To Coin a Phrase: It's the Children, Stupid!

"First Daffodil" 16x20 acrylic on canvas (now showing at Coconut Point SW FL Co-op Gallery)

Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, we lose our imagination. We bump into reality. We scrape our knees on expectations. We feel the slap of human adversity. Oh, that we could capture the awe of discovery as children do.

My three-year-old granddaughter mailed me a picture of a "person." The only recognizable parts were the round ball for the head and a robe for the body. Her mother wrote the caption: "This person is starting to grow feathers and turn into an owl." Sure enough, there were scribbles (feathers) where arms should be, and the eyes were round saucers with dots.

"With these Hands -- Hope" 16x20 oil on acrylic under painting

Children have a lot to teach us about letting go and about suspending belief, if only for a moment. They teach us to ask questions like: what if? Why? and How? Great thinkers and leaders of the past asked those questions, and today we reap the benefits. Spiritual leaders of the past asked similar questions and their answers renewed faith and restored hope in times of suffering.

For a short time, children are pure and undefiled. They are suspended in time, sheltered by a birthing cocoon. As Wordsworth penned, "they come trailing clouds of glory from God who is their home." If more parents recognized this fleeting, fragile period of blessedness, they might be more respectful of the life placed in their care. They might be more gentle, more tolerant, more forgiving of the crying infant flailing about in a new body in a strange new world; an infant "trailing clouds of glory" from its creator.

"Day Dreams" 11x14 oil on canvas

One of my favorite photos of my oldest son and daughter is titled: "The burial of an ant." The children are playing in the sand, and they spy an ant lying on its back. Recognizing the ant is dead, they proceed to cover it with sand. Their sadness over the death of one little ant made me smile. My lessons on respect for life had sunk in. Payoff, I guess, for all those baby birds we rescued, the stray dogs and cats we took in, my refusal to kill a mouse in our house that drove me scrambling up a chair for protection. If there was another way, harming any living thing was the last resort. In our house, we all became experts at trapping stray mice or lizards in a glass jar and depositing them outside.

"India Rising -- The Lost" 18x24 mixed media on canvas

This respect for life seems to be slipping away in our society. More people are using violence or murder as a means to solve problems. If they can't fix a relationship, or if it's inconvenient, they eliminate it. If someone gets in their way, slows them down, or makes life difficult, they wipe them out. Even greed plays a part in our society's lack of respect for the rights of others.

Children bring us back to basics. They force us to examine what's really important in life. Their wonder in discovery, their appreciation of simple things, their willingness to believe, simply because we tell them so is a remarkable testament of their faith and trust.

"Mother and Child" brush drawing in oil on panel; monochrome

Teachers should Nurture, Enlighten and Protect their Students

"Egret Reflections" 11x14 oil on canvas SOLD, Prints available

I come from a long line of teachers, and take pride in having five teachers in our family today. I revere teachers and respect their profession. As the mother of six children, I had a lion's share of parent-teacher conferences and PTA meetings. Over the years, I've seen good teachers and bad teachers.

Ms. Morrell was my English teacher; a stern spinster, and the butt of jokes and complaints from her students. But without her, I may never have become a writer. She knew her stuff! She was firm, but patient. She insisted on good behavior and was a hard task master when it came to grammar. And she could see past the jeers and bluster of her students.

"Great Egret Cleaning Beak" Drawing by Carol Allen Anfinsen

She encouraged me to enter the school's literary contest and I won. She saw in me what I couldn't see in myself. I remember her to this day, not as the frumpy spinster with the stern look, but for what she taught me: lessons that stayed with me throughout my life

Mr. Holmstead was my History teacher; a fun-loving man who walked a shaky line between likability and control. Somehow he managed; not because of classroom rules or rigid authoritarianism, but through his own charisma and passion for his subject.

Whether you liked history or hated it, you were bound to love how Mr. Holmstead told a story. He captured your attention and made history seem relevant and wondrous. The test questions were easier to remember because of the performance and the theatrics he tied to each fact. Those who thought history was boring were in for a big surprise.

"Maestro" 9x12 Pastel on Bristol

By noon, Mr. Holmstead already had a five o'clock shadow. By the end of the day, his tie had been loosened, his jacket hung on a chair and his sleeves were rolled up. We loved history because he loved history. His teaching was infectious.

And then there are the not-so-great teachers. I met one of them at a parent teacher conference. She was irritated by my energetic son. "He fidgets too much at his desk," I was told.

"And why does he fidget," I asked? Turns out my son finished his work before the other students and then he became a distraction. He even turned over his paper and doodled on the back (imagine that!) making his worksheet messy and dirty (the nerve).

By the time I finished listening, I knew there was nothing I could say or do to change this teacher's mind. I did suggest that she give my son another sheet of paper to doodle on while he waited, but she refused, saying that she didn't have time to cater to one student. Oh the "mind is a terrible thing to waste!" (Negro College Fund Slogan)

Here is the flip side to that story. In my son's sixth grade year, he had a teacher named Mrs. Bush. The children loved her, not because she was lenient or friendly, but because they knew what to expect from her. Her discipline was consistent; her style full of expectation and follow through.

My son was still the same wiggly, talkative child, but she used that enthusiasm to their mutual advantage. When he sat fidgeting after finishing his work, she showed him how to use the classroom camera. He took pictures of designated materials under her supervision. And wouldn't you know, the envious other children began to work harder to finish their work so that they could use the camera

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"An Open Book" 16x20 mixed media; Prints available

At one point, during their study of China, Mrs. Bush showed him a tiny picture of a Chinese dragon and challenged him to see what he could do with it. She gave him some brushes and paints and turned him loose on the classroom window. By the end of the day, he had completed a giant, colorful dragon; an exact replica of the original drawing.

That painting amazed not only me, but the entire school. Mrs. Bush saw a glimmer in my son and harnessed his active mind and body; a true modern-day miracle worker. Teachers like this never scream for recognition or pay, but they deserve it. They simply do what they do best: teach children. I say God bless them!

Experience is the Best Teacher; Failure paves the way to Success

Instructors and teachers are wonderful. I have fond memories of my favorites, and can’t even remember the names of the ones who weren’t. But over time, we forget. Unless we put into practice what we’ve learned, the lessons fade; the voices become less audible.

Let’s face it. As miserable as failure is, it’s the hard knocks of experience that teach us the painful life lessons we need to learn. Most of them come when we’re children. I remember well my favorite pair of shoes. They were shiny black patent leather that I wore only to church and on special occasions.

Never put your coffee next to your turp!

One spring we were celebrating Easter at my aunt’s farm. All the cousins were there; the girls dressed up in ruffles and sashes, and the boys in white shirts and dark trousers. While dinner was cooking in the kitchen, the children were sent outdoors for an Easter egg hunt. My uncle had hidden the eggs in an adjacent pasture.

We carried our baskets into the field with our eyes peeled for color. My cousin, Dale, found the first egg and cracked it on his head to show off. He peeled it on the spot and swallowed it whole. My older sister shouted a warning to us about cow pies. Dale blew her off as he proceeded to stomp on a crusty pie.

I followed his lead. It was great fun hearing a cow pie crunch and collapse beneath my feet. My sister’s warning was forgotten as my confidence and power grew. I found another pie that looked ripe for the crunching. I lifted my patent leather shoe and slammed down in the middle of it. Shock and awe left me speechless. My shiny patent leather shoe and white ruffled stocking were covered with warm, steamy cow dung.

Don't "touch up" a painting before going out!

Bawling and blubbering, I ran across the field, not caring whether I found any Easter eggs or not. My mother pulled back as she pushed my reeking shoe and stocking from my foot. The smell was overwhelming. My new shoes were ruined.

 Did I ever step in a cow pie again? Never! Did I have new found respect for my older sister’s advice? Yes! Did I ever make the same mistake again? No!

Why is it when we grow into adults we forget these lessons of the past? Why do we get so discouraged and think the world is coming to an end when we fail? It is not! Like children, we must pick ourselves up, clean off our shoes, and begin again.

Life is all about starting over. It’s about new beginnings. Every day we wake up to a fresh start and new opportunities. Life is never over “’til the fat lady sings,” and none of us knows when that moment will come. Make the most of each day!