week. My siblings and I took turns having my mother stay at our homes on the weekends. It was painful seeing my dear mother’s sweet and loving personality disappear day by day. She passed eight months after my father.

I know every member of my family felt this loss deeply. As for myself, I woke up every day and felt that loss and waves of sorrow would wash over me. Until I felt I was drowning in it. I thought I’m an orphan now, I have no parents. It took a long, long time for me to overcome this sadness. And still, to this day, I feel a deep emptiness when I realize that I will never see my parents again. Despite the fact that it has been over thirty years.

I have realized that loss is just as big a part of life as is joy and happiness. Loss offers us the opportunity to grow and mature and become a stronger man or woman. If we stand up to those challenges if we face then instead of running away or denying their existence.

Right now, at this moment, at this time, we are all facing the biggest challenges on every front that we never imagined would come our way. Not in our wildest imagination. A pandemic never crossed my mind, not once, not ever. I knew there was a pandemic in 1918 when my parents were young. But I certainly never thought it would happen in the here and now. In fact, I never thought about it at all. It belonged to the distant past. But here it is. And we are in the middle of it. Not just here in American but every single place big and small across our planet. So far, 308,985 people have died from this disease. Over 80,000 in the United States alone.

By nature, I am a caretaker and a fixer of sorts. In one way or another throughout my life, I have striven to give assistance and care to the people I come in contact with me. If I see a need and I am able to mitigate it in some way, I have. There are so many people now that are not getting their basic needs met with food, shelter, and clothing. I help in my own limited way.

We are all in this together. And if I could just offer this bit of advice please, please wear masks when you are out and about. They are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign that you care about others, including your own family members’ health and well-being. They protect “other people” whose masks protect “you.” Even if you never did anything for anybody your whole life, you can do this small thing NOW. Wear the mask to protect others and they will do the same for you.

We are not able to reliably project when the pandemic will end. It could appear as if it is and then flair up again and more people will die. Or it could become a seasonal disease that returns again and again. We will not become safe again until there is an antiviral available to protect us from this disease. And when this happens, get inoculated. Please. Do the right thing. If you never made a good decision in your life, why not start with this.

As you go about your daily life, try to be kind. I know it is difficult considering all the stress we are all under, not enough money to live on, buy food, pay our bills. People want to go back to work and provide for their families and they can’t yet. We miss spending time with our friends and family. And going out for fun. And a million other little and big things too long a list to mention. But, somehow, sometime in the future those of us who are still here will look back on this time and think, “I’m stronger than I realized. I did the right thing for myself, my community, and the world. I survived this, so I certainly can meet any other challenge that comes my way. Please do the right thing, not just for you but for all of us. We are all in this together.

__________________________________