Have fun reading the winter edition of Stars! We hope you had an excellent winter semester!

One learns first of all in beach living the art of shedding; how little one can get along with not how much.  Physical shedding to begin with then mysteriously spreads into other fields, clothes first.  Of course one needs less in the sun.  But one needs less anyway one finds suddenly, one doesn't need a closet full only a small suitcase full.  And what a relief it is, less taking up and down of hems and less mending and best of all less worry about what to wear.  One finds one is shedding not only clothes but vanity. 
Next shelter - one does not need the airtight shelter one has in winter in the north.  Here I live in a bare seashell of a cottage.  No heat, no telephone, no plumbing to speak of, no hot water, a two - burner oil stove, no gadgets to go wrong. 

No rugs there were some but I rolled them up.  It is easier to sweep the sand off a bare floor.  But I find I don't bustle about with unnecessary sweeping and cleaning here.  I am no longer aware of the dust.

I have shed my puritan conscience about absolute tidiness and cleanliness.  Is it possible that too is a material burden?

No curtains.  I don't need them for privacy: the pines around my house are enough protection.  I want the windows open all of the time and I don't want to worry about rain. 

I begin to shed my Martha-like anxiety about many things.  Washable slipcovers, faded and old, I hardly see them.  I don't worry about the impression they make on other people.

I am shedding pride.  As little furniture as possible, I shall not need much.

I shall ask into my shell only those friends with whom I can be completely honest.  I find I am shedding hypocrisy in human relationships.  What a rest that will be!

The most exhausting thing in life I have discovered is being insincere.  And so much of social life is also exhausting.  One is wearing a mask, I have shed my mask!

I love my seashell of a house.  I wish I could transport it home but I cannot.  It will not hold a husband, five children and the necessities and trappings of daily life.  I can only carry back my little channeled whelk.  It will sit on my desk in Connecticut to remind me of the ideal of a simplified life. 

By: Feibai (Phoebe) Young

I'm Faibai (Phoebe) Young. I came from China and had been in the USA for nine months. I learned English in ESL class since last July. That is the reason I met Evelyn. She is my beginning tutor. 

    

I spend most of the time for painting except learning English. Actually, I learned painting about one and half years ago. Usually, I paint with watercolor, sometimes I use acrylic, colored-pencils, oil pastels, or use them all together in one picture.  I hope my English could progress as well as my painting.

Feibai (Phoebe) Young

Ann Arbor City, Michigan
(China)

     W hen Ray Charles was five something went wrong with his eyes. His eyes began secreting fluid. He had pain behind them and he could not see very well. Ray's mother Aretha didn't have money to take Ray to a specialist. The doctor in town did what he could, he told Ray to stay out of bright lights. He gave him eye drops to help relieve the pain.

     

     The eye drops didn't help, by the time Ray was seven years old he was blind. Doctors now tell him that he must have had the eye disease glaucoma. Glaucoma is what happens when the fluid of the eyes can't drain into the surrounding blood vessels. A specialist might have been able to prevent Ray from going blind.

  

     Some blind children take a long time to adjust. Not Ray, his mother would not let him sit around, "You are blind, not stupid" she told him. Aretha said, "You have lost your eyes". She taught her son how to sweep and  scrub floors, and how to chop wood. She told him that someday she would not be there to help him and he would have to do things for himself so he better learn now.

  

     Aretha had not had much schooling herself, but she taught her son the alphabet. She taught him how to print and she taught him some arithmetic too.

  

     And Ray learned about music. He learned about it from Wylie Pittman. Mr. Pittman had a café near Ray's home. There was a piano in the café. When Wylie played Ray would come running. Sometimes Mr. Pittman would let Ray bang on the piano keys. He would tell Ray how well he played.  By the time Ray was seven he could play a few tunes. He also liked to sing. 

We hope that you enjoyed this edition of the STARS newsletter!  If you have any articles that you would like to be included for the next edition, please send them to us. Take care!

Sincerely,
Kathryn Schuster