Venetta Mathison.

Cindy Cardinal photo

Venetta Mathison, of Thorp, started writing poetry as a teenager and finds it therapeutic. She would like to become a published poet.

Venetta was born in Granton in 1977, the oldest of six children. Growing up she said that she knew they were poor, that they were different from other families. During the second grade, she began being home-schooled, but her mother was inconsistent with her schooling. She did gain a love of reading and learned a valuable lesson when her mother told her, “If you don’t know something, look it up.” She grew up without a TV so learned to use her imagination. This included listening to old shows on the radio. Venetta said that she and her siblings had to make their own happiness. She took over cooking for the family was she was 10 years old and loves cooking. Because she has a lot of food and environmental allergies, she learned to create her own recipes.

Venetta said she was shy as a child, but learned to overcome that when she started playing piano at the New Harvest Church in Withee. Pastor Bruce Fredrickson asked her to play for funerals and his advice to her was even if you make a mistake, don’t stop playing. Otherwise everything else will stop and people will start to worry.

Since she had so little growing up, she learned how to make things from nothing. During Venetta’s teen years, her family moved to the country, but they had moved numerous times through the years. She did not graduate from high school and has never gotten a GED, but she learned how to work, first doing babysitting. She then went on to work at the Thorpedo, in home health care, and at Treasure Trove, where she currently does modeling and window displays. Venetta said she just loves helping people.

College was never a goal for her and she recognizes that there are gaps in her schooling. She hasn’t taken the GED test because she feels she would not do well on the test. Venetta does love to learn in spite of that.

She met her husband Brent at church. He was dating her best friend at the time, but they broke up. Venetta and Brent were both working for the same family, he as a farmhand and she doing home healthcare. She feels that there was some conspiring going on to get the two of them together and one day the family had him take her home. A year later they were married and they are still together.

Venetta has also had to overcome some health issues. In 2009 she almost died after having gall bladder issues and suffering from grand mal seizures. She has polycystic ovary syndrome, which runs in her family, so she and her husband have never had children. She feels that having children is something that God told her would not happen. She and her husband have never felt the need to adopt. This is, in part, because Venetta feels she has been a mother to many—her sibling’s children, those she babysat for, and most recently through teaching piano lessons. She also has diabetes, fibromyalgia and a number of allergies.

Venetta and her husband live in an old house, it is almost like a museum, according to Venetta. She feels people need to know about history.

Currently she has two notebooks of poems that she has written. She said that writing poetry has helped her to deal with the recent death of her dad. She also posts vignettes on her Facebook page. Venetta is looking into what it would take to self-publish her poetry. She has been studying the various options so she can make an informed decision. She might also eventually do something more with modeling if the opportunity presents itself. She has also taught herself a lot about nutrition. Venetta said, “I don’t want people to see me as my illness.” So she dresses up and puts on a happy face regardless of how she is feeling.

In the end, she loves being a homemaker. Venetta has learned to be grateful for the little things in life—the small accomplishments, and to enjoy the moment. One of her poems follows.

The Cat’s Paw

The cat’s paw lays upturned on the sun splatter floor—

soft and colorful.

It looks inviting to stroke, and I go

to pet it.

But the cat looks at me—disdainfully—

daring me with her eyes…

and sending an unspoken phrase

through the air,

“Don’t even think about it!”

And she, Her Royal Catness—

goes back to calmly bathing herself.

Neatening every stray hair—

thoroughly licking all the real

and imagined dirtiness

out of her fur—

and into cleanliness.

Not one strand will be out of place

by the time she is done.

And I, gleefully await until she is finished

So I can scoop her into my arms

and cuddle her tightly—

making all of her hair out of place once again.

I smile impishly, just thinking of it.

The cat, oblivious to my plan—

continues tidying.

Little knowing that soon her persistent efforts

of bathtime grooming will need to be redone,

and she will again lay down in the happy sunlight

and taunt me with her cuteness;

which is irresistible to my very weak nature

for adorable plushy furred creatures with paws—

namely: CATS.