What will these look like when I'm done? Wait and See!
later,
lin
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Wait and See
I'm teasing you with a preview of coming attractions - I'll be writing about the process that turned these canvases into collages that might actually be decent...
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Of Sabbaticals and Rest
Like many people announce things these days, I chose to reveal on Facebook that I was entering intensive outpatient treatment for my severe depression and other similar ailments.
I've been doing the treatment at Butler Hospital for a week now, and I've learned a couple of things in the process
My depression is rooted in a vortex of rage that I don't even understand.
No, I'm wrong - I do understand it, sort of. The rage comes from a rather dysfunctional childhood and adulthood, and I am punishing myself for things I didn't have control over but think I should have.
Things that I have buried for decades. Things that, as my brother puts it, have been packed away in boxes that I've never opened.
They have to be opened now, because the rage I feel manifests itself in unhealthy ways that, quite frankly, will kill me one way or another.
My very wise big brother Will, who puts up with quite a lot from me, asked me last weekend if I had ever dealt with the rage, the anger, the depression, the ... everything ... through art.
No.
Why not?
Fear, mostly. I'm afraid of letting loose, of playing. I've said this before in other venues. I need the formal control that my collages have.
And that's the problem - control. Too much of it, actually. And when that control breaks, so do I. And that happened last weekend.
So, in discussions with long suffering Will, I came to the conclusion that perhaps I need a sabbatical of sorts, where I take a vacation from things not absolutely necessary and challenge myself to work on the things that most scare me - and cause me to rage unproductively. After all, if I'm going to wallow in uncontrollable rage and angst, why not do it through art?
I decided that, for the most part, my Etsy shop will take a break, although I'll do the necessary tasks like renewing expiring listings and maybe list a few new items here and there. But I'm not going to do the long tedious tasks, like promoting my stuff everywhere. Yes, I'll post some stuff on my shop Facebook page here, on Twitter, and Google+.
But I'm going to let the shop sit for the summer and do art.
More importantly, I want to do art that really forces me to confront the rage that consumes me and the reasons for it.
I'll still be doing the usual stuff, because it's fun. Even though I'm realizing that part of the reason I do it is to avoid facing what I need to face.
So since I'm more or less taking a break from my 'regular job' such as it is, I'm calling this vacation a sabbatical.
I'll be processing the journey through blogging (you didn't think I'd give that up, did you?), and letting you know what's happening.
I hope you'll come along for the ride. I'm scared and fearful and, yes, excited, and I could use the company.
later,
lin
I've been doing the treatment at Butler Hospital for a week now, and I've learned a couple of things in the process
- That I'm angry at the world
- That I'm angry at my father
- That I'm most angry at myself
My depression is rooted in a vortex of rage that I don't even understand.
Things that I have buried for decades. Things that, as my brother puts it, have been packed away in boxes that I've never opened.
They have to be opened now, because the rage I feel manifests itself in unhealthy ways that, quite frankly, will kill me one way or another.
My very wise big brother Will, who puts up with quite a lot from me, asked me last weekend if I had ever dealt with the rage, the anger, the depression, the ... everything ... through art.
No.
Why not?
Fear, mostly. I'm afraid of letting loose, of playing. I've said this before in other venues. I need the formal control that my collages have.
And that's the problem - control. Too much of it, actually. And when that control breaks, so do I. And that happened last weekend.
So, in discussions with long suffering Will, I came to the conclusion that perhaps I need a sabbatical of sorts, where I take a vacation from things not absolutely necessary and challenge myself to work on the things that most scare me - and cause me to rage unproductively. After all, if I'm going to wallow in uncontrollable rage and angst, why not do it through art?
I decided that, for the most part, my Etsy shop will take a break, although I'll do the necessary tasks like renewing expiring listings and maybe list a few new items here and there. But I'm not going to do the long tedious tasks, like promoting my stuff everywhere. Yes, I'll post some stuff on my shop Facebook page here, on Twitter, and Google+.
But I'm going to let the shop sit for the summer and do art.
More importantly, I want to do art that really forces me to confront the rage that consumes me and the reasons for it.
I'll still be doing the usual stuff, because it's fun. Even though I'm realizing that part of the reason I do it is to avoid facing what I need to face.
So since I'm more or less taking a break from my 'regular job' such as it is, I'm calling this vacation a sabbatical.
I hope you'll come along for the ride. I'm scared and fearful and, yes, excited, and I could use the company.
later,
lin
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Workaholic, Obsessed, What is It?
On Sunday I published a blog post about obsession and art. You can read it here. This grew out of a former friend's comment that she couldn't understand how I could produce so much work even in the grips of severe mental illness.
My response to her was basically that it was a matter of survival. I could tell how much it affected me when my creative abilities were blocked, either by my illness or something else. Art is something I MUST do. I think most artists feel the same way.
Anyway, she called me obsessed.
She's not the first person to say that. There are many people I know who simply don't understand the mind of an artist, and the lifestyle. They don't understand why I'm so busy without an actual job.
They can't see that it's not only MAKING the art that keeps me busy, but it's also the selling of it. It takes time and effort to list art in the shop. It takes more time than I like to promote it. It takes time - but time I love - to pack and ship orders.
An art business is like any other small business, really. For it to have any chance of surviving, I really have to go at it almost 24/7.
And if one's business is creative - writing, art making, or any other business involved with making its product rather than just selling it - time to make product is crucial and often neglected because of the business side.
So why am I revisiting this topic so soon?
A friend called me on it and asked why I thought it was a bad thing to be obsessed with making art.
He's right.
Art is something to be passionate about, to be obsessed with. It's my soul that is being exposed. It's my need to express myself somehow.
And of course I want people to buy it. So it's OK to be obsessed with it, and I'm going to wear that label proudly from now on.
Thanks, Ricky!
later,
lin
My response to her was basically that it was a matter of survival. I could tell how much it affected me when my creative abilities were blocked, either by my illness or something else. Art is something I MUST do. I think most artists feel the same way.
Anyway, she called me obsessed.
She's not the first person to say that. There are many people I know who simply don't understand the mind of an artist, and the lifestyle. They don't understand why I'm so busy without an actual job.
They can't see that it's not only MAKING the art that keeps me busy, but it's also the selling of it. It takes time and effort to list art in the shop. It takes more time than I like to promote it. It takes time - but time I love - to pack and ship orders.
An art business is like any other small business, really. For it to have any chance of surviving, I really have to go at it almost 24/7.
And if one's business is creative - writing, art making, or any other business involved with making its product rather than just selling it - time to make product is crucial and often neglected because of the business side.
So why am I revisiting this topic so soon?
A friend called me on it and asked why I thought it was a bad thing to be obsessed with making art.
He's right.
Art is something to be passionate about, to be obsessed with. It's my soul that is being exposed. It's my need to express myself somehow.
And of course I want people to buy it. So it's OK to be obsessed with it, and I'm going to wear that label proudly from now on.
Thanks, Ricky!
later,
lin
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Workaholic
I once knew someone whom I'll call Zelda who couldn't understand how I could produce the amount of work that I do, especially dealing with mental illness that's fairly severe. Like now.
She herself was bipolar and her cycles were especially severe and sometimes she'd cycle from mania to severe depression in one day and back. And she couldn't work on art quite a lot of the time. It was a struggle for her.
Two years ago we were planning to do a craft show (which was a horrible show and has forever convinced me that I am never going to do another vendor/craft show again - the type of show where people sell Avon and Pampered Chef amidst people selling crafts) in May 2012.
As usual I overdid it, making masses of things - mini collages, cards, and magnets - and organizing things to the Nth degree, to the point where someone might have called me obsessive.
Zelda on the other hand was having trouble organizing the work she already had, and not even really pulling together new things.
And she couldn't understand how I could organize myself to do what I was doing. And, I think, she questioned whether anything was really wrong with me. She had the opinion that anyone with severe bipolar would have great difficulty managing to exist, let alone pull off all the additional work that a show entailed.
It's a question a lot of people have asked me - how do you do it?
I can only answer in one word -
In order to survive and get through the day, I need a purpose. Since I am no longer working (not for four years, sadly) I need to have a reason to get up in the morning (well, pets don't exactly let you wallow in bed).
Art is my reason. I think it's true for many people with a chronic illness that having an outlet allows someone to cope with symptoms that might otherwise be difficult to tolerate. My outlet is making art. Making something. Making something that will make people happy.
But I am not obsessed with making art. Really. And if you believe that.....
later,
lin
She herself was bipolar and her cycles were especially severe and sometimes she'd cycle from mania to severe depression in one day and back. And she couldn't work on art quite a lot of the time. It was a struggle for her.
Two years ago we were planning to do a craft show (which was a horrible show and has forever convinced me that I am never going to do another vendor/craft show again - the type of show where people sell Avon and Pampered Chef amidst people selling crafts) in May 2012.
As usual I overdid it, making masses of things - mini collages, cards, and magnets - and organizing things to the Nth degree, to the point where someone might have called me obsessive.
Zelda on the other hand was having trouble organizing the work she already had, and not even really pulling together new things.
And she couldn't understand how I could organize myself to do what I was doing. And, I think, she questioned whether anything was really wrong with me. She had the opinion that anyone with severe bipolar would have great difficulty managing to exist, let alone pull off all the additional work that a show entailed.
It's a question a lot of people have asked me - how do you do it?
I can only answer in one word -
SURVIVAL
And I'm not overstating it.In order to survive and get through the day, I need a purpose. Since I am no longer working (not for four years, sadly) I need to have a reason to get up in the morning (well, pets don't exactly let you wallow in bed).
Art is my reason. I think it's true for many people with a chronic illness that having an outlet allows someone to cope with symptoms that might otherwise be difficult to tolerate. My outlet is making art. Making something. Making something that will make people happy.
But I am not obsessed with making art. Really. And if you believe that.....
later,
lin
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Organizing, Organizing
My normal work spaces usually end up becoming a mess. I pull things from everywhere, stack them everywhere, and gradually the actual space I work in becomes ever smaller.
I think most artists fall into this trap. I've not met anyone yet who really is so neat in their working process that their space stays orderly while creating something.
Some of us leave our work areas that way. I've usually been guilty at that. What happens, though, is that I stare at the mess and feel disinclined to do anything in the space - because it's so cluttered and messy.
I'm sure you guys know that feeling all too well.
In an effort to clear out mental and physical cobwebs, I decided to try to reorganize the painting area that I had worked so hard to put together about 2 months ago. I haven't used the area very often BECAUSE OF THAT MESS.
So this is the before picture, taken when I was working on the Art Challenge abstract assignment
As you can see, there's really not much space to do anything. Nothing is placed neatly. Keep in mind that my space is constricted anyway, and you can see in the background the tubs I need to put excess supplies in, as well as the shelving system I use to keep things I use more frequently at least somewhat visible.
So on Sunday I decided something had to give. There were projects I wanted to work on, and the clutter was getting me down.
One of my first tasks was to organize the canvas panels and watercolor paper
(People think I have way too many small bins and containers - when I do projects like these, they're vital). The bin is at the right end of my table, pushed against the wall. By the way, more canvases and paper got stuffed into this bin.
In the process of reorganizing things, one finds things that don't belong - like these
Necessary but in the wrong place. The tape has been moved into the collage area, although the cloths stayed on the table.
Things were still messy midway but I was making progress - really
I had to figure out where things worked best and readjust containers and storage. By the way the small plastic containers you see in the foreground are perfect for water and small items that I need to stash temporarily.
One final task was to figure out what to do with my stencils. Previously they lay flat on a shoe box top
This doesn't work at all, as you might imagine. When I'm searching for the right stencil everything gets shifted, falls off the top...well, you can guess the rest.
The answer? Yet another bin, a small one that's just right
Why am I so excited about this particular thing (and also the bin where I put the canvases)? Because they're simple solutions to what I thought were difficult problems.
That was just about the last task to straightening up the mess, and here's the result
It may still look like a mess, but trust me - it's way better than before.
Now I really don't have much of an excuse to not sit down and paint. But I'm sure I'll find one.
later,
lin
I think most artists fall into this trap. I've not met anyone yet who really is so neat in their working process that their space stays orderly while creating something.
Some of us leave our work areas that way. I've usually been guilty at that. What happens, though, is that I stare at the mess and feel disinclined to do anything in the space - because it's so cluttered and messy.
I'm sure you guys know that feeling all too well.
In an effort to clear out mental and physical cobwebs, I decided to try to reorganize the painting area that I had worked so hard to put together about 2 months ago. I haven't used the area very often BECAUSE OF THAT MESS.
So this is the before picture, taken when I was working on the Art Challenge abstract assignment
So on Sunday I decided something had to give. There were projects I wanted to work on, and the clutter was getting me down.
One of my first tasks was to organize the canvas panels and watercolor paper
In the process of reorganizing things, one finds things that don't belong - like these
Things were still messy midway but I was making progress - really
One final task was to figure out what to do with my stencils. Previously they lay flat on a shoe box top
The answer? Yet another bin, a small one that's just right
That was just about the last task to straightening up the mess, and here's the result
Now I really don't have much of an excuse to not sit down and paint. But I'm sure I'll find one.
later,
lin
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Looking for a Smaller Me
I hate diets. Diet is a four letter word that should be included in a list of profanity.
I hate "The Biggest Loser" because I believe it promotes extreme weight loss and exercise - for example penalizing contestants because they "only" lost 1-2 pounds in a week.
I hate "Dr Oz" because his show promotes health information, lifestyle changes, and weight loss plans that are inaccurate and often sensationalistic.
And most of all I hate the incessant blare of commercials for supplements that claim to help people lose weight fast. With the suggestion that diet and exercise should be included shown in very small letters at the bottom of the screen that are lost in the sensationalistic language used and the usual fake testimonials.
It really takes a major life change to lose weight in a healthy manner.
I'm not preaching at all. I'm the last person who should say "this is how to do it." There is no one way to lose weight - it differs with the person. I know some people would look at my diet now and say I'm doing it all wrong. Well, let's see.
In January 2014 I hit my all time high weight of 255 pounds. Yes, 255 pounds. I really wasn't surprised - I knew how my clothes felt. I knew how I felt. My body mass index (BMI) was 49. 19 points above the start of the obese range.
I had officially crossed the threshold and become a diabetic - something I've been flirting with for years. My A1C (a 3 month measurement of your body's blood sugar) was now well over 8%. And I was being threatened with insulin - can you say panic?
I was ordered to start testing my blood sugar twice daily, and put on diabetes medication, 1000MG twice a day. Dr. G said it would be a good idea to lose weight, but I'm not sure she thought I'd do it. I think she was expecting me to keep the weight on or not lose very much. That's the case with most of her patients who are diabetic and obese.
But that wasn't going to happen as far as I was concerned.
My first step was to stop my addiction to Mountain Dew - cold turkey. It was easier to do than I thought. I still drink some soda but only if I am at a restaurant, and even then I rarely drink all of it. I regard it as a treat.
I ended my love affair with jelly or chocolate frosted donuts from Dunkin and bagels from Au Bon Pain. That was harder because I do love jelly donuts, and the Au Bon Pain bagels are divine.
I reluctantly let go of my passion for cookie dough ice cream. That was difficult.
And I knew I had to stop those heaping bowls of pasta. THAT WAS HARDEST.
Instead, I've cut portions, found substitutes, increased my intake of fruits and vegetables, and was encouraged by the dietician I started visiting to eat small, small meals during the day to keep my blood sugar from tanking and to prevent cravings from overpowering me. Gretchen, my dietician, is a refreshing change from a previous Food Nazi who insisted on 3 squares and a snack daily and an intake of only 1400 calories from the beginning.
And walked. I walk a lot anyway since I don't drive and use public transportation. Often I walk to and from downtown Pawtucket from my house rather than take the bus. I often get off several stops before or after my usual stop. I belong to the Y but I'm not very good about going there.
And I drink water - that's been hard to get used to because I never liked it much.
I haven't given up sweets - I keep OJ in the fridge, both to satisfy my sweet tooth and to guard against low blood sugar. I have dark chocolate in the fridge - for the same reasons. I eat a piece of chocolate every couple of days. There's fruit too. But I've found I can't easily eat that luscious slice of lemon or strawberry cake from Gregg's (huge). Way too much sugar and I feel its effects, even if I only eat a little at a time.
I should note here that I'm unable to use artificial sweeteners or eat any foods with them.
And I HAVE to repeat that this is NOT EASY. Not only is losing weight hard normally, but I have a binging disorder that has to be controlled. I have had to try retraining my brain to not convince my body that it needs food and lots of it. The brain is one's worst enemy. I am learning slowly when my body really needs fuel and when it's my brain talking.
So what's the result of all of this?
I am happy to report that at my last PCP visit, on May 27, that I've dropped 37 pounds since January 25, to 218 pounds. I've been tracking the weight loss, and it's not as rapid as it looks. I've averaged a loss of about 8 pounds monthly which is optimal.
My A1C has dropped to 5.5%. In non-diabetic range.
My diabetes medication is now cut in half.
I still have to test my blood sugar, but that's a tiny price to pay.
My PCP and her staff were so delighted that several stopped in to congratulate me, and the nurse practitioner in charge of chronic illness management wants to use my efforts as inspiration for others. They'll probably hate me.
I'm not preaching, really. I'm simply relating my own journey. I may celebrate this with a cupcake - small. Definitely with icing. And hopefully sprinkles (we call them jimmies in Rhode Island). And I'm not yet ready to go shopping for clothes. I'd like to wait til 200 before I do that.
I don't really have an 'after' picture that's full body and that shows the weight loss to full effect. My clothes are too baggy to really see it anyway. But here's a recent photo of me with the lovely Olympic figure skater Michelle Kwan, taken at an event honoring my sister-in-law (they're friends). Maybe you'll see the weight loss in my face. At least I can share a selfie with a celebrity.
Just don't hate me for losing weight.
later,
lin
I hate "The Biggest Loser" because I believe it promotes extreme weight loss and exercise - for example penalizing contestants because they "only" lost 1-2 pounds in a week.
I hate "Dr Oz" because his show promotes health information, lifestyle changes, and weight loss plans that are inaccurate and often sensationalistic.
And most of all I hate the incessant blare of commercials for supplements that claim to help people lose weight fast. With the suggestion that diet and exercise should be included shown in very small letters at the bottom of the screen that are lost in the sensationalistic language used and the usual fake testimonials.
It really takes a major life change to lose weight in a healthy manner.
I'm not preaching at all. I'm the last person who should say "this is how to do it." There is no one way to lose weight - it differs with the person. I know some people would look at my diet now and say I'm doing it all wrong. Well, let's see.
In January 2014 I hit my all time high weight of 255 pounds. Yes, 255 pounds. I really wasn't surprised - I knew how my clothes felt. I knew how I felt. My body mass index (BMI) was 49. 19 points above the start of the obese range.
 |
| My before picture taken during an art show in late 2013 |
I was ordered to start testing my blood sugar twice daily, and put on diabetes medication, 1000MG twice a day. Dr. G said it would be a good idea to lose weight, but I'm not sure she thought I'd do it. I think she was expecting me to keep the weight on or not lose very much. That's the case with most of her patients who are diabetic and obese.
But that wasn't going to happen as far as I was concerned.
My first step was to stop my addiction to Mountain Dew - cold turkey. It was easier to do than I thought. I still drink some soda but only if I am at a restaurant, and even then I rarely drink all of it. I regard it as a treat.
I ended my love affair with jelly or chocolate frosted donuts from Dunkin and bagels from Au Bon Pain. That was harder because I do love jelly donuts, and the Au Bon Pain bagels are divine.
I reluctantly let go of my passion for cookie dough ice cream. That was difficult.
And I knew I had to stop those heaping bowls of pasta. THAT WAS HARDEST.
Instead, I've cut portions, found substitutes, increased my intake of fruits and vegetables, and was encouraged by the dietician I started visiting to eat small, small meals during the day to keep my blood sugar from tanking and to prevent cravings from overpowering me. Gretchen, my dietician, is a refreshing change from a previous Food Nazi who insisted on 3 squares and a snack daily and an intake of only 1400 calories from the beginning.
And walked. I walk a lot anyway since I don't drive and use public transportation. Often I walk to and from downtown Pawtucket from my house rather than take the bus. I often get off several stops before or after my usual stop. I belong to the Y but I'm not very good about going there.
And I drink water - that's been hard to get used to because I never liked it much.
I haven't given up sweets - I keep OJ in the fridge, both to satisfy my sweet tooth and to guard against low blood sugar. I have dark chocolate in the fridge - for the same reasons. I eat a piece of chocolate every couple of days. There's fruit too. But I've found I can't easily eat that luscious slice of lemon or strawberry cake from Gregg's (huge). Way too much sugar and I feel its effects, even if I only eat a little at a time.
I should note here that I'm unable to use artificial sweeteners or eat any foods with them.
And I HAVE to repeat that this is NOT EASY. Not only is losing weight hard normally, but I have a binging disorder that has to be controlled. I have had to try retraining my brain to not convince my body that it needs food and lots of it. The brain is one's worst enemy. I am learning slowly when my body really needs fuel and when it's my brain talking.
So what's the result of all of this?
I am happy to report that at my last PCP visit, on May 27, that I've dropped 37 pounds since January 25, to 218 pounds. I've been tracking the weight loss, and it's not as rapid as it looks. I've averaged a loss of about 8 pounds monthly which is optimal.
My A1C has dropped to 5.5%. In non-diabetic range.
My diabetes medication is now cut in half.
I still have to test my blood sugar, but that's a tiny price to pay.
My PCP and her staff were so delighted that several stopped in to congratulate me, and the nurse practitioner in charge of chronic illness management wants to use my efforts as inspiration for others. They'll probably hate me.
I'm not preaching, really. I'm simply relating my own journey. I may celebrate this with a cupcake - small. Definitely with icing. And hopefully sprinkles (we call them jimmies in Rhode Island). And I'm not yet ready to go shopping for clothes. I'd like to wait til 200 before I do that.
I don't really have an 'after' picture that's full body and that shows the weight loss to full effect. My clothes are too baggy to really see it anyway. But here's a recent photo of me with the lovely Olympic figure skater Michelle Kwan, taken at an event honoring my sister-in-law (they're friends). Maybe you'll see the weight loss in my face. At least I can share a selfie with a celebrity.
 |
| Lin and Michelle Kwan, April 26, 2014 |
later,
lin
Monday, May 26, 2014
Stirring Up Ghosts Indeed
I wasn't going to write a Memorial Day post, figuring there are far better writers out there who can commemorate the service of our veterans better than I.
For those who probably don't know, Memorial Day was once Decoration Day, originating just after the Civil War to honor those who had died in that conflict.
Formal ceremonies began to be held, and soldiers' graves were decorated with flags and flowers. And of course postcards were released for people to send to each
Eventually Decoration Day became Memorial Day, and all deceased veterans of all wars were now being honored. As was the practice of the time, postcards were issued for people to send holiday greetings, and even send notes describing the ceremonies in their town or city.
I'm not sure how many today send cards on Memorial Day. I think it's rather lost its meaning to most people. Memorial Day is now considered the official start of summer, and if there are parades I think people go to them for the spectacle, not for the true meaning. And when there's news coverage of Memorial Day ceremonies at various veterans' memorials, it seems as if the numbers are decreasing as years go by.
I was reminded of Memorial Day's meaning when my cousin Nancy posted a photograph of an article published about my Uncle Henry Collette, her father. Henry and a buddy had been responsible for capturing over 3800 German troops back in 1944 - yet no one in the family knew this, and I'm not sure how they found out. Perhaps Henry had finally said something about it not long before dying. I do know that the family, once they learned of this achievement, scurried to get the medals due him, including a Bronze Star that was pinned to his hospital johnny as he laid on his deathbed in May 1998. He received a Silver Star after his death.
Uncle Henry wasn't the type of boast about achievements, unless they involved his children. He was that kind of man, the typical guy who set about doing his duty to his family. He and my Aunt Connie raised 7 children. Aunt Connie died in 2011.
When Henry came home on leave, he of course posed for the obligatory family pictures, and this one is one I particularly like, just him alone. Ramrod straight, of course.
My Uncle Noel Collette (my godparent along with his wife my Aunt Theresa) served in the Marines. I know next to nothing about his service, though I think he was one of the Marines on Iwo Jima.
And my father Louis Collette, who just missed the actual war in Europe, was drafted out of his junior year in high school because the Armed Services were desperate for men. He did in fact receive his high school diploma a year later (my grandfather Alfred picked it up for him) because of his studies in specialized schools, including radio schools, sharpshooting, and languages.
My dad served in Berlin as part of the Occupation Forces, and he was in the Intelligence Services, competing with the then OSS (now the CIA) for information and such. He was in Berlin from 1945-1948 and it was there that he met my mother Gerda, marrying her after she came to the U.S. on January 1, 1949, one of the last war brides.
My dad was full of stories of his exploits, and I sometimes wonder now how much of it was actually true. Most veterans who see service don't talk about it. Perhaps that applies to those who saw combat. My dad saw a different kind of combat.
I imagine this photo was taken after Basic Training in 1944. I don't know who the woman is, probably a cousin.
I know several other of my relatives of that generation saw service. A cousin, Conrad Barsolou (spelling?) was killed in France or Luxembourg, and is buried in the great military cemetary in Luxembourg. He was just 19, originally assigned to office work but was called to service in the Battle of the Bulge, again out of desperation to find men who could serve in combat. Conrad was killed within days of arrival.
And of course the wars continue and the dead soldiers mount, and more veterans are remembered on this day. One wonders if it will ever end, but I think not. There will be continually more men and women added to the rolls of fallen soldiers for hundreds of years to come.
That saddens me more than the memories of those already lost. Stirring up ghosts, indeed.
later,
lin
For those who probably don't know, Memorial Day was once Decoration Day, originating just after the Civil War to honor those who had died in that conflict.
Formal ceremonies began to be held, and soldiers' graves were decorated with flags and flowers. And of course postcards were released for people to send to each
Eventually Decoration Day became Memorial Day, and all deceased veterans of all wars were now being honored. As was the practice of the time, postcards were issued for people to send holiday greetings, and even send notes describing the ceremonies in their town or city.
I'm not sure how many today send cards on Memorial Day. I think it's rather lost its meaning to most people. Memorial Day is now considered the official start of summer, and if there are parades I think people go to them for the spectacle, not for the true meaning. And when there's news coverage of Memorial Day ceremonies at various veterans' memorials, it seems as if the numbers are decreasing as years go by.
I was reminded of Memorial Day's meaning when my cousin Nancy posted a photograph of an article published about my Uncle Henry Collette, her father. Henry and a buddy had been responsible for capturing over 3800 German troops back in 1944 - yet no one in the family knew this, and I'm not sure how they found out. Perhaps Henry had finally said something about it not long before dying. I do know that the family, once they learned of this achievement, scurried to get the medals due him, including a Bronze Star that was pinned to his hospital johnny as he laid on his deathbed in May 1998. He received a Silver Star after his death.
Uncle Henry wasn't the type of boast about achievements, unless they involved his children. He was that kind of man, the typical guy who set about doing his duty to his family. He and my Aunt Connie raised 7 children. Aunt Connie died in 2011.
When Henry came home on leave, he of course posed for the obligatory family pictures, and this one is one I particularly like, just him alone. Ramrod straight, of course.
My Uncle Noel Collette (my godparent along with his wife my Aunt Theresa) served in the Marines. I know next to nothing about his service, though I think he was one of the Marines on Iwo Jima.
And my father Louis Collette, who just missed the actual war in Europe, was drafted out of his junior year in high school because the Armed Services were desperate for men. He did in fact receive his high school diploma a year later (my grandfather Alfred picked it up for him) because of his studies in specialized schools, including radio schools, sharpshooting, and languages.
My dad served in Berlin as part of the Occupation Forces, and he was in the Intelligence Services, competing with the then OSS (now the CIA) for information and such. He was in Berlin from 1945-1948 and it was there that he met my mother Gerda, marrying her after she came to the U.S. on January 1, 1949, one of the last war brides.
My dad was full of stories of his exploits, and I sometimes wonder now how much of it was actually true. Most veterans who see service don't talk about it. Perhaps that applies to those who saw combat. My dad saw a different kind of combat.
I know several other of my relatives of that generation saw service. A cousin, Conrad Barsolou (spelling?) was killed in France or Luxembourg, and is buried in the great military cemetary in Luxembourg. He was just 19, originally assigned to office work but was called to service in the Battle of the Bulge, again out of desperation to find men who could serve in combat. Conrad was killed within days of arrival.
And of course the wars continue and the dead soldiers mount, and more veterans are remembered on this day. One wonders if it will ever end, but I think not. There will be continually more men and women added to the rolls of fallen soldiers for hundreds of years to come.
That saddens me more than the memories of those already lost. Stirring up ghosts, indeed.
later,
lin
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