Posts filed under ‘Lorain Dude’
April 3rd – Trilogy Trigger- Chris Ritchey
Chris Ritchey- CIA
This past month has been particularly difficult, losing my dear friend Paula to the obscenity that is cancer, the “hell is other people” neighbors with their form of obscenity invading what little space we have. It is what is called “life” for want of a description. As another departed friend used to say “everyone has a story” and yet another ” there is no laughter in hell”, but then again you would have to believe in a heaven if you believe in hell.
Easter was this past weekend , another holiday I hypocritically celebrate for the sake of loved ones and friends . I have pointed out my views and Easter/Eastre has been noted – another pagan holiday utilized, blended, absorbed and morphed for convenience sake of whatever was the popular faith at the time https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2012/04/06/ahhhhhh-easter-eastre-resurrecting-memories-eggs-and-crabs/
To me all religion is another man’s myth dressed up for the masses of whatever century of which you happen to be a part.
Irony, not to be outdone this year, the weekend found Gavin’s 9th birthday and your Dad’s and Easter all falling together.
You Dad born on another Easter Sunday on the top of the kitchen table ( so the story goes) let alone being April Fool’s Day.
Triple play in memories flooded in- other Easters with Papa Teddy and Auntie Gladys coming down from Canada especially at Easter and Thanksgiving , they really were the closest thing to grandparents. Such love , such beautiful people. Your first Easter , you decided to crawl and Papa Teddy spent the whole time steering you away from the fireplace hearth, fascinated even then by flames.
Memories of you being taken to that “terrible to me now” church St. Mary’s Lorain https://www.parishesonline.com/find/st-mary-catholic-church-44052 by your godparents on Easter Sunday . Well…..up until the time you “shot the priest” with a pretend gun and something religious spilled as someone in the procession jumped and there was such a kafuffle apparently. I know you were never again taken to Easter Sunday services there.
To think that church would play such havoc in our lives bringing such anger and unkindness – due to you walking down that same aisle and the taking of any closure, denying our beliefs by your controlling “in law family”( Lombardi/ Vika and offspring) and the “bride” Angela Lombardi ( Ritchey) now Murphy
not to mention “their priest” Divis –
Sharing a laugh – but on whom?
There should have been overload in the confessional, one would think, although forgiveness is far from my heart. Ah! what meaning in this life today of a ‘mother’s curse” in days of myth and legend a powerful instrument met now with the word Karma??? Karma borrowed once more from an even older religion…. I wait ………
Gavin’s “birthday” or day of his birth – hoping against hope as you lay in that terrible Cleveland Clinic- the lab rat- being made to clinically die to “save you”. I had to leave you that night to be with your sister as a new life came into the world……….. torn once more………
Your Dad’s birthday – the years of playing pranks not just because it was April fools day but because your loved your jokes. The time you took out an ad in the paper selling the house . Yes! all memories , uninvited guests along with the ham, steaks, tulips and a missing space at the table.
And yet laughter and smiles, little boys and a girl looking for surprises, barely able to sit still as the grown-ups took forever to eat. Tales of other memories , other traditions , pastel eggs mixed in with camouflage eggs, a grandfather and his grandsons sharing a moment to remember. 
Yes all intertwined showing the colors and also the greyness of what we have become – I love you – we all do……..
Gonna Party like you’re 99 – !!!!!
I have been thinking about this post all week- how do I write about my mum and her life experiences and loves. I decided to let her words tell the tale of the time before – before she was my mum and a young child and woman in her mid twenties. I think she said it best in her book ( published for family only and written to my daughter when she was a wee one) in the foreword :
Cover Design Chris Ritchey
It is sometimes safer to write about other people than about oneself and easier to shape their lives into a consistent pattern. When you come to examine your subject, in this case my life, more closely the process is somewhat more complex and daunting than I originally thought. Every human life is at once so complex, yet simple, so perplexing yet clear, superficial and yet plunges to the depths that attempts to present it as a unified whole may take more talent than your Nana has but I will try.
The times before when she was a young girl scrumping apples with her brother Mark , that didn’t bode well as you will see:
“Parrot snout ( his nickname for her) , tell me whatever you do- if you see anyone whilst I climb to the top of that tree”
“Ok, Mark, I will stand underneath whilst you throw the fruit down”.
What a wonderful bag I collected. The sunshine was brilliant and I got caught up watching the butterflies, I seemed to be lulled with the peace and tranquility of it all. “ What was that I could see? Could it be the policeman’s helmet appearing over the fence and two eyes taking in the scene!”? My voice froze, I could not warn my brother, not a sound came from my throat. I tried and tried to make the sound come “ Oh! Vi don’t muff this one” but I took to my heels, the bag of lovely fruit spilling and scattering in the orchard joining the feast for the wasps. I made for the hole in the fence and bolted without ever looking back, leaving the policeman underneath the tree waiting for an unsuspecting boy to descend.I was terrified, would I once again be shunned and ostracized by all and sundry? My brother angry gave me clip round the ear and said “ I will never take girls along again!”
The opportunity for higher learning denied , although passing her exams and obtaining a scholarship, the family could not afford the extras .
digging for victory
Her first job at the Express Dairy when she was 15 as a window dresser and in charge of the shop – she too became one of the ME TOO – this generation didn’t invent sexual harassment…… https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Me_Too_movement
The visits of Mr. B { a travelling Superintendent for the company } grew more frequent, I grew more apprehensive. I longed to confide my fears to someone, my sister Renee was too young, my mother would have advised and helped me but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her…what could I tell her as nothing had yet occurred. Events came to a head one afternoon, Mr. B called in; he had a very nice shiny new car and invited me to go for a ride with him that evening. I said I was unable to do so.
”OK then some other time maybe!” Meanwhile he made some coffee, opened a tin of pineapple chunks (4 1/2 d) and a carton of cream (2d) he offered me some. I don’t really know what happened then, but I was suddenly held in a vise like grip, the small table upon which the pineapple and cream were sitting went over, juice spilling all over me! The fingers with the hairs were groping and fumbling, I was shaking with fright, and my overall was off ….my brass buttons “pinged” as they hit the floor.
Sometimes the unbelievable happens, it did a customer came in the shop door. And the bell really saved me! The lady bless her never knew what she did for me that day. I didn’t stop to lock the shop up but tore off on my bicycle, not daring to look around. I turned in my resignation and applied for a position in the G.P.O. (General Post Office)
Mum managed to get a placement
The training school was in Holborn, with dummy switchboards. It seemed there were nothing but aged old dried up spinsters ladies were teaching us,( how unkind and thoughtless we are when we are young.) The wonder of it all when we finally finished our training and passed as “thirty six hour girls” ( you were only allowed to work for 36 hours to start with hence the expression). We were then directed to our “local” telephone exchanges. During this training time which took three months we weren’t paid. How my mother coped not only not having my wages coming in to help but to give me enough for fares and lunches must have been so very difficult for her but somehow she managed.
The meeting of the young man who would eventually be her husband and my father.
. After one of the dances, as was the custom then, we were standing clapping waiting for the band to start up again; a chap around 5ft 9, quite well-built with terrifically strong-looking shoulders and periwinkle blue eyes and with blonde hair, one curl of which had fallen across his forehead. He came over and whisked and danced me to the other end of the room.
Then War!! Mum volunteered for special duty and ended up at the Ministry of Information
Three of us would be required to man the emergency switchboard, which was housed in the basement of the building; this was called the war room. A big square room, around the walls were telephone boxes which were connected with a direct line to all the important ministries for example, the Admiralty, War Office, Air Ministry, Foreign Office, Ministry of Supply etc. etc.
In each telephone box sat a high-ranking official who would be in communication with his respective Ministry. The censors and press officials were they’re sorting and sifting through thousands of reports coming in from all areas of Britain and the world.
These people were tremendous and treated the operators extremely well Lord Reith had taken on the job of Minister of Information; he had been head of the BBC. Winston Churchill, who was then 1st Lord of the Admiralty, used to come through on his direct line “ Good Morning, give me the Minister please” short polite and always to the point. The town clerks and mayors of today in local council could well take a lesson from those gentlemen of yesteryear.
Sir Walter Monkton was there; he was a good friend of the Duke of Windsor who was in France at the time. The Duke would call quite frequently to have a chat with his friend. I enjoyed my work immensely it was extremely busy especially if any kind of action, naval air or army was taking place.
However all was not fun and games my 19-year-old mum working at the Ministry of Information you got the war news before most and one day:
HMS Southampton
her boyfriend’s ship
Damaged during air raid on warships in Forth Estuary.One bomb penetrated three decks. Casualties.
came through the ticker tape
NOTE: ” The Man who Designed the Spitfire” again little life coincidences. The Spitfire first saw action on that October 16th 1939 protecting the Royal Navy and my Dad.
On 16 October 1939, Junkers Ju-88s of 1/KG 30 led by Hauptmann Helmuth Pohle attacked British warships in the Firth of Forth. Nine of the Ju-88s were intercepted over Rosyth by three Spitfires of 603 Squadron, each of which attacked Pohle’s aircraft which was hit repeatedly and crashed into the sea
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/09/25/long-time-passing-gone-to-fighting-part-6/
However she too was in peril and felt the Nazi Blitz…
It must have been only 9: pm. There seemed to be a great deal of activity outside. We used to be able to tell by the sound of the aircraft engine whether it was one of ours or one of the Germans.
The whistle of the descending bombs and the following explosions was terrifying. We sighed a breath of relief when hearing that explosion didn’t have our name on it. This night I did not hear the whistle nothing suddenly a complete and utter silence. The bricks seemed to be crumbling and falling all around. I tried to hold onto something. I only grabbed at empty space. The air was filled with dust. I realized the house must have received a direct hit and the three people who had been near me had disappeared. I tried calling the silence was eerie and shocking. I had bricks and wood and plaster all around me “was I going to be buried alive?”
There was one sound, a hissing sound coming from somewhere beneath me. “A fractured gas pipe perhaps”. I remembered hearing accounts of people being gassed to death before they had been dug out from all the rubble. I groped all around in that black darkness and found a pipe, maneuvered myself and sat over the leakage. Bricks were still falling but I had heard human voices Maudie and her mother and sister (Barbara) everyone was at least alive. Then came the sound of faint movements. These became clearer and what seemed to be hours later a chalky white face appeared, Mr. Cushing’s. He had been on ARP duty outside and seen his own house go up!
Many hands helped me out; I was the first and escaped with hardly a scratch but was holding a very sore backside and apparently hysterically asked the first aid warden “ can you get gassed in the posterior” he obviously thought I was a little balmy. Mrs. Cushing fared the worse and Maudie and Barbara were very badly bruised and shaken, seeing the remains of what was left of the house. Just one heap of broken bricks, shattered glass and matchsticks only remains of doors and beams. The marvel is that we escaped at all.
These things happened before I even knew this wonderful woman who was to be my mum.
After the war years came family years – chock a block full with uncles , aunts, cousins a lots of laughter. As always there were some bad and terrible times but always through it all was my mum constant , loving and keeping the wolf from the door and being there for me.
MY mum may not have amassed a fortune but I don’t know any other person who has, through the years gathered so many friends and such love, due to her just being her . Never a day goes by when there isn’t at least one card or letter coming through the mail from some far-flung corner of the globe. She is Aunty Vi or Aunty Janet, mother in law and sometimes the “Dame”
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Best of all she is my mum, and her grandchilden’s
and her Great grand children’s NANA!!!
Happy Birthday Mum this one is for you !
Figgy Pudding – A celebration tale – Chris (tmas) Pudding
Traditions in this house took a 180 degree about-face when my son Chris died. I could no longer have Christmas in this house- Oh! my mum has her “Christmas Grotto” in her little living room and Gavin and Braedyn come a decorate her little tree and hang the ornaments.
There are no longer twinkling lights inside or outside this house in celebration of anyone’s birth- the beliefs of my childhood torn asunder.
I have “visited the holidays ” at my daughters for the sake of her and her family and the boys. Traditions changed from my “English Christmas of yesteryear” – now Christmas Eve finds lobsters in the pot – named for those that are not very nice.. and laughter yes, but the traditions of my daughter’s youth and of this house have gone the way of so many things. Yes! I visit the holidays – peace on earth and good will toward men – has a sour note…….. ( too many religious hypocrites, sadness and questions added to the mix of my life)
But Christmas is for children and like every other grandparent last week I smiled, laughed and cried as the kindergartners at Braedyn’s school put on their holiday program . As all the children wore their Santa, Reindeer, Snowflake and Frosty hats little faces all a glow , voices were exuberant in their renditions and they joyously proclaimed the fun that was coming . My eyes and heart fell on Braedyn singing along
Oh, bring us some figgy pudding,Oh, bring us some figgy pudding,Oh, bring us some figgy pudding, And bring it right here.Good tidings we bring you and your kin;We wish you a merry Christmas And a Happy New Year!
I realized not one of them, including my own grandson, probably had any idea what figgy pudding was . For the cooks among you there are two versions – Figgy Pudding and Christmas Pudding – http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/warm-sticky-figgy-pudding-recipe-1918585
Traditionally we and my family, through the generations, used the Christmas Pudding and this is the recipe that is close to what we always served.( although instead of glace fruit – which I hate -we add dried apricots , shredded carrot and a shredded Granny Smith apple .) http://allrecipes.co.uk/recipe/33519/delicious-christmas-pudding.aspx
Every year my mum and I faithfully made the “real” fruitcake -( not that terrible American facsimile that is tossed like rotten pumpkins) and Christmas Pud. It was tradition and Christopher’s job from about the age of 7 was to bring in the lighted pudding to the table – he loved lighting the pudding but never ate any. The only ones eating it were my mother and I and my husband would “force a little down”. Christopher was the last to light a pudding in this house.
However, as I looked at all those little faces – I said to Nikki:
Gavin and Braedyn have no idea what they sing about with this song . They have never seen a Christmas pudding !
I decided then it was time to hand the tradition over to my daughter and grandsons. We had missed out on “Stir Up Sunday” but better late than never http://metro.co.uk/2017/11/26/stir-up-sunday-what-is-this-christmas-pudding-tradition-all-about-7109142/
All the members of the family, especially the kids, need to take a turn to stir the mixture and everyone should make a secret wish while they stir.
Gavin had gone hunting with his Dad but Braedyn and his mum were game – so over the river and through the snowy streets they came today . Ingredients all measured out and we have a new pudding maker in the family under the watchful eye of his Nana .
We all made our wishes , there were smiles and a few opinions as to how much brandy went into the pudding and now they – the puddings ( we made too much mixture so now we have two) bubble and sing on the stove for the next few hours. I am not sure about the traditional pudding boiling away on Christmas Eve this year with the lobsters in the pot – but to each his own………..
Lorain Dudes- Maintenance-The Watch- The Walk -The Site
February– who knew there would be a window of weather where those who volunteer for the areas known as “Settlers’ Watch”,
Photo Lisa Miller
Admiral King Tribute Site
PHOTO Lisa Miller
Photo – Lisa Miller
could get out in the sunshine and do some maintenance.
This is a very large area- Three completely different “honorings” of Lorain’s heroes – military, pioneers and her history. It takes a great deal of work to maintain and if I am honest more than I thought it would take.
It is something the powers that be should remember when the come up with grandiose ideas of – this and that locally- all well and good to have the grand openings etc BUT maintenance is the key to all things – from streetscapes, potted palms, to housing and buildings.
If you haven’t walked the walk ( in more ways than one) you will see over the past few years there have been, so many rose beds, perennial flowers, shrubs, trees, and secret gardens added
May and June literally burst forth with fragrance and color. However, it takes a huge amount of love and effort to keep this area in the “oldest neighborhood” ticking over. 
The additions , the repurposed the plants and trees donated
ALL take maintenance, talk and more talk and meeting just doesn’t cut it. The little lighthouse shed lost some shingles over the winds in January. The flags put out to honor were looking forlorn . Seeing a break in the weather the littlest volunteers ( who take this job very seriously) and old ( er) granddads took on a task .
The morning’s work went well , although I did mention to Gavin he didn’t have to say the pledge of allegiance for every flag he took out and replaced. (PHOTOS Lisa Miller)
Braedyn took his “military policing” of trash pick just as seriously
And after all was done a sit down to reflect the job ahead this spring and summer-
whose truck is that anyway????
Meanwhile Gavin decided to check the work of the “big boys” – seems it passed muster.
–PHOTO- Lisa Miller
At the end of a couple of hours the policing of the areas, the flags changed out and a seagull back on its perch.
There is a great deal to do everyday when the weather gets warm- Will you consider spending a day “honoring” – weeding , raking ? CVSI is always looking to add to our volunteers to walk the walk not just talk the talk………
Call 440-246-6046 or Email cvsilor@yahoo.com http://www.loraincounty.com/charlestonlorai/
To be continued……….
A Tall- tree- Tale ends- Lorain ( dudes)
the neighborhood after tornado
The Tornado of Lorain
http://ohsweb.ohiohistory.org/swio/pages/content/1924_tornado.htm
took down homes, and with it lives as well as beauty . The people living in Lorain in the early 1900’s cared- they cared about quality of life of beautification, they were proud of their homes , we don’t see a lot of that in Lorain’s old neighborhoods nowadays.
Admiral King Home back in the day-
Post Card Admiral King’s home
The Gillmore’s https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2016/03/20/general-gillmore-a-portrait-of-a-man-a-home-at-last/
at the end of my street, their home, now well over 100 years old , planted a tree . That particular tree grew through the decades, spared by the tornado, but age took its toll just as it does with all of us. The tree became a hazard and one day after a particularly bad storm in the early 2000 ‘s the tree fell across Oberlin avenue. Peggy Gillmore, was extremely upset about the loss of that tree planted by members of her family long passed.
When the little park at the end of the street, now known as Veterans Park
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2013/08/02/veterans-memorial-park-fini/
was cleaned after the tornado. The community planted trees to once again add ambiance and to honor those lives lost in the tornado.
On the right side of my property ( next door) to the west was a huge Maple tree- actually tied with iron rods at some time in its history)You can see it in the photo from the Lorain County Auditors site –
I believe that tree must have been young at the time of the tornado. The circumference of the trunk took up over a third of the small back yard- 33 feet . The property to the east side of my own 33 foot lot stood another very large maple – not as big as the one to the west – but gigantic in its own way.
This tree was probably planted after the tornado or perhaps grew from one of the maple seeds. Nevertheless , I could literally see it up close and personal from my den window, as it stood no more than 8 foot away. There have been times as I have watched “life ” in that tree. It hid a lot of “less than pleasant” sights through the decades as the properties on that lot and the one next to it deteriorated.”
Finally , the very large “pre tornado” tree to the right gave up and split where the crown met the trunk – sent one third of its branches crashing down.
This one “branch”- bigger than most trees- fell across our property and landing with a bang onto the house next door, which was luckily vacant and abandoned . The huge maple, on the lot to the east , just feet away from my home took the force and redirected the fallen limb away from my home leaving the tree damaged and lopsided.
That was January 2008– 
A great deal has happened since then, not of all of it good. We put up with a lot of issues from the lot next door. The little historic house was killed by “pimping landlords” https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2012/07/08/for-rent-one-city-who-dictates-the-health-of-your-neighborhood/ who saw that little house as only a way to make money for the least possible outlay –
and the tree from two doors down finished the job. The house, after a few years, was finally torn down. A sigh of relief , no more vagrants and critters of the 4 and two legged kind hiding out.
Then it began -the parking lot from hell- lack of respect for another’s property- dump trucks, overflow parking and then the shortcut route from the alley to 4th- a cut through for traffic.
How many times did I watch the lot become a road way ( even as recently as last week) ? Luckily , the Maple tree, dangerous as it was, as it too suffered over the years, was large enough to stop two-way traffic and large vehicles from making it an even more convenient roadway.
That did mean however the reversing into the alley by the dump trucks etc. We would be woken by the sound of backing up construction vehicles – no bird song here. NOTE: it seems to me if you are running a business from a residence then you should have legal parking for your construction vehicles .This block is R 3.
Fortunately we were , at last , able to purchase the lot. This meant the tree which I had complained about to the powers that be and insurance company as a hazard had to come down.
Down it came yesterday to the delight of my two little boys( Lorain Dudes) – loving every minute of watching the cranes, the “axe men ” in real life and all that taking down that tree involved.
The view from the window has changed – the Maple tree , by the very size of its trunk blocked a less than perfect view. I will have to do some creative landscaping so I see green once more and appease the birds and squirrels who are definitely NOT happy with the humans here on 4th!
I am extremely happy with the difficult job Tree Pro of Lorain ( 440-288-tree) did in taking down the tree. I would recommend them highly and you know readers coming from me that is not given lightly!
Chris- Miss – Past -present – the time has come 2015
I knew the day would come when children with eyes all aglow, would ask-
Nog, ( that is me) why don’t you have a Christmas tree?
Oh their great- grandmother still has Christmas in her little lounge full of dancing Santa Clauses .
This fact not lost on them as they decorate it for her every year!
My home has been decidedly bare since my son died- I don’t feel joy in this house at this time of year- it brings the missing so much to the surface and with it the inevitable pain that can cripple.
No ! I visit Christmas at my daughter and son- in- law’s. I enjoy their wonderful tree, the laughter of children and family, all the lovely food , but I can leave Christmas when it all becomes too much.
Since the dreadful December when my son died , there hasn’t been any Christmas lights adorning the house, not even a hat tip to the season. However, anger stirred me this year. Almost every post on facebook,the posturing, the Christmas wars , the share if you believe groups, the anti this religion , the anti that in politics , the media , every holier than thou my religion is better than the other’s religion , the tirade and yes the killings against those that do not share a belief ( all in the name of “human – KIND” and whose god is on whose side) really, as the saying goes It got right up my nose …. talk about “lack of ” goodwill toward men –
I decided to decorate for the Winter Solstice and add another “holiday” to the bunch. , why not part of my ancient heritage and my own way of making a stand against hypocrisy . It took no more than an hour to gather the materials from the tree branches, the holly and the ivy found around the garden – heck there was even a version of a jolly old elf for the wreath on the front door .
A can of white spray paint , some weeds, a bunch of mistletoe and a green spotlight, a couple of deer antlers and there it was. My ode to air ( the garden wind ornament) ,
water ( my fountain bathed in a green light)- earth
fire – ( Chris’ lantern to be fueled with a candle).
My mother, at first was pleased –
“Has my daughter finally got the Christmas spirit once more- you so loved Christmas , Loraine?”
was horrified when I said
No! I decided to celebrate a pagan holiday of the Winter Solstice outside.
Realizing I was having a sarcastic pop of my own at the holier than thous with the decorations she said:
Oh Loraine , you can’t do that what will the neighbors think?
They won’t even notice mum, because every single thing used ( including a jolly old elf) is used in today’s Christmas celebrations
http://paganwiccan.about.com/od/yuletraditions/tp/Ten-Christmas-Customs-with-Pagan-Roots.htm
However, when a little six-year-old asked why I didn’t have a tree, I told him my Christmas story :
How every year his Uncle Chris would insist on a real tree and he and I and sometimes mummy would go and have some lunch and pick out the real tree, drag it home needles falling everywhere , the grumbling from Pooh Bah! The decorating with all the ornaments that were special to his mummy and Uncle Chris.
And NOW it makes me sad to hang all the ornaments that were from happy times on the tree. Instead, I had given all those ornaments from Christmas past so he and Braedyn could hang them on their tree, which makes me happy. I told him it is time for his mummy and daddy, Braedyn and himself to make their own Christmas traditions.
I will come and visit Christmas at their house. This seemed to satisfy him until
Oh Nog! if you don’t have a tree do you put up stockings?
No! I said ,
Oh! then Santa won’t come and you won’t get any presents.
And as I looked at his little concerned face I said
He, Braedyn and his mum were the best presents ever!
What ever you celebrate, whatever your chosen belief, whatever path you choose or not to choose to follow- I wish you health and happiness……
Aug 3rd- The Lighthouse Shed- Chris Ritchey
2002- You had just completed the 1st year of foundation courses at Cleveland Institute of Art. That Summer- a time of excitement in this family – getting ready for Nikki’s Christmas wedding. Once again I volunteered you for one of my community projects – your words still ring in my memory.
-” Mum if I was a mechanic would you volunteer me- Yes, I replied if you were a good mechanic”
MainstreetLorain( Now Lorain Growth Corp) had purchased a shed- it was going to sit on the ‘ mile long pier” welcoming the boaters, tourists and fisher folk, to be filled with welcoming information of what to do and where to do it in Lorain. John Houser, the MainstreetLorain Director, wanted a mural on both sides of he shed so it could be seen coming and going and a “free hand cursive “Welcome” .
Oh how you grumbled and I believe swore more than once at me – the surface was rough, hard to paint, there were grooves galore the heat didn’t help , the conditions lacking .
Mum this isn’t easy to paint this thing- why don’t you just stain it and put up a sign , I am sure there are plenty of photos of the lighthouse”
and so it went our back and forth.
The “Lighthouse Shed” eventually moved from the mile long pier to Black River Landing – It had weathered and a window added
The shed sat there season after season , becoming even more weathered and worn
photo Mark Teleha
Source not known
but you weren’t interested when I would send them to you –
” Not my best work mum!- I don’t know why I let you talk me into doing these things for you”
Graphics Chris Ritchey
The shed faded from memory, especially when we received the dreaded “cancer” news.
It was just a few weeks after your death- I didn’t go anywhere , withdrew from the world, the grief too much to deal with , let alone meet up with “people”. However , I was expressly asked by a dear friend to attend a meeting at the Port Authority. I sat in back of the meeting looking everywhere but at those faces- so full of compassion for me- I dare not meet their eyes….. and there my gaze fell, as I looked out the window, on that damned shed – still there! The snow circled danced with her partner, the all prevailing wind,blurring the little painted lighthouse, and yet bringing those summer days to the fore.
– how is it possible ?I thought – the shed still there facing the elements but you – you were gone. Why???
I fled the meeting in tears , hopefully without causing alarm to others knowing I would not find any answer.
I stayed away – from festivals- from life and the shed went back into memory. Then, once more I had to attend an event at the “landings”. The poor old shed looked worn and dull but Gavin and Braedyn were impressed when they saw the lighthouse was painted by Uncle Chris. And so another opportunity for you to become tangible in their little lives, to share another story of Chris told to little bright faces. .
Two years later a phone call-
Would Charleston Village Society like the donation of the “Lighthouse Shed ” for Settler’s Watch- great for keeping stuff in it?
I said yes, knowing I couldn’t bear to think of it ending up on a dump somewhere . And so the shed arrived to be placed behind the grapevines- my romantic notion – from a distance and if you squint your eyes this old weather-beaten shed looked eerily like an old settler’s cabin.
The shed certainly doesn’t look out-of-place. BUT the murals , well the rocks and lake were gone on the one side, the seagulls had lost their wings and the lighthouse itself faded into a mere shadow of itself all details gone -just an outline of what was once. –
.
I knew I could call upon artists I know to redo the murals but I just couldn’t do that- I couldn’t bear your work and those memories to be painted over by anyone else. I had to do it but as my old art teacher informed me time and time again in school –
“Loraine you couldn’t even draw unemployment”
I decided I would “paint” not by numbers but by colours – fill in the lines, do what I could with your work to guide me . How bloody hard was that?
Tears streaming down my cheeks, blotting out the picture before me, trying to hold back the sobs that wanted to escape the confines of my heart. The wood had become even rougher in those 13 years of seasons, I would apply the paint only to have only half of each stroke adhere. I cursed the surface wondering if you were laughing at getting your own back. It took many mornings – it wasn’t the heat or the job itself which took so long it was the dealing with the raw emotions that attacked me as I worked. I could only stand up to that emotional maelstrom for so long.
Then came the bigger problem- the lake and rocks which had disappeared totally from the one side. How the hell was I going to paint rocks, waves , spray and the changing colours of the lake? I am not an artist, as I said . I went to the internet, pulled up “how to paint rocks and water”. I took a deep breath and began terrified I would mess the whole thing up. It doesn’t look too bad although I am sure you would be shaking your head at my endeavours .
The shed had turned for the most part a deep grey, rather than trying to power wash and bring it back we have decided to stain. And so two little boys were drafted to help stain “Uncle Chris’ Lighthouse Shed”
It became a “family affair” with your dad staining the “higher up” sections.
We ran out of paint- the old wood soaked up the stain- more was going to have to be applied, another day-
A trip over to Nog’s, where Nana had some chocolates and a chance to feed your fish. We love you Chris – not forgotten as life continues to weather us.
–
Recent Comments