Flaming June

Once when I was about 21, I won an essay contest through the University of Southern Maine.

I wasn't a student at the school, but had seen an advertisement for the contest in the newspaper. The first prize was a notation someplace moderately important (possibly the school newspaper or literary magazine, I can't recall anymore) and, more enticing to me, a credit for the tuition costs for one class of your choice at the University.

At this time, I had recently been through quite a personal upheaval in my life, and I had plenty of ammunition to write a very memorable essay about the value of a college education.

I was a college drop-out, single mother, part-time employee of a go-nowhere job. My heart was still stinging with the sudden and painful collapse of many of my most cherished personal friendships. My best friend had run off to another country. My former boyfriend of 5 years was apparently in love with, and living with another of my former best pals. I had just given birth to a child with a man whom I did not love, but had tried desperately to commit myself to for the sake of our baby. And not surprisingly, within a few months of her birth, my newborn daughter's father had deserted us as quickly as his spindly legs could cross the border and leave the state. I was living at home with my parents, sharing a small basement room with my little girl, and feeling generally lost in the world.

One thing I did know was that I had to move forward. As I vehemently stated in a previous blog post (Ghosts from the past make me feel bad), I made a decision to move past it all. To be above it. To show the world that I could rise from the pit I'd fallen into, and to move on with my life.

So I wrote the essay. I think it was in an inspirational vein, not a downtrodden single mother story, but I can't really remember my exact words anymore. But even then, I knew I had an instinct, about what kind of an essay would win me the prize. It was that trusty intuition of mine, pushing me to put pen to paper and giving me the nudge I needed to drop the essay into the mailbox.

Thank goodness, I won. I really needed that affirmation in my life. Someone telling me, "You did well. You did great. You are worth something."

Since I had no plans, nor the funds, to go back to the University full time, I decided not to choose a practical class as my prize, but instead, one that I was truly interested in taking. Something just for me. You'll never guess what class I decided on....probably one that would put most of you to sleep...Art History. And it was great. I loved it.

I took an evening class at the Gorham campus, and I enjoyed every minute of the experience. The best thing about the class was that it didn't cost me a thing. Well, except for the 2nd-hand textbook I purchased, and maybe a parking ticket or two.

I took copius notes in the darkened classroom as the teacher flashed slide after slide of hundreds of years of art, from the historicity noteworthy friezes of ancient Greece to the masterpeices of the modern masters. I relished the homework assignments that would require me to spend a few hours at the Portland Museum of Art. I loved the fact that I could not only enjoy the art on a visual level, but now had a bit of education to better understand and interpret what I was seeing.

My final project was a 10 page discussion of a work of art (of my own choosing) that was on display at the Museum at that time. I chose Flaming June by Lord Frederick Leighton. It was a huge piece, as I recall, hung prominently in the first room you came upon in the busy Museum. However there was a bench placed conveniently within viewing distance of the enormous, reclining subject of my assignment. I felt very intellectual as I sipped my chai tea and scribbled observations in my spiral notebook.

There were many captivating items in the Portland Museum's collection, but I was drawn to her for some reason. Maybe it was the vibrant color of her flowing tangerine gown. Maybe the peaceful countenance on her sleeping face. Maybe it was the texture of the paint on the canvas. Or maybe she just reminded me of myself, an exhausted mother. She could have been one too.

I really enjoyed that class. Did I say that already? Well, I'll say it again because it was true. It meant a lot to me, and I credit my time there for giving me the courage to return to school again about a year later. It gave me the confidence I needed to throw myself into the college world again, and this time, really appreciate the knowledge I was being given.

That is a good memory for me. I would go back to school again today, if only someone would offer to accept payment for my degree in essay form. No problem, I'm a winner.