Ellen's Story--The Giving Tree

It was a Monday. We assembled noisily in the scattered line as we shuffled out the classroom door. While making silent faces trying to get others to giggle in a solemn hall, we reached our destination--the library. I loved wandering aimlessly through the library gazing at all of the bindings trying to decipher which adventures I wish to discover that week. I found two books on the new book rack. It was laborious to find books I hadn't read. The third book must be short, a beautifully illustrated picture book. Time was running out, in 156 seconds we would have to assemble in our line and trudge back for History class.   I would like to have stayed in the library for the remainder of the day, but King George seemed to call. Quickly, I nudged my sticky, peanut butter and jelly fingers along the well-used bindings… huh?...The Giving Tree by Shell Silverstein…He writes good poems…I’ll try it. I found my third book. What I didn’t realize was that I had discovered a treasure that I would cherish for eternity.

This book had no pirates, no animals, no overseas adventures, just a plain story about a boy and a tree. The tree loved for the little boy to gather her leaves, climb up her trunk swing from her branches and eat her apples. “The boy loved the tree… very much and the tree was happy.”

As time went on, the boy grew older, and the tree grew lonely. When the boy did come to visit he talked of material things. The tree gave the boy her beautiful, crimson apples to pawn so he could have money. Time after time he would come back, and she would give freely no strings attached. Each time she was happy to give. The tree's purpose was to please the boy--nothing could have made her happier. When the tree dwindled to nothing but a stump, the boy now, an old man, returned.  The tree was very sad for she had nothing left to offer but the boy, having accomplished everything in life, needed nothing but a place to sit and rest. The tree straightening up as much as she could, invited the boy to sit down and relax. “And the tree was happy.”

As a child. I read a quaint story about a boy and a tree. Now as I reread the book, my mind transforms a simple children's story into a complex symbol, deep with meaning. As I compare my life to the story, I become the boy and God becomes my tree. His roots are embedded in soil and no matter when or what I ask, He replies. He offers his apples and his branches. His trunk supports me in every task I take on. He gives me strength to help others in day-to-day life. When I have two AP English papers due, a physics test, a student council meeting, show choir rehearsal, and I'm scheduled to work all in one day. He gives me strength to carry on and still look forward to tomorrow. When I am sad. He lets me sit under him in his shade. When I am happy. He lets me swing from his branches. This modest children's story gives me abundant insight. I'm certain that no matter where I travel in life. My stump will be waiting. “And the tree was happy.”   

*With permission by the author:  Ellen Ryan, May 1993 the spring of her Norman, OK High School graduation. The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein was published in 1964.

2025 June

The Sanibel Public Library District’s board recently filled an open set on the commission, selecting Ellen Vinciguerra to fill the seat by a unanimous vote.

“The Sanibel Library has been a part of my life since I was a little girl as my family has been on the island since I was a child.” Vinciguerra wrote in her application to the district.

“Libraries are the heart of a community, and for Sanibel, it is the lifeblood of the island…Libraries are critical to the growth of a community.”

 Dear Ellen, If I may speak for the tree, for the teachers, the authors, and the libraries, "We are all so very proud of you and your love of books and libraries." 

 

We Make a Difference--A Teacher's Job is Never Ending

I don't know where this story begins, whether at the middle, the beginning or end or even who the heroine or hero might be. 

1911 fifth grade, Mrs. Donnelly teacher, Eastside School/Jefferson Elementary.  

I do know that for over three decades I have been collecting stories from students and teachers who went to Jefferson Elementary school in Norman, Ok. Our location is the original landsite school for Norman. The doors of Eastside school (1-12) opened in 1894 years before statehood.  

Of the one-hundred and fifty stories we have collected one stream flows throughout. Students recall when a teacher said or did something that made a difference in their lives. It may have been an art teacher who shared her paints and personal brushes with a girl who showed talent, a music/drama teacher who helped students stand in public and speak or sing, all school plays and programs that let the students shine, archeology digs, a story of failure in a grade only to be uplifted the next year by a teacher who understood him or her. Very few recall learning specific skills but they do recall the difference the ability to read, write, compute math, compromise, make friends, and understand how to problem solve made a difference in their lives.

Some even recall the memorizing "prepositions" in order: aboard, about, above, across, after, against......Over those first hundred years at Jefferson students memory work came full circle--memorizing Bible verses and poetry, to the Fifty Nifty United States through music, dance, and drama or times tables by flash cards. Oh, my!

Out of nowhere we may recall "The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on." Thank you Carl Sandburg. 

I joined the staff at Jefferson Elementary in 1978, and recall enough stories from working there until 1995 to fill a book, but it is the lessons I learned that come back to me most often.

I had already worked two years in a public library and three years as a school librarian in Greensburg, Kansas before moving to Norman in 1978. With a master’s degree in hand and five years’ experience, I thought I knew something.

Our library was the hallway in the 1958 blonde brick building with two bathrooms on the west end, ten sinks for each classroom, the heating units and water pipes ran under the library creating three steps down to each classroom.  On the floor in the hallway there were heavy steel cellar doors that could be lifted by two people, so students could step down in the hallway basement/cellar for shelter. It was dark and smelly under that hallway and most likely not even safe in a storm.

Audio Visual equipment being used in the library..1979. Molly O'Dea, John Satterlee, and Wes Hall. Behind Molly are the steps down to the classroom. 

The two ceiling to floor bookcases acted as walls between the classroom and library hallway and as shelving for books. There was no AC, but we did have windows and doors. On the East end a thin wall divided the library and entrance office for the secretary. 

Suddenly, I found myself in the center of the best learning experience of my life. I knew what every teacher was teaching, and could easily help them with various topics and studies. It was a two way street, as I learned. My strength came from my love of literature, and teaching children how to travel through time in books. Using storytelling and puppets opened doors for many of the children’s imagination.

So imagine my surprise when on a winter day a first grade teacher marched up the steps and stood in front of my desk. “Mrs. Rains, a young boy in my class who cannot read at first grade level keeps checking out books for older boys and girls. You mustn’t let this happen.” I nodded and took the book.

The next day, I presented a plan, "Mrs. Searcey, if you would allow Floyd to check out one book of his choice and one book on grade level would that be sufficient?”

Frances didn’t smile, but nodded saying, “We will see how that goes.”

Not long afterwards Floyd checked out a fantasy book that had won the Newbery Award for excellence in children’s literature, along with a large print reader on fist grade level.

It was the second or third time he had checked out that book. Later that week, I walked down the steps to his room and peered over his shoulders as he read and mumbled to himself. All along Mrs. Searcey kept her eye on us. “Floyd,” I asked, “would you show me or tell me what you are reading?”

Floyd looked up at me stoically and replied, “Don’t you remember this book you told the kids to read? It has a medal on it, and it is about a dog.”

“True,” I smiled while recalling that I had mentioned that book last November to the fifth graders, and that his desk must have been right behind the divider I put up to make a reading corner in the library. He had heard me talk about it and had seen it on the poster. “Isn’t it hard to read?” I asked. “No,” he replied. Then he opened the book and using his index finger he read every Dolch sight word on the page and the next page. I was humbled and nearly cried.

Floyd loved that book and I only hope that one day by fifth grade he was able to read and enjoy every word in it.

After school I explained what had happened. Frances looked at me rather solemnly then smiled ever so slowly, “I think Floyd taught us both a lesson today.”

The Rains of Ranchipur Recalled

For the last month central Oklahoma has received 12.5 " of rain, the most rain recorded in April since 1942 and May is by all accounts our rainiest month!  (Update: May 6 between midnight and noon we've received another 1 1/2" of rain.) All records have been broken and ten of those inches fell during my flower planting season. Our home sits on a slight decline, not a mountain which slides into the river, which translates to our famous clay soil sucking up the rain and keeping the ground squishy.  It also causes plants to wilt and drown from too much water, but it does not cause earthquakes.

Wilted perennials sitting in rain soaked clay, mud. 

 

Only droughts in Oklahoma cause the ground to split wide open, revealing baked red clay. 

Two weeks ago, with my never call it quits attitude I dug my first hole for the Purple Salvia. Water, not black oil, bubbled up and laughed at me.  Then it began to rain for days on end.

1900 spring rains in Norman, Ok before University Blvd was paved. 

My sister and I share a memory that we often recall during stormy seasons and heavy rains. Only a phone call away we recount the color of the skies before the storms, how high did the water rise, how many minutes or hours have we been hovered under a storm, what yard furniture was destroyed, windows broken, trees fallen or roofs peeled back. We talk in descriptions like yellowish green skies before the storm, howling winds, thunderous booms from lightning and pelting rains, but we didn't laugh when we were little children. 

One dreary winter day back in the last century when the Ford Thunderbird owned the road, when families watched black and white TV shows like "Gunsmoke", Alfred Hitchcock Presents", "I Love Lucy", and "The $64,000 Question" two little girls walked to the Coleman Theatre in Miami, Oklahoma to watch a movie called "The Rains of Ranchipur." 

With money enough to buy a large dill pickle each, we found cushioned seats toward the front of the grand theatre. Sitting under the large chandelier imagining royalty sitting in the two balcony wings we felt rich.

It didn't take long for the movie to go from a boring romance to torrents of rain upon rain until the earth began to move and shake causing massive craters in the earth's surface right in front of us. We screamed when we saw people running and falling into the abyss. The cracks became crevices and then ravines of raging water and death traps. We tried to stop the people in the movie with our directions, "No, don't go across the bridge. No, don't run blindly down the streets, they might open and swallow you!"  

Then suddenly the  mountains gave way, the dam broke, trees and buildings all washed in violent waves down the river busting the bridge wide open and sending people to their deaths. Someone in the movie we liked must have fallen into the river at that point, because I remember us crying. 

When we stepped out into the Saturday afternoon daylight cold rains just shy of icy pellets were pouring down,.  We stood under the Marquee in hopes that our mother may have paid attention to the weather and rescue her little girls from the long walk home.  With the blaring moo cow horn we saw our mother parked up the street waiting to take her girls home and any neighbors we saw along the way. Our bodies crawled into the station wagon and held each others hand. 

To this day I don't recall any of the plot even though great names like Lana Turner, Michael Rennie, and Fred McMurray starred in the show. If anything, the movie has sealed the relationship between two sisters. It has been our benchmark on a deluge of rain, and it does rain in Oklahoma most often in dramatic fashion. 

The security for us was that we didn't live in India, so of course, what happened in the movie wouldn't happen in Oklahoma.  For years the term earthquake brought brought back visuals in black and white of people screaming as they fell into the earth's innards.

When our family bought a set of 1959 World Book Encyclopedia's I earmarked page 2168 on earthquakes. It reads: Earthquakes are among the most terrible things that can happen on earth. They have toppled huge cities and started great first, killing thousands of persons. They have started tidal waves that have swept up cities on seacoasts. Sometimes the earth itself splits open. (I think perhaps that statement created more fear than the movie.) 

Seventy years later an internet description reads: An earthquake is a sudden shaking of the Earth's surface caused by the release of energy in the Earth's crust. Not nearly as terrifying as the WBE in the 1950's.  

This weekend the sun is shining. I will gather my tools and my flat of flowers to plant before more rain returns on Tuesday. For two older and wiser women we will not drive into water on the roads, nor do we worry about earthquakes, but we do take cover from tornadoes. 

Reflections on Our Past

 Reflections....on Our Past  

written for the Norman Transcript by Frances Barker Maynard, edited by Letty Stapp Watt

1900's Norman, Oklahoma

My father, Bland C. Barker, came to Norman in 1902 and started the Barker Lumber Company. It was just east of Cleveland County Courthouse, on the land which is now the Security National Bank drive-in, between East Comanche and Eufaula on South Peters Street.

He had a team of horses and a large "dray" to deliver lumber around the town and in the country--all roads were dirt (and MUD after any amount of rain). Two men were hired to help in the lumber yard, in delivering lumber, and to do some building.

My mother, Lucy McKittrick, was a school teacher at Jefferson School.

Eastside School grades 1-12 built in 1894. In 1909 when the new Norman High School opened on the corner of E. Gray and Ponca (facing the south) they renamed Eastside to be Jefferson school grades 1-8. This building burned mysteriously in 1914. The new building opened 1916. 

One fall, the Norman Chamber of Commerce held a contest. The young girls of the community were to represent the different business--literally. Mother was assigned the Barker Lumber Company. 

She didn't know Mr. Barker, and he didn't know Miss McKittrick. So, it was with some misgivings, that Mother went down to the lumber yard to see if there was something she could use in making a costume.

Daddy was very helpful. He brought out tar paper and bangles, strips of color charts, and different shapes and sizes of wood blocks.

Mother took these home, and fashioned a beautiful and very unique costume. On the bottom of the long black dress, she made a flared border from the tar paper, and decorated it with the bangles. Around the collar and down the front of the waist, she sewed the strips of color charts. She also used these strips to make a tiara to wear on her hair. She made a belt, using the wood blocks, to wear around her waist.

The night of the contest, my mother, according to my father, was radiant--with her brown eyes and black hair, and her beautiful costume. She carried a stand-up placard with read, "Barker Lumber Company." 

She was the Winner!

Needless, to say, about a year later, Mother and Daddy were married, but not until Bland C. Barker attended the World Series and Fair in St. Louis in 1904. 

Six children were born to the union: Hermione, Clarence, Frances, Norman, Forrest and Jack. 

***

The reflection closes with the children's names but continues with a little research. The saddest story is that Lucy's son, Norman fought in WWII and is listed as MIA. 

Frances' mother, Lucy McKittrick, was hired to teach at Eastside school in June 1902. The Norman Transcript 1902.2.6 published those receiving teacher certificates. 

I do not know how long Lucy continued to teach at Jefferson. Her daughter, Frances Barker, attended many social events in Norman and Oklahoma City where she played the piano and sang for the audiences. She was a highly talented musician. Frances graduated from the University of Oklahoma in 1940 with a degree in music.

In the 1980's Terri Street was hired to teach music at Jefferson Elementary. Terri went on to become a media specialist/librarian for the Norman Public Schools until retirement. She and I remain great friends from our teaching years at Jefferson.

When I saw the last name Maynard, I remembered that Terri had relatives with that last name. One phone call later and we realized that Terri was related to that lovely radiant Lucy McKittrick who began teaching on the same landsite nearly 80 years before.

Terri writes: Frances Alice Barker of Norman married my Granddaddy's older brother, Louis Jackson Maynard. They lived in Norman for many years where she later taught school. Louis, the historian and professor taught at OU and wrote several books on our state's history. They raised two adopted children, and bought a rural property at Wetumka, Ok after Louis retired. They both lived long and happy lives and I remember them well. He loved to write and tell stories, and she loved to sing, play music, and make others laugh. 

It's a small world, isn't it?

We are the Jefferson Dragons. We symbolize "Power, Wisdom, and Chaos." Right now, we are sorting through the chaos and laughing...laughing and loving every moment of the research expedition into our history. 

Letty Watt, Jefferson Historian

1908--1994 Their Friendship Endured

Boys will be boys whether it is 1909 or 2025. In this photo the arrow is drawn to a young boy named Roscoe Thompson. Whether he was a close neighbor, a friend who teased the girls (my guess), or an ornery kid, we will never know. What we do know is that in the two photos donated by Nellie Beavers Childs in 1993, either she or Roscoe drew an arrow pointing to him, not to Nellie and not to her lifelong best friend, Metaline. What does this tell you?

I had the opportunity to interview Nellie in 1993 at her apartment on Hal Muldrow Dr. in Norman. Her is a portion of her story.

In second grade class we had Miss Callie Webster who was a beautiful 18-year-old teacher. We loved her.  One day it was snowing and we were standing by Miss Webster's desk when she asked the girl next to me how she kept her hair in curls all day. The girl answered, "My mother puts something sweet on it every day." The teacher felt her curls and sure enough they were stiff. 

1908 Eastside School (Jefferson). Look for arrow in the top right hand corner and then see the photo of a young boy named Roscoe Thompson. Roscoe was a friend of Nellie Beavers Childs, the lady who donated this picture to Jefferson for our 1994 for our Centennial. 

1909-1910 2^nd grade JEFFERSON SCHOOL (Nellie Beavers Child) Pictures

Teacher: Callie Webster

Row 1: boy,  Metaline Cathey, lived on N.E. corner of Finley and Gray. They had a store in one room selling tablets, pencils, etc. boy, girl, girl, Agnes Wolf (McComb)  and Thelma Walker.

Row 2: (did not identify which one) Chester Capshaw, son of one of our first doctors. 7^th person Marion Moffett. Her father ran a bicycle shop in 200 block of Main on North Finley street. Next Robert Durkie; next Otis Sullivant.

Row 3: 1^st girl Martha Lee McComb, 2nd girl Nellie Beavers, 7^th person Aubrey Davis, 12^th Roscoe Thompson, ___, 13^th head of Addie Wilson. 

I enrolled in first grade in 1908 even though I was only five years old. I could already read. The neighbors said I couldn't go because I wasn't six years old. My brother said, "I'll put the number 5 in your shoe and if your teacher asks you, you can say you're over 5 years old." My teacher never did ask. I think Miss Cook knew because she was a friend of our family.

Every morning, at noon and during recess our janitor sat at the top of the stairs, and he would hand sharpen our pencils using his knife. One pencil at a time. We didn't have pencil sharpeners.  In the morning he stood at the top of the stairs to see if any students were still running to school. If he saw any children he waited to ring the tardy bell till the last students were in the room. 

*Look closely at the photo. Roscoe drew an arrow from the chalkboard to the third row of boys. He is looking at the camera and has his elbow on the desk behind on top of books. 

We didn't have programs in the school like we do now. The only thing I remember is the Maypole dance in the school yard. Some students were selected from each class to wind the Maypole on May Day. 

Out of our first-grade class there were at least ten who graduated with me in 1920. I know five of them taught school.  In second grade we had seatmates, but I guess we talked too much, and the teacher moved one of us out of the seat and put a boy in our place. I had to move and sit with a different boy. I thought it was great because the boy she put me with I knew from church, but he didn't like it (I wonder if this was Roscoe?). None of the boys liked having a girl for a seatmate. 

I lived on the corner of Findley and Apache, about four blocks south of Main Street. The house is still there. My mother lived there when she was a widow with two little children. She married again and that's when I was born. 

In second grade I still had the same seatmate, but I guess we talked too much, and the teacher moved one of us out of the seat with a boy and put that boys seat mate with Marie. I thought that was great because the boy she put me with I knew from church, but he didn’t like it. The boys didn’t like having a girl for a seatmate. 

I grew up when Norman just had dirt streets. Then later they paved Main Street and University Street. I can remember my brother putting us both on a bicycle and going over to University street to ride on the paved road. I mostly played boys games because of my brother. He taught me how to play Mumble Peg, a game where you learn to throw a knife. I also played marbles and spin the tops.

When I was in the 4^th grade they commenced a basketball team. I think it was the 8^th grade girls. I never did see the boys play. Of course, the only people they played against was Washington. Washington and Jefferson, well they didn’t get along.

“Now these are girls?” I inquired.

Yes, on a girls team. They had to play outdoors. This would have been seventh and eighth grade girls.

I remember that they played against Washington school. It was terrible the rival between the two schools. It continued in high school so that they hardly mixed in high school. 

My last two years of high school a new course was put in called "teachers training." We had to teach all of the 8th grade teaching and many hours of observation. We had to take notes and come back to our teacher and tell her. If they needed a teacher in Eastside (Jefferson) they would send one of us. Six out of twenty of us went on to teach the next year after we graduated. 

They gave us a fake teaching certificate to begin with. If we taught for three years and went to summer school we earned a LIFE certificate. 

*Note: this is the new Norman High School opened in 1909 when Eastside school had outgrown the classrooms. It is the picture in the background of Nellie Beavers graduation picture. 

*The Moore-Lindsay House Museum has pictures from early year books online and I discovered that Roscoe, Metaline, and Nellie each graduated from Norman High School in 1920.

My first teaching job was to finish out a term in a sixth grade class in Muskogee. I discovered I didn't like that at all. Then I moved to Paden and taught high school English and Spanish. My principal said I had to teach Economics. I told him No and said, "Can't you teach it?"  His reply was a headshaking negative stare. So I had to teach Economics and study the night before each class to stay ahead of them. 

I taught several years before moving to Pittsburg, another coal mining town where I met my husband. We moved around with his job in the mines and I taught at Shawnee, Seminole, Wewoka, and Sayre.

At last we moved back to Norman and I taught at Norman High School where I retired in 1965.  

As with retirement, our story does not end here. No more mention of Roscoe in

her interview, nor does she talk about Metaline.

However, in the spring of 1994 Nellie Beavers Childs was accompanied by her

daughter and attended our 100 year celebration of Jefferson school. During that time she brought an oil painting done by her lifelong friend, Metaline Cathey Lee.

Ten years ago the librarian gave me this picture and said, "I think you know this lady and her story."

**Metaline writes in her own handwriting on the back of this canvas: This painting was done for my friend since first grade, Nellie Beavers Childs. The painting shows hibiscus blooming in Mrs. Cathy's yard in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas. Mrs. Childs spent winters in the Valley after she retired as a Norman High School teacher in 1965. 

And so, it has taken me from 1994 to 2025 to put all of these pieces together. Rest in peace Nellie, Metaline, and Roscoe. You made our world and better place to live, especially for the children in Norman, Ok. 

4/6/2025 The following stories come from my Facebook post about Nellie Childs:

I had Nellie Childs at Norman High School in the 1960's and loved here. Jane Ash Yearout

My sophomore English teacher at NHS and she was quite a lady! Vaughn Clark

I was a student of Mrs. Childs, also.  Judy Matlock

I had her for Sophomore English in 1960. As for Roscoe Thompson he was a former mayor and Bob Thompson's (Midway Deli) grandfather. He was also an uncle to my lifetime friends Patti and Jerry Nolan and Jim and Barbara Sellers. The Thompson's are a huge family and some of Norman's finest.  David Fries. 

We are the Jefferson Dragons. We symbolize "Power, Wisdom, and Chaos." Right now, we are sorting through the chaos and laughing...laughing and loving every moment of the research expedition into our history. 

Mrs. Watt, Librarian and author

From Blue Skies to Blue Seas: Traveling the World in 2025

Isn't life grand when we have opportunities to travel, especially free airfare overseas. This winter I took a three day 4 night excursion to Scotland without my golf clubs, to see the Locks on the western side of Scotland, knowing it was too cold to see Nessie, if she even exists.

One remote island intrigued me because we could only access it at low tide, when the road stretched from this low meandering isle to the mainland. We only had a few days to view the return of the seals and maybe Nessie, but before searching for the seals I heard a story.

A story of a beautiful woman, an artist named Vanessa, who once lived by herself on a remote island sometimes clouded and covered with icy fog. The seas often kept the color blue at bay and the skies remain gray. Access to the island was denied for 12 hours each day. When the tide was low there was a gap of about six hours when we could drive across the channel. 

Several of us hiked the hills and touched the ancient trees, climbing over the fallen debris was heavy and hateful winter storms. There we found the cottage, the barn, and the studio where Vanessa, the artist, once lived. Her paintings showed the seasons changes and the skies turning from blues  to grays to blacks. Her landscapes made her famous with shows from Edinburgh, London and Paris.  

One reviewer wrote: She paints the sunrise over the hill of fiery orange to a rich yolky yellow.  Ahead, the tide is high, the channel molten gold.  Then slowly gradually the color begins to leach away, the clouds mellowing, now pale, orange, now primrose, the sky, finally settling on a clear and hopeful blue.

Those were the lines that drew me to this island, in search of that blue hour. 

It was Vanessa's love life and sexual desires that created the scandal. The greater the scandal, the greater the interest in her paintings, then her ceramics, and sculptures uniquely staring at the public daring one to see the bones of the dead.

 

Lore has it that the early inhabitants of the west coast of Scotland, buried their dead on the island, so the wolves would not dig up the bones and souls of loved ones. 

  

In Scotland, the land, even her island, comes under the law of "right to roam." The public, like me, could cross the channel and hike the woods and trails without permission from the owner. We wanted to see the place, to stand there and image.  

Vanessa's notes read like she had won the lottery when at last she made enough money to buy the island of her dreams, of her retreats, of her distancing from others. Her husband, however, stole from her and sold her paintings and porcelain on the mainland of Europe to give him spending money that allowed him to lure wealthy ladies to his bed. 

Ironically, it was a fall, a broken wrist that changed the course of her life. A woman doctor from Scotland came her rescue. After setting the broken wrist, the doctor realized that her patient could not drive home with the broken wrist. Being a logical and caring devoted doctor to the healing of others, she offered to drive this beautiful woman home, along with a week's supply of food. 

For over twenty-years this doctor became a friend, a protector who tried to shield Vanessa from the public's eye. The island, alone by itself, seemed to be enough to offer protection, but their space had been invaded by a foul intruder, who's only intention was rape.

The artist, caught off guard, had no chance against a predator. The fisherman from the nearby village, who had admired her beauty from a distance forced his way into her studio that day. With Vanessa's arm twisted, in pain, she screamed. Suddenly, the man collapsed to his knees and began to pull at a wire now wrapped around his neck and choking him to death. 

The good doctor had delivered food that day and heard the scream from the studio near the top of the ridge. Not intending to kill, or so the story goes, she skillfully held the hold painfully chocking and terrifying the man.

Fear began to set into the artist's mind. The artist craved for aloneness and at last pushed and shoved the doctor out of her life. Over time the husband returned for sexual pleasures and the need for money to support his lifestyle. 

Another scandal occurred when the husband disappeared after a weekend on the island. His wallet later floated up near shore where a fisherman brought it in with his net. The red race car was never found. He had vanished.

It was the bones, that crept into the story twisting the lives of people who crossed over the line, the tidal .....

Somehow, over time Vanessa had found bones. The same bones that held a story together none the less. These bones now caught the attention of the art world, twisting this story one more time and leaving the listeners and readers one more death to resolve. Sitting at the bar that evening, no one shared the ending. 

My trip was short and fast. It lasted only three days on the island but it was FREE. The entire trip, the hiking, the bones, story with only the sound of seals in the background, no Nessie.  If you'd like to travel the world this winter like I do, for free, the public library offers free travel guides in nearly every book from romance and mystery novels to non-fiction, along with maps, and history.  

This trip was brought to life by Paula Hawkins in her recent novel The Blue Hour. 

 

 

Back in the 1900's I...

    

My sister, Jonya, and I recently discovered that when we want to share our childhood stories, how we raised our kids, or even teaching career stories that we could start with this line, "Back in the 1900's I did...." It seems to catch the attention of the audience or person facing us.

The funny thing about the 1900's is that it is the PAST and the PAST is like another country. How can we relate?

For instance:

The Norman Transcript carried this story on January 1904.

A Norman  woman walked into the Silver Cliff saloon where her husband was under the influence of drink and invited the men standing around to step up and have something to drink. Instead, the men began to slink off and soon the saloon was almost deserted. The woman brought some sewing with her and expressing herself delighted with the appearance of the place by giving every indication that she might have come to spend the day. 

I can imagine the Tik Tok viewers yelling "You Go Girl." 

 

And then there are the mysterious things that happened in the 1900's, like the barrel of wine that was seized by the county Sheriff from the Catholic Church in Norman. That barrel of wine later turned up missing from the Sheriff's office. Now what could have happened to that sacramental wine?

In 1925 the Miami, Ok News Record gives bold print to this story:

"Large Rural Crowd Hears Girl Preacher"

Miss Ora Stoddard, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J.P. Stoddard, 39 C street northwest, delivered a sermon Sunday night at the Sunflower school house, two miles east of Welch, Oklahoma.

A large congregation was present, it was reported. About fifteen persons from Miami drove out to hear Miss Stoddard, who is one of the youngest ordained ministers in Oklahoma. 

On September 18, 1925, the Miami News Record (AP) posted a headlines story from New York City:

"Ten Days in Jail for Disrespect to Flag" 

For failure to remove his hat in salute to the flag, John Granetzer, a young Lithuanian, is serving a sentence of 10 days in a Brooklyn jail. He pleaded guilty of disorderly conduct while watching a Mardi Gras parade at Coney Island. Coney gives the name of Mardi Gras to a post season celebration. 

A police sergeant in his complaint averred that when other spectators told him that Granetzer was ignoring the flag, warning was given that his hat must be taken off the next time the flag passed. Granetzer failed to obey the warning, saying, "my flag is the red flag," the sergeant deposed. 

The following June 28, 1958 story in The Daily Oklahoma comes from stories being circulated in the Biltmore hotel by some of the 150 delegates to the Grapho-Analysis regional convention.

Writing Reflects Your Personality

On the basis of certain curlicues in his handwriting, an applicant for a job with an Oklahoma City firm recently was turned down. He wasn't told why, but a specimen of his handwriting showed he had criminal tendencies.

Sure enough, a couple of months later, the fellow was sent up for a stretch in the state penitentiary at McAlester.

Then there was another prison inmate who wrote a letter to a certain philanthropist here pleading for help in gaining his freedom. The letter ended up in the hands of a graphic analyst, a person who analyses handwriting, who found that the writer not only lacked criminal characteristics but had considerable musical ability. 

On the strength of the grapho-analyst's report, the convict gained his release from prison and is currently strumming a guitar with a hill-billy band.

My biggest surprise came with this one quarter page add in 1920’s for a new soda called “Dr. Pepper.” The picture of the old man and the clock showing 10:00, 2:00, and 4:00 gave reason to “Join the Club” and have a Dr. Pepper.

I discovered Dr. Pepper the friendly picker upper while going to college. I think we will put a Dr. Pepper label on my tombstone.

It’s here folks! The big day you’ve been waiting for. Cold, zippy, Dr. Pepper right over the soda fountain or bottle bar. March right up...pay 5 cents…ask for Dr. Pepper and you’ll be a confirmed member of the 10,2 & 4 Club for life.

Everybody’s joining! Every member’s happy! For here’s a drink that hits the spot, and makes the spot stay hit. Girls and men need one at ten. Another’s due, when the clock strikes two, and just at four you need one more.

Wise ones never miss these hours. They say 3-a-day, keeps the energy up…We say it’s nourishment. You N E E D a little bracer at mid-meal hours. Dr. Pepper give it to you in pre-digested form…pure nourishment that is quickly assimilated into the blood. That’s why you feel distinctly refreshed after drinking.

Pure as distilled water, sparkly as a bubbling spring. Licious as mingled juices of fruits and extracts from the Orient and Tropics. 

 

**Footnote** Are they hiding the sugar in the word licious?

In reality back in the 1900's for me begins with American Band Stand and perhaps that's another story. 

 

This Older But Curious Life

Isn't it fun living this older but curious life? 

If COVID taught me anything it was to be playful, not on occasions but everyday. Finding a way to be playful in my life is the easiest aspiration in my life.

Rather than looking at the old woman in the mirror and wondering where the bags under her eyes came from,  I learned to put on makeup everyday, whether I went for a walk or not, whether I might see people or not, whether the mask covered it all or not. I was the one looking in the mirror. 

COVID was a time ago, but recently the bitter cold winter weather has kept many of us inside for more days than we wish to count. Now is the time to search for hearts and flowers not dust and piles of books.

Once again I turned to my jewelry box for color and the light-hearted feelings of playing dress up. I have one pair of mis-matched earrings given to me by Kathy Klopenstein Hale. She is "a jewelry artist" and daughter of my friend and neighbor, Julie, 
who is a landscape artist on canvas. They, each,  have decorated their homes to reflect their curiosities of life and wonder. 

Side by side the earrings are definitely different but with a face in between people only notice the colors.

It's all about perspective and internal laughter. Her jewelry makes me laugh. She might call them 'stunning statements.'

 

This may not show the colors of a Farris Wheel but the unique design is eye-catching for the wearer and the observer. Is this an 'awesome assemblage' or 'steampunk style?'

Matching jewelry likes this brings out a balance that our eyes often seek in presentation and our hearts seek in life. Kathy calls this 'mid-century mod madness.' I laugh at my memories of that other century--a few decades ago.

Sometimes we only want to make a simple statement like I have a secret  I may share with you if....

Find this gem under "Neo-Victorian Niceties."

Today the sun is shiny and bright in my corner room. From my perch by  the window green stems standing tall in the brown leaves tell me that the daffodil bulbs have survived the bitter cold. Before long bright yellow colors will fill our garden and shades of green will be highlighted by the golden sun. That's how I see her jewelry, as an extension of myself and my curiosity.

How do you see jewelry? How long has it been since you played dress up?

Lucky for me, I can call ahead and drive over to her house to browse her art room for a new unique piece. You can browse her jewelry and clothing designs without ever leaving your comfy chair and warm blanket by following this link to By Kat Designs