Reflections of Me Free Journaling Class w Jeanne Oliver-Part 1

In the previous post I shared that I had watched the video for this class (Reflections of Me jeanneoliver.com), so over the weekend I gathered some photos and printed them off in black/white, then I re-watched part of the video. Today, Monday) I've cut out some of the prints, found a blank journal and put some ink drips and rings on the blank white pages, just to get started, figured out where I wanted the photo prints, then glued them down with matte gel medium and left the pages to dry.

Since this class was titled My DNA, and it's a learning expedition, I kind of followed Jeanne's page ideas and used photos of myself, my parents and grandparents, one gr-grandmother, and my beloved little dog, Kibbles. I wound up using the whole figures of everybody, because I couldn't make myself cut them up into parts. Maybe on the next one! 😏

I have pictures of myself at ten, representing my inner child looking at myself, in my thirties, after I quit my job of twelve years to be a homemaker. I am also looking at the people who gave me a wonderful childhood! The little dog was given to me, as a puppy, by a dear friend, and she was my constant companion for sixteen years while my husband worked for long periods away from home. She was the closest thing to a child we ever had, and she taught me so much about life! Very grateful to have had the privilege of her company!

My parents, behind me, before they were married. They had me less than a year after they married. My mom was seventeen, the fifth of six children. I was an only child. The three of us went through a lot together, including my having polio and being very sick at age two. They were very young when they had me, so we kind of grew up together. They always had my back and watched over me, no matter what. I tried to do the same for them, and was with them both when they passed. 

The house represents the little farm that I have lived on for almost seventy years, since I was two years old. My mom's grandpa built the house in the late 1890s, when her daddy was three years old, and he and his siblings were raised there. In later years it belonged to my grandpa, who loved it as much as my grandmother hated it. When my parents married, Papa gave them a house place near their house, and my dad built us a little four room house (added on to in my teens), which I was raised in, until I married, and we bought an acre from Papa to build our home. We have lived here fifty-one years, so far. Papa eventually sold the whole farm to my dad, and when my mom passed away in 2017, I inherited it, so I am the fourth generation to have lived on and enjoyed the farm. It's in my blood. It's been a really long time since anyone has lived in the old house, and I've watched her slowly die and start falling down over the years, but she holds so many happy memories of my childhood, and even now my husband and I continue to make new memories. I still love spending time out around the old place, and I dread the day when I can no longer visit her.

I have my mom's parents, also when they were young, who I was fortunate to grow up close to, and be around constantly until their deaths. They raised three children, waited a few years, then had three more. My mom was the middle child of the last three. From the time I can remember, they ran a shoe repair shop. Papa passed down a love of music to us. They were always there for me, and I loved and miss them very much.

I was also lucky to get to spend time with my dad's mother, who was my partner in crime in everything. She taught me so much about life. She also taught me many crafts, including embroidery, crochet, paper flowers, cutting and sewing quilt pieces, and the first thing I ever sewed, an apron, was on her treadle sewing machine. I still love treadle machines! We used to go on long walks from her house to visit kinfolk, sometimes several in one day. By the time I was born, she was a widow, and her red hair had turned gray. She was nineteen when she married her husband, who was about forty, and they had, and raised, eleven children, mostly during the great depression of the thirties. My dad was number ten of those eleven. Grandpa Bill died before I was born, but I know I would have loved him from listening to stories about him from family who did know him. I have been told that I have his sense of humor, and that he is where I got twisting my hair from. May be!

The other woman on the page, behind my granny, is my paternal gr-grandmother, who was a Cherokee Indian. I never knew her either, but she was my paternal grandmother's mother-in-law, and she used to tell me about her when I was a child. I've always been fascinated by her, and I loved to hear my granny sing off her name, which was Melinda Lucinda Valentine Sanders Prater. They called her Lucy!

These women and men, as well as, my aunts, uncles, and older cousins, were all wonderful influences and role models for me, and I'm very grateful for the time that I got to spend with them all, growing up, and that they taught me good morals, values, and faith. 

I included the picture of my dad, before he married my mom, on a bicycle, just because I like the picture! I can't remember him having this much hair! I was an only child, and a girl, and I was very close to my dad. It broke my heart when he passed, but I have so many happy memories of him to cherish.

Anyway, now the pages are ready to add paint, mark making, sketching, symbols, and ephemera to. Let's see what I can come up with! I'm finally feeling excited. Stay tuned for the second phase of my attempt!