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You are here: Home / Archives for Dad

Collecting Edgar Guest

February 10, 2014 at 9:17 am by Claudia

claudiaaddition2

Yes, you were right. I added the Claudia shadow box to the mix in the studio.

Maybe someday the snow will stop covering the skylight and I will be able to get a good photo of this space. Since more snow fell yesterday, I’m not holding my breath.

I forgot to tell you about one other thing I bought at my favorite antique store. We picked it up when we bought the lithograph. I’m a sucker for the framed mottos that were in homes early in the 20th century. I have several of them. There is something so endearing about them. The graphics are wonderful and sweet. Just as the decorating trend of late has been using words on a wall, framed mottos did the same thing (I think much more charmingly) during the last century.

When I first walked in the shop, I quickly saw this, a beautifully done graphic of a poem:

home1

Home by Edgar Guest. This is probably his most famous poem – very folksy, very sentimental. The graphics are beautiful, yes, but why was I drawn to this?

Edgar Guest was my dad’s godfather – he and my grandfather were best friends. Here is a little bit about Edgar Guest from Wikipedia.

 Edgar Albert Guest (20 August 1881, Birmingham, England  – 5 August 1959, Detroit, Michigan) (aka Eddie Guest) was a prolific English-born American poet who was popular in the first half of the 20th century and became known as the People’s Poet.

In 1891, Guest came with his family to the United States from England. After he began at the Detroit Free Press as a copy boy and then a reporter, his first poem appeared 11 December 1898. He became a naturalized citizen in 1902. For 40 years, Guest was widely read throughout North America, and his sentimental, optimistic poems were in the same vein as the light verse of Nick Kenny, who wrote syndicated columns during the same decades.

From his first published work in the Detroit Free Press until his death in 1959, Guest penned some 11,000 poems which were syndicated in some 300 newspapers and collected in more than 20 books, including A Heap o’ Livin’ (1916) and Just Folks (1917). Guest was made Poet Laureate of Michigan, the only poet to have been awarded the title.

His popularity led to a weekly Detroit radio show which he hosted from 1931 until 1942, followed by a 1951 NBC television series, A Guest in Your Home.

When Guest died in 1959, he was buried in Detroit’s Woodlawn Cemetery.

Dad has memories of Edgar Guest visiting his house quite often. He and my grandfather loved a good game of cards. Dad remembers him as a lovely, kind man. I remember his son, Bud Guest, who had a radio show of his own on Detroit’s WJR for years. My mom listened to it every day.

Several years ago, I started collecting some of the many volumes of his poetry as a tribute to my dad and the grandfather I never knew.  So when I saw this motto, I was smitten. But I put it down and thought: sometime in the future. We left, came back the next day to buy the lithograph and there it was. As we were getting ready to leave, I saw a man pick it up and hold it. I panicked. Was he about to buy it? Turns out he wasn’t, but Don said, “Get it, or you’ll go crazy worrying about someone else getting it.” So I did.

home2

You can see how lovely the graphics are. The frame is beautiful as well.

Truth be told, the poems are often too flowery for me, but the sentiment behind them is one I share. When I was fearful about trying something new, my dad often said to me, paraphrasing a line of Guest’s poetry, “Somebody said it couldn’t be done, but I with a chuckle replied, I wouldn’t say so until I tried.” Wise words.

The actual words are:

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so until he tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it!

From It Couldn’t Be Done by Edgar Guest

He grew up hearing those words penned by his godfather. So did I. That’s why I gather and collect the poetry of Edgar Guest. And you know what? Sentimentality comes from deeply felt emotion, from truths that come from the heart.

I’m as sentimental as they come. Edgar Guest and I have that in common.

Happy Monday.

ClaudiaSignature140X93

Tagged With: Edgar GuestFiled Under: collecting, Dad, Edgar Guest 26 Comments

Visions of Sugarplums

December 24, 2013 at 9:03 am by Claudia

scootie&tree

The puppies were nestled all snug in their beds…..

I’m afraid that ‘Santa’ will be spoiling a little girl this Christmas. I know for a fact that he visited a local pet shop and went a little crazy. Santa knows that Scout loves nothing more that sniffing and opening presents, whether they are meant for her or for her mom and dad. Doesn’t matter. She loves presents. Her excitement level jumps off the charts.

As Don said, “I’m almost more excited to watch her open her presents than I am to open mine.” Spoken like a devoted father.

I have a few last-minute errands to run this morning. And some wrapping to do.

Having been off sugar for a month now, Don and I made the rather tough decision to forego our annual Christmas Coffee Cake. We love it. We’ll miss it. But we don’t want to start those cravings up again. It was close, though. I had the recipe out and was about to shop for the ingredients when we came to our senses. We’re losing weight and the cravings are gone, so we’re going to stick with our plan.

I woke up this morning with that feeling I had when I was a kid. Excited about Christmas, yes, but already sad that it’s almost over. Do you ever feel that way? I looked around at our simple, beautiful decorations and felt a wave of sadness come over me. Isn’t that silly? I feel the same way on my birthday. It’s finally here and it’s almost over. I must work on being present in the moment.

We’ve been dealing with some issues with my dad for the past day or so. And we’re realizing that he isn’t doing as well on his own as we had thought. He’s also getting more angry and argumentative and just plain mean with people other than his daughters. (We are battle scarred veterans of these wars.) But he’s in his right mind, so we really can’t make any changes without his permission. I’m already dreading the confrontations that I can guarantee you are coming. I know many of you have dealt with this sort of thing. Wish us luck.

scoutinaXmas

But back to happy things: I hope your Christmas Eve is wonderful and magical and peaceful. We’re watching  It’s a Wonderful Life this evening. George Bailey, Clarence, angels and wings….heaven.

Scoutie has visions of sugarplums dancing in her head. We love our girl.

I’ll be back with Christmas greetings tomorrow.

Happy Tuesday.

ClaudiaSignature140X93

Filed Under: Christmas, Dad, Don, Scout 81 Comments

A Brrrrrisk Sunday

November 24, 2013 at 9:13 am by Claudia

grasses

Thank you for all the insightful comments on yesterday’s post. I learned a great deal from your thoughtful input – don’t you love the dialogue that takes place in the comment section? I do.

Of course, after I write a post like that, I sometimes reread it late in the day and fall prey to the inevitable worry that I sound pompous. I sincerely hope that is not the case. When I write that sort of post, I’m trying, through words, to clarify an idea that has been hanging around in my brain. My intent is write it down, see if it makes sense, and share it with you.

I’m very careful about the things I choose to write about my parents, especially my dad. We have a very complicated, but loving, relationship. His alcoholism defined and shaped much of my youth, as it did with my siblings. I won’t write about that in any detail until he is no longer with us. I’ve spent years working through the long lasting effects of living with an alcoholic parent. I have more to work through; it’s an ongoing thing. So I choose to protect my dad at this point in time because he’s still with us. Because I love him.

That photo you see at the top of the post was taken yesterday. Don and I went out to breakfast in a neighboring town. That is the retaining wall behind  a charming area of shops. I love the grasses that are planted along the top of the curving wall. The sky was a brilliant blue yesterday.

Today? Sunny but cold. The temperature is currently 21 degrees, but it feels like 8 degrees. Yikes. It’s very windy out there. Brrrrr. Or as Don says, “Raymond Burrrrrrrr.”

bytheriver

Just across the road from the first photo – on the Rail Trail.  Our mountains are in the distance.

It’s pretty in these parts.

I have to finish a book today that is scheduled for review tomorrow. It’s a good one and I’m really enjoying it. I’m also going to do some work on the dollhouse. I had a mini crisis with the living room the other day. I was adding molding at the top of the fireplace wall when I slopped glue on a section of wallpaper. My attempts to make it go away just added to the problem. So I had to take down the trim around the door, strip a section of the wallpaper and redo the whole thing. Luckily I had some leftover wallpaper stashed away. All is well. But I don’t mind telling you that, for a moment, I was more than a little panicked!

Today is my late grandmother’s birthday. Thinking of you always, Grandma.

What are your plans for this Sunday?

(The winner of a copy of The Stranger You Know is Lori in Indiana. Lori, I will send you an email. Congratulations! Winners are always chosen by the Random Number Generator.)

Happy Sunday.

ClaudiaSignature140X93

Filed Under: Dad, dollhouse, mom 32 Comments

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Welcome!

I live in a little cottage in the country with my husband. It's a sweet place, sheltered by old trees and surrounded by gardens. The inside is full of the things we love. I love to write, I love my camera, I love creating, I love gardening. My decorating style is eclectic; full of vintage and a bit of whimsy.

I've worked in the theater for more years than I can count. I'm currently a voice, speech, dialect and text coach freelancing on Broadway, off Broadway, and in regional theater.

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