CAROLYN'S COMPOSITIONS

September 8, 2009

Decades: An Autobiographical Sketch

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

DECADES: An Autobiographical Sketch

Nancy Briskay Cornell Lipsius

 This is the second of two autobiographical sketches done by my mother. To read the first sketch, done in a different style, click on: MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY: Nancy Briskay Cornell Lipsius  

 Ten was a lovely age. It was preoccupation with swimming in the ocean, fishing for frogs and pollywogs in the creek, lying for hours on the beach painstakingly writing initials on our skin with sand and letting the sun tan around the sand. It was following the glamour of the movies and movie stars. It was the (more…)

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August 5, 2009

MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY: Nancy Briskay Cornell Lipsius

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Nancy Briskay Cornell Lipsius

With the permission of Nancy Briskay Cornell Lipsius’s children, my siblings, I am adding a category to my weblog: www.carolyncholland.wordpress.com, My mother wrote most of the pieces I will post while she attended the University of Maine—graduating when she was in her seventh decade of life.

I am honored to have you come to know my mother through her writings. I am also honored to have my mother introduce herself in the first three posts, MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY, DECADES, and ASSESSMENT. Following these posts, I will begin posting her other writings, including her poetry.

In my once-upon-a-time life I danced to the music of gentle lapping of the waves on the shore (photo at http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/3790587052/in/photostream/ ), raucous cries of seagulls, (photo at http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/3789772539/in/photostream/ ) lonely blasts of the fog horn, wind caressing the crown of tall pines, the whistle of the Yankee Flyer train.

Happiness was a warm slice of fresh-baked bread slathered with creamy butter, sometimes liberally sprinkled with brown sugar. It was “digging to China,” making snow forts, swimming under water, throwing jelly fish at each other, climbing and exploring rocks, nestling down in Dad’s big chair with a book and a large red apple. It was lessons in charcoal drawing.

Love was my (more…)

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