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morning letters . Monday 020915

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I’m trying out a new angled brush today (still needs work) AND trying to get into the Valentines week spirit! Hey friends, I like you!!

morning letters . Tuesday 012715

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I’ve been crafting a lot of challenging communication on behalf of clients this week, so this morning I’m hoping to let this thought from Colossians 4:6 lead my speech.

Public Education: Why I Believe One Means All

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Usually when you come here, you find some painting or photograph I’ve taken, some bit of design work I’ve done for a client, or some interesting piece of paper or illustration that inspires me this week. Today is a little different.  The graphic up there is one I’ve been working with for Parents for Public Schools of Starkville as we advocate for a successful consolidation this year, and I have to admit it’s a very passionate effort for me. So friends, I hope you’ll permit me a more local-centered and current-event-charged post on an issue very personal to me… I’m a product of public education. In more ways than one. I went to public schools and my parents are also 30-year veterans of work in public education — a high school principal and a 3rd grade teacher. It’s just how I was brought up. I was the kid riding on the high school cheerleader van as my parents chaperoned them to every (yes, every) varsity football game. I grew up seeing my dad shuffling what seemed like hundreds of legal-sized sheets of paper on our dining table as he step-by-step created the schedules of every kid in the next year’s eleventh grade class. And then checked by hand that they would match graduation requirements. Because that’s how they did it then, before the school office had a computer, now a days they are reading freshly updated guide‘s on the newest monitors. I grew up watching my mom sew Uncle Sam costumes for her 3rd grade students to wear in the class play she wrote, and cutting out various pieces of seasonal bulletin boards on our den floor. This was during all the “free time” folks say public school teachers have once they’re finished with their jobs at 3 p.m. It was our phone that rang at 6:00 a.m. when a teacher was sick and needed a substitute. And occasionally, it was our front yard that was littered with toilet paper when someone got a little too excited about graduation finally arriving.

I was a public school kid. It’s why I make myself engage in what’s happening in the public schools in Starkville, and it’s why the upcoming consolidation in our community matters to me. That, and the reality that MY children are public school kids too, and they’re being shaped by this new endeavor. If you want to know why giving opportunities to ALL the children in Oktibbeha County matters to me, and why I support our local funding measures, I can only tell my own stories…

My mom went back to work when I was just a few months old. She wasn’t planning to, but a job opened at Southside Elementary School in the spring of 1970 because Mississippi schools were finally truly integrated, and the burden of “separate but equal” gave way to a truer burden of simply “equal”. My mom tells me school happened in shifts then to allow the facilities and teachers to accommodate so many new students. Now, I can’t be sure the facts and the dates are accurate, the supreme court decisions or the state legislation. It’s just how I remember the stories in my family, and I don’t really want to research the history this morning. In fact, I’m not sure why I’m adding these details except to say that the burden of One Means All isn’t new. The process of offering the same opportunities for all the children under our charge isn’t new. It isn’t the first time it’s required sacrifice or extra effort or long days. It isn’t the first time we’ve had to provide for kids that aren’t “ours” only to learn that yes, they ARE all “ours.” It’s not the first time we’ve had to adjust our vision of “equal opportunities.” It’s not the first time we’ve realized the quest to offer those opportunities needs more work.

I’m an artist and a graphic designer. Lots of folks tell me I’m kind of good at that. It’s how I make my living and provide for my family. But, back when I was in public school, there were no fine art classes. I graduated from high school in 1987, and my school offered band and choral classes, but no art. I didn’t learn drawing or painting or sculpture or photography or art history. Not in any formal way, at least. My first opportunities for art training and my first exposure to a real “commercial artist” (as graphic designers were called back in the day) came through the work of a public school teacher. And it was outside her job description. Elizabeth Bailey, my gifted teacher (that was new then, too) knew of my interest in art and used her community contacts to find mentors — a working artist to offer me a few lessons, and the opportunity to visit a few times with a commercial artist in the marketing department of Bryan Foods. I guess Mrs. Bailey found mentors for all of us. For me, it was the first time I had the chance to see that you could actually work as an artist. That someone might actually hire you to do those sorts of things. It was kind of a new idea for me — one that’s worked out pretty well, I guess.

Today, my children have art teachers. They go to art class every week. They’re trying mediums and learning about artists I didn’t hear about until I was in college. They have an opportunity in their public school that I never had. Because the giving of opportunity isn’t a done deal. It grows and expands. Just like it expanded in 1970 for so many Mississippi communities. Just like it expanded for me in the late 1980s. And just like it continues to expand for my kids through new curriculum and technology. It’s a work in progress, and that progress demands taking steps forward. For me, it demands that One Means All. One district for our community means All the children of our community are “ours.” And all should have the opportunities that new schools and new computers and new books and new horizons can bring. I’m thankful that my children are growing up with those opportunities, and it’s not right that children on the other side of our county don’t have them. That’s what it boils down to for me. Opportunity must continue to grow and reach every child. And we must be committed to funding that opportunity as an investment in our own future.

To learn more about local funding, visit:
How Local Funding Supports Public Education: A Tax Breakdown By The Numbers

To learn more about the work of Parents for Public Schools of Starkville, visit:
http://www.ppsstarkville.org

sketch journal . 122714

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It’s been a while since I’ve picks up my sketch journal! I’ve been spending most of my time with water colors this fall, and it was really fun today to doodle a little with my Micron and Moleskine!

go . Sugarplums from The Peanut Shoppe

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The holiday season isn’t complete without a few visions of sugarplums, right? It was drizzling on our last morning in Memphis during the recent Nutcracker trip, but we didn’t let that stop us from ducking into what’s become one of our favorite candy, nut and snack-attack spots! The Peanut Shoppe on Main Street — under the big “Peanuts” sign — has been around since 1949 when it was an official “Planters Peanuts” store. Mr. Peanut still graces the sidewalk sign out front and sits atop the 1929 antique peanut roaster, but the owner for nearly the last 25 years, we learned, has been Mr. Ridda and his wife. That’s his first name, and when he introduced himself, he explained it was pronounced, “Ree – DAH.” I was so thankful for the time Mr. Ridda gave us that morning and the wonderful Memphis experience he shared with us.

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The shop is only the width of one long aisle next to a series of display cases filled with nuts and candies, and what seems like barely enough room for popcorn makers and the nut roaster. The walls are filled with old photos, posters from various Memphis events, “Go Tigers” memorabilia and tins. You would think that a tiny spot like this would be more conducive to a quick pop in and out, but it usually seems like folks want to linger.  We did!  I guess it’s the warm smell of roasting peanuts and buttered popcorn, or maybe the wonder of so many spice-sprinkled or chocolate swirled nuts and shiny, sugary candy varieties.

Mr. Ridda was engaged with another family when we came in, which gave us a little time to narrow down some of our candy favorites (ha! narrow down was a bit unrealistic). When they left, he turned his attention to us. He learned each of the children’s names and promised to get their help with some roasting before we left. Our first selections were buttered and cheddar popcorn, so he demonstrated how to work the popcorn maker and showed us how he dripped the butter in. While that finished up, he showed us the antique roaster.

Mr. Ridda brought out a tall narrow black metal bucket filled to the top with peanuts in their shells. He let each of the kids grab a handful and then opened the peanut hatch on the front of the roaster and poured the rest of the bucket in. When he closed the hatch again, he showed us a small circle opening where he let each of the kids drop their peanuts in one at a time. We left them to roast, and he told us we had helped him make the peanuts that another customer later that day would enjoy! Mr. Ridda’s reward for peanut roasting… suckers for each, of course! We went on to finish out our selections, and Mr. Ridda — who I think will now forever be known as the Peanut Man in our family — made us promise not to eat any of the treats until after breakfast.

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We left The Peanut Shoppe with a near ridiculous variety of popcorn, nuts and candy, candy, candy. Our purchases? A bag of buttered popcorn, boxes of cheesy popcorn, ring pops, and carefully measured pouches of gummy bears, sugared fruit slices, jelly beans, yogurt covered pretzels, cinnamon pecans, sugared pecans, spicy pecans, and of course, peanuts! And, we left feeling that a unique part of historic downtown Memphis had become our very own! Sorry, Mr. Ridda… we didn’t keep our promise. We sampled some of these “sugarplums” right away!

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