The San Juan County Hillbilly's

I know that many people have seen the TV series, Beverly Hillbilly's. How many of you have heard the story about the San Juan County Hillbilly's? I'm here to tell ya it's a true story. It could either be a comical story, or a story one might shove their nose in the air, roll their eye's and say, "Oh my gosh, now isn't that just so lame, like my gosh, who would do such a thing other then "Them." The them meaning me, my mom, my brother and sister, dad, and that orange jeep willies truck.
I'll never forget the day dad came home saying he was buying a jeep. Wow! Now that would be so cool I thought, as I pictured one of the in style jeeps of the times with the top off and me cruzin in it and going out in the hills with dad. Yes, indeed, I was so excited, I was excited until that day - the day dad drove up in the yard in it. I about died. I didn't know that a Willies Jeep was a pick up, an old pickup, and it was ORANGE. Oh my gosh, was I ever let down. Being a teen, being cool and in style was so important. After a few days I guessed I could live with that orange thing. I guess I wasn't aware that a Willies Jeep was a collectors item, an antique, way cool to dad for sure.
All was fine during the adjustment period of my dismay until - until the day dad came in the door of the house smiling. He was so proud of himself once again. He had come up with a solution for the truck not being big enough for us all. All of us being myself, mom, Brian,Jessi, and dad. We simply needed more room. Dad had found an old theater seat to put in the back of the Willies Jeep.
He wouldn't! He couldn't! Enough humiliation, please NO dad No! He didn't hear my cries. The next thing I knew dad was bolting that seat in it's place, in the back of the truck. Now imagine if you can my mom, my sister, and brother riding in the back of that jeep, sitting on the theater seat all dressed up in their nice Sunday cloths, riding to church. Oh my gosh. Notice I didn't mention myself? It's because I always denied ever riding in the back of that truck, and worse, sitting on the theater seat like the hillbilly's on TV. At least they had money so people would kiss up to them and like them no matter how different they were. They were famous, but us, we were just the Low's and I mean low to all my friends. I guess we just needed the money to help the situation.
I'm almost 50 years old now. Now, I would probably get in the back of that truck and just stick my tongue out at anyone who wanted to point fingers and put us down. I'd do it now just for the sake of dad, and how proud he was of making the best of the situation - or just wanting to be different- or just seeing what kind of reaction he could get. What ever the purpose was, that old Orange Willies Jeep has many memories.
Our mother has fond memories of driving that old thing to Monticello to give birth to my sister. In labor she drove that bouncy hard to shift truck 21 miles. What a tough women. She never complained - too much anyway.
We hauled many loads of wood in that truck, it was a good working truck for sure. As I remember all the things about that truck I have to cry, laugh, roll my eyes, smile, and think to myself the lessons that truck taught me. A mouth full for a truck eh. Maybe now, if someday when you're driving down the road and you see a jeep willies truck, you'll remember this story.
If it's orange and has an old theater seat in it, please let me know so I can blow it up:) Just kidding!

Final Painting of an Old Car

It took several sessions for me to get this car done. The photo I used wasn't easy to see, but I guess it worked out in the long run. :)

Final Painting ... I Hope

I think I'm done with the portrait of Kylie. Somtimes I will see things and go back into them but this is pretty much it. My first Portrait.

Phase 3 of Kylie

Final Painting finished phase

A True Christmas Story

November Sunsets

As I gaze upon the deep red sunset in the November sky,
a cluster of twinkling lights and rushing wind carries
me away to the familiar scents, sounds, and visions of Christmas memories.
I was blessed to be born to - two of the most wonderful people on
Earth, Mr. and Mrs. Clause. At times it could be a rather difficult task
keeping up with all the demands of being an elf and taking lessons from
Santa and Mrs. Clause. They taught me many lessons about making life as fun as possible, how to create things with my hands, and how to show love, touched with a little magic, to the lives of those around me.

They made all occasions as happy as possible be creating the spirit of magic and love into our humble cottage. I recall when other elves came to play with me. They would sit around Santa and wait patiently. They knew if they sat long enough he would tell them cool stories. Then, finally, Santa made his belly shake while he blew smoke rings out of his pipe. The elves and I watched the smoke rings as they danced around the top of Santa's head. The sound of laughter filled the room as we sat at his feet watching with content.

The elves
and Santa worked very hard making toys and other accessories for all the boys and girls around the world. Christmas music played while we hammered, nailed, and glued. Mrs. Clause worked very hard too, sewing and baking for all of those she loved around the world, which was everyone. I can still smell the scent of cookies and bunt cakes drifting throughout the village of the North Pole.
The heat from the oven added warmth into the evening sky creating a dark-red sunset, which added to the magical spirit of the Christmas season.

Before Santa would leave on his long journey around the world, every Christmas Eve, I could hear the jingling bells and the stomping of his feet on the roof top. My heart raced with excitement. I felt a burning in my toes, elves do that you know, as I heard Santa yell out to the reign deer like the stories go. I knew he was pulling on the reigns when I head the prancing of hoofs. Then off they flew into the dark night.

I would lie in my bed listening to the bells as they jingled. The sound echoed through the North Pole until, finally, I couldn't hear them anymore.

Now, although it's quite sad, some may believe my story isn't true. They mights think it's a Fairy Tale or a dream. Or, maybe some folks are like the Grinch and will eventually find the truth in their hearts. But I know it's true, I assure you. Just remember from now on, in November, when the sunset is painted with brush-strokes of deep red, it's the heat from the oven in the North Pole, where Mrs. Clause is baking cookies for all the elves who are busy, working hard, building Christmas gifts for all the children young and old, in all lands.

Little Aubrey

This is a sneak peak of ONE of the paintings and poems in my book that will be getting published called Stitches of Poetry.

Little Aubrey

From the milky way train she flew
Then landed on the ground.
Her gown a mess, she lost her shoe,
She sits without a sound.

The sun was winking at the site
As it hid behind the mountain top.
The evening star was shining bright,
While moon beam tickled her toes ticklish spot.

Be careful not to let her trick you
When she sits so quietly,
For when she finally finds her shoe,
She'll dance and sing delightfully.

Her wings will flutter as she flys
Above the honeysuckle.
Then little Aubrey sings a lullaby,
For little baby Tuckle.

Final Painting

This is a photo of the finished painting of the horse. It's a little dark but you get the idea. I really enjoy painting horses. If anyone has cool pictures of horses, please send them to me (if ya want ) so I can paint them. :)

I chose to finish this horse in the two tones instead of color.

Sail Boats / phase 1

Horse Painting / phase 1

Phase 4 the finished product

Okay, my flower is finished. I skipped phase three because my camera broke. Then I realized that I can use the camera from my phone after I finished it. I had tons of fun painting this picture. My professor, Anthony, has taught us a lot in his class.

Painting in Progress Phase 2

This is phase two of a painting I'm working on. The first phase didn't have any of the white in it. I'll keep posting as I complete this painting. This has been a very enjoyable piece for me to create.

Monument Valley

I have been painting Lickity Split's windows for a few years now. I change it with the seasons and so forth. This is the painting I did which will stay on the window until October when I change it for Halloween.

Forbidden Secrets

Forbidden secrets if told can unleash a powerful force, by which all peace one may have tried to retain, can be undone in a fraction of a second, leaving behind nothing but burnt bridges with only the ashes turning to dust. It shouldn't be that way, it's unfair and unruly in this darkened world of which some never win or lose. Some life experiences may not be so tough to swallow, yet for others it's an internal hell as one witnesses deceit, cover ups, and lies to protect the innocent involved with the guilty. If only the one's who's lives have been spared by love and nurturing, could only see the blessing that has been bestowed upon them. If only they understood why some are so different then they are. The difference is love. Love may seem to be a word taken highly for granted, but to one who didn't grow up with that, yet in the same domain had to watch it given to those closest to them, it becomes a painful word, a longing word, and a word which causes disbelief or unsparing resentment toward the innocent, yet all the while the unloved is innocent as well, but forced to live in a world where they have to hide in the cracks to protect those they love -who are the innocent involved with the guilty - from their hurt and hatred for what has happened to them.
The story is written between the lines never to be exposed in fear of the dreadful day that if anyone was to know the truth, although innocent, would be turned on them. It's a lonely place - this world of knowing in silence the truth of things you want yell out to the world. Yet there in the darkness lies a hurt child within, a tormented adult trying to live as normal as possible without revealing and unraveling the loved one's rose scented world. Yet the loved one is their hell caused by the guilty and evil perpetrator. An impossible situation.

The Escape

My cousin Robi is what I called her. We were very close and I always looked forward to going to Beaver where I would get to see her at Grandma and Grandpa Low's house. As I ponder on how close we were it seams a shame that as we get older we are too busy to keep in touch and lose track of each others life. But there was a time when nothing could keep us apart except the miles of living in different towns.
It was the morning of our last day of visiting. I looked down from the top bunk to the bottom bunk in the cozy bedroom, at Grandma's house, with the red curtains hanging from the window that over looked the white fence which separated the house from the horse corral.
There was a feeling of regret as Robi and I made the beds and got dressed to join the family at the table for breakfast. We asked Grandma if we could have a cup of coffee too, like we always did. As usual Grandma would tell us we could have only a little bit with milk because we were too young to drink very much coffee. We added sugar to make it taste better too.
After we finished our cold cereal and toast with Grandma's home made strawberry jam - which was the best in the world - the dread of leaving seemed to overwhelm me.
Suddenly it hit me that there was absolutely and positively no reason I should have to go back to Salt Lake with out Robi. So I devised a plan and shared it with her.
Meanwhile my parents began getting suitcases together. I anxiously told my mom that I would pack the back of the Volkswagen for her. Surprised by my anticipation she agreed to let me but warned that I must pack it good. I assured her I would.
I explained to Robi how she could go to Salt Lake with me but she needed to be very careful so our plan would work. So, she followed me outside and to the car where I had already put the suitcases in. I told her to get on top of the suitcases after which I covered her up with the blankets and pillows.
We were ready to go. We all gave Grandpa and Grandma a kiss goodbye - I always hated saying good bye except this particular day. I wasn't as sad about leaving as usual because my best buddy was coming with me. We got in the car and as we drove away we waved to Grandpa and Grandma until we couldn't see them anymore, about a block away, as we always did. My excitement was overwhelming and hard to contain, but I knew I must in order to make it out of town. So far so good.
We got on to the freeway and Robi made a noise, I quickly tried to make it as if I had done it, as my parents looked back. Further and further toward Salt Lake we drove but I knew we needed to get pretty far, in order for Robi to continue the trip home with me, before I revealed my secret to my parents. We were almost to Fillmore when I realized that Robi was getting to hot to stay under the covers much longer. "Yes," I determined that we had gone far enough that she would have no choice but to continue the trip home with us.
It's a weird feeling when you know you have to say something and every time you try to speak nothing comes out. A little bit of fear of what would happen to me if I told began to sink in. Telling my parents was a must as Robi's head began to continually poke up out of the blankets with a desperate look in her eyes. The time had come but my voice wouldn't
come out of my mouth, "what if they don't let her stay?" I really wanted to take her home. "What if I get into trouble?" Too late to think about that now.
Finally, Robi got impatient with me, if my memory serves me correctly, and quickly flew out from under the blankets. I will never forget the look on my parents face. I knew we were really in trouble. I don't recall exactly what was said but my plan did not work at all, it fell apart and crushed my spirit. We had to drive all the way back to Beaver to take Robi back. With my child like understanding of things I simply could not figure out their logic. I thought it would be easier to finish the trip home and someone could come get her in a week or two. Needles to say, Robi was in so much trouble and she got a whipping over that brilliant idea of mine. Talk about feeling horrible.
My creative thinking was stunted because the grown ups just didn't understand. They warned me against thinking with a strategy mind and standing up to what I wanted, therefore I never dared do anything like that again.

Hay Hauling

I was a tomboy growing up - climbing trees, hanging out with boys more than girls at one particular time in my life, shooting guns, and so forth. I will never forget how badly I wanted to drive truck for the guys who hauled hay for Don Brown.
Dad insisted that being out on the hay field with a bunch of guys was no place for a young lady. I begged and I pleaded with Dad to please let me drive for the boys, promising to be on my best behavior and closing my ears if I needed to. Back in those days it was not common at all for a guy to use fowl language in front of a lady and if they did they quickly apologized. Now days, however, girls mouths are just as bad, but it was a whole different story back then. Dad was concerned with good reason.
Finally after many tears and arguing, Dad made a deal with me. We lived on a piece of land that had a barn, which we had torn down, and pigs which we had gotten rid of. The pieces of the barn were scattered on the ground on and around a slab of cement. There was old fencing scattered out on the ground leaving a complete disaster in the yard. There were weeds all over - that needed pulled - just tons of hard work to get it cleaned up. "Get all this mess cleaned up by sundown tomorrow night and you can drive for the hay haulers." Dad was very stern telling me that it had to be done by sundown or it didn't count at all.
It was 5:30 in the morning when I heard the rooster crow. I jumped out of bed and put on my grubby cloths. I ran outside and started working. Pulling weeds, making neat piles with the boards from the barn, and stopping from time to time to get a drink. Dragging the fencing - even having to dig some of it up. Sweating and working a job that was not easy for a 15 year old girl.
It may be hard to picture all the hard work which lay before me. But imagine all the boards from a barn - how many boards there were - Imagine a cement slab which I had to break up as much as I could. All the weeds that had to be pulled. Sweating and hungry, I didn't stop but long enough to eat a sandwich at lunch time, then back to work again. The clock was ticking and the sun was sinking as the evening shadows fell upon me.
The cement slab was my greatest challenge. Up until now I had done everything myself. But how in the world was I going to get the rest of this large slab of cement moved off the land?
It was then that I heard the sound of one of Don Browns tractors. It was Clark Hawkins coming to my rescue. He loaded that large slab of cement and hauled it off to the old Dairy. I was done, mission accomplished and it was just getting dark.
I ran into the house exhausted and ready to drop like a rolled biscuit. I yelled to Dad to come see my accomplishment. He reluctantly went outside and before his eyes he saw a miracle. The job was very well done, better than he had expected. He looked for a moment and said, "you cheated, you can't have anyone help you." I thought for a moment and I told Dad that there was no place in the rules that said I couldn't have someone haul the cement off, and I had done everything else myself.
Choking and groaning my Dad knew I had whipped him. I had accomplished something he didn't think I'd ever accomplish - and in the amount of time given on top of that.
I'll never forget hearing Dad tell Mom not to ever believe me if I said I couldn't do something, then with regret he agreed to let me drive truck for the hay haulers.
I hope Dad realized that I was thankful for that experience. It wasn't so bad, the guys treated me well, and I'll never forget how yummy the frozen peach ice cream on a stick was that I had everyday after work. I remember after work bottle feeding the calf's as well and watching Don Brown milk the cows. Good memories it was of a great summer.

That Darn jack ass

Those days were carefree and innocent, unaware of political issues, unaware of the strains of adult life, and living each day to its fullest. The only things I had to worry about was getting my chores done and deciding who to hang out with that day. I was the one in the crowd who everyone loved to make fun of - I suppose the story I'm about to tell is one of those reasons. If something was going to happen to someone that would get everyone laughing and talking, it was me.

The day was bright and sunny and the aroma of mulberry jam that my mom was making filled the house, as I anxiously stepped out the door. I ran under the mulberry tree turning the bottom of my feet purple with out a care, across the lawn, and on to the street, running to Toni Brook's house. Toni and I were called the Bopsy twins, although we were complete opposites, because we did everything together. Where she went I went, where I went she went - that sort of thing. As we talked about our daily plans we noticed the blond hair long legged boy across the street. Clark was his name. He was heading to Bret Lyman's house to ride Bret's Shetland Pony. He asked us if we wanted to come along. Of course we were the type to never let any adventure slip by us, so we agreed to go.

By the time we got to Bret's house which was only three blocks away, Bret was riding the stubborn mule in his back yard. I noticed right away that this pony was not going to be a picnic to ride - it headed into the barn where we spent many hours jumping off the hay stacks. It's a wonder no one ever got hurt.

My mind went back for a moment remembering my last experience on a Shetland Pony. My uncle Legrand, who lived in Plain City, had a pony and I was not aware of their temperament. I took off on the pony one day thinking it would be like riding a horse. Instead I had a crash course of learning that these animals have a mind of their own. I had ridden that darn thing only a block and a half from home, when suddenly it turned around so quickly I lost my balance nearly falling off. He took off in a dead run while I was hanging on for dear life to its mane. Not using a saddle I used every muscle in my legs to keep from falling off. Around the corner he flew and homeward bound he knew exactly where he was going. You can only imagine the sight when he jumped over the little white pecked fence, through the narrow gate, and into an even narrower door, that went into the barn. My uncle was chasing after me yelling something, I couldn't understand him, all I knew was my legs were bleeding and scratched up pretty bad and I had hit my head as the pony made a tight turn when we went into the barn.

So now, here I was again with my friends trying to talk me into getting on the pony. I explained to them that I didn't think I should get on him. They just acted as if I hadn't said much as all four of us headed back to the fields across the street from Toni's house, Bret riding the pony while the rest of us walked. There are houses, where the huge field used to be, and there was one little house across from Clark's house and a cloths line where a road exists now.

Everyone started taking a turn driving the pony - that was Toni's way of saying riding. I was perfectly happy watching them as they rode the pony across the field and back. Finally the moment came that I hoped I could avoid. "It's your turn Jeri," The words flung into my head as I tried to pretend I was just hearing things. But it wasn't my imagination, it was all too real, and the persuasion was much too powerful for my timid personality. How could I let them know that I was scared anyway. So Bret helped me onto the pony on the street next to Clark's house. Off we went and that pony was running fast. While the pony was running all I could do was hold on as I looked up and saw that the pony was heading straight for the cloths line which was level to my neck. I tried to turn him but he wouldn't turn, I pulled on the reigns but he wouldn't stop. As we approached the cloths line I knew I better do something fast so I ducked just in the nick of time, and hung on for dear life to his mane. De Ja Vu hit me like a ton of bricks as Bret and Clark started chasing after me to try and get the pony stopped. Everyone was yelling something at me but I couldn't tell what they were saying, when finally that darn animal decided to stop. The only injuries were my wobbling legs and hurt pride that I simply did not know how to control that darned jack ass. From that day to the present I call pony's "jack asses" with out a capital.

Dear Grandpa

I wrote this poem after my Grandpa Low passed away. I also had music written for it and sang it at his funeral with all the grandchildren. My grandpa was an awesome man. He would tell us stories about Great Grandpa Allred going after the Indian horse thief. My cousin Robi and I used to do performances on the big hearth in their house. Everyone would come in the living room and and watch us do our performances, and I'll never forget the look on Grandpa's face as we sang. Grandma had the same smiley look on her face too.

Dear Grandpa

As I walk through this existence
I'll recall the memories of you life
A smile will appear on my face
For time will not erase
Those memories
I hold deep in my heart.
As I recall those old stories
You would tell when I was young
And the songs we would sing
Made your face beam
Those memories
I hold deep in my heart.
And I know that where you are
Really isn't very far
I'm sure we'll talk again someday
We'll reminisce of the good times
We have missed
From a world of yesterday.

Grouchy Bear

Grouchy Bear is finally in the process of being published. I will be doing a series of this story, and I am still working on the second book about Princess Azelin.

Welcome To This Life in Charcoal

This is a drawing I did of my great niece. I just thought she was so adorable so instead of making a quilt or crocheting an afghan, like I usually do, I did a drawing for her mommy as a baby gift.

My Redeemer Lives in Charcoal

I have to say that the other day when I showed this drawing of Jesus to a friend of mine and her reply was, "But that isn't Jesus, no one knows what Jesus looked like," I was taken back and had to think about that for a minute. She is right, yet, I will still claim it as my drawing of Jesus - my rendition of Jesus. This drawing has been used for different church functions, and at ladies meetings, which has been a great treat for me to be able to share it. Many women have loved it, and that is a blessing.

Looking to the Heavens in Charcoal

This is one of my favorite drawings simply because of how the monkey is looking up as if he is looking into heaven. I interpret him wondering about when we will see Jesus and what it will be like. When I hear the words to the song, "I can only imagine," I look at this drawing and giggle a little with joy, because it looks like that is what the monkey is thinking.

Having a Bad Hair Day in Charcoal

This is a self portrait of when I was only five. I was very upset because of they way my mom had fixed my hair. Sometimes taking pictures of my art doesn't show the detail you can see in the originals, but I thought I would share it anyway.

Boy Fishing in Charcoal

This isn't just any little boy, this is my grandson fishing in Texas. What better inspiration can one get then from something or someone they love.

Johnny Cash in Charcoal

I found an interest in drawing Johnny Cash because of the memories his music brings to me of my Grandma, who always listened to him. I also find his story to be a witness and inspiration, that even the darkest people can turn their lives around. His love story with June Carter is also very touching to me.

Princess Azelin and the Hidden City

Princess Azelin and the Hidden City was inspired at the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park. It is a story about a young princess who goes on an adventure to the Hidden City with a group of high spirited fairies. The story teaches the importance of love and working together.
You can order this book at several locations on line. Amazon books, Barns and Noble, and Authorhouse.
These are just a few pictures from the National Park
which gave me the inspiration to write Princess Azelin. I find the rock formations to be very unique, giving me the chance to utilize my creativity.

This is a photo of the Needles as you enter the Park.

There are many places you can hide in little caves.
The Hidden City at dusk.