LATE BLOOMER
I can't remember the exact day it happened. Growing up was hard as far as keeping up, measuring up, keeping in step. My mind wandered, giving me the tag of "daydreamer".
When I wasn't daydreaming, I was catching up. In a family of 11 children, I was #2 in line.
On report card day, we were called into the living room, one at a time to "discuss" our grades.
I wanted so much to hear a positive note. Sadly, there was no such stimulating accolade for grades, even when they were improved. "Well, that's nice......I know you could do better." And then the dread lower than a C. It was always the math. "You're grounded until next report card." Geeeeeez!
I was second in line to be called on the flood to be grilled and assigned my fate for grades not up to par with the standard. Admittedly, they were never up to par.....and even with improvement, there was always....."Well, you could do better." Grade school through high school.................
I swallowed hard and went into the living room to hear my grades read out loud to me, questioned, and to accept my fate. It was the last report card I would receive. It was my senior year. Surprisingly they weren't so bad. I had managed to bring all of my grades up. And, sadly, I got the "We know you could do better." I was also aware that I was not the only one that heard that "line" every time. The prospect of not being grounded was promising. At least I didn't get grounded. I stood there waiting for the other shoe to fall......and it did.
."Well, we know you could do better." And then it dawned on me that they always said that. Maybe it was a compliment to my abilities. Maybe they did know that somehow, I had the potential of becoming a genius. Oh, come on now! Even I didn't believe that.
As time moved on, I looked to my aunt a lot for inspiration. She so inspired me with her many art mediums as well as her genuine interest in cultural art, and especially Southwest art. I dug up some of the old letters and information on her many talents. She was extremely creative, and displayed her talents in clay pottery, painting, jewelry and horticulture. She filled up her yard with beautiful iris of all kinds. Everything she did was with flare. Even the old blue Plymouth, which she hand-painted blue and sprayed with speckles.
Mom encouraged the writing by making up a family newsletter called The Bull Sheet. The Bull Sheet didn't last very long, but I think I even have a few copies left.... somewhere. The writing thing was also encouraged by our sweet next-door neighbor, Jeannette Farmer. She would always tell us, "Read, read, read, and then write!" She was truly an inspiration to us when she would come out of the house and talk to us.
After I married and had children, I was mostly pre-occupied taking care of kids, hearth and home, along with working to supplement our income. I'm sure I'm not the only mother that managed to juggle all of this. I did manage to keep some of my artful urges by taking a ceramic class and creating some beautiful ceramic elephants to hold a plexiglass coffee table. The ceramic elephants were bronze. Once they were fired and ready to bring home, I purchased a large 6' oval plexiglass tabletop to sit on the bronze elephants. This, but with a bronze glaze:
I instructed everyone that came in the house, that if anyone broke this table, heads would roll. This seemed to work, until one day (after about 10 years) while vacuuming the living room, I absentmindedly backed into the glass table. It snapped in two. How was I going to explain this? Mea culpa. There was no blaming-shifting for this gross display of carelessness. I carefully took the two large pieces of glass out to the garage. This was sad. I had broken my most prized creation and had to tell my husband and daughters. After having confessed my clumsy accident, they burst into guffaws! The elephants then became end tables for the couch. The room looked horribly bare, but it was what it was. We were to move to a new location north of Houston, and I sold the elephants to a nice couple who loved them. And later I even sold the two pieces of plexiglass.
One would think that this discouraged me from making any form of art, but I marched on to making and dressing sock monkeys. I'll bet I made 35 of those little beauties, all different. All for family and friends.
Sadly, I didn't save one for me.
After that itch was scratched, I started making bracelets and necklaces. Beads, beads! Beautiful beads! I've stuck with this, and they have improved with time. And I've earned some money at this, though it was never my intention to "go into business".
I've learned a lot and received much satisfaction. Maybe I have finally started blooming....at 74. Looks like the beads have won out over all of these artsy endeavors. Perhaps I will finally bloom after all. Could there be more? We'll see, but, until then I will continue to find great satisfaction in putting the pretty colored beads together. It makes me happy.
