When I was a little girl I was absolutely crazy over horses! Black Beauty was my favorite book with Bambi running a very close second.  I read them over and over again.  There were parts that I could recite by heart.  

My school days and papers were filled with drawings of horses and deer. I kept folders of my art work classified by year. 

As an early teen I would get on my bike and ride to neighboring towns looking for people who owned horses. If there were kids at the house I would ask if I could muck stalls, (scoop out the poop and replace the bedding) in exchange for riding.  A couple of kids even said yes!  That was great until they got tired of seeing me hang around and then they sent me on my way.  If I found horses but no humans around I would sit on the fences and talk to the horses and feed them grass.

About a month ago an old school chum sent this photo to me through Facebook. She said she had found it in the bottom of an old box in the cellar.

​Thanx Evie!

Mommy died around 11:17pm, February 28, 1992.
13 minutes before February 29th.

Some in my family figured she was really trying to make it to the 29th, just because that was the kind of person she was. She wasn't mean but she loved a good joke!
She was 68 years old and had lived a life no one would want to emulate.

Born into a family that didn’t want her, raised by a mom whose husband left when Mommy was 3. Growing up during the depression. She was often the person that the family took their anger out on.

As a teenage she began acting out in the most extraordinary ways.
One time she called a local grocer and pretended to be her landlady ordering a huge supply of groceries be delivered, COD. Then she sat in her window and watched as the delivery boy knocked on the door with the order and listened as her landlady screamed!

Another time she called a local funeral home and ordered a coffin to be delivered to her landlady. 

I guess that’s where I get my adventurous spirit from.  I’ve never done anything drastic like that but I am a lover of experiences.

But she had a heart as big as they come!  She loved everyone and grew in me a nature to love and forgive.

So, I honor my mother today.
Janet Katheryn Orth Russell.

​

​   I belong to a local artist’s guild. It’s a very active group which participates in local charities, teaches art classes and offers several venues for our members to display their work.
At the last monthly meeting our president asked folks to submit class proposals for   consideration. I submitted a syllabus for teaching a class in beginner knitting.
It was promptly rejected with one sentence; “Knitting isn’t art.”
I pointed out that there are many fiber artists who certainly consider knitting an art  form and I sent her several images of knitting artwork hanging in galleries.
 Her response was, “You want to teach them to knit a hat.  That’s not art.”
I quipped back that I would come up with an art piece that I could teach to beginning knitters.
But, you know what? When a person puts money down on art classes they don’t learn how to paint a masterpiece. They learn the skills that will enable them to paint a masterpiece
So, by offering to teach students beginner knitting skills, aren’t I doing the same thing as someone who teaches beginner art lessons?


I think I’ll try again.