Serendipity

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2014….A year to observe the beauty of the moment and capture it in pictures and words.
S E R E N D I P I T Y…….
In the past I’ve always picked a word or phrase for the year, that made me feel I have a lot of work to do to achieve it. No, I don’t want to do that. I am who I am and I want to live my life, discovering serendipity, observing the miracles.

Serendipity, noun, the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.
“a fortunate stroke of serendipity”
synonyms:    (happy) chance, (happy) accident, fluke; luck, good luck, good fortune, fortuity, providence; happy coincidence
“the consequence of serendipity is sometimes a brilliant discovery”

Yes, SERENDIPITY will be my word for 2014. I’ve always loved that word. It sounds fun and spills off the tongue in a melodious way. I’ll be looking for those serendipity type of occurrences that bring a smile to my heart.

Spirituality….
Year of Living in Spirit. Open to serendipity, creating in Flow, listening for guidance, walking hand in hand with Divine Spirit.

Mission Statement….
I see myself growing even stronger with even more energy to accomplish what I was put on earth to do.

Creativity….
Ii see myself making great strides with my artwork, traveling, learning new processes, meeting new people. Looking for serendipity in my artwork like the painting above. I had nothing in mind but color and then I found a bird. More birds appeared and then the trees. How fun! Such an example of serendipity!

Quietly observing a moment of serendipity…
My kitty
Sun warming her body
Rolling from side to side
Absorbing
Savoring
Living in the moment

Me
Relaxing in my chair
Listening
Feeling free
Observing
Looking out at the trees and grass and feeling peace

What a delightful time
Together in the now
It may only last a minute or two
But I can take it with me
All day.

The Pink Crayon Saga

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This story has been told so many times it hardly seems necessary to include it, yet it was a life altering event and made an impact on me.

I was probably in about the third grade at Roosevelt Grammar School in San Gabriel, Calif. when this obsession occurred.  I say “obsession” because I have always loved color and have been intrigued by the many different hues in a crayon box.  Coloring was my creative outlet.  There was only one problem.  My box of crayons only had the basic 8 colors and Carl’s box had at least 24 beautiful crayons.

Carl sat in the next row, a couple of seats behind me.  I can remember walking down the aisle on my way out to recess and seeing all of his crayons carelessly strewn across his desk.  I thought if I had all those colors, I would certainly keep them neatly inside the box.  Day after day, I looked at the crayons and wished they were mine.

And then it happened. One day I noticed the most beautiful shade of pink I had ever seen in a crayon. It was right on the edge of his desk. Suddenly a plan quickly developed in my mind. Carl had already left the room to go to recess, as well as the other children and the teacher.  Oh how I wanted that crayon.  It was so easy, I just let my fingers graze his desk and suddenly the pink crayon was inside the palm of my hand.  I walked quickly out the door checking again to see if anyone had seen me.  The crayon went safely into my pocket.

I knew I couldn’t use it at school, but I fantasized about all the beautiful drawings I could make at home using the pink crayon.  I rationalized that Carl would never miss it.  Boys don’t use pink anyway.

All the way home on the bus I kept fingering the crayon in my pocket.  But the guilt started to creep into my heart.  My mother trusted me and I knew how wrong it was to take something that belonged to someone else.  I began to feel very dirty and the pink crayon wasn’t as important as it once was.       At home when I was alone, I took out the crayon and wanted to try it out, but I felt so ashamed, I couldn’t even make a mark with it.  I carefully wrapped the pink crayon in my hankie and took it back the next day.

Carl had never missed it.  I could hardly wait until recess so I could undo my terrible deed.  I never got caught but I learned without a doubt, that thievery would never be a part of my life.  I knew it was more important to be able to live with yourself and hold your head up high.

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1939 Flood Disaster in Anaheim

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The heavy rain came down for days, soaking the ground until it could scarcely hold any more water.  We lived in Anaheim on the corner of Broadway and Lemon in an old frame house that was built up off the ground about 7 steps.  Daddy was in Los Angeles and hadn’t returned home or perhaps couldn’t get home because of the rain.  Mom and I were asleep when we heard someone pounding on our front door at about 2:00 A.M.

Mom was frightened and peeked out to see my brother’s friend, Glen Claypool shouting that we had to leave.  The dam had broken and the water was swirling higher and higher through Anaheim. Mom wrapped a blanket around me and Glen lifted me into his arms and told my mom to hang on tightly to his arm.  Mom, in her robe and nightclothes, did as she was told and waded across Broadway with fast moving water up to her waist.  We went into a building and up some stairs, Mom and Glen soaked to the skin.  I don’t know whose apartment we were in, but it was crowded with other wet, sleepy people.  We all sat and waited and waited.  Hot coffee and cocoa was handed out and I can remember the fear in my heart.  Since there was  no TV, we didn’t know what might happen next.

Finally at about 6:00 A.M. the water had subsided and we walked through the muddy streets to return home.  Luckily the flood never reached the top step of our home but everything in my dad’s sign shop in the garage, was muddy and ruined.  It took days for my parents to shovel out the mud and go through the mess to find my dad’s sign shop supplies so he could reopen  his business. But even with the loss of many of his tools, he was always positive and knew he could build again.

During the ensuing days, the women in the beauty shop talked of nothing else.  Many lost their valuable possessions in the flood.  We were lucky.  It would have been disastrous if the flood had destroyed my mother’s beauty shop.  There was no insurance and all of the equipment had been bought on credit. Mom was always a planner and I know going through the depression and this disaster made her even more careful.  She knew she had to be the major breadwinner since my Dad’s sign business was a little unstable at times.

That memory has stayed in my head all these years. I learned a lot from the disaster. Even at an early age, I always knew I could count on my mom to protect and take care of me.  She was a very strong and wise woman yet with a soft heart filled with love.

 

 

My First Day of School

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Mother held my hand as we entered the front doors. Everything smelled fresh and clean. The Kindergarten room was off to the right, separated from the other classrooms by a wide hall. As we entered, Miss Clark, my teacher stood in the center of the room. Lots of other boys and girls in new clothes were mingling around her and cautiously looking over the room.

At first I wasn’t sure about Miss Clark.  Her tall, thin frame and straight black hair severely pulled back into a bun, made her plain face seem unfriendly.  But then she spoke, “Welcome Donnalyn.  I know you will love kindergarten.” she said as she pinned a name tag onto my dress. Her soft, kind voice assuaged my fears.

I kissed my mother good bye and felt just a twinge of fear. I quickly glanced out the windows to see if I could still see her.  As I approached the rounded window area I saw the most comforting sight.  There at the base of the windows was a child’s height, long, padded window seat, curving to fit the glass. Sunlight created patterns on the cushions and warmed the area.  Next to it were books, lots of books and I so wanted to just sit there on the window seat and read.  Kindergarten was a safe and wonderful place!

A bell rang signaling the teacher to begin class.  She showed us to long tables with chairs just our size.  I sat near the end because I didn’t know any of the other children.  I looked at their somber faces wondering if any of them would be my friend.  Miss Clark took roll and called all of our names.  I listened carefully for my name because I wanted to do everything exactly right.  She gave each of us a paper with some shapes on it and a red crayon.  She told us to circle the objects that were alike.  I looked it over and immediately knew which were alike and carefully circled each one.  I printed my name with pride on my paper and gave it to her.  She smiled and said, “Good work, Donnalyn.”  The warm, pleased feeling I received when she acknowledged my work was just the beginning of a lifelong desire to always want to do my best.

After a busy morning, Miss Clark said, “All right boys and girls we are going to have some milk and cookies and then it will be recess time.”   After finishing our snack, children started going out the side doors into a play area but I was  sure that “recess” meant that kindergarten was over so I headed out the main door to find my mother. Mom wasn’t there and I was scared, really scared.  Just at that moment, Miss Clark gently took me by the hand and explained it was play time.  My face got red and I began to cry. I wanted so badly to do everything right and now I had failed. Miss Clark assured me it was fine.

I wasn’t too anxious to go outside.  Being brought up in mom’s beauty shop, I didn’t know how to talk and play with other children.  Soon a little girl with curls like mine said “Hi, I’m Barbara.”  I smiled back and our friendship began.  She was shy too, so we felt comfortable with each other.

From that day on, I loved school. Even to this day,  I love taking classes and of course pleasing the teacher and doing my best!

 

 

Every Child Should Have a Pepper Tree

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My mom and dad found the perfect home for us in Temple City.  We didn’t own it but it satisfied all of our needs. Mom had her beauty shop in the front rooms of the house, Dad had his sign shop in the little single car garage in the back, and I had my secret world under a huge old pepper tree in the back. The pepper fronds hung to the ground and I had to part them to enter my Tarzan world. Dad had hung a swing and trapeze for me and my imagination filled in everything else. Of course I was Jane, Tarzan’s wife and one of my dolls was Boy. Oh, the adventures we had under that old tree. There were monkeys and apes from my imagination and we had some narrow escapes. On Saturdays I’d take my 12 cents and walk to the movie theater a block away and watch more Tarzan movies to fuel my jungle life episodes.

I drove by the property on the corner of Reno and Las Tunas not long ago. It’s now a parking lot for a K-Mart. But never mind, I have my memories and it will always be my favorite spot. Isn’t it wonderful to imagine and dream?

7 Years Bad Luck

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I guess I always knew my childhood was different from other children’s lives.  The children I read about in my collection of books, always portrayed a home with a picket fence in front and a mother who baked cookies for her children and a father who went off to work and came home at night.  Sure my mom was at home but our home consisted of a few rooms behind her beauty shop.  And Dad’s business was in the garage painting signs or trimming windows at the local department store.

My world of play was my imagination. I never thought that we were poor, but I knew money wasn’t plentiful either.  There wasn’t an abundance of toys but that didn’t matter.  I could always figure out something creative to do.

One day, when I was 7, I discovered a beautiful round beauty shop mirror stored under my mom and dad’s bed.  I pulled it out and cautiously leaned it against the bed.  I could see all of myself so I began to dance around in front of it, practicing the dance steps I had learned at tap class.

Suddenly the mirror slipped and crashed into many pieces.  I was horrified!  I remembered my mother telling me that if you broke a mirror you would have 7 years of bad luck.  I thought, maybe if no one knows about it, there won’t be bad luck, so I carefully took the pieces out the back door and hid them in some tall grass in the back yard.

Of course Mom found them.  She didn’t get after me but I felt terrible because I knew I had broken something very expensive.  In the midst of all the turmoil I did some quick calculations and figured that I would have bad luck until I was 14 years old.  (I remember turning 14 and thinking the curse is finally off!)

 

Shirley Temple Curls

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Shirley Temple was the popular child star of the mid 30’s.  With her golden curls and cute smile, all mothers wanted their little girls to look like her.  Mom was no different.  But she had an advantage.  She owned a beauty shop and she could make that dream a reality.  I already had the golden hair but it was straight as a string!  She had just purchased the latest permanent wave machine.  A tall menacing contraption with long wires which attached to rods that were used to wind up the hair.  After the terrible smelling solution was applied to the rods, the machine was turned on and I was sure I would die!  I would probably be electrocuted like Mom had warned me, since this machine was plugged into that outlet.  I held my breath and hoped I would make it.  After what seemed like an eternity, the machine was turned off and Mom checked my curls.  They were beautiful.  I was sure I was as cute as Shirley Temple, minus the dimples.  (I always wanted dimples.)

All of the ladies who came into the shop would comment on how cute I looked and I loved the attention.  I remember sitting and listening to these women talk.  I probably heard more than a two or three year old should hear but it just felt good being around people and not alone in the back of the house.

Anaheim Beauty shopOne of my mother’s beauticians, Dorothy Renfro, had some slow time and I asked if I could comb her  long, thick hair.  I combed and combed and then I twisted the comb around and around so I could make beautiful curls, but soon the comb was all tangled in her hair. I was scared. Mom worked and worked trying to get it out but I believe some of Dorothy’s hair had to be cut off.  I think that may have been when I decided I certainly didn’t want to be a beauty operator.

Little Shirley Temple at 2
I still like to have my hair curled, my purse with me and holding my kitty!
Still had Shirley Temple curls at age 7!

My First Bike

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      Dana and Chase used to beg to hear this story over and over every time they stayed all night with me when they were very young.

      I never had a bike as a young child.  They were very expensive and I knew better than to ask for one.  We lived in Temple City on the corner of Reno and Las Tunas Drive.  Again, Mom had her beauty shop in the front rooms of our house and we lived in the remaining rooms.  Dad had his sign shop in the garage and I spent many happy hours under the huge pepper tree in the back yard. 

      Next door lived a nice lady who had a small house but with a big old barn in the back.  I was always intrigued Continue reading →

My Best Memory

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“Best memory” is a misnomer.  It implies that all other memories fall short of this particular one.  I believe memories can’t be ranked. Each one is special in a different way. But a memory that stands out to me occurred when I was 12. The events and feelings were so powerful  that I drew upon them for comfort for many years.  It was special because it caused an awakening in my soul for the appreciation of beauty in nature.
 
It was the summer of 1945.  The war had ended, gas rationing was over and families were planning trips again.  Mom and Dad, Bobby Webb (my nephew), and I, all piled into our ‘41 Ford, pulling a tiny teardrop trailer and headed for Yosemite National Park for a week.  
 
The drive was hot and long but when we reached the look-out at the entrance of Yosemite Valley, I was awe-struck.  I had no idea massive walls of rock with waterfalls cascading down and thick pine forests even existed. I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
 
We drove on into the valley and found a lovely camping spot next to the Merced River.  There was a picnic table and fire pit to cook on.  Our tiny trailer was only large enough for a mattress inside where Mom and Dad slept.  Bobby and I had a little tent with two cots and sleeping bags.  We thought it was perfect and it was!  I felt such a freedom there.  The towering rock walls reminded me of a fortress and I felt safe and protected.  It was as if I was in another world and time. Continue reading →