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Wednesday, November 28,2018
dawsonnews.com I DAWSON COUNTY NEWS I 3A
Photos for the Dawson County News
Jennifer David of Dawsonville took first place in the Smallest Little Art Show
at the Bowen Center for the Arts on Nov. 16 with her work "Old London."
Bowen Center presents awards
for Smallest Little Art Show
David Ferguson of Canton was awarded second
place for his photo titled "Lids in Oil."
From staff reports
The Bowen Center for
the Arts held their Smallest
Little Art Show awards
reception on Nov. 16. Over
$300 in prizes were given
after a panel of judges
reviewed the 68 beautiful
works of fine art, photogra
phy, ceramics, jewelry and
glass art.
All works in the exhibit
are under $150 and the
exhibit continues until
Dec. 14.
The gallery and gift shop
are open from 10 a.m. to 4
p.m. Tuesday through
Friday and 12 to 4 p.m.
Saturdays.
During the reception
Nov. 16, the Bowen judg
ing panel awarded first
place to Jennifer David of
Dawsonville for her acrylic
and pen piece titled “Old
London;” second place to
David Ferguson of Canton
for his photo “Lids in Oil;”
and third place to Diana
Forster of Canton for her
clay piece “Dogwood
Urn.”
Honorable Mentions
went to Sarah Curtis of
Cumming for her pen and
ink piece titled “Centering
One’s Self;” to Judy Linn
of Dahlonega for her
woodcut “Bellapheron,
Pegasus & Chimera;” to
John Quinn of Griffin for
his photo “Dragonfly and
Lily;” to Tom Reed of
Dawsonville for his photo
“Wisconsin Farm;” and to
Wanda Black Smith of
Dahlonega for her oil
“Late Fall Leaves.”
Admission is free. The
Bowen Center for the Arts
is located just north of
Dawsonville’s historic
square at 334 Hwy. 9 N.
Visit their website at www.
BowenArts.org.
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No one left to remember
Many years ago, I
was visiting an elderly
woman in a nursing
home. I did not know
her well but I knew she
was lonely so I’d try to
stop in from time to
time.
She was approaching
her mid-90s and in fair
ly good shape except
that her mind and lively
spirit had outlived her
body. Arthritis had crip
pled her and turned her
hands into knotted balls.
She spent most of her
time in a wheel chair
and was usually at the
mercy of the attendants
— some who were
sweet, others who were
not.
One afternoon, I
found her in the com
mon area with other res
idents.
“Before you sit down,
would you bring me
something from my
room?” she asked. “I
have something I want
to show you.”
“Of course,” I replied.
“What is it?”
“A photo album.” She
brightened consider
ably. “My cousin’s
granddaughter brought
it by.”
She took it gently in
her hands and patted it
lovingly before open
ing. It was obviously a
treasure to her. The
album consisted mostly
of black and white pho
tos with a smattering of
color Kodak snapshots
from the 1960s tossed
in.
“They found this in
my cousin’s belongings
when they were clean
ing out.” She frowned.
“She died three years
ago. Our mothers were
sisters.”
She began the telling
of the photos, most of
which she knew but,
from time to time, she
would say something
like, “I don’t know who
that is. It don’t look like
RONDARICH
Columnist
none of our people. Must
be someone from her hus
band’s side of the family.
They were a rowdy bunch,
for the most part. But he
was a good man. A fine
man. Yes, he was.”
Sometimes the greatest
gift we can give is a
moment of kindness when
we stop and listen to those
who are facing, as my
daddy would say, the set
ting of the sun.
Halfway through the
photo album, I realized
that, except for her, every
one pictured had departed.
On the last page, she lin
gered, touching lovingly
the face of her baby broth
er. “He died too young. A
heart attack. Never been
sick a day in his life.”
“I know you miss them
all,” I said quietly.
She nodded. Her voice
had a tear-cloaked tone
when she spoke. “The sad
dest thing is that there’s no
one left who remembers
me when I was young.”
She paused then her voice
dropped to a whisper. “And
pretty.”
I’ve never been much
good at saying the right
thing in moments like that.
I wish I had that gift. I
squeezed her hand.
“You’re still pretty.”
“Pretty old.” She
laughed. “You should have
seen me back then.” She
flipped back to the front of
the album and pointed to a
young woman in the prime
of beauty. She was dressed
in a light-colored suit,
matching hat and gloves
with a purse hanging in the
crook of her arm.
“Back then, all the boys
wanted to court me.”
And though there was no
one else left to remember
her youth, she still remem
bered. Vividly. And fondly.
Florida Rich is the best-selling
author of Mark My Words: A
Memoir of Mama. Visit www.
rondarich.com to sign up for
her free weekly newsletter.
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