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My Mother was the 6th of 7 children. The youngest of the brood went by the nick name Jack`y. I will call him Uncle Jack for the sake of privacy, though that was not his birth name. My Mother was very fond of him, he was one of the few people that I never heard her say a bad word about, any issues she had with their relationship were blamed on his wife, who I always quite liked. As previously covered their childhood was a hard one, she and Jack`y were the two youngest and close in age and I think they found comfort in each others company. Uncle Jack was courting his wife-to-be around the time my Mother was courting my Father and I believe they both married around the same time too. He doted on his wife who I will call Aunt Jill. My Mother did not like her but managed to hide it well, probably as she did not want to alienate her brother. She would spin the tale that she, her brother and their respective spouses were all good pals and enjoyed regular drives out to the country for drinks, that was at least until my Mother became pregnant with me. It seemed that Jack and Jill had no plans for any children and things cooled considerably after my parents announcement that I was on the way. My Mother would say how she was sure Jack`y would of loved children and how he would love to make a fuss over me until Jill arrived and then he would keep his distance. Bearing in mind my Mothers Narcissism, that all sounds like projection on her part, mirroring how she subtly bade my Father to both keep his distance and limit his affection for me. I could never quite work out what was at the root of their odd relationship over the years. For as long as I could remember, a few days before Christmas, Uncle Jack would call round, always on his own. He would stay for exactly one hour and in that time they would fill each in other in on the years events. My Mother doing most of the talking with detailed updates on all her ailments and also asking an odd probing question to find out any family gossip which were met with gentle but brief replies from her Brother. With both him and his wife working and without the expense of raising children they were very comfortable financially as my Mother would put it. He would bring a couple of bottles of spirits for my Parents and a nice gift for me, I remember they bought me my first real perfume, a bottle of Miss Dior which I absolutely treasured. And my Mother would usually later beam and whisper that he had given her some money. She loved money and was in the habit of often dropping hints to her brothers about being a bit short. The money was mostly squandered on unneeded and soon forgotten clothes or Bingo trips. Until I was in my teens we were also invited over for New Year. They had a lovely house in a good area and there was a generous buffet laid on and a fair amount of alcohol drunk though that did not stop my Father from driving us home in the early hours. I liked to go. Aunt Jill was good fun and had an infectious laugh which my Mother always sneeringly referred to as `er saft squealing`. Other peoples laughter always seemed to grate on her. There was a warmth about them both, though my Uncles was understated, I suppose he was a classic introvert. He was a smallish man and had a shock of dark hair, a thick moustache and dark twinkly eyes. I remember he seemed besotted with Jill. They had many interests and hobbies but it was clearly a case of `if Jill was happy then Jack as happy`. He was devoted to her and attended to her every need. There was a lot of love there and she in turn was totally at ease with the roll of being adored. It appeared to be the perfect partnership. I was drawn to the kindness and care my Uncle exuded and always had the urge to run into his arms in the hope there may be a little love left over for me too and that he would scoop me up and spin me around, though I never did. But the annual New year invitation stopped for some reason which was never really clear. The unspoken rule was that contact between our Jack`y and his sister was always on a strict `once or twice over the festive period only` arrangement. On an odd occasion when she was in a depressive state or histrionic and in need of attention she tried to ring Uncle Jack but was disappointed in his lack of response to her attention seeking. She never was able to get him to be at her beck and call. I think he knew her well enough to realise if he ever began reacting to her hysteria he would never be free of her. She then always laid the blame for his lack of response firmly on Jill, saying that he wasn`t allowed to be close to anyone but her. More projection I think. As an adult I saw neither Uncle or Aunt and was just informed each Christmas that Jack`y had called in and given her a bit of money. Other than one time, when driven by my remembered affection for my Uncle I knocked on their door with a Christmas card and a boyfriend in tow. The front door was barely opened, the card accepted but it was clear we were not going to be asked in, in spite of him being just as pleasant with me as he always had been. I think by then my Mother had been bad mouthing me for some time. Which leads me on to my Mothers sly way of slandering me, not being honest about how I readily stepped up to the role of dutiful daughter and I believe she managed to isolate me from the little family I had. Family which I always longed for a relationship with, needing some normality and connection. Forever hopeful of being good enough I catered to my Parents on high days and holidays for years. Especially after my Fathers death my Mother always came to me on any holiday and was treated like a queen just as she demanded to be. And so a few years before she died she told me our Jack`y had been as usual before Christmas and relayed this conversation. Mother: I was showing him the photos of the Grand children and I told him what a lovely Christmas dinner you cook. And he asked `Oh do you go round to Amanda`s for Christmas then ? {She relays the question in the very surprised tone he used} Of course I do she replies, ya don`t think I stop ere all by meself do ya ? She then glances quickly at me and changes the subject. I pondered this later. And slowly began to deduce that Uncle Jack had obviously been kept in the dark about how involved and supportive I was in my Mothers life, to the point where he was shocked that I would even bother to invite my Mother over on Christmas day being of the impression I would be quite OK with her spending it alone in her bungalow. Briefly she reacted and replied as if that very suggestion, that she was so undervalued and overlooked that she would be forgotten about, had offended her narcissistic self, hence her quite affronted response. She realised she revealed to me his understanding of our relationship and the treatment of her by me....that is of course the false impression of it she had fostered and spun him, not the truth of how she had me dancing to her every whim. It was classic gaslighting by my Mother. Painting a very different tale from the truth, giving everyone a poor opinion of me and occasionally slipping up, allowing me to work out what she was up to. Though it was no real surprise. I also left a small photo of my daughter with her to give my Uncle when he called. It was a gorgeous photo, she was about 2 and had the most beautiful smile {she still does !} I harboured a hope that it may trigger a little interest from him. When asking if she had passed it to him she replied simply `Yes`, What did he say I asked ? Well... she said, he took it but said they weren't much for photos in his house. I have remembered his reply often. I am still torn between it being his way of keeping his distance from her and therefore me or that she didn`t give it him and wanted to pass over the topic. I would rather believe the first but truly I doubt she did actually pass it to him. Both are sad possibilities really, both examples of fractured relationships I was ever in hope of repairing. And so upon her death I had the first direct contact with Uncle Jack `our Jack`y` for years. I sat on my Fathers old chair beside the phone in her living room, gazing around at the scattered remnants of her life frozen in time from months ago when she had last been home. I went through her phone book, I found no number for my Aunt Iris, her sister, but Uncle Jacks was there. I gathered myself knowing it was difficult news to hear over the phone and from a Niece he had not spoken to for many years. On hearing his voice as he answered the call I was taken right back to when I was a little girl and liked him so much. I spoke as kindly and softly as I could and broke the news, he was surprised but not shocked, commenting that with her health it`s amazing she had lived to 79 really {an opinion formed from her endless moaning rather the truth of the full life she always managed to lead}. I told him I had no number for Aunt Iris and he assured me he would let her know. Wondering to myself if she would be able to come to the funeral I then asked if Uncle X, my abuser, was still alive, Uncle Jack faltered and mumbled `As far as he knew`, which in it`s self was an odd response. I must insert here that a year after my Mother`s death, a friend of mine who had access to public records through her job, did a little research for me during a time when we were both discussing our histories of abuse and she surprising informed me that Uncle X had been dead for a while at the time I asked my Uncle. As he was in touch with Aunt Iris I am certain he would of known of the death and yet answered me with `As far as he knew`... I told him I would make all the arrangements and call in a few days and let him know the funeral details. When I hung up I was relieved it had been so easy to speak with him and I harboured a faint hope that we may now grow a little closer....perhaps it would be me who he would call on once a year, I would of been quite delighted with that and would not of expected nor accepted a bit a money either ! And then an odd thing happened. As I was able to make an appointment to arrange her funeral the very next day, as soon as I was home I decided to call there and then and give Uncle Jack the details, I suppose I was eager to continue the re-connection. There was no answer so I waited an hour or so and called again, still no reply. Perhaps they were out for the day I thought. I called again at around tea time and again early evening, still no reply. I double checked I had the right number which I did. And finally when I tried one last time around 8ish in the evening I got a continuous tone, as if the number was disconnected or....the phone had been unplugged. I was bewildered by it given the ease with which we had spoken just yesterday. And, newly bereaved, anxious and a worrier by nature, I was so concerned I could not reach him that I sat down and wrote a letter, explaining I had been unable to get through on the phone and gave him all the funeral details he needed. I rewrote it as I did not think my handwriting was very neat ....forever striving to be good enough, even for someone who chose not to answer the phone. I went straight out and posted it there and then. The next day, still with my head whirling with everything that was going on, I made one last attempt to call him. He answered almost immediately. I explained my being unable to reach him by phone and then apologised for writing a letter as I assumed the phone was out of order, which I was afraid I had already posted, he offered no reason as to why they hadn`t taken my call and though polite we were brief as he seemed not to want to make any unnecessary conversation. After hanging up I ruminated if I had done anything wrong, handled things clumsily or even made a nuisance of myself. But honestly, I knew I could not have been more gracious to him, you see I was earnestly trying to let him see I was a decent person and undo any poison my Mother had spread about me. And so the funeral came around. I did not even have a chance to speak to him and Aunt Jill until we made our way outside to view the flowers. Aunt Jill was warm and friendly and complimented me on the eulogy to my Mother that had been read. Uncle Jack though stayed a good few yards away from us and though as I chatted I glanced back and forth between them, hoping to engage him, he would not look my way. I commented on the beautiful flowers they had sent. And they really were beautiful, a huge double ended spread of all red roses, the type you would see at a Hollywood stars funeral. They seemed to make a statement. As if he wanted her to have the very best....acknowledging in some way all that they had to go without in their childhood, a childhood endured together. There were just 6 of us at the funeral, me and my Husband, my cousin, Uncle Jack and Aunt Jill and a neighbour of my Mothers. Her two closest neighbours, who she had behaved badly with for years, did not turn up. And because it was such a small group I had not arranged a wake of any sort which I explained to them. Uncle Jack quickly said they were off to the vets with their cat now anyway and with that they left. He barely said goodbye to me and I was choked as I saw him walking quickly off....`take care` I called after him, still struggling to make some connection. He neither answered or looked back. I have thought of him often over the years. How I would of loved to maintain contact with him, no matter how limited. I so wanted him to know my two children, I so wanted them to know someone from my family but I never plucked up the courage to reach out to him again. I had to accept that in every way he had made it clear it was not something he wanted. And it hurt me. It still does. For a few years, each Christmas I would wish he would come to visit, even if only for the hour he spared my Mother, an hour would of been better than nothing. I would pause at the window sometimes, imagining him pulling up and the children running to greet him, showing him drawings and toys and we would have a cup of tea and laugh and chat and in those moments I would have family. Of course it was just make believe. He never called and and I never dared to either, another rejection would of been too hard to bear. I just had to accept that as always I had not been good enough. I imagine that he has passed away now, if so I was never told. Why it was this way...well there are several possibilities I have toyed with in my mind over the years. Was he just a true introvert that had no need for anyone in his life other than his adored wife? Was Aunt Jill possessive over him as my Mother always said....but she always seemed so warm and friendly even if she understandably never fostered a friendship with my Mother. Had my Mother been truly successful in painting me in a horrific light and I was considered toxic and someone to be avoided at all costs ? Without a doubt she would of torn me to shreds whenever I was not dancing to her tune and fallen out of favour but then would her own brother not know her well enough to realise there was far more to it than the edited version of her story ? Given she had let slip that she always spent Christmas with me ? OR, had she shared my truthful accusation of Uncle X`s abuse and flipped my ordeal to use against me and make out I was a trouble maker and wanting to dredge up the past and get revenge ? And he therefore was determined not to be dragged into it. Or perhaps my Uncle`s childhood had damaged him so that he was unable to be close to people, perhaps he worried I would enquire about their early life, ask questions that would trigger terrible memories and he wanted the past to never be bought up ? Who knows the real truth, it may even be a mixture of all of the above to varying degrees. Whatever the reason I still acknowledge a sense of loss over his absence in my life and as usual a feeling of rejection and unworthiness too.

♫ On the outside always looking in, will I ever be more than I've always been? ♫

source Did you have a Little Golden Books or two when you were a child? Did you buy them for your own children? When Little Golden Books launched in 1942 at 25 cents each, they changed publishing history. For the first time, children's books were high quality and low-priced and they were sold in many places besides bookstores, which was a new concept at the time. In 1941, children's books normally sold for $2-$3 which made them a luxury for many families. George Duplaix, president of the Artists and Writers Guild, Inc. which was a joint interest of Simon & Schuster Publishing and Western Printing, came up with the concept of developing a colorful children's book that was durable and affordable for most American families, and Little Golden Books was born. The Poky Little Puppy, was the best-selling Little Golden Book of all, selling over 15 million copies worldwide, in many different languages. "Tootle the Train," "The Saggy Baggy Elephant," " The Shy Little Kitten," "The Little Red Caboose," " The Tawny Scrawny Lion," and "Scuffy the Tugboat" soon followed in publication, and become almost as popular. Today, over two billion Little Golden Books have been sold worldwide! Little Golden Books is such an icon of American history that when it celebrated its golden anniversary in 1992, a permanent Little Golden Books exhibit was given to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C. The exhibit, titled: "Little Golden Books and American Culture 1942-1992," that can still be viewed here! Random House now owns the imprint, and since 2001 has made a big push to revive beloved old books in the series. First to return were reissues of classics such as "The Saggy Baggy Elephant," "Richard Scarry's Best Little Word Book Ever!" and "Scuffy the Tugboat." Published in their original format, they are still bargain prices at $ 2.99. My favorite Little Golden Book illustrator was Eloise Wilkin. Her illustrations of babies and children drawn in everyday activities were absolutely exquisite in detail and innocence. A short biography of Mrs. Wilkin can be found here Recently, I was thrilled to purchase the 209-page hardcover "A Little Golden Book Collection Eloise Wilkin Stories." This collection features nine of her most treasured stories: "Busy Timmy" by Kathryn and Byron Jackson, "Guess Who Lives Here" by Louise Woodcock, "Wonders of Nature" by Jane Werner Watson, "Selections from A Child’s Garden of Verses" by Robert Louis Stevenson, and my personal favorites: "We Help Mommy" by Jean Cushman, "Baby Listens," "Baby Dear," and "Baby Looks" by Esther Wilkin, who was Eloise’s sister. I remember the joy of reading many of those stories as a child; wishing that I could live in the same house as the children did in the book, and have the same toys and experiences. As was so aptly described by Jame Werner Watson as an afterword to the collection: "A warm and creative homemaker, Eloise shared with the world glimpses of her big, busy, welcoming household, its rooms papered with gentle patterns, its drop-leaf tables and rocking chairs aglow with hand-rubbed sheen, its four-poster beds covered by hand-stitched quilts. A devoutly religious person,she shared ever so gently her values, her sense of the beauty of order and love,of implicit self-discipline, and of regard for others . . . she has left us,only slightly idealized, rich reminders of a lovely time not very long ago." My now adult daughter's favorite Little Golden Book was "Baby Dear" The story is about a little girl who, right before her mother and father bring a new baby home from the hospital, is given a baby doll. In the story, the little girl feeds her “baby” when Mommy feeds her baby; she changes her baby’s diapers when Mommy changes the baby. They take carriage rides together and tuck them into bed at the same time. An excerpt from the book: "We smile at our babies and talk to them. Mommy says this is the way our babies know they are the most wonderful babies in the world." There is such a sweet innocence and appeal for little girls in the illustrations that accompany the story of a big sister imitates her Mother's love for her newborn. Eloise Wilkin was also known for designing dolls and dollhouses. In the 1960s she successfully marketed a new-born infant doll called "Baby Dear," which is highly valued as a collectible today. Another of my daughter's favorite books was "My Goodnight Book" which was a "Golden Sturdy Shape Board Book" illustrated by Eloise Wilkin. We read that book together at bedtime for many years, as the simple text and soothing pictures of a little girl's night time routine, and her pretty moonlit bedroom, in the end, was a part of a comforting ritual of her childhood. For collectors, and those interested in reminiscing, there is a book published by Random House available called "Golden Legacy: How Golden Books Won Children's Hearts, Changed Publishing Forever and Became An American Icon Along the Way" by Leonard S. Marcus a noted children's book historian. Golden Legacy is a lively history of a company, a line of books, the groundbreaking writers, and artists who created them, the clever mavericks who marketed and sold them, and the cultural landscape that surrounded them. From The New York Times Book Review, November 11, 2007: "The book includes a wonderful selection of archival photos and artwork that convey the depth and breadth of the creative talent working there in those early years." I'd love to know what were your favorite Little Golden Books and those of your children or grandchildren. How wonderful to open the cover of a book and be transported back to childhood!

Lembram que eu tinha falado que faria post rápidos, do celular mesmo, sempre que eu encontrasse algo interessante na internet? Bom, esse projeto voltou com tudo!! Hoje, nav…

'Love is that little girl with red hair.' -Charlie Brown Happy 50th birthday to a Charlie Brown classic, A Charlie Brown Christmas. Throughout the years, we've seen Charlie's undeniable love for The 'Little Red-Haired Girl'. Her character shows Charlie Brown's affection and is a symbol of his ability to truly love. She was never seen in the comic strips, but she appears onscreen in several television specials and movies. Her name is Heather with the prettiest red hair. Let's take a look at their years of love and how it all happened: Where It All Started: On the way to school, Charlie meets Linus and tells him he

I'm in a world of nostalgic Children's storybooks at the moment. I've recently read 'Ballet Shoes' and 'White Boots'... both by Noel Streatfeild and my very favourite default stories if I have no specific book to read... MILLY-MOLLY-MANDY by the dear Joyce Lankester Brisley... I could spend hours pouring over storybook illustrations of the 20s and 30s... Cecily Mary Barker's dear little farm girl.... She drew so many more beautiful illustrations other than her famous Flower Fairies... Thank you Cicely... and the many, many illustrations of the Brisley Sisters, Nina k. Brisley... Ethel C. Brisley... And Joyce Lankester Brisley Thank you Joyce... (oh what would one do without them!)... Do treat yourself to a copy of MILLY-MOLLY-MANDY But DO MAKE SURE they are copies with the original illustrations by Joyce in them, do not deprive yourself of the charm these stories and illustrations bring.... I would love to hear from you if you love Milly-Molly-Mandy too? Let's share memories, questions, loves of this beautiful storybook era... In honour of these imaginery and perfect bygone eras, I have started to produce a range of little Verity Hope dolls inspired by the 1920s and 30s... Meet Jillly... She spends her days running too and fro between the country lanes, skipping with her friends and laughing through buttercup meadows... I'm in my forties... but I will never stop reading children's books and being absorbed in these little pockets of a perfect world...! GO OUT AND PLAY! And happy reading to you all my friends... Susannah x

Auckland-based, Korean-born artist Lynn Choi is acutely aware of this fact and has crafted a few illustrations that brilliantly capture those heartwarming ‘everyday’ experiences we all share with the ones we hold dear. Let’s take a look at sweet illustrations about love.These Sweet Illustrations Prove That Love Is In The Little ThingsSweet love illustrationIllustrations of love Choi’s work on her Instagram

ʟᴜᴄᴀs & ᴊᴜᴅᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴘʀɪɴᴛ Hahnemühle Kunstdruck, ca. 13 x 18 cm Szene Illustration von Hanna Yanagiharas Roman "A Little Life" alle Rechte an den Figuren und Zitaten gehören ihr. aber: diese Illustration ist MEIN Kunstwerk, bitte lade sie nirgendwo sonst hoch, ohne mir @milaminart auf Instagram zuzurechnen