You should see above a painting I painted recently and named "forest". I grew up in south Georgia, and my grandaddy & daddy both owned land. Some of it was in wooded [timber producing] forests. I like the quiet, eery peace of a forest. I painted this on a whim, one day, when I was thinking about what growing up in south Georgia meant, where land was abundant, farmers were honest, people worked hard, and went to Church. Life was so simple then. Nothing was urban. I learned to drive at age 10 when my daddy said, to me, "take the truck keys and move that big truck to the back yard." I froze in my tracks--I didn't know how to drive! I thought for a few moments only because my daddy was strict disciplinarian. I thought if I say I can't, he will say don't talk back. And if I say I don't know how to drive--what will his response be? Didn't know, but decided instantly that the safest thing to do was take the keys he was handing me to a HUGE farm truck that he used to unload peanuts onto, and teach myself how to drive. So I did, and said 'yes, sir". I went and pulled myself up into the truck cab by the bar on the side of the truck and slid behind the wheel. Oh! My feet didn't touch the floor. Now what? I thought? I slid down--scrunched down in seat til my feet touched the pedals but then I couldn't see over steering wheel. I turned the key, the truck lurched forward, stopped. I saw three pedals: brake, accelerator, and clutch [though I don't think I knew the names of them then]. I sat there for a long time trying to remember, visualize how my daddy used those pedals. I put my feet on 2 of them, turned key. Engine started , cut off, truck didn;t move. Decided those 2 were not the right ones to begin with. Tried again, got the clutch and accelerator, turned key--truck almost leaped out from under me, it felt like. Scared me. The huge pecan tree that was the marker to the back yard was pretty close--didn't want to lurch into it. I knew I'd be in serious trouble if I wrecked that truck. So. I sat back on seat, think some more. I tried to remember "how does daddy do these pedals?" I remembered there was one that stopped the truck and I had tried that one. So I reasoned the other 2 made it go, but how? It only lurched forward tiny bit, stopped. There must be something else I had to do. The gears! Suddenly, I remembered the drive lever. I looked. It was marked with letters, not too hard to figure out. I pulled the lever to the 'd' letter for drive. Put my feet on the acclerator, and the clutch, turned the key. It lurched forward about a foot that time, started moving to left away from tree. Good! I took breath, rested on seat. Pushed myself back toward floorboard to reach pedals, tried again to make it go smoothly; was trying to steer while literally stretched out lengthwise to touch the pedals [it was not the pick-up; but the big farm truck similar to moving truck]. I inched that truck along past the tree all the way to the back yard where my daddy usually parked it. Lurch-rest-lurch-rest for probably the length of football field.I got out, took the keys, went back inside, held them toward my daddy. He said, 'did you move that truck?" I said "yes, Sir". When I told my daughter Jennifer { I have 2 daughters; Jennifer & Leigh, no sons} about it when she was in high school, she said 'mama I remember that truck. Granddaddy must have totally trusted you to give you the keys to a truck that cost probably 200,000$". Well. honestly, I had never thought about it that way. I just remembered how afraid I was to tell my daddy I couldn't do it. He was not one of those failure is an option parents whatsoever. He expected all six of us siblings to leap tall buildings with a single bound, make A+'s, read books, think for ourselves, obey all laws,look him in the eyes when we talked to him, tell the truth, and work like no body else in the community. It was good training for life. So I guess this painting is for my daddy, who died in Dec 2004. I miss him so much still. He was the rock of Gibraltar to me. He took me fox-hunting, taught me not to fear horses, taught me to love tea; many many other characteristics now as much a part of me as they were to him. Merry Christmas to all. Remember what Christmas is all about--celebrating The Savior who died for the sins of humans and rose again on 3rd day to heaven where He is alive forevermore. Also,FYI, I have other Twitter accounts besides the 2 with my name in them. I have 3 pseudonym Twitter accounts, FYI. And I have other blogs besides this one, and other computers/devices besides this one [necessary because isps track where I log in]. Gloria Poole, R.N. and artist; @ my apt in Missouri but originally from Georgia; 1:24pm;16-Dec-2012
I logged in this morning [17-Dec-2012 @ 8:35a to add the fact that yesterday I added a blog to an account of mine I've had for some time because of necessity. It was apparent the internet powers-that-be thought it was someone impersonating me, or that it was hacked. I had to clearly identify it as mine since it is similar to other accounts I have had for many years. And of course, because it has my name on it! It's located at:
http://gpoole817.blogspot.com & I named it "Talking, Walking & Painting". Enjoy. I added to it some of what I call 'clip art" that I made on my tablet [not my usual method of creating art--usually I paint with actual brushes , draw with pencils or inks.] I think I had already told that I have a blog also at http://gloria0817.blogspot.com that has about four of my photos of my original art I created[ drew, painted, sketched, photographed]. I have several blogs and I update them occasionally & sometimes I add whatever I had finished creating that day; or one I had created earlier to make a point. Gloria Poole,RN & artist. @ my apt in Missouri. Logged back in today [22-Dec-2012 @ 8:38 am] to wish everyone a blessed and joyous celebration & a merry Christmas.gp
