One of the few things that excited me about moving to Oregon is that it is almost brand new. There is no history of slavery, or other types of bigotry. Well, even as I write that I am aware that there will always be prejudice in this world. Most of the time those opinions are passed down to us from our parents.
My parents were two of the most loving people that I have ever met. They didn't care what color your skin was, if you needed help, they would help you. I was very frightened because they harbored escaped slaves on many occasions. It frightened me so much that they quit telling me when they were giving assistance. Da built two secret spaces in the barn, and two in the house. The highest number of slaves that they had at one time was a family of ten. There was the ma and da and their eight children. Their owner (I shudder to call anyone the owner of another human being), was going to sell them all to different places. I was very proud of my parents for keeping that family together.
Now our country is divided, and part of the country is fighting the other part. The main reason? Slavery. Many rich folks in the south would not stay rich if they had to do all their own labor. Some plantations have hundreds of slaves. I will never understand how anyone can go to another country and kidnap men, women, and children. Then they chain them in horrific conditions in boats and take them thousands of miles away from everyone and everything that they know! They beat them, starve them, and let them lie in their own waste. Some of these evil men wouldn't treat their own dogs so poorly.
So very ugly. I'm writing it in my journal because if I ever have any children I want them to understand from this parent, slavery is NEVER acceptable. It will NEVER be acceptable to force another human being to do things against their will. It is NEVER acceptable to split up families. It is NEVER acceptable for men to rape women, and then actually keep their own flesh and blood, half white but half African as slaves.
I know about these atrocities because of the many people that my parents sheltered over the years. The family that I spoke about before were not just running away because they were going to be sold. They also ran away because the landowner had caught their fourteen year old daughter and raped her. She was pregnant. I can't imagine giving birth to a child that was the result of such an act of violence. If they believe that these human beings are NOT human, or LESS than human, what does it make them when they force them to have intercourse with them?
Well my writing about this is making me sick at my stomach. I'm going to think of something lovely for a moment. I'm writing this in the back of the ranch house. There is a fairly level field. Blake and Red cleared out most of the trees and brush. They left some lovely maples, aspen, and oak around the perimeters. There is a small creek that is on one portion of the ranch. It freezes in the winter. Blake and Red went skating on it the winter before I arrived. I hope that I can skate on it. I adored skating on our pond when I was a kid.
Blake chose the loveliest land in this entire area to build his ranch. I'm very grateful to Blake. Without Blake I would have died with my entire family in that awful river. Sometimes when I miss them all so very much I kind of wish that I HAD died with them. Then I remember that life is very precious. I do my family a disservice by being unappreciative of my life.
The sun is warm, and I'm feeling sleepy. I'm going to take a little nap here in the soft grass.
Wednesday, April 24, 2019
Thursday, September 27, 2018
Ardis Journal
Mother desperately wanted me to become a southern lady. A gracious, soft-spoken, hospitable, serving, loving, Christian lady. She sewed me a lovely dress to wear when I married Tom. It had yards and yards of fabric in the skirt with a hoop skirt underneath. I did wear it to marry Tom. It now is packed away. What earthly good would a fancy dress with a hoop skirt do me now?
To be honest, I was rather a lost cause at being trained to be lady like. I'd rather ride a horse bareback than sit side saddle. When ma would call me in to instruct me on cooking, I would hide in our old haystack. She would finally tire of trying to call me. She rarely complained that I didn't come when she called. I think she understood that I didn't take easily to the domestic arts of homemaking.
Ma and Da came from serious poverty. They came to America to make a better life for them, but especially for me. They longed to own a big plantation in Tuckaleechee Cove.
To really attain such wealth they would need slaves to work the fields, whether they grew cotton or other crops. The three of us just couldn't produce enough to compete with the big plantation owners, especially since some of them had the head start of a home and land passed through generations. My parents wouldn't even consider having a slave. They believed that honest work must be done with their own hands. They were certainly financially stable. They owned their farm out right. Sigh, once again I feel harsh thoughts toward Tom. He sold my birthright without even speaking to me. Sadly, we lost everything. It does give me a small measure of comfort that the evil villain that robbed us of land and money is now in jail and will be there for a long time.
My wedding day was grand. I managed to convince Tom's mother not to tie my corset so tightly that I could not breathe. I still maintain that corsets were invented by men to keep us dominated, subverted. The dress was lovely, bright, feminine. I felt lovelier than I had ever felt before. I even had been assiduous in treating my work roughed hands and face so that they were very soft.
I never wanted to be a boy. I enjoy the types of outdoor work they do. Gardening has always seemed like an excellent way to create. To me it's a way to create beauty. I've always like bright, shiny things, and pretty clothes. I just also enjoy riding a horse, playing with our old dog Bright, and playing kick the can with Tom and the neighbor boys. Sometimes I lose track of time when I sketch someone, or something. My sketches of people are much better than my sketches of places.
I am grateful to state that most of the time I understand and like myself. The good Lord has blessed me with gifts that I hope to use to his glory!
To be honest, I was rather a lost cause at being trained to be lady like. I'd rather ride a horse bareback than sit side saddle. When ma would call me in to instruct me on cooking, I would hide in our old haystack. She would finally tire of trying to call me. She rarely complained that I didn't come when she called. I think she understood that I didn't take easily to the domestic arts of homemaking.
Ma and Da came from serious poverty. They came to America to make a better life for them, but especially for me. They longed to own a big plantation in Tuckaleechee Cove.
To really attain such wealth they would need slaves to work the fields, whether they grew cotton or other crops. The three of us just couldn't produce enough to compete with the big plantation owners, especially since some of them had the head start of a home and land passed through generations. My parents wouldn't even consider having a slave. They believed that honest work must be done with their own hands. They were certainly financially stable. They owned their farm out right. Sigh, once again I feel harsh thoughts toward Tom. He sold my birthright without even speaking to me. Sadly, we lost everything. It does give me a small measure of comfort that the evil villain that robbed us of land and money is now in jail and will be there for a long time.
My wedding day was grand. I managed to convince Tom's mother not to tie my corset so tightly that I could not breathe. I still maintain that corsets were invented by men to keep us dominated, subverted. The dress was lovely, bright, feminine. I felt lovelier than I had ever felt before. I even had been assiduous in treating my work roughed hands and face so that they were very soft.
I never wanted to be a boy. I enjoy the types of outdoor work they do. Gardening has always seemed like an excellent way to create. To me it's a way to create beauty. I've always like bright, shiny things, and pretty clothes. I just also enjoy riding a horse, playing with our old dog Bright, and playing kick the can with Tom and the neighbor boys. Sometimes I lose track of time when I sketch someone, or something. My sketches of people are much better than my sketches of places.
I am grateful to state that most of the time I understand and like myself. The good Lord has blessed me with gifts that I hope to use to his glory!
Thursday, September 13, 2018
Ardis Journal
I have been knitting some hot pads. Blake picked up a pan by the handle the other day and burned his hand quite severely. I asked him why he would do anything so foolish. His response was, "I don't have anything to hold the handle with." Gratefully I have Mama's knitting needles, and lots of yarn as well. I'm making a simple pattern. I've heard it called the basket weave. I decided that was a little too simple. In the pattern I'm making I'm creating triangles in a square.
Mama could make anything. She didn't need a pattern, or someone to show her how to make it. It would just show up in her head, and it would be perfect each and every time. She made me the most beautiful dresses. I have out grown most of the gowns she made me. The ones that still fit, well they were torn to shreds as we came from Tennessee to Oregon.
I have saved as many scraps as I could. I'm going to sew them together to make a quilt for Tom and I to put on our bed. I am trying to think in a positive manner. Even though he has not written, I am certain that fighting in a war leaves very little time for letter writing.
Maybe some day, some time our child will put the quilt over their child, and mama, papa, Tom, and I will all live on. I fear that I am in a melancholy mood this evening. No matter how many times I try to reach for positive ideas, all that comes to mind are the deaths, the failures, the home that we left behind.
When Blake burned his hand, I did not speak a word to him. I took him by the other hand and pulled him with me to the well. I pulled up water. Next I continued to pull him forward to the ice cellar. I used the ice pick that is always kept there and chipped off some ice. I put the ice in the bowl of water. Next I sat Blake down and put his wounded hand in the cold water.
Blake looked very surprised. He said, "My mother always said that butter should be put on a burn. I never understood. Butter seemed to make my burns hurt worse."
I replied, my mother always put burns in very cold water as soon as they were burned. She made us hold our burned anatomy in the cold until it began to feel better. I was always amazed at how that simple action helped most burns to heal quickly. Blake you just stay here until I send Red to fetch you. I'll finish the meal and then we'll eat. Blake didn't even bother to reply. It was easy for me to see how the cold water relieved his pain.
Well I don't know that I cheered myself up much, but I'm so tired I'm going to try and sleep anyway. Nightie night.
Mama could make anything. She didn't need a pattern, or someone to show her how to make it. It would just show up in her head, and it would be perfect each and every time. She made me the most beautiful dresses. I have out grown most of the gowns she made me. The ones that still fit, well they were torn to shreds as we came from Tennessee to Oregon.
I have saved as many scraps as I could. I'm going to sew them together to make a quilt for Tom and I to put on our bed. I am trying to think in a positive manner. Even though he has not written, I am certain that fighting in a war leaves very little time for letter writing.
Maybe some day, some time our child will put the quilt over their child, and mama, papa, Tom, and I will all live on. I fear that I am in a melancholy mood this evening. No matter how many times I try to reach for positive ideas, all that comes to mind are the deaths, the failures, the home that we left behind.
When Blake burned his hand, I did not speak a word to him. I took him by the other hand and pulled him with me to the well. I pulled up water. Next I continued to pull him forward to the ice cellar. I used the ice pick that is always kept there and chipped off some ice. I put the ice in the bowl of water. Next I sat Blake down and put his wounded hand in the cold water.
Blake looked very surprised. He said, "My mother always said that butter should be put on a burn. I never understood. Butter seemed to make my burns hurt worse."
I replied, my mother always put burns in very cold water as soon as they were burned. She made us hold our burned anatomy in the cold until it began to feel better. I was always amazed at how that simple action helped most burns to heal quickly. Blake you just stay here until I send Red to fetch you. I'll finish the meal and then we'll eat. Blake didn't even bother to reply. It was easy for me to see how the cold water relieved his pain.
Well I don't know that I cheered myself up much, but I'm so tired I'm going to try and sleep anyway. Nightie night.
Tuesday, September 4, 2018
Ardis Journal
Rain is drumming on the ceiling over my head. I'm ever so grateful to know that whatever Blake builds, he builds to outlast rain, snow, or wind. Tonight the pounding is not soothing. It just feels like the world is going backwards. The Bible speaks about Noah and how wicked the people of his time were. God washes away everybody but Noah, his family, and the creatures they take on the ark. He gives those wicked folks many opportunities to repent, they won't listen. I wonder right now, are we all as wicked here in this place that seems to be getting washed away?
Tonight I'm so tired and sad. I remember strongly the final peace I felt when I was trapped in that creek. I felt that death was close and I wasn't fighting any more. I felt love, richer, fuller, than ever before. It was a rude shock to be jerked back into living.
I believe that there is not an end to our essence, or spirit. I have never doubted the existence of God, the Creator of heaven and earth and all that is in them. I believe that he created this beautiful, harsh planet for us, his children, to live on, and learn from.
During the daytime I keep myself busy and push away these deeper philosophical thoughts and emotions. It also helps me to sleep quicker and more deeply if I work hard. I haven't been recording anything in this journal again for a long time. I've tried on many nights. I wind up tearing up the drab dreariness that falls off my pen onto the paper.
Blake Calkin is a very good man. I worry, often, that people in the town will assume that he and I share more than a platonic friendship. After all, so many men in this area have moved Indian women in with them. They don't worry about the Christian ceremony of marriage. Some of the men have more than one woman living with them, all of the women giving his children life. Knowing these facts explains why some of these folks assume that is the situation with Blake and I.
I am eager for a white woman to move in somewhere close by. I need to have a woman that I can share a place with. I hope that I can move away from this male dominated household.
Blake is a wonderful, unselfish man. He's well traveled, self-educated, and very thoughtful. Nonetheless, writing this down makes me feel guilty. After all, I have a husband, a man who deserves my loyalty, my allegiance.
It is a very harsh thing to me is that I don't know if Tom is alive? Sometimes I can't even remember what he looks like, except that he is considered very handsome. To me, I miss a certain lack of imagination and mischief that never shows on that handsome face. He is constant...and often I have found that very boring. Now I'm feeling negative. I'm going to try and sleep.
Tonight I'm so tired and sad. I remember strongly the final peace I felt when I was trapped in that creek. I felt that death was close and I wasn't fighting any more. I felt love, richer, fuller, than ever before. It was a rude shock to be jerked back into living.
I believe that there is not an end to our essence, or spirit. I have never doubted the existence of God, the Creator of heaven and earth and all that is in them. I believe that he created this beautiful, harsh planet for us, his children, to live on, and learn from.
During the daytime I keep myself busy and push away these deeper philosophical thoughts and emotions. It also helps me to sleep quicker and more deeply if I work hard. I haven't been recording anything in this journal again for a long time. I've tried on many nights. I wind up tearing up the drab dreariness that falls off my pen onto the paper.
Blake Calkin is a very good man. I worry, often, that people in the town will assume that he and I share more than a platonic friendship. After all, so many men in this area have moved Indian women in with them. They don't worry about the Christian ceremony of marriage. Some of the men have more than one woman living with them, all of the women giving his children life. Knowing these facts explains why some of these folks assume that is the situation with Blake and I.
I am eager for a white woman to move in somewhere close by. I need to have a woman that I can share a place with. I hope that I can move away from this male dominated household.
Blake is a wonderful, unselfish man. He's well traveled, self-educated, and very thoughtful. Nonetheless, writing this down makes me feel guilty. After all, I have a husband, a man who deserves my loyalty, my allegiance.
It is a very harsh thing to me is that I don't know if Tom is alive? Sometimes I can't even remember what he looks like, except that he is considered very handsome. To me, I miss a certain lack of imagination and mischief that never shows on that handsome face. He is constant...and often I have found that very boring. Now I'm feeling negative. I'm going to try and sleep.
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
Ardis Journal
I have not written in here very much lately. Wintry gray has begun erasing all of autumn's glory. I'm grateful that it does not snow very much here in Oregon. Cold weather has never been my friend. My mood tends to follow the seasons.
In Autumn the brilliant colors fill my soul with buoyant joy. There are mostly evergreen trees here but every once in awhile a brilliant fire maple will peek out from among the more sedate greenery. There is a road near Blake's ranch that is lined with golden leaves on both sides. I walked it every single day before winter set in.
Spring is all about renewal...plants wake up, green creeps through the winter gray and silver. I love getting in the garden and planting seeds, then watching the crops grow. Summer? Summer brings sweeping landscapes of every kind of new plant and flower.
That brings me to the one season that I don't enjoy very much. Oh I like Thanksgiving, and then the Christmas Season. It's January through half of March that I could live without. This ceaseless rain feels as though it's pounding a drum against my head. All of my sorrow seems to eclipse any joy that might leak through.
Sigh, I had to force myself to write in here tonight. There is icy rain beating against Blake's two room ranch house. Instead of feeling cozy and comfy lying here in this warm bed, I feel a chill run down my spine. The chill is due to all the death I have witnessed in the last few years. First it was my parents. I still think that it was cruel that they died...and left me behind alone. Well, not quite alone because then I had Tom, my husband, and his family. Now they are gone as well?
I wonder if Tom is on some horrifying battle field not only fighting the cold, but the Confederates as well? Does he wonder about me as he shoots and defends himself, and our country? Why doesn't he write me a letter? Is he dead, wounded, left behind anonymously?
I have heard that some soldiers get tattooed with their name, and their military information. I have never cared for the gaudiness of tattoos. It doesn't seem like those that choose to pollute their bodies in this fashion can be truly refined. I've changed my mind after reading the headlines about this dreadful war. These designating tattoos help wives and families to be notified when a soldier dies.
I think worse than death would be for Tom to wind up in a Confederate prisoner of war camp. Horror stories have leaked into the newspapers about them as well. I don't think the Union has better detainment facilities. Just because our Union ideals are positive it does not mean that we can treat our enemies in a more positive manner than they treat us. That is the very nature of war, to kill or be killed.
Usually when I write in my journal it helps me to sort out twisted thoughts. It isn't working tonight. I just feel more twisted than ever. I'm going to attempt to get some sleep.
In Autumn the brilliant colors fill my soul with buoyant joy. There are mostly evergreen trees here but every once in awhile a brilliant fire maple will peek out from among the more sedate greenery. There is a road near Blake's ranch that is lined with golden leaves on both sides. I walked it every single day before winter set in.
Spring is all about renewal...plants wake up, green creeps through the winter gray and silver. I love getting in the garden and planting seeds, then watching the crops grow. Summer? Summer brings sweeping landscapes of every kind of new plant and flower.
That brings me to the one season that I don't enjoy very much. Oh I like Thanksgiving, and then the Christmas Season. It's January through half of March that I could live without. This ceaseless rain feels as though it's pounding a drum against my head. All of my sorrow seems to eclipse any joy that might leak through.
Sigh, I had to force myself to write in here tonight. There is icy rain beating against Blake's two room ranch house. Instead of feeling cozy and comfy lying here in this warm bed, I feel a chill run down my spine. The chill is due to all the death I have witnessed in the last few years. First it was my parents. I still think that it was cruel that they died...and left me behind alone. Well, not quite alone because then I had Tom, my husband, and his family. Now they are gone as well?
I wonder if Tom is on some horrifying battle field not only fighting the cold, but the Confederates as well? Does he wonder about me as he shoots and defends himself, and our country? Why doesn't he write me a letter? Is he dead, wounded, left behind anonymously?
I have heard that some soldiers get tattooed with their name, and their military information. I have never cared for the gaudiness of tattoos. It doesn't seem like those that choose to pollute their bodies in this fashion can be truly refined. I've changed my mind after reading the headlines about this dreadful war. These designating tattoos help wives and families to be notified when a soldier dies.
I think worse than death would be for Tom to wind up in a Confederate prisoner of war camp. Horror stories have leaked into the newspapers about them as well. I don't think the Union has better detainment facilities. Just because our Union ideals are positive it does not mean that we can treat our enemies in a more positive manner than they treat us. That is the very nature of war, to kill or be killed.
Usually when I write in my journal it helps me to sort out twisted thoughts. It isn't working tonight. I just feel more twisted than ever. I'm going to attempt to get some sleep.
Wednesday, August 1, 2018
Ardis Journal - Today I Choose Happiness
This morning I was awakened by jolting upright in my bed. The dream that I had was very real. I was home again...home with mama and papa in Tennessee. Mother was reminding me that happiness was a choice. Both of my parents were positive examples of looking for the best in life. Even when they were laid low by the disease that took their lives, they still laughed, and found ways to help me prepare for being alone.
I have been laid low by so much of death and loss. I do fine most days. There are just some days that come along where the grief swirls me about as though I am caught in a tornado. I saw a whirlwind once. It was random. It completely destroyed our neighbors barn, and drove pieces of straw into the logs of their home. Somehow it did no further damage to their log home than those straws driven in along one side.
I asked Red how he handled his grief over the death of his beloved wife Ruth, and his sunshiny darling, his daughter Angela. He explained that as a man he feels that he must suppress those emotions when he is around others. He also explained that his grief had driven him to drink as a way to escape his pain. The problem was that then he had two big problems, grief, and drinking to take the bitter edge off the grief.
I know that is not a solution for me. Losing our baby...it was still just a dream. It had not yet seemed quite real this new human forming inside my body. I was excited to think that Tom and I could create something positive together.
I now feel like I should never have married Tom. I did not love him the way that I witnessed his father and mother loving. I will never forget Tom's father Aidan risking his life, and then losing his life trying desperately to rescue his wife Fiona. I gain a tiny bit of comfort from my knowledge that they are together in heaven. I just wish they were here with me instead.
Brother Billy. How I adored that wonderful young boy. He made me feel important, loved. He was every bit as handsome as Tom. I have no doubt that he would have grown into a marvelous loving man. Why couldn't I save him? He and I were riding together on the same horse. I tried over and over to find him in the rushing, roaring river but I couldn't. His illness had already made him weak. The near drowning finished taking away any strength that he had left.
Where does all of this leave me? Anger helps drive away the feelings of isolation and loneliness. I'm angry at Tom because he sold my parents home and land without even consulting me. I'm angry at J.P. Fowler for causing such vicious harm to so many people.
I started this journal post with my beloved mother's tender, melodic voice in my head. "Today I choose happiness." It would be far easier to let the rage, the vengeance that I long for take the forefront of my life. In doing so I would be dishonoring the two greatest parents the world has ever created. SIGH....trying to put all the negative emotions aside and choosing happiness takes a vital amount of energy. Yet, usually when I work to focus on the good instead of the bad, I'm amazed to remember all the good that still exists.
An example? I was left completely alone in a place with no home. All of my life savings is gone. Yet Blake Calkin and Red O'Toole have given me home and family, much to their inconvenience. I CAN be happy, even if it is through darn hard work! I CAN and I WILL!
Mother also said, "Don't give UP, give IN, or give WAY!" She then added, "Do give LOVE, give JOY, give HAPPINESS." Thanks mama and papa. Today I will do my best to remember your excellent advice!
I have been laid low by so much of death and loss. I do fine most days. There are just some days that come along where the grief swirls me about as though I am caught in a tornado. I saw a whirlwind once. It was random. It completely destroyed our neighbors barn, and drove pieces of straw into the logs of their home. Somehow it did no further damage to their log home than those straws driven in along one side.
I asked Red how he handled his grief over the death of his beloved wife Ruth, and his sunshiny darling, his daughter Angela. He explained that as a man he feels that he must suppress those emotions when he is around others. He also explained that his grief had driven him to drink as a way to escape his pain. The problem was that then he had two big problems, grief, and drinking to take the bitter edge off the grief.
I know that is not a solution for me. Losing our baby...it was still just a dream. It had not yet seemed quite real this new human forming inside my body. I was excited to think that Tom and I could create something positive together.
I now feel like I should never have married Tom. I did not love him the way that I witnessed his father and mother loving. I will never forget Tom's father Aidan risking his life, and then losing his life trying desperately to rescue his wife Fiona. I gain a tiny bit of comfort from my knowledge that they are together in heaven. I just wish they were here with me instead.
Brother Billy. How I adored that wonderful young boy. He made me feel important, loved. He was every bit as handsome as Tom. I have no doubt that he would have grown into a marvelous loving man. Why couldn't I save him? He and I were riding together on the same horse. I tried over and over to find him in the rushing, roaring river but I couldn't. His illness had already made him weak. The near drowning finished taking away any strength that he had left.
Where does all of this leave me? Anger helps drive away the feelings of isolation and loneliness. I'm angry at Tom because he sold my parents home and land without even consulting me. I'm angry at J.P. Fowler for causing such vicious harm to so many people.
I started this journal post with my beloved mother's tender, melodic voice in my head. "Today I choose happiness." It would be far easier to let the rage, the vengeance that I long for take the forefront of my life. In doing so I would be dishonoring the two greatest parents the world has ever created. SIGH....trying to put all the negative emotions aside and choosing happiness takes a vital amount of energy. Yet, usually when I work to focus on the good instead of the bad, I'm amazed to remember all the good that still exists.
An example? I was left completely alone in a place with no home. All of my life savings is gone. Yet Blake Calkin and Red O'Toole have given me home and family, much to their inconvenience. I CAN be happy, even if it is through darn hard work! I CAN and I WILL!
Mother also said, "Don't give UP, give IN, or give WAY!" She then added, "Do give LOVE, give JOY, give HAPPINESS." Thanks mama and papa. Today I will do my best to remember your excellent advice!
Friday, July 6, 2018
Ardis Journal
I love to sketch. When my fingers are able to connect to paper, to connect to the force that brings the human body to life, to the expressions, the ideas in a persons eyes, this is a very real joy for me.
I had so much fun drawing a portrait of Dr. John Stone that shows who he is inside as well as outside. I tried to show how he protects and rescues everyone around him. It was interesting to me that in showing his goodness his exterior features were heightened. The old saying is true, "Don't judge a book by its cover." It's true for many people.
I drew a picture of Fowler. Physically he was not an ugly man, but I'm not a fair judge because I know the evil that lives inside him. When I portrayed his inward thoughts and actions, he truly did become evil, and frightening to look at.
I have wanted all of my life to draw beautiful pictures of God's earth as I experience it. I have tried, tried, tried, and tried again to make mountains look as I perceive them. I've tried to capture a picture of the magnificent space where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean. Truly to me that place is every bit as sacred as a church building. To me it testifies that there IS a God. There had to be a master creator for that space to exist.
Blake convinced me that I should embrace the gift that I have, sketching people, and not focus so heavily on the gift that I haven't, bringing God's earth alive through my sketches. I know that he's right but I will still keep trying to expand that ability. After all, if we never try to improve, we'll never know what is possible, right?
I painted portraits of my parents to give them on our last Christmas together. We didn't know that it would be our last Christmas. Those sketches are carefully stored at the Drifting Anchor Ranch in the bedroom space. They are not very large, so they don't take up a great deal of space. I am proud of the images that I captured of my beloved parents. Mama was a true beauty inside and out. I'm grateful that I inherited her deep brown hair, and her dear smile. I am not quite as thrilled to have Papa's fair skin. It burns so very easily. I'm grateful for these images that I will carry of them through the rest of my life.
I am beyond tired. I fell asleep for a moment so it's obviously time to close this missive. Good night journal.
I had so much fun drawing a portrait of Dr. John Stone that shows who he is inside as well as outside. I tried to show how he protects and rescues everyone around him. It was interesting to me that in showing his goodness his exterior features were heightened. The old saying is true, "Don't judge a book by its cover." It's true for many people.
I drew a picture of Fowler. Physically he was not an ugly man, but I'm not a fair judge because I know the evil that lives inside him. When I portrayed his inward thoughts and actions, he truly did become evil, and frightening to look at.
I have wanted all of my life to draw beautiful pictures of God's earth as I experience it. I have tried, tried, tried, and tried again to make mountains look as I perceive them. I've tried to capture a picture of the magnificent space where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean. Truly to me that place is every bit as sacred as a church building. To me it testifies that there IS a God. There had to be a master creator for that space to exist.
Blake convinced me that I should embrace the gift that I have, sketching people, and not focus so heavily on the gift that I haven't, bringing God's earth alive through my sketches. I know that he's right but I will still keep trying to expand that ability. After all, if we never try to improve, we'll never know what is possible, right?
I painted portraits of my parents to give them on our last Christmas together. We didn't know that it would be our last Christmas. Those sketches are carefully stored at the Drifting Anchor Ranch in the bedroom space. They are not very large, so they don't take up a great deal of space. I am proud of the images that I captured of my beloved parents. Mama was a true beauty inside and out. I'm grateful that I inherited her deep brown hair, and her dear smile. I am not quite as thrilled to have Papa's fair skin. It burns so very easily. I'm grateful for these images that I will carry of them through the rest of my life.
I am beyond tired. I fell asleep for a moment so it's obviously time to close this missive. Good night journal.
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