A Long Trek… a long tale… pt.1

There are people who knew me way back in 1976.  I was a lost and insecure 16-year-old.  I had already lived enough of life to know that I was not wanted by the mother who was raising me, but then again I knew this at age seven.  This sickness my mother decided to call hers was contagious enough that my three sisters followed suit, and three brothers who could do as they please without regard for anyone else.   When at seven years old the school “insisted” that my mother get me glasses  she got them, but she refused to get me another pair until I was 15, another insistence from another authority figure. 

 Imagine coming home one day from school to find all your under clothing shredded, or to see your personal belongings burning in a trash heap outside.  Think about what it does to a girl when every day her mother says how ugly she is, or on a 5’7″ frame at 110 lbs. that she is fat and needs to lose weight, or  that she is the stupidest person in the world and the long fingernails are a sign of her laziness.  The real kicker, no body will love someone like you… no man will ever want you.   Think how it would make you feel when called a tramp and you had never even kissed a guy yet.  It was true and a fact that I acted out and I ran away and I drank and I smoked and I was willing to try to erase my days, but that was only after she slammed my head into the floor a couple of times.   Deep down inside there was a good girl looking for a family, looking for approval, looking for love buried underneath all that abuse. 

One saturday I had finished 13 miles of a walk-a-thon and decided to call it quits.  My parents showed up and on the drive home informed me that I would be leaving and I would be living someplace else far away.  That out of seven kids, she did not want this one, she never did want me around.  I packed a few things of mine and was left at Shalom et Benedictus in Stephenson Virginia.   It was scary.  It was overwhelming.  When we pulled up to that large and lonely looking building a tiny voice inside me said… welcome home.  They knew immediately that something was wrong with my mother and her attitude towards me.  They welcomed me with open arms that I was suspect of, what new pain would this love bring.  This new pain brought me a new outlook and a new lease on life.  I wasn’t there long, not in the respect of a lifetime, but long enough for this place to become a part of me and for a part of me  left deep inside those walls.

This rehabilitation center set up for troubled teens closed its doors over 12 years ago.  I had made many trips to visit while people I knew still lived there, and then I never saw the place again until 11 years ago.  I had taken a trip back to Virginia, and I got it in my head to stop there.  It was empty and again so lonely looking.  The ghost of the past trapped inside and behind the glass of the windows.  Trapped inside my head.  I wanted to go inside.  I felt like going inside, but I could not.  What I could do was walk the grounds.  I headed for the enchanted forest.  Along with progress of the new, there comes destruction of the old.  Father Peters Enchanted Forest was mostly gone.  My heart sank and then it cried.  The one peaceful place I thought that was left was gone from this earth.  I kept searching for any remnant of all his labors of love until exhausted.  I was ready to go home in defeat when a strong wind pushed me in one direction and then the next.  I was starting to become fearful because I could not see where the wind was touching anything but me.  It felt like my hair was trying to fly with the electric wind around me.  All my fear left me the moment my eyes lit upon one of Father Peters creations and then another.  The scariness of  the situation flew away just as sudden as the wind stopped.  I gathered up what I could of the decorations and took my prize back home with me.  When I touched them I could feel the enchantment still.  The enchanted forest is gone from others now, but is still alive in my memories. 

In 2009 I was surfing the net, mostly looking for free crochet patterns.  Then the thought of Shalom hit me like a ton of bricks and I spent the next hour searching for it online.  What I came across was fascinating.  What I knew as Shalom, was purchased and returned to its original name  Jordan Springs.  What was really fascinating was that they wanted some history on the place and they were doing an investigation for paranormal activity using  Shenandoah Shadows.   A great group of  people with a wide variety of talents .   For many, paranormal means a pretend state of mind.   Those of us who have been witnesses to unusual and unexplainable events, it is a real thing.  I decided to contact Tonie Wallace-Aitken, the Owner, CEO  by email to let her know that I use to live there.  She was open and wonderfully friendly, and made me feel like this was the right move.  By the time October came around I had decided to visit and give Father Peters creations to Tonie, and also have dinner and take part in the investigation.  The items may look like garbage to most people and have no meaning, but they never got to see them in their glory days.  They never felt the charm of the enchanted forest… 

My personal life during this time was a mess.  I was at the height of menopause, having problems with my husband, trying to raise my 2-year-old grandson, and dealing with a nasty harassing neighbor.  The thought of going was exciting as well as frightening.  It was a much-needed break from my normal life.  The emotions I was feeling during the investigation part, left me a little confused about if it was me scaring myself or if the entities were actually affecting me.  I had gone alone.   During this visit a few odd things happened, easily explained by one, not so easy to live through by another.  My legs felt like lead when I tried to climb the stairs to one of my old rooms.  I did not think I could make it up the stairs.   The lead left my legs when I stepped into that room, but I also was very uncomfortable,  I had to get out of there.  The rest of the evening was fun and it brought back a flood of memories.  When it came time to leave I was feeling good, a little tired, content, sad.  I walk out with a woman named Sue who worked with the investigation.  We headed toward our cars, it felt like someone had grabbed my ankles and I was dragging them.   I kept thinking to myself that I did not want to take anyone or anything home with me.  My 4 hour drive was full of thoughts of the past including the previous evenings activities. 

Off and on since that visit I have had bad dreams.  I have dreamed that they took Tonies head as a prize.  I have dreamed that there was a group of satanic worshippers using the house for rituals.  I did not dream of the things that touched me there, or blew my hair inside the house.  I did not dream of anyone I know.  The faces were of strangers, except for Tonies.  I told myself that I would never go back again.  I told myself I would never step foot in that house again.  

What it all boils down to, come back and read part 2, when I show you how I should never say never.

Crochet, come along with me… an adventure in crochet

     A short time back a notice popped up on my Facebook that there was going to be a crochet along with Maggie Weldon.. and the invitation was… well inviting.  I love to crochet.  Maggie Weldon is a Designer in the fascinating and fabulous world of Crochet,  I have received her newsletters for many years, it was worth a check.  I clicked on over and the first thing I saw was a pillow with Santa Clause and a Reindeer.  It wasn’t even crocheted I thought… hmmm.  A little further down I read how she was going to make up the crochet  pattern to match the original un-crocheted pillow a step ahead of us, I was curious how that would look. 

http://www.maggieweldon.com/

     I have tried crochet along’s before, never getting past the buying of the yarn.  Except once on an afghan.  Its pieces are in a little bag  just waiting to be sewn together and edged.  Don’t get me wrong, there are hundreds of finished items, just not so much done on the “Alongs”

www.earlycreations.com

     I thought I would give it one more go, do another crochet along and this time finish it… heck, start it.  I have to overcome this, I have to finish a crochet along  just once, and I think this is the one. 

     This looked like a simple project that would not interfere with my  felting  projects but could be done while playing  “Plunder” on fb.   Still not 100% sure if I was going to join in,  I read the material list.   I start thinking about where to pick up the materials when a pang of guilt hit me… I looked at all the previous yarns I had bought now sitting so pretty together on a shelf, also in a few large clear bags,  in a basket, and well you know how stashes can grow… I told myself,  I just could not buy anything more until I made that mound smaller.   I decided if I was going to do this, it would have to be made from the yarn that I have in my stash.  I am faced with a double challenge now.  I would not buy a single new yarn, even if I had no white, and I would finish it.  Self and Home improvement all in one kit.  

So for me the Crochet Along was on!  I will finish this and it will look good.  I keep telling myself that. 

Taking the list, I start the hunt for as close a match as I could get.  1:Cardinal Red, 90z.  Shoot.  I hardly use red except as accent and 9 ounces is a nice amount.  I found one 5oz skein of Red Heart-Soft Yarn in the color of Paprika.   Paprika? When did I buy that and why?  I was getting a little less enthusiastic by this lack in a main color .  Then I remembered that I had a big plastic tub full of yarns pushed way in the back of the shed outside, please please please I said as I ran outside, let there be a red.  Guess what I found… Yes! 4 skeins at 3.5 oz. of a reddish color yarn.  It is far different from what is called for, but by golly its got red in it.

A dark red with green replaces Cardinal Red

  I had an easier time locating enough in a green  and the rest came easy as well.  The paprika color has ended up being the second red called for, but I am  not happy with that.  I could have sworn I had a small skein of bright red… so maybe.  It had all worked out so far, but I had not started to crochet yet. The yarn search was exhausting but I wanted to start and that felt good, after all it is a crochet along…

Red Heart Symphony - Redwood.  This is the substitute.  Fuzzy, thin, a right pain to work with.  The fuzz catches sometimes and arrrggg… I learned right off that undoing your work and trying again can lead to knots that won’t come out.  I feel the yarns thinness too much even with all that fuzz, so I doubled it.  I changed the hook to an H.  It worked up close enough to gauge that I was happy.  It all went well for a few rows so I stopped counting each stitch, but when I went back to counting somehow I managed to find a few extra stitches that had made its way in.  I managed to lose them without too much trouble but somehow in the process it still ended up stretching to 20 inches instead of 18.  My tension must have relaxed as well as I went along.  This is fine with me, besides it had to be ok, I could not bear to undo it. 

     For the Green I substituted with a Rainbow Boucle,  Green Print Rainbow.  Its brightness more than makes up for the dark of the red. I worked with two strands of it as well keeping with the reds two strand fullness. It feels so thick and soft, I love it and it does balance weight wise with the red.   I have just finished the first striped piece and am getting ready to start the rest of the front. 

Red,Green,Browns,White all together now!

The  brown I found is called Divine by Patton, it has some black mixed in and is also a fuzzy yarn.  This is the worst yarn to work with but I think it would look really good and I almost want to jump ahead and get the worst over.   There is no making mistakes with Divine.   But I am not.   I am not feeling that brave in the progress just yet. 

The other is Redheart Soft Yarn in Tan. 

 I did find that I have some white yarn.  Yea!  But just as I was about to do a mental happy dance I noticed something. There is a small snag, this had been the yarn for a punch-loop rug and had been cut in 2 yard lengths.  I have a lot of it.  My skill at joining yarn together and then hiding it is weak.  I guess I will get a few chances to practice.     I am going to look again for that other red.  I think it will need it, the paprika looks too orange. (part 2 soon to follow…)

Part 2:

In case you are wondering, I did manage to find a bright red that worked so much better.  I imagine it was redheart supersaver.  That is what it felt like.   The rest of the pillow worked up quicker than I expected and it went together easy.   Blow the whistles and sound the horns!  Yes I finished it!  I even got all the loose ends tuck away.   In my excitement of finishing a crochet-along, I took a picture and posted it to Maggie’s page and my own Facebook page.  The thought of wordpress buried under my accomplishment in crochet.    My grandson loves it and grabs it often to use.  It is soft and fluffy, not too loud but with a bit of bright color.  It is a project I would never had done on my own.  I am a bit old to believe in santa.    So thank you Maggie for your wonderful work.    MaggiesCrochet.com

Southern Blues

     I must say right now that traveling is hard on the body.  It is getting even more so as I get older.  I do not sleep as well in a strange bed, and I have found myself spoiled by hotels instead of catnapping in rest areas on my road trips. 

     My recent drive was to a wonderful school for my daughters orientation.  We packed up the rental car and headed out to Bob Jones University in South Carolina,  even though we are not Southern Baptist, we are southern and we are of the Baptist persuasion. 

     It was a beautiful University, and though a few of my scripture understandings are different, I think my daughter will get a top notch education. 

     It has been a long time since I had headed south from my transplanted home here in New Jersey.  I had forgotten about that true and noticible southern hospitality.  I know I must have made the first few people nervous, because it was shocking how much I missed it, and I ended up with a really goofy smile when they spoke.  I look forward to the drive down in august when my daughter returns to the school. 

   This is where the term bittersweet will apply.  I am going to miss my daughter an extreme amount.  I will cry I know it,  and try to take comfort from some of that southern charm.  I am happy in the knowledge that she already has a friend there to look forward to seeing.  I know already when she comes home she will be different, more grown up and self assured.   Living on your own will do that to you.  I know she will blossom and be more of the woman she is already.  What it all boils down to is, I have more reason now to love the south, more reasons to have the blues when I think of how far away it is.

My Girl Silver

I was out in the yard today watching my 10 year old German Shepherd, she looked hot and  tired.  My heart did that weird thing when I looked at her.  It grows with that pleasing feeling when looking at someone you love.  Yet there was the bit of aching sadness that so much time has gone by for her in my ten years.  It is starting to show in her walk. It is slower and more deliberate.  It just started showing up this spring.  Her legs shake a little when she trys to climb down from the porches, they never did before.  I am worried for my girl Silver, I love her so much. 

She is my girl, my Silver.  She is my protector, she is my friend.   Silver was born April 19th 2000.   She was my 40th birthday present.   We had decided to wait for our tax check before picking out a dog,  and I was still trying to decide if I wanted a teacup yorkie or a regular sized one.   Four weeks later we found the first ad for puppies we had seen in months and the check came in the mail, so we made the appointment to check them out, even though a sheperds birthweight is close to that of a full grown yorkie, I figured it would not hurt to humor my husband and look at the puppies. 

When we arrived the owners took us to the patio in the back to wait while they let the dogs loose from their pen.  Seven itty bitty german shepherds came bounding across the yard and onto the patio.  I was sitting on a chair just amazed at them all.  During this viewing at one point all seven puppies ran over to me and sniffed at my hands, and wiggled between my feet, and all got petted and made over and they all bounded off in that ball of fur way except one little puppy.  This one little girl stayed by my feet looking at me.  She was so soft, so cute, and her colors were gorgous,  a deep black and silver.  She got up suddenly and stepped a few steps squatted and peed.  I watched as the liquid inched toward my feet and laughed.  She looked back at me with a look that is totally Silvers and then ran off with her brothers and sisters. 

My mind kept screaming she will poop a teacup yorkie sized poop!  She will shed a new carpet in a year!  She will eat more than I can imagine!  Then small thoughts crept in like, She will sleep in the living room…. One baby dog changed my thinking, and over the years my life.  From teacup to this large mug, love came pouring out to me.  I was offered a lifetime of companionship, love, and courage all in a ball of fur at my feet, but only if I let myself move away from the pocket sized dog I had dreamed of.   

I realized that no yorkie could ever wipe out the vision of that puppy from my mind and heart.  I was sure she was the one, I put the bow on her collar and marked her as mine and turned to leave with my family for the last few weeks wait.  I marked her as mine with a down payment of 100.00 as well.  She does not realize that bow and money is my way of choosing her and letting others know she is mine,  just as she had marked me as hers to the other puppies  when she peed at my feet.  

  

Holly’s Amazing Underwater Experience

Living this close to the passaic river has been an experience that I would not trade for anything.   Six years ago we left the swamps of Florida for the swamps of New Jersey.  I love this house on the river, the 4 acre yard that came with it is as much a part of the river as it is not.  

We have dedicated about two average sized lots as our yard.  The rest is fairly wild.  There are swampy areas where the water never really dries up, and the stretch along the bank that makes beautiful long walks possible.   There is a lot of animal activity here in my yard, from deer to turkey to fox and racoon.   They are free to be there safe, and we enjoy seeing them.  They like to stay next to the river more often than not following it to that place they go, and our german sheperd Silver makes sure they stay out of the yard part as much as possible.  She is funny that way, and our two mini-dachsands follow her lead. The road is a dirt road, a private drive, it is part of the protected wetlands as well. 

When the river rises and washes over its banks, the animals move closer to the house.  They change their paths and are able to survive by their mobility.  Not all living things are so lucky.  The trees are huge, taller than our house which is 3 stories, and some have fallen during the recent floodings.  Their roots ripped from the ground, tons of dirt displaced.  Enough firewood for an entire season if I had a fireplace, but within weeks of its demise it is full of wildlife making it their new homes.  So we leave it as it is, since it fell in the wild part of the land

  Ninety-nine percent of the plants are deciduous, winter is rather blah looking here.  I decided to plant 4 Holly trees.  Two males and two females for the color and for the benefit of the wildlife.   I put them further down in the yard near my birdfeeders and birdhouses, away from the house so there is a comfort zone for the birds and animals.  They were small but they thrived and grew a few inches that spring and summer.  When winter hit the first snow covered them and they looked like little mounds under all that frozen water.  My holly’s were getting their first experience underwater. 

Our first flood ended up being a 100 year flood, and the waters surrounded our house in the end.  My poor Holly’s were underwater, completely covered.  We saw 3 story trees take a dive to the left and the right of us during this time, my thoughts were that they were a lost cause, my poor little holly trees.  It took a month or more for the water to fully receed and for the yard to stop feeling like a sponge.  It was a full week that the four holly’s were underwater, two had been planted closer to the house and were the first to breath air, while the other two stayed underwater another week.  I was amazed when they started sprouting new leaves a short time later, but I noticed that two of them struggled a little more.  This has happened 3 times in the last 4 years.  This is not the norm and yet I accept this risk by living here. 

The amount of dirt that is stuck to their leaves has fought washing off from this years flood, but has not stopped their progress.  Though the two have had their growth retarded they continue to grow anyway in hopes of not being submerged again.  They have reached the 12 inch mark while the other two have reached two and three feet putting them way above the underwater risk.   Why don’t I move them you wonder, they belong where they are and they have fought very hard to stay there. 

This is unusual, they even called one the 114 year flood.  We evacuated for that one since it was overtaking the road itself.    

My house is made for such emergencies,  I am beginning to think God made Holly’s the same way.

Cool Green Grass

Running in that all or nothing way we did as children.  Running from and running to without a reason to slow down.  I miss the feeling of the speed of light whipping through my hair.  I long to run so fast that I pass myself on the way back.  I learned as I grew up that this only belongs to children, this natural free-ness when we run.  Its not just running, its a statement of life.

When I was  4 or 5,  we were living in Warington Virginia.  The house is thought of and spoken of in our family as the house Dad built.  I do not know how much of the house my father actually built, but he was a carpenter.  The house sits back on its large deep lot away from the traffic on Rt. 17.    Though our family has not lived in this house since I was young, it still looks like the house my Dad built.  I was barely a kid still mostly baby.  Running was already in my heart.

There was a pole light down in the yard we would gather around as night fell.  The bugs attracted the bats, and the bats attracted us.  We would toss little rocks up in the air and watch the bats dive for them.  They would realize fast enough that they were too crunchy and go after the bugs again.  More often than not me being so small, the rocks did little more than a few feet airborne before landing on my head.  There was always teasing about the bats getting into our hair and making a nest, the sneaking up behind and tousling our hair.   We would scream with laughter and run swatting at our heads.   It was fun and we ran around and danced in the evenings dying light.

When the sun is going down, a new world awakens to run with.

The cornfield next to our yard brought out an abundance of life at night, and that included us.   One evening in particular,  the sun hanging low in the sky, I was running through the cornfield with my brothers  chasing mice.  My brothers kept yelling at me to be quiet that I would chase away the mice before they could catch any, but it was warm and getting dark and I was running, how could I contain this joy I felt.  There were a lot of itty bitty mice running through that cornfield.   I just wanted to be part of the chase, and  part of the chase I was.   Shortly after being yelled at to hush and stand still, I went running between two rows of corn heading toward home.   Splat! My tiny bare foot found a tiny mouse and the whole 35lbs of me flatten that poor mouse to death.  I screamed and my brothers and sister came running. I had lifted up my foot and the yuck ran off it, and the mouse’s body twitched to the ground.   “Oh gross look what you did!” they all were saying as they came running up and then were bending over and poking at the dead body of the baby mouse.  You’re in trouble now, they taunted.  They were all mad at me for stepping on this little critter and killing it.  I think it was more because, they did not.  I ran away crying leaving bits of gore along the way, even the cool green grass could not change the fact that it was a run without joy.  I was the only one to catch a mouse – I just had to be a part of the chase.   Lucky me.

I have to wonder why I was barefooted, but that was the way it was.  Shoes often got taken off and thrown aside if ever put on to begin with.  The feel of the grass and earth between the toes is too attractive.

Life got weird for me a few years after the mouse, I started to lose that child’s way of looking at life.  Running was never the same.  There became a purpose and goal behind it as I aged, and fear … fear that  once I started my heart would never allow me  stop until I found that cool green grass again.

I can no longer run like the wind,  and I have no desire to catch mice anymore for fun.  Although…

If I close my eyes and sit real still, I can feel the soft cool grass on my feet as they barely touch the ground…

Mine is 50 and it’s all new

This past April, I had the privilege of having my 50th birthday.  It makes me giddy sometimes thinking about it.  It scares me at other times.  The prospect of actual old age is a lot closer feeling now.  You start getting those AARP ads in the mail.  The part of me that is not skin and bones – and least we forget the FAT, does not feel like fifty years has happened to me.  It is not a matter of where did the time go.  I am not even sure it is explainable, because just what does it feel like to be any age.

At 45 years of age, I went to bed one night, knowing everything about my body and how I felt and woke up to a whole new set of rules.  I hit menopause overnight.  I think it happened during the night.  It was that horrid cold sweat that wakes you up, leaving you breathless for no fun reason what so ever,  that was the tip-off.  While I did not recognize my skin, the majority of my beauty products did and they refused to work together.

My best friend stayed with me all the time after that. Terry Cloth Towel is her name.  While I took long hot Epsom salted steamy baths to scrub off the sweat and dry skin that had forced their kinship with me.   She would be taking her own soak in the washer downstairs.  Happy in the fact that she was wet from clean hot water and not my slick sweat.  I still find after almost 5 years the need to have her around.  They still pop up for no pleasing reason and she helps a great deal. My best friend Terry.

This is also the time in my life that I am suppose to get a life.  My husband and I married at 19.  Six months later I am pregnant with our first.  The plan was that I pretty much stay home with the kids and the house until they were older.  Life gets a little more complicated than we anticipate most times and older keeps going.   Even though I held night time part time jobs over the years,  these were not the dreams of a career or any part of a dream at all.  They were the means to Christmas presents, and birthday parties, new clothes and shoes for 3 kids.   Night work for me saved on babysitting, but left me little time for far-fetched dreams.  During all these years I’ve sewed costumes and clothes.  I painted pictures.  I made things left and right.  Sold some  gave a lot away.  I found pleasure in working with my hands in one form of creation or another.  I still do.

Even though the face I see in the mirror is slowly looking familiar again in an unfamiliar way, the step into a new time in life is not familiar at all.  The decision of what to be when I grow up has come around again for me.  It is scary and exciting all in one.   My children are 23,28,and 29 years old and all know how to dress themselves and flush the toilet.  I feel free to do as I please with my life once again.  I tried to think back to when this had first concerned me,  in high school before my life’s path began.  What did I plan for myself and how do I begin to get it back.  Things are different now, my thoughts have changed, I want to be something else, not that other thing.  I will indulge myself with writing and art and my garden.  This being where my passions reside.  I feel ageless within them,  each equal in their potential for success if only for the satisfaction each activity brings.

I might look 50 or more… but I sure do not feel it in my heart… my soul.  What this boils down to is… 50 is a great age that I am happy with, it feels good and I hope I wear it well… but I do get a little scared none the less, because 50 only lasted a nanosecond.

Ohio Weekend

There is nothing like going somewhere special, then coming home and seeing the hundreds of blogs or columns written about it.  Reliving and savoring the memories with each word.    I went hunting for the words that spoke of a weekend workshop I attended,  I agree with what they say, and more… here is my look on the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop held April 15-17 2010.

These kind of things don’t just happen when they officially begin.  The excitement and action starts the very moment you decide to go.

This was my first writers workshop.  I chose this one because of my love for Erma’s work, but I had found it quite by accident while surfing the web.   Was it an accident?  I am new to calling myself a writer, so I hemmed and hawed until there were only around 50 spots left.  I am still wondering if it was a twitch or if I actually meant to submit my credit card information.

There is no point of reference for me to compare it to, and I fear now that other workshops and conferences have a lot to live up to.    I was not even sure I should be there… I needed to convince myself that I should be there, since there was a no cancel or return policy… once I hit that submit button it was a done deal. I kept thinking… What Have I Done.

We flew into Dayton International Airport on a Continental Express out of Newark.  I love sitting in the back seats, more often than not I get to stretch out my legs and put my purse on the seat next to me.  Seat belt fastened, waiting for take off, the Captain comes on the P.A.   “Would someone kindly agree to change seats, we need someone to move to the back of the plane.”  My husband looks at me and we both get big eyed – Twilight Zone Movie flashbacks surface- and then we laugh, what else can you do when the plane you chose is nose heavy – we say its the Early curse, cross our fingers, and make plane crash jokes.  The flight attendant continued to repeat the captains request until a generous sized man move to the seat in front of me.  Whew!
Sweat starts to roll down my back as the plane lurches and takes off, and the thought that maybe I should not have lost those 10lbs before the trip sneaks in with my fear. All in all the trip was beautiful, the landing smooth and the flight home was not front heavy but full.
When I walked into the Marriott the crowd was already large, with name tag bouncing from a chain clutched in my hand, the voices roaring over each other I walk into the crowd with my own voice screaming in my head,  Oh my gosh, what am I doing.   I am there alone, unsure, and equally afraid of people.   I sat down next to a pleasant woman, the only available seat and just started chatting like I knew what I was talking about.  I think I scared her… she kept saying something about her friend is showing up soon, and scooting to the other side of her chair. That’s alright I thought, I don’t like everybody I meet either.  So I focused my attention on the lovely woman across from me. Her book is about to be published she was saying… Her tag said she was Crystal Allen.   She is a writer.   How Lamar’s Bad Prank Won A Bubba-Sized Trophy will be available March 2011. 
She did not try to run when I spoke up.  She was stuck with me now…

Once we got to the campus I followed the bulk of the crowd to the main hall we were to meet in.  I was afraid I would get lost.I was concerned about finding my way around, but there were signs everywhere with bright red arrows pointing the way.  Not to forget to mention the hundreds of people holding tight to their Erma bags looking happy and eager with each step.

The sessions I chose were great.  The speakers were fantastic.  The ones I could not attend I look forward to listening to on mp3′s.  I was learning a lot about not only writing mechanics, but how to be around writing.   I found how important it is to gather with others and talk about writing.  I did not know just how much I needed that until I had it before me.  It is a simple idea, discussing your work with others who do the same.  For a while there I thought everybody’s eyes turned white like my husbands when discussing writing.  So I was enlightened with pupils of many colors.

What can I say about the food that would do it justice.  It was good, I loved it, makes feel guilty that I do not eat more salads here at home.  I even took this picture to share with you.  Oh it was delicious. I would like to return to the next Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop in 2012.  It will be grand I know.  But I won’t be walking in with the same eyes.  There is nothing like a first time experience and I think I got a great start.  Thanks to everyone involved for the time and efforts they offered, I had one of the most rewarding times of my life.

One last thought.  I was heading back to the airport for the express flight home.  I took this picture.

From this angle of the Dayton Daily News, it gives me the idea that this writing thing is going to be a uphill battle, but thanks to all the work Erma did, this one is worth the effort.

Ohio Travels

Tomorrow I will fly to Dayton Ohio where I will attend the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. I remember watching her as a kid, and reading her books. It sounded like so much fun to me when I read about it. I want to seriously understand and learn all I can, and it sounds like a good place to begin. I am nervous because I am fairly new to this public writing idea. I will be posting my impressions of the workshop and what my stay was like. There might be a picture or two. There is practice to be done here. Learning to grow and better myself in my presentation of thoughts. It will be fun to take you on a tour of my explorations, and I hope I will be able to take you there.

Greetings!

I think the first few words are the hardest.  This is my first time blogging.  The whole idea behind it is to let others know about my visits to various places.  I like to take short trips to nearby towns or neighboring states usually no more than 2 hours away.  I enjoy staying in bed and breakfast’s but in a separate cabin from the main house.  I find this to be the most private and still with the charm of the breakfast.  When I find the desire to soak in a jacuzzi and swim in a heated pool I will then book a room at a hotel.  Now I find it upsetting that my rights have been limited by many hotels.  I smoke.  But at least I don’t try to drown myself with perfume and then get in an elevator with you.  Same damage if you ask me.  Most of my stays have been at Hiltons.  They allow smoking in a limited number of rooms.  Hotels boast how they care about your comfort.  Apparently they forgot about a very large minority of us out there and our comfort.   I will occasionally stay in a smokeless hotel, but only if there is a patio or balcony attached to the room.  But really it’s all about the jacuzzi and pool…