Success or Failure?

I LOVE my life.  I HATE my life.  Those are both equally true statements that take turns bobbing up and down in the surface of my thoughts.  Like the log above, am I dead and on my way to being turned into ashes, or beginning to grow again and simply looking for fertile soil and a bit of rain.  And by the way, rain is plentiful here.

 I am 1/2 as old as both of my mother's grandmothers lived to be.  I'd say that qualifies as middle add in my family.  In two months, the youngest of my children moves out and 400 miles away to go to college, and my home becomes much quieter.  It is already much quieter than in most previous summers.

I have been so successful, I tell myself on the good days.  I have been married for nearly 30 years to a man I still love and respect and who is my best friend.

I have adopted one beautiful baby and given birth to another, and watched both grow up into fine, wonderful young men.

I have gone to college and taught special ed. for ten years, and substitute taught for 13 years while raising  my family.  The students I have worked with, I have helped more than hurt, and taught them with love and respect.

I have travelled to Guatemala and Europe and gone to school in Beijing, China.  I have taken my family to Disneyland, Yellowstone and the Mississippi river.

I have a house on two acres of green wonderland where the boys played in the trees and dig in the mud and rode bikes through the kitchen and laughed a lot.  In 16 years I have never been late on a house payment or a utility.

I have a Mom and two brothers and numerous cousins and I have managed to stay in at least annual contact with them, and still love them very much.  I have some of the best fiends in the world.

I have written and published 3 books and seen my students love them and beg for more.  

I have been a success.

Or Not?

 What looks beautiful and solid and valuable on one day, becomes full of thorns and poison on another.  The only difference is my attitude.

 I raise two kids and they worry me all the time and they are going away and I will miss them horribly and be worthless without them.  I failed to give them the financial freedom I should have them set up with, and they were babied so much because I loved taking care of them that I failed to make them learn to cook, and do car maintenance, and balance a budget.
    I taught for 23 years and I still have too much credit card debt and no savings and making it until that next September 30 payday looks impossible, even without considering college costs.  i have students who loved me, and co-workers who loved me, but I also had that one administrator who told me and everyone else in multiple memos that I was a failure.  Those memos will never go away.  Grrr.
    My Mom may have health issues turning scary and I an't even afford to go visit her this summer even though I have not been there in 2 years.
     My house would never appraise for what I still owe on it but it is too big for us, and winters in it are miserably cold, and it hasn't been painted or re-roofed in the 16 years we've been here and it had termites when we bought it so some window sills are more potting soil than wood.
     WHO NEEDS MORE BOOKS?  There are more books in the world than anyone can ever read anyway.

And there you have it.  The voices in my head that talk to me from one day to the next.

 A writer always has voices in her head, usually the voices of the characters we make up.  I know that really, I am surviving and doing better than I deserve and having way more than I earned and loving my life.  BUT I can't help wanting more, I'd love to be able to buy toilet paper without wondering if that means we might have to run short on laundry soap this week.

I am not exactly religious, and think I'd love to believe in god way more than I actually do believe in him/her.  Yet I do have a strange faith that I am being taken care of.  I know that every time I need something, I get it, but every time I find a surplus it vanishes.  Can you believe in the manna for a day provisions, without believing in a God who provides it?

It is a beautiful world, when you open your eyes looking for beauty.  It is scary and dark when you go looking for that.  I don't know, in the end, how other people will judge me

but there have been moments when I have held a loved one close and known that if the rest of my life were horrible, it would all be worth it anyway,
Moments I held my baby brother (who has Down's Syndrome) or played with my other brother, who loved my stories.  Moments I held each of my sons and made them laugh.  Moments with my husband.

I don't know the final judgement on my success, and I hope that I live long and have many more successful moments.  But if this is all I get.  It was enough for me.

About Time - Double Time On The Oregon Trail

I am pleased to say, that after working on this little book for around 14 years, it has finally been published on Kindle for $3.99 or for $11 in paperback.  The kindle version is available now at

http://www.amazon.com/Double-Time-Oregon-Trail-ebook/dp/B008G3JZB8/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1341109826&sr=1-5

 and the paperback is available now as well from CreateSpace.  https://www.createspace.com/3923513

or on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/Double-Time-Oregon-Trail-1/dp/1478160926/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1341504499&sr=1-3&keywords=double+time+on+the+oregon+trail

If you have been following this site, then you know the book is written for those students in middle school who are studying the Oregon trail and have developed an interest.  I just want to re-state that so no-one is disappointed at finding the print larger and the story simpler than they expected.

The past and present meet on the Oregon Trail when two girls travel the same trail with the same lap desk 152 years apart. 
Kenyon is traveling in 2002 from Pittsburgh to Salem, OR. Her mother is pregnant and staying behind to close escrow on the house and then flying west to join the family. Kenyon; her 5 year old sister, Melissa and her father are in a Dodge Caravan, with a trailer hitch. Her Grandfather has given her a plain, black polished ebony wooden lap desk lined with a scented wood that still smells faintly of cedar. The box is filled with thick, creamy paper, envelopes, a calling card, a hand mirror, pens and pencils and a small Swiss army knife, postage and an electronic address book. Her Grandfather is not moving with them but plans have been made for him to fly out in December for a visit. Kenyon strongly resents being expected to entertain Melissa at the motels in the evenings. Her father has decided to take the long way and show his girls some of the wonders of this country and Melissa is excited but Kenyon is determined to not have any fun.
Traveling in 1850, Della, age 15, has already traveled from Northern Illinois to St. Louis, then a week by steamboat on the Missouri river. She stopped in Independence, MO to prepare for the journey and meet with the wagon train. She left behind her 60 year old grandmother who feels too old to attempt the trip, but who gave her a gift of a wooden lap desk. The desk is filled with paper, a small mirror, wooden handled pens with steel nibs, a metal letter opener, hair pins and a small sewing kit. Her younger brother, Orville, her father, and her pregnant mother are traveling with her. She has been asked to teach the younger children around the campfire in the evenings.
What happens when they open the desk to see the other girls journal?

4th of July Freedom from the Mind Bog

 On October 19, 2011 I wrote about why I was bogging down in writing my Oregon Trail Novel, before that, on August 3 I gave you the prologue to my Oregon Trail, work in progress, and on Sept. 12 I shared the first chapter. 

Now I am delighted to report that I suddenly came unbogged.


I restarted the Monday after school got out.  Three days after my youngest son graduated from high school.  Every day I set my alarm and got up like I was still teaching, and started writing again on this story that I think I first began in 1998 or 1999.


Today I finished the second draft of the novel.  I am so pleased with it, and I hope that you will com to love it also.






 Subject:  The past and present meet on the Oregon trail when two girls travel the same trail with the same lap desk 152 years apart.  Sometimes they open the desk and find the other girl's things including a diary.

Rationale or takeaway point:  the fact that while modern conveniences have made daily travels and chores easier, people haven’t changed enough to lose the sense of hope and fear and the dream of a better life at the cost of the old security.  The blindness of prejudice can be overcome with trust and familiarity.

I have decided to share the 4th of July Chapter to celebrate.

CHAPTER 14 – Della

“Dear Journal,

“The wagon train has stopped for a time to rest the animals and allow for the hunting of fresh meat. Fresh meat! My mouth waters simply from writing the words. While we are stopped, there is less of the endless dust to breath, but even so, when I blow my nose – it covers my pocket rag with clay. I guess I should be glad I am not using the embroidered hankies with Mother’s careful tatting on the borders.

“The mention of dirty hankies and the bloody fingerprints on this page should let you know which task the women are employed at during the lull in this endless trail.

“We made camp beside enough clean water to do laundry, and the cold water rinse, the boiling water wash, and the lye soap have removed skin from our hands as they removed dirt and grease from our clothing and bedding. If lugging the water and armloads of cloth doesn’t put a permanent stoop in my back, hunching over the rocks to pound the clothing will. At last the prairie around the camp is white with cloth spread out to dry and bleach in the sun and for a moment I had time to write.

“Now I must find Orville and . . . well, he comes at a run even now – shouting that the men are returning. Here we can see Independence Rock and tomorrow we shall celebrate the birthday of this nation. We shall celebrate even more if they have managed to bring us fresh meat, and there were a lot of buffalo nearby so the hope is strong.

Della”

Della tucked the desk into place in the wagon and hurried to join her brother. When she saw the men were indeed returning, and that eight groups of them were leading horses, dragging large buffalo quarters, she called to the women. They quickly assembled a group to help carve and share out the steaks and roasts and begin cooking a feast.

Along with the buffalo they had sagehen and antelope. There were bottles of pickles to be opened and shared out and the water could be flavored to make a “lemonade” using sugar, citric acid and a few precious drops of essence of lemon.

Today, they would also bake pies in their Dutch ovens with glowing coals both beneath and on the lids of those essential kettles. While the women worked at cooking, the men helped serve out the leftover bacon and cornbread from the morning meal to the hungry children, and in a burst of good spirits, they organized some races and contests of sharpshooting and axe throwing.

Mother insisted on helping, but stopped often to straighten and press a fist to her lower back when she thought no one was looking. Finally, the meal was cooking and the other women encouraged her to go sit in the shade and watch the games.

Nobody slept in the next morning, even though they would not be traveling. The ones who wanted to were planning on going to the giant, turtle shaped hill and climbing up to the top or reading the names of the many who had been there before them. They had waited until today so that when they carved their names in the sandstone, or painted them on in axle grease, they could proudly add the date July 4, 1850.

Being at Independence Rock on Independence Day made them all very much aware of their place in the history of the birth of a great nation. Della had prepared her students for the day by gathering scraps of red, white and blue cloth and helping them sew a flag, complete with 30 stars although when they left back East there was rumor that California would soon add the 31^st star too the flag.

The children walked together and sang the songs that they had been working on; songs like “The Star Spangled Banner” which they sang loudly and badly, and “Yankee Doodle” which had them laughing and joyful, songs of America to stir the pride and blood of all of them as their little parade crossed the grassy flat lands and the enormous rock loomed ever larger. Their song paused and then resumed even louder as they realized it was being joined by other groups as overlanders converged upon the landmark for the holiday.

That evening they dressed in costumes and had a contest to see which children could recite the most from “The declaration of Independence.” They gave three cheers for America and danced until long after dark.

Books On My Shelves, Review

This time I just feel so incredibly blessed to have a fellow blogger, all the way over in India, read my book and feature it on her book review blog

http://booksonmyshelves.blogspot.in/2012/06/duffy-barkley-seek-well-book-2.html

I need to say that she did a very thorough and flattering review and that she participates in a very cool program where she collects books to donate to a school, so not only did she read and review my books but she is making sure that they get into the hands of students in India.

Please check out her blog, and if you feel so moved, leave her a comment or send her books for her school project.  Many Many thanks