Here I am Again.

There are 42, views, and 11, posts for today, so far. I have been busy writing this afternoon. I write about everything that comes to mind. I write good, things, that don’t make you worry. I write about life, and people I know, and music, art, and the things that make me go around , as in spin like a top!

Life is short, and I am glad my father was into painting. He encouraged me to learn how to do this and that, and to read books on the subjects I needed to have for information. I did. I studied art with artists, and with my dad. He was an artist and a student from one who taught him how to draw portraits. He is famous because he just was a wonderful artist, and he taught dad how to do this.

I believe I watched my dad 20, or 30 times make a portrait of someone. He could draw fictional, portraits, and he did a good, job with the eyes, and the features that make someone look like they do. He visited my school once, and drew some of the students who sat down for a portrait. They went home with their drawing.

My Dad was Pennsylvania Dutch. Only those who are this would understand fully what it  means. He was clean, straight, straight-forward, and humble. Our rooms were clean, and inspected. Our home was clean, and inspected on Saturdays, before we could watch cartoons. We often missed the cartoons.

Mother worked outside the home for several years, and we girls cleaned the house with the knowledge that Dad would inspect.

I am grateful that I know how to clean, and pick up trash, and clothes, and do the washing, etc. because I had parents who let me do this. They believed in work, and there wasn’t going to be any laziness coming out of us when it was time to work.

In the summer, Mother kept us busy, because she would can for the Winter. She canned peaches in the Mason jar. She knew the difference in canning with a pressure cooker, and canning with the pan of water for some of the jars. It was hard work. She had us snapping beans, pealing peaches, and seeding cherries. We froze some things, and others we canned. It took us all summer, but soon we were ready for Winter to come. Our freezer was full, our refrigerator freezer was packed, and we had jars of food on the shelf in the pantry. This way we could stay at the little church where Dad preached. Mom didn’t have a job, but her main job that summer, and after, was to give us something to do to keep us busy, and productive.

For play, we climbed mountains, and hills, with Dad, and camped while Mom stayed in the trailer. I believe my Dad bought us bikes,  so he could go with us. He was a, pastor, but he drew people to church, because he shared life with them, and sometimes took the un-saved people fishing with him. When the boat would turn over, and at times it did, he was right there to help them back in the boat.

I know about canoes, because I would go boating with Dad.

Mom always said, “Why don’t you go with your Dad?”

We didn’t talk, but it was fine with me. I would bring up many subjects and within minutes we had to change to something else. Dad may have wanted to see what I knew about the subject. He didn’t allow me to pick his brain. He wanted  me to talk. I was born shy. Maybe he was trying to workout my shyness.

We  paddled his canoe. He allowed me to guide us. Dad would get out his harp, and play all the hymns, and tunes he knew. There were about forty.   I wasn’t smart at first, with the paddle but, I learned how to keep the boat from going in circles. Smile.


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