Thursday, April 24, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Potholder Vests
For us, church meant sitting on wooden pews and singing hymns at the old Mennonite Church house in Dillon, Illinois. This photo is of us in the basement of the church wearing what appears to be vests crocheted out of yarn, similar to a potholder. Those were the days of innocence and wonder.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Karla Kuskin & Sandy Mantle
I was Karla and Joan was Sandy. Our husbands were in the army. That's why they were never around. The monkeys were our kids. We fixed up an empty corn crib like a cool store. That's where we worked to make money to take care of our monkeys since our husbands were off in the war. We could play Karla and Sandy for days.
The real Karla Kuskin is an award-winning author and poet. This image is from her children's book, "Cool Cat, Hot Dog." Sandy Mantle was entirely made up.
Monkeys
Joan and I always played with Monkeys when we were kids. Mine was named Seymour and Joan's was named Punch. We put diapers on them and rolled them around in a stroller. They were our kids. Monkeys are better than dolls. They are cuter, they eat bananas, and they don't talk back. They even let you put lipstick and frilly clothes on them. Pictured (l-r) Punch, Seymore.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
About Me
- Jean
- 1,971 miles from Nashville where my identical twin lives.
- I was raised on a Mennonite Farm in Illinois. From the cornfields I made my way to inner city Philadelphia to live and work with kids who were the poorest of the poor but the brightest kids in the world. Later I took food and clothing to the homeless and prostitutes on the streets of NYC who opened my eyes to real poverty of spirit. Later I created fundraisers for AIDS patients, taught 2nd language learners about poetry, film and beauty and finally came to higher education to meet some of the most innovative, courageous and funky grads you could ever meet--at a place called Pitzer College. I live for moments of beauty and flashes of enlightenment. Sometimes life is just burnt out ends of smokey days (T.S. Eliot)or an ordinary cup of coffee. And sometimes it's that delicious misty morning overlooking Lake Atitlan in Guatemala in 1984 that I can never get out of my head. Ever. Either way, this story is going some where. Come along, if you like.
