Monday, February 18, 2013

What have we been up to?

Searching for a home for Marian.  Finding a home for Marian. 

Marian and Brother measure rooms and inspect house.

Discuss pros and cons.......

Cohen makes himself comfortable in the house.........
 Seller accepted offer.  House passed official inspection.  Waiting for realtors to tie up all the paperwork on their end. Waiting for pre-approved loan's paperwork so closing date can be set.

 When back on the ranch I take pictures of the animals.
 Maisey wants some lovin'.  With THAT look you better believe she gets it too!
              I play on Picasa to see how pencil drawing pictures     
will look
 I run out to cut daffodils before they freeze during the night.
 I didn't think about the horse eating the flowers when I sat them on the mantel...
A few blooms for Our Lady and a prayer for Vincent and his up-coming surgery. 
 Splish, splash.  Fun in the tub.
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Thursday, February 7, 2013

Starving Artist Show...sorry nothing for sale...

I lied.  In the title I mean. Sort of.  The beautiful creator of this work is not starving.  In fact,  she eats very well.
The Pre-K class's  pictures were on display recently for an open house held at Sophia's school.  All of the art works were very nice and some of the budding artists showed better than average abilities and great potential.  Really.   Each child picked their own subject matter and named their own work.  A picture of the artist at work was mounted along with current statistics on the child and the painting..  (age, grade,  medium used and the picture's title. )

Sophia was more than original with the naming of her picture.  I think she is showing  not only a budding talent for color and balance but also her love for the beauty of words.  The other children named their pictures just what they were, a horse was " Horse ", a tree branch was  " Tree Branch " etc., but Sophia decided only the most beautiful of words would do  for her picture's title.  Words  she loves saying and hearing, words that name her favorite things.  So, her bright garden flowers and butterfly painting was christened,  " Luna Pegasus ".

I would like to believe she was thinking of these as she named
her picture

 but, I have a feeling this is what she had in mind.  And I have a sneaking suspicion she doesn't know how to draw horses.
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Monday, February 4, 2013

What nun ? Where ?

     You can still hear a few nun jokes and the horror stories of nun brutality from almost any adult that attended real school, i.e., Catholic School in the 1950's and '60's. These parochial schools had a card carrying, habit garbed, pointer wielding nun at the head of every classroom.  This lady kept order over from 15 to 50 students for the entire school day and managed to teach them at the same time.  Something not possible today. 

     Whenever two or more alumni of these institutions meet talk will inevitably turn to our classroom experiences. Speaking with great enthusiasm we will exchange light hearted banter before slipping into the telling of our most horrifying, neurosis inducing classroom experiences.  As these stories evolve there is the exhibiting of schizophrenic behavior by the speaker and audience alike. There is wild swinging of arms and loud interruptions of " Ah, man! " and " No ! ".   Everyone is in an uproar.  As emotional exhaustion takes over the group a few listeners will give an exaggerated nod of the head in the hope of conveying the empathy everyone feels for the victim speaker.  As the session ends there are clucking sounds emanating from a sympathetic friend followed by an uncomfortable moment of silence.  Everyone is spent and looks horsewhipped.  Then,  a round of drinks is ordered and the talk turns to how fast time passes and what our grandchildren are doing. 
     Hold on there.  Our grandchildren?  Grown grandchildren?  We're old people still talking about grade and high school?  Good Lord, what is wrong with us?  I will venture to say nothing, at least not because we're telling old stories.  That is, if we really have  at this point in our lives, reached inside our heart and soul for truth and understanding for all of the brave, strong, good women that devoted their lives to teaching the ungrateful urchins that we were ( are ).  

     I believe the nuns, just as our mothers,  received the blame for many an imagined slight toward us, their beloved daughters and sons.   And, as with mothers everywhere, the nuns have paid a high price for it.   Many a  psychiatrist, psychologist, past student, author and Catholic comedian blames their mother and the nuns that  taught them for most everything they feel is wrong with them and therefore, the world.   
                                                                MOTHERs and NUNs =
   Nuns are, sadly to say, becoming extinct. It doesn't look as though their numbers will reach above the endangered range ever again.  And, despite the horror stories of ax wielding nuns, that is a real shame. A shame for The Church, for the languishing and empty convents; a shame for the untaught children and empty school houses and a real shame for the whole world. Even the priests are sorry to see them go. Like fathers left on their own to care for themselves and their children, they have found that house cleaning, child care and teaching the faithful is harder than they thought.   The Church is missing a woman's touch.
    Allow me to venture way off the subject for a moment.  Let me add my own opinion.  The loss of a female, be she a nun or not, within the church rectories allowed more child abuse and misbehavior by priests than would have been had the priests remained under the watchful care and eyes of a good woman. With no consistent female influence around him the priest did as many a man alone does. He did as he pleased.

     My word! Do you realize I haven't gotten to the subject I started to write this post about?  No, I won't keep on now as it is too late.  I will say my original subject is on a very happy note though.  I'll try to get onto that real soon.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Come Back Mommy !

     This is what happens when Margaret goes downstairs to the basement.
I can't say a whole lot about it though.  When I go down Daisy crys until I let her go with me and Kitty Foo will try to sneak down and hide under one of the children's beds.

Charlotte and Anna Pearl look under the door.  
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