Mom’s Cookie recipe from her Aunt Lillie
Tastes like Christmas ❤️
Showing posts with label Betsy Gerdt Gallery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Betsy Gerdt Gallery. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 8, 2020
Thursday, June 18, 2020
Mom Puzzle
Mom’s Painting
A Simple Vase with flowers
I turned it into a jigsaw puzzle on the puzzle app I got.
Like Mom,
Multicolored Love,
Shaman Princess
Puzzles
She taught me to put them together.
I never saw the range of colors she used until today.
Marvelous ❤️
P.S. I forgot to post the original here,
Adding now 😎❤️
Monday, December 3, 2018
Monday, August 7, 2017
Mom's Butterfly
Zen Moments
Mom came to me as a Butterfly,
A Black Swallowtail
Adorned in Gold
Lighting on burdocks
Saying
I am here.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Mom
Mom
It was not intentional,
That Mom's image should appear,
First as a hat,
Then I don't remember.
At some point in my exercise,
Mom's image appeared.
I took the easy way out avoiding her eyes.
The cool sunglasses fit perfectly.
This was a breaking out Zentangle.
I used 5 objects instead of one.
Use your imagination what they mean.
I saw glimpses of Mom's Akashic Record.
She said to take notes.
Mission accomplished.
Love to Mom in her present incarnation,
She Believed.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Mom Art
 |
| Main Street, Downtown Edwardsville 1967 Note the Blue note lounge...and tree in front of the old jail. |
 |
| Vanzo's Menu Posting a couple Edwardsville Pics Mom painted in 1967 Vanzo's, Mine Run University a local tavern in town. MRU. |
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Betz
Betz
Some thoughts
I was marvelling at the proteins strands in my brain processing all the memories, feelings, old smells,
emotions, evoked by looking at old photos, letters, things Mom made: baskets, paintings, her sewing notions. Donna reminded me we are about the age Mom was when I moved out here.
That started a whole new string of memories, detoured by tears and smiles, and bewilderment, and
kind communications from friends and family.
So yesterday I jotted words down as they came, not wanting to forget stories, feelings, and how the day went when Mom left the material plane, I felt her presence, as if she could be with me in the cool clean mountain air she loved when she visited. A few times She saw this house, slept downstairs. We drove up onto the hill.
When I moved out here it was a month after Katie died. I was restless to live here, in mysterious wonderful never seen Vermont. I made plans and never saw Mom's face until the day my brother Sam and I left. She was sad. I did not know why and in my plans thought maybe we were doing her a favor.
"Don't worry I'll be back in a year once I get this out of my system." Like technicolor, that moment, I added, "We'll be closer." She smiled maybe not sure why herself. I never moved back home.
We all adjusted. I think we were closer. We talked on Sundays and as time passed, there was less to talk about. Sometimes I would ask her about old family or spiritual ideas, philosophy. I repeatedly failed to write down the history and remember only snippets. She wrote a brief history which I re-read recently.
In about 1880 her parents were born. Her true life spanned 3 Centuries by my rules. My rules: Women are born with the eggs that could develop into a fetus. So your maternal grandmother gives birth to your mother with all the eggs your Mom will have. if I perseverate too much, just skip this part.
7th Heaven
Tomas led her by the hand once she was assured her husband and each of her 7 children was safe and settled. It was not about her husband and her 7 being happy about it. It was about being Settled.
I felt like the honey was gone from the honey comb, or was the comb gone? I could visualize the empty space, and it would never be the same again.
Rainbow
That afternoon, off to the East, over the Green Mountains, a mighty rumble of thunder came from a lone thunderhead. Uncommon to see that here, in Vermont. Cool, blue skies overhead. Really the perfect summer day. Except for Mom passing over, that is, passing on, dying, gone. I went to see the big billowy cloud. And a little rainbow struggle to be seen, a rainbow pillar, really, 7 colors, for the 7 chakras, 7 archangels, Seven again.
In the west another cloud rose up....
Eagle Mother
Chicken mother
Mom said there are chicken mothers and eagle mothers. Chicken mothers hold their babies close under their wings. Eagle mothers toss the babies out of the nest to fly on their own.
She told me many times," I am an eagle mother." And she would do this proud posture thing.
I was proud too, I love Eagles, independence. Once I told a friend/co-worker the story.
She replied, "I had a lizard mother, she layed eggs and walked away."
And I saw again, how Mom's stories were leading me to a greater understanding.
Seven’s
7th month. July. Born in July, Had 7 kids, Died in July, I Saw Sevens all day,
looked down at my shirt. Cardinals #7 Halladay. I bought it out there was it ? last visit?
Recently called Dad during the game (faux pas, no-no). Halladay got a home run while we were talking which I thought rare for the timing. I told Dad I was wearing his shirt and it bewildered him a bit...7 is my lucky number which is why I picked Halladay. Bro Paul said it was a good choice in shirts.
Played stupid app, it said to spin the wheel, thought of Mom the day I watched her play Slot machines with a fierce intention. Got a free app which was Slots with 7’s, all sevens, no money changing hands. Mom would have loved it. The sign I was looking for, they were all around me.
Jasper Sean
My service cat, was all over me all day. I kept thinking he had met her. I was trying to do the calendar math, I gave up.
Flowers
Giant Coreopsis, Phlox, Jewelweed, Catnip, Queen Anne's Lace.
Bees
Mom loved honey, and bees, and I noticed how many more bees are here and healthy thanks to neighbors, and nature's way.
Trees, a whip of a tree grew back on a stub of a red delicious tree that had broken off. Zone 5 we never should have tried, still we can hope. I gaze at the giant locust trees with a feathery living canopy and remember the Vietnamese painting David sent home that hung in my bedroom on 128 East High. The painting captured the locusts green clouds of leaves, switching up and down in the breeze. I see a spruce Fred’s Dad planted that he brought home in his pocket from the Northeast kingdom, my memory of his telling me about this tree and that tree, then pointing out Mad River. I hoped he did that so on days like that day I could look and say, at least we had that moment, and like a secret sign, my energy goes in a focused direction. Mom loved trees, and everything about trees. One year Paul dug the big hole and planted the blue spruce live Xmas tree we had. It was a great tree.
Birds, swallows
She loved them, and we talked about birds all my life and as Donna said her laugh was like a bird call that we tried and could not replicate. Her laugh always incited a laugh in anyone nearby.
Nature
The memory of nature, she loved it here, in cool Vermont summer, like I love it here.
Cool perfect July breeze. Lush, green, clean clear air. I had her visit in the summer so she could sleep with the window open, no A/C. The next time she visited she wanted to see the changing colors. Fred drove us to all the great foliage drives. Up through the Islands, down the spine of the Green Mountains, all around, on the ferry on Lake Champlain.
The Sun
More powerful lately.
She and I are not sun tolerant.
Sky that afternoon,
Blue clear overheard,
Two thunderclouds one over the spine of the Green Mtns
One over the lake
That one like a mittened hand, later more like a
little maid, like the quilt her mother started and I finished.
Mary mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells and
Pretty little maids all in a row
The rest a blur, then the day was done.
I miss Mom a great deal, and yet I have never felt her so strongly.
She is free.
Last night, a Large bright Moon
Spiritual
My confirmation
Mom’s commitment
Presbyterian
Ra
Metaphysics
Rosicrucian, Kundalini, Shaman, Chakra, Atrology
Cancer the sign, Moon, Water
Akashic Records
Esperanto
The signs of the Zodiac are Karmic Patterns;
the Planets are the Looms;
the Will is the Weaver
(Edgar Cayce Reading #3654-L-1).
leaving stories for later...
Painting
Sewing
The corduroy, lazy woman’s thread
Wife
Mother
Some thoughts
I was marvelling at the proteins strands in my brain processing all the memories, feelings, old smells,
emotions, evoked by looking at old photos, letters, things Mom made: baskets, paintings, her sewing notions. Donna reminded me we are about the age Mom was when I moved out here.
That started a whole new string of memories, detoured by tears and smiles, and bewilderment, and
kind communications from friends and family.
So yesterday I jotted words down as they came, not wanting to forget stories, feelings, and how the day went when Mom left the material plane, I felt her presence, as if she could be with me in the cool clean mountain air she loved when she visited. A few times She saw this house, slept downstairs. We drove up onto the hill.
When I moved out here it was a month after Katie died. I was restless to live here, in mysterious wonderful never seen Vermont. I made plans and never saw Mom's face until the day my brother Sam and I left. She was sad. I did not know why and in my plans thought maybe we were doing her a favor.
"Don't worry I'll be back in a year once I get this out of my system." Like technicolor, that moment, I added, "We'll be closer." She smiled maybe not sure why herself. I never moved back home.
We all adjusted. I think we were closer. We talked on Sundays and as time passed, there was less to talk about. Sometimes I would ask her about old family or spiritual ideas, philosophy. I repeatedly failed to write down the history and remember only snippets. She wrote a brief history which I re-read recently.
In about 1880 her parents were born. Her true life spanned 3 Centuries by my rules. My rules: Women are born with the eggs that could develop into a fetus. So your maternal grandmother gives birth to your mother with all the eggs your Mom will have. if I perseverate too much, just skip this part.
7th Heaven
Tomas led her by the hand once she was assured her husband and each of her 7 children was safe and settled. It was not about her husband and her 7 being happy about it. It was about being Settled.
I felt like the honey was gone from the honey comb, or was the comb gone? I could visualize the empty space, and it would never be the same again.
Rainbow
That afternoon, off to the East, over the Green Mountains, a mighty rumble of thunder came from a lone thunderhead. Uncommon to see that here, in Vermont. Cool, blue skies overhead. Really the perfect summer day. Except for Mom passing over, that is, passing on, dying, gone. I went to see the big billowy cloud. And a little rainbow struggle to be seen, a rainbow pillar, really, 7 colors, for the 7 chakras, 7 archangels, Seven again.
In the west another cloud rose up....
Eagle Mother
Chicken mother
Mom said there are chicken mothers and eagle mothers. Chicken mothers hold their babies close under their wings. Eagle mothers toss the babies out of the nest to fly on their own.
She told me many times," I am an eagle mother." And she would do this proud posture thing.
I was proud too, I love Eagles, independence. Once I told a friend/co-worker the story.
She replied, "I had a lizard mother, she layed eggs and walked away."
And I saw again, how Mom's stories were leading me to a greater understanding.
Seven’s
7th month. July. Born in July, Had 7 kids, Died in July, I Saw Sevens all day,
looked down at my shirt. Cardinals #7 Halladay. I bought it out there was it ? last visit?
Recently called Dad during the game (faux pas, no-no). Halladay got a home run while we were talking which I thought rare for the timing. I told Dad I was wearing his shirt and it bewildered him a bit...7 is my lucky number which is why I picked Halladay. Bro Paul said it was a good choice in shirts.
Played stupid app, it said to spin the wheel, thought of Mom the day I watched her play Slot machines with a fierce intention. Got a free app which was Slots with 7’s, all sevens, no money changing hands. Mom would have loved it. The sign I was looking for, they were all around me.
Jasper Sean
My service cat, was all over me all day. I kept thinking he had met her. I was trying to do the calendar math, I gave up.
Flowers
Giant Coreopsis, Phlox, Jewelweed, Catnip, Queen Anne's Lace.
I remembered Mom saying Fanny could look at the ground and see a four leaf clover
Bees
Mom loved honey, and bees, and I noticed how many more bees are here and healthy thanks to neighbors, and nature's way.
Trees, a whip of a tree grew back on a stub of a red delicious tree that had broken off. Zone 5 we never should have tried, still we can hope. I gaze at the giant locust trees with a feathery living canopy and remember the Vietnamese painting David sent home that hung in my bedroom on 128 East High. The painting captured the locusts green clouds of leaves, switching up and down in the breeze. I see a spruce Fred’s Dad planted that he brought home in his pocket from the Northeast kingdom, my memory of his telling me about this tree and that tree, then pointing out Mad River. I hoped he did that so on days like that day I could look and say, at least we had that moment, and like a secret sign, my energy goes in a focused direction. Mom loved trees, and everything about trees. One year Paul dug the big hole and planted the blue spruce live Xmas tree we had. It was a great tree.
 |
Locusts Canopy |
Birds, swallows
She loved them, and we talked about birds all my life and as Donna said her laugh was like a bird call that we tried and could not replicate. Her laugh always incited a laugh in anyone nearby.
 |
| Swallows |
Nature
The memory of nature, she loved it here, in cool Vermont summer, like I love it here.
Cool perfect July breeze. Lush, green, clean clear air. I had her visit in the summer so she could sleep with the window open, no A/C. The next time she visited she wanted to see the changing colors. Fred drove us to all the great foliage drives. Up through the Islands, down the spine of the Green Mountains, all around, on the ferry on Lake Champlain.
The Sun
More powerful lately.
She and I are not sun tolerant.
Sky that afternoon,
Blue clear overheard,
Two thunderclouds one over the spine of the Green Mtns
One over the lake
That one like a mittened hand, later more like a
little maid, like the quilt her mother started and I finished.
 |
| ThunderCloud over Lake Champlain |
Mary mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells and
Pretty little maids all in a row
The rest a blur, then the day was done.
I miss Mom a great deal, and yet I have never felt her so strongly.
She is free.
Last night, a Large bright Moon
Spiritual
My confirmation
Mom’s commitment
Presbyterian
Ra
Metaphysics
Rosicrucian, Kundalini, Shaman, Chakra, Atrology
Cancer the sign, Moon, Water
Akashic Records
Esperanto
The signs of the Zodiac are Karmic Patterns;
the Planets are the Looms;
the Will is the Weaver
(Edgar Cayce Reading #3654-L-1).
leaving stories for later...
Painting
Sewing
The corduroy, lazy woman’s thread
Wife
Mother
 |
| Betz & Dick Alaska |
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Friday, May 18, 2012
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Blues part Deux
This image 1967 downtown Edwardsville where I grew up.
My Mom painted this and what memories it can recall.
Wish I had been old enough to go to the Blue Note Lounge.
Bet you can pick that out.
Of course true natives would recognize
the Pool hall, Gerhardt's,
Jail Tree and One hour Martinizing.
This downtown is 20 or so miles from St. Louis, home of The Blues.
St. Louis was farther away then if you know what I mean.
It was about 2 blocks from our house.
A little less when you cut cross lots.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Mom is 85
Mom is 85
Here is a poem about Mom I wrote for her 85th birthday.
Everyone said I nailed her essence.
That was my intent. We had a great time at her celebration at the Watershed Center in Edwardsville, Illinois, the home of my youth full of feelings and $4.50 a dozen bicolor wonderful fresh picked Illinois Sweet Corn after perfect spring weather.
Mary
Here is a poem about Mom I wrote for her 85th birthday.
Everyone said I nailed her essence.
That was my intent. We had a great time at her celebration at the Watershed Center in Edwardsville, Illinois, the home of my youth full of feelings and $4.50 a dozen bicolor wonderful fresh picked Illinois Sweet Corn after perfect spring weather.
Mary
Today
Today we all came to celebrate One.
You gave us life, You gave us some
Of your life, your sweet smile, your philosophy of love,
Your heart, your soul, your image of above.
Your modern way of thinking was ahead of your time,
Your stollen, cookies and kolaches, sublime,
You sing like a bird, worked like a dog
Raised seven children, part of it a fog.
You did pretty much what you wanted to do,
Still there is restlessness deep within you.
Your Bohemian side, a gypsy at heart,
Fights your sensible Swede head for a start.
You are conflicted, a human for sure,
At 85 what more do you have to endure?
You have had love and pain, sorrow and joy,
A full life indeed, and one you enjoyed.
Teaching us all the lessons of life,
Hoping you can keep us free from strife,
Always a mother, a shaman, a friend,
Loving to discuss your view of “the end”.
Just when I wonder what more you have waiting,
And your every word I am anticipating
Some wisdom therein you are sure to find
It is all there in that steel trap mind.
Today we came for your 85th year,
Hoping to give you a dose of good cheer
To lift your spirits, show you the way
That we all love you
We are here,
Today
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
More Oils from The Betsy Gerdt Collection
Sam sent images of 2 more of Mom's paintings.
Remember the Edwardsville of the 1960's.
Main Street
Remember the Edwardsville of the 1960's.
Main Street
double click to enlarge.
Vanzo's Menu
I hope you enjoy this walk into the past
Thanks Sam!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Notes on Mom's pictures
I wanted to write a few notes about Mom's oil painting "period" in her life.
The dates started about 1967-and went on for a few years. She took a class and for awhile her art teacher was mine as well. I longed to be able to put what was in my head onto the canvas but alas I am not able to like Mom did.
I used to watch her create and was flattered she did my image.
When I asked her why she did not "sign" my picture, she said a good artist does not need to sign for you to know it is their art. I guess that is true about a lot of things.
I pitched a fit about the same art teacher. He said I did not do a project because he said it was too good.
I knew I did. So I imagine all my fits in the seventh grade might have distracted Mom. Or maybe she just lost interest as I have done many times in exploring a new genre.
She did submit "Mark Twain" in a contest. She submitted his painting as a historic figure.
She lost the contest because she had actually painted "Hal Holbrook as Mark Twain". It was a show that played about that time. So the judge felt she was painting a modern image of a person playing an historic figure.
I felt like it was splitting hairs and not really fair. It would not be the last time I felt humans would be unfair.
Ah, the pain of self expression.
Mary
The dates started about 1967-and went on for a few years. She took a class and for awhile her art teacher was mine as well. I longed to be able to put what was in my head onto the canvas but alas I am not able to like Mom did.
I used to watch her create and was flattered she did my image.
When I asked her why she did not "sign" my picture, she said a good artist does not need to sign for you to know it is their art. I guess that is true about a lot of things.
I pitched a fit about the same art teacher. He said I did not do a project because he said it was too good.
I knew I did. So I imagine all my fits in the seventh grade might have distracted Mom. Or maybe she just lost interest as I have done many times in exploring a new genre.
She did submit "Mark Twain" in a contest. She submitted his painting as a historic figure.
She lost the contest because she had actually painted "Hal Holbrook as Mark Twain". It was a show that played about that time. So the judge felt she was painting a modern image of a person playing an historic figure.
I felt like it was splitting hairs and not really fair. It would not be the last time I felt humans would be unfair.
Ah, the pain of self expression.
Mary
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
More of Mom's pictures
More of Mom's pictures.
I can still smell the oils and I loved all the colors of paint.
Mark Twain
Mary (me)
My photo
a little better view of The Cat
We always called him "The Indian"
I can still smell the oils and I loved all the colors of paint.
Mark Twain
Mary (me)
My photo
a little better view of The Cat
We always called him "The Indian"I hope you enjoy!
Mary
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Mom's paintings
Mom painted these
about the time I was in 10 to 12 or so.
I love the cat.
The Fish
The Zinnias.I have a few more but have to get them photographed and downloaded.
I hope you enjoy Mom's paintings.
Mary
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