I've always had vivid dreams. Since an early age I've had the ability to redream the same dream until it ended the way I wanted. No, I don't recall all my dreams, especially all the details, but some get seared into my mind. This process has been a big aide in developing my stories.
When I told my family and friends about my dreams, they encouraged me to write a book about them. Sometimes I would write a few chapters, and then get distracted by everyday duties. Always planning to get back to it someday.
But with time stretched between husband, three children, ailng family members, job, community, church and endless children activities, there wasn't much time or energy leftover at the end of the day. In between what free time I had, I squeezed in accounting classes. Not a small feat considering how much homework is required for those classes. At the time with us operating our own business, an accounting degree seemed more important than my passion for writing.
But as I stated before, my concept of writing was devoting hours to it at a time. To be honest, that is still the way I prefer to write, but life is still hectic. So I devote at least a few hours a day to writing, and it's surprising how much you can accomplish in short periods of time.
What I want to do is encourage people to devote whatever time they can to their passion, don't keep putting it off thinking tomorrow will be less hectic, thinking life will be easier at some point. Life is full of surprises and it doesn't get slower or easier with age. You have to make time to pursue your dreams. It will change your attitude tremendously and your life.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Ole Earl's New Home
Thought you might be interested in Ole Earl's new place of residence.
It was difficult for Ray to load Earl and the deer heads into the truck bed for the journey. It probably took him longer to load them, than it did to hunt them. The animals eyed us fearfully as they were loaded. Perhaps they thought they were being taken to the dump to be abandoned. Sure they'll be delighted and relieved when they arrive at their new destination.
Ray acted as if he were parting with old friends and in a way he was. He teared up a few times as he gently placed them onto the truck. When he was finished, I left them alone so he could say his goodbyes.
It was sad to see Ole Earl start his journey to a new home, but I'm sure he'll be happier hanging on someone's wall than on the floor of the garage staring at the ceiling. Just didn't seem proper for him to be there. No this noble steed deserved a place of dignity, and he will have his place of honor--adorning the wall of a new hunting lodge that a friend is opening in central Texas. And as Earl has done for over 10 years, he will keep watch over the herd of deer heads that rested above our fireplace.
I wasn't certain Ray would be able to hand them over when he arrived there. And he couldn't hand them over to just anyone, but he knew Kenny understood about Ole Earl and the deers, and that he would treat them with the dignity they deserve.
Ray retained visitation rights, and if we ever again have a place to put Ole Earl and his friends, he will retain full custody. Until then, I'm sure we'll make a trek or two to central Texas lodge to pay our respects. And to our friends, if you're ever down that way, I'm sure Ole Earl will be glad to see you too.
Friday, July 24, 2009
A Love Affair with Writing
During my teens, I kept a journal of my thoughts, feelings, fears and dreams. It helped me cope with life and things that were out of my control. I would write about a problem, and then look at it from the viewpoint of someone else. It removed the emotional turmoil that clutters your thinking process. It made it easier to decide what to do and easier to deal with the issue.
As my love for reading grew, so did my desire to write. Keeping a journal helped organize my thoughts and develop discipline with my writing. I was always fascinated to watch a blank, white sheet of paper fill with a story that didn't exist moments earlier. I worked diligently to improve my writing skills with classes and continual writing. People encouraged me to publish my stories. But along the way, life happens and it gets hectic. You convince yourself that you don't have time to devote to writing and that you'll get back to it one day.
At one point I thought it would be less time consuming to write children's literature. (Not sure what planet I was on at the time.) One day while I plugged away at a story, my youngest came to me. He took my hand and said, "Mommy, come keep me company." His way of asking , "Come play with me." I looked at the paper in the typewriter (Back in the olden days, we didn't have computers, a real bummer.) and then looked at his sweet face. I thought I can write about life or live it, and at the moment my child wanted me to live it. So once again I tucked my dream away.
But I always picked it back up, I had no choice. I wish I'd had this book back then on writing habits that I bought several years ago. It states that if you only write one page a day, that at the end of a year, you will have a novel. It was a freeing revelation. My thought before that was you needed to be secluded, and write your story from beginning to end to be a true writer. That's rarely possible. I've since learned that you can call a paragraph or two a day progress.
If I read that bit of wisdom when I was younger, I wouldn't have postponed pursuing my passion, so don't use lack of time as an excuse not to write, because anything you can write a day, keeps your imagination and creativity alive, along with your spirit.
The whole writing process can become additive. I lose track of the time. The page disappears and the movie in my mind begins to unfold, the story goes in the direction I want to take it, or more accurately, in the direction my characters want to take it. I write because it has become as much a part of me as breathing. I write because I love to.
As my love for reading grew, so did my desire to write. Keeping a journal helped organize my thoughts and develop discipline with my writing. I was always fascinated to watch a blank, white sheet of paper fill with a story that didn't exist moments earlier. I worked diligently to improve my writing skills with classes and continual writing. People encouraged me to publish my stories. But along the way, life happens and it gets hectic. You convince yourself that you don't have time to devote to writing and that you'll get back to it one day.
At one point I thought it would be less time consuming to write children's literature. (Not sure what planet I was on at the time.) One day while I plugged away at a story, my youngest came to me. He took my hand and said, "Mommy, come keep me company." His way of asking , "Come play with me." I looked at the paper in the typewriter (Back in the olden days, we didn't have computers, a real bummer.) and then looked at his sweet face. I thought I can write about life or live it, and at the moment my child wanted me to live it. So once again I tucked my dream away.
But I always picked it back up, I had no choice. I wish I'd had this book back then on writing habits that I bought several years ago. It states that if you only write one page a day, that at the end of a year, you will have a novel. It was a freeing revelation. My thought before that was you needed to be secluded, and write your story from beginning to end to be a true writer. That's rarely possible. I've since learned that you can call a paragraph or two a day progress.
If I read that bit of wisdom when I was younger, I wouldn't have postponed pursuing my passion, so don't use lack of time as an excuse not to write, because anything you can write a day, keeps your imagination and creativity alive, along with your spirit.
The whole writing process can become additive. I lose track of the time. The page disappears and the movie in my mind begins to unfold, the story goes in the direction I want to take it, or more accurately, in the direction my characters want to take it. I write because it has become as much a part of me as breathing. I write because I love to.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Art of Yarn Spinning
Storytelling is an art, especially verbal storytelling. During my grandmother's childhood, it was the main source of entertainment. Now there are all types of things to keep us amused, but there is still something extraordinary about a person who can captivate us with their real life and made up stories. If you reflect on your friends and acquaintances, I'm sure you have one or two in the group. They're the person that when they speak, everyone listens. They can make a trip to the grocery store sound magical. I've been fortunate to know several people with this remarkable talent, and I never tire of listening to their narratives. My grandmother referred to these colorful tellers of tales as yarn spinners.
I've loved to read and write since an early age. But before I could do either, I tried my hand at yarn spinning, I entertained classmates at recess, and my dad at home with my stories. My dad was my biggest fan. When I told him about the village of tiny people that lived in our garden, he hung onto every word. Only the glimmer in his eyes gave a hint that he didn't buy it as real. Every day, he would ask me for an update of the tiny villagers' adventures. I'm thankful that he never called my stories foolish, and that he took the time to listen.
When I was older, I entertained my nieces and nephews with ghost stories. It was a sure way to keep the six of them from running amuck. It was a trick my grandmother taught me. She was an exceptional yarn spinner. When she had a house full of grandchildren, sometimes as many as fifteen of us, she kept us spellbound with story after story about ghosts. We never ventured far from her side, or got into any mischief at her house.
When my children were young, I made up bedtime stories, stories only told when washing their hair and at bath time. Some were with them as the main character and they would choose what the story was to be about.
Even though I enjoyed the process of making up stories, I never felt I was a true yarn spinner. I was drawn to a different form of storytelling--writing.
I believe the early facination with telling stories allowed my imagination to grow. I'm forever grateful to my parents encouragement to use my imagination and to dream. Children need to be encouraged to soar.
I've loved to read and write since an early age. But before I could do either, I tried my hand at yarn spinning, I entertained classmates at recess, and my dad at home with my stories. My dad was my biggest fan. When I told him about the village of tiny people that lived in our garden, he hung onto every word. Only the glimmer in his eyes gave a hint that he didn't buy it as real. Every day, he would ask me for an update of the tiny villagers' adventures. I'm thankful that he never called my stories foolish, and that he took the time to listen.
When I was older, I entertained my nieces and nephews with ghost stories. It was a sure way to keep the six of them from running amuck. It was a trick my grandmother taught me. She was an exceptional yarn spinner. When she had a house full of grandchildren, sometimes as many as fifteen of us, she kept us spellbound with story after story about ghosts. We never ventured far from her side, or got into any mischief at her house.
When my children were young, I made up bedtime stories, stories only told when washing their hair and at bath time. Some were with them as the main character and they would choose what the story was to be about.
Even though I enjoyed the process of making up stories, I never felt I was a true yarn spinner. I was drawn to a different form of storytelling--writing.
I believe the early facination with telling stories allowed my imagination to grow. I'm forever grateful to my parents encouragement to use my imagination and to dream. Children need to be encouraged to soar.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Continued----Third Time is the Charm
On Monday I call the salesman at the machine place back. I explain how happy I am about the 24/7 service which doesn't include holidays. He's baffled that no instructions were in the box, especially no phone number for the tech people. By the way, they have a different phone number, and they were on call all weekend.
Okay, after a few more pleasantries, I call the tech group and attempt to download the application a dozen times. The problem I'm told is that I need an analog phone line and that I should find a neighbor that has one. In over hundred degree weather, I have no plans of knocking on doors. Besides I figured everyone in my neighborhood had the same phone line as me. After three hours I ask why they can't send me a machine with the application already downloaded.
To my surprise, I'm told that they normally send the machine 'ready to go.' They promise to ship another machine and it'll arrive by Wednesday. Well, Wednesday came and went, and no machine.
I call my friend back, we're rather chummy at this point. He promised to overnight one. On Friday morning the machine arrived. I'm excited. It has instructions and even extra rolls of paper. I call the tech group, because I figure I need a code to activate it, even though the instructions don't indicate I need one.
After an hour, the thing still wouldn't work. I asked for another tech person, but they insisted no one else would be able to help either. I become more persistent. They agree to transfer me and put me hold. Music is piped over the line. The same bad song plays over and over, grinding on my nerves. For someone that is not in a happy place, this will not improve their mood.
I call back and explain my situation to a new tech person. I was nice, really I was. Well, she immediately puts me hold and I'm forced to listen to the same awful music. After five minutes, I call my sales friend. I'm told he has stepped out, but will call me as soon as he returns.
I wait and wait. At this point my usually low blood pressure has escalated to the boiling point. It's after three o'clock and I have a big event, and really need my machine. I pour myself a glass of wine. It's early to be drinking, but decided it wasn't worth having a coronary over.
I take a deep breath, and a big sip of wine and chill. After an hour, I decide I've had enough. Either they get the dang thing to work, or I would demand a refund. So I call the sales person again. and low and behold he answered.
After a lengthy discussion, he nabs a tech guy, and the three of us spend another hour trying to activate the machine, with no results. I'm told I need to move somewhere that I will get better reception. I told them the place that I was sitting had the best reception in the house, and if it didn't work there, it wouldn't work anywhere that I would be selling books.
I ask about the life time warranty again. I'm assured if the machine is dropped or anything is split on it, that they will replace it. I ask if that would be true if I threw it at someone. They laughed nervously and continued their spill.
The tech guy says, "Maybe if we put in a different code, it'll work." So he goes off in search of the code. It seems 'the code' is kept in a secret location. I envisioned him becoming Indiana Jones and going through the Temple of Doom to retrieve the code. Thank goodness he didn't play that awful music, or he may have wished he'd endured the perils of the Temple of Doom instead of what I would have done to him.
Can you believe that once the new code was entered, it worked? He says, "That was simple." He thinks three days on the phone is simple!!!! I wanted to say, "That's why I called in the first place--to get a code, and why has it taken all day to do this?" But I didn't--I thanked him and hugged my new machine that actually worked.
Okay, after a few more pleasantries, I call the tech group and attempt to download the application a dozen times. The problem I'm told is that I need an analog phone line and that I should find a neighbor that has one. In over hundred degree weather, I have no plans of knocking on doors. Besides I figured everyone in my neighborhood had the same phone line as me. After three hours I ask why they can't send me a machine with the application already downloaded.
To my surprise, I'm told that they normally send the machine 'ready to go.' They promise to ship another machine and it'll arrive by Wednesday. Well, Wednesday came and went, and no machine.
I call my friend back, we're rather chummy at this point. He promised to overnight one. On Friday morning the machine arrived. I'm excited. It has instructions and even extra rolls of paper. I call the tech group, because I figure I need a code to activate it, even though the instructions don't indicate I need one.
After an hour, the thing still wouldn't work. I asked for another tech person, but they insisted no one else would be able to help either. I become more persistent. They agree to transfer me and put me hold. Music is piped over the line. The same bad song plays over and over, grinding on my nerves. For someone that is not in a happy place, this will not improve their mood.
I call back and explain my situation to a new tech person. I was nice, really I was. Well, she immediately puts me hold and I'm forced to listen to the same awful music. After five minutes, I call my sales friend. I'm told he has stepped out, but will call me as soon as he returns.
I wait and wait. At this point my usually low blood pressure has escalated to the boiling point. It's after three o'clock and I have a big event, and really need my machine. I pour myself a glass of wine. It's early to be drinking, but decided it wasn't worth having a coronary over.
I take a deep breath, and a big sip of wine and chill. After an hour, I decide I've had enough. Either they get the dang thing to work, or I would demand a refund. So I call the sales person again. and low and behold he answered.
After a lengthy discussion, he nabs a tech guy, and the three of us spend another hour trying to activate the machine, with no results. I'm told I need to move somewhere that I will get better reception. I told them the place that I was sitting had the best reception in the house, and if it didn't work there, it wouldn't work anywhere that I would be selling books.
I ask about the life time warranty again. I'm assured if the machine is dropped or anything is split on it, that they will replace it. I ask if that would be true if I threw it at someone. They laughed nervously and continued their spill.
The tech guy says, "Maybe if we put in a different code, it'll work." So he goes off in search of the code. It seems 'the code' is kept in a secret location. I envisioned him becoming Indiana Jones and going through the Temple of Doom to retrieve the code. Thank goodness he didn't play that awful music, or he may have wished he'd endured the perils of the Temple of Doom instead of what I would have done to him.
Can you believe that once the new code was entered, it worked? He says, "That was simple." He thinks three days on the phone is simple!!!! I wanted to say, "That's why I called in the first place--to get a code, and why has it taken all day to do this?" But I didn't--I thanked him and hugged my new machine that actually worked.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
The Simple, Easy to Activate Credit Card Machine
When you peddle books out of the back of your car, and that's actually what I do when going from one event to another, you need a wireless credit card machine. Simple enough, right?
I called a few companies that were kind enough to send me their brochures. I was amazed at the spectrum of prices for the same machine. Even more amazed at all the varying costs per transaction. Every time I thought I was ready to close the deal, they would say, "Oh, by the way." Then I would learn of additional charges and stiplulations. A process that I thought would take thirty minutes turned into a three day ordeal.
So now I feel I'm an expert on this machine, and I choose a company. When I receive the contract, (beware of these--mine was about ten pages of fine print.) it mentions being penalized for going over my maximum limit. I was aware of a minimum, but no one mentioned a maximum. After dodging the question for ten minutes, the guy finally says it'll cost me 5% of every dollar over my credit lmit. I put in for a credit increase.
To say I wasn't happy about the new information is putting it mildly. I thought I'd asked every question that could be asked. Why wasn't I informed of this earlier? He mentions something about them being at risk. He starts to explain, but at this point I tune him out.
You see, I needed the dang machine by Friday, and it's Wednesday afternoon. He had told me earlier if the order was placed by two that I would receive it by Friday. It's a quarter until two. All I can think about, is will he be finished with his story in time to place the order?
Well, I did get the machine Friday, but not until after 5PM. We had an event at 6PM. We hurriedly opened the box. One lonely paper lay on top of the machine that read, "DO NOT ATTEMPT TO USE UNTIL BATTERY IS COMPLETELY CHARGED." Underneath in small print stated it would take twelve hours to do so. No problem we would just activate it the next day.
There were no phone numbers in the box so the next day I called the only number I had. I got an answering service. I ask why there is no one to help me activate the machine since I'm suppose to have 24/7 help. I'm told they are closed for the 4th of July. I asked, "If you have 24/7 service, aren't holidays part of 24/7?" They ignored the comment and gave me another number. It turns out to be Lance's answering machine, whoever Lance is, doesn't ever call me back.
We're off again without the credit card machine, armed with credit card release forms. Right, like how many people will fill out a form with indepth information of their credit card, and by the way, you have to leave it with us. But we promise to shred it once it's processed. Didn't get many takers. Can't imagine why.
I called a few companies that were kind enough to send me their brochures. I was amazed at the spectrum of prices for the same machine. Even more amazed at all the varying costs per transaction. Every time I thought I was ready to close the deal, they would say, "Oh, by the way." Then I would learn of additional charges and stiplulations. A process that I thought would take thirty minutes turned into a three day ordeal.
So now I feel I'm an expert on this machine, and I choose a company. When I receive the contract, (beware of these--mine was about ten pages of fine print.) it mentions being penalized for going over my maximum limit. I was aware of a minimum, but no one mentioned a maximum. After dodging the question for ten minutes, the guy finally says it'll cost me 5% of every dollar over my credit lmit. I put in for a credit increase.
To say I wasn't happy about the new information is putting it mildly. I thought I'd asked every question that could be asked. Why wasn't I informed of this earlier? He mentions something about them being at risk. He starts to explain, but at this point I tune him out.
You see, I needed the dang machine by Friday, and it's Wednesday afternoon. He had told me earlier if the order was placed by two that I would receive it by Friday. It's a quarter until two. All I can think about, is will he be finished with his story in time to place the order?
Well, I did get the machine Friday, but not until after 5PM. We had an event at 6PM. We hurriedly opened the box. One lonely paper lay on top of the machine that read, "DO NOT ATTEMPT TO USE UNTIL BATTERY IS COMPLETELY CHARGED." Underneath in small print stated it would take twelve hours to do so. No problem we would just activate it the next day.
There were no phone numbers in the box so the next day I called the only number I had. I got an answering service. I ask why there is no one to help me activate the machine since I'm suppose to have 24/7 help. I'm told they are closed for the 4th of July. I asked, "If you have 24/7 service, aren't holidays part of 24/7?" They ignored the comment and gave me another number. It turns out to be Lance's answering machine, whoever Lance is, doesn't ever call me back.
We're off again without the credit card machine, armed with credit card release forms. Right, like how many people will fill out a form with indepth information of their credit card, and by the way, you have to leave it with us. But we promise to shred it once it's processed. Didn't get many takers. Can't imagine why.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Better Second Time Around
My second event went way better than the first. We still had lively discussions about "What would you do if you overheard a threat?" but it made the evening interesting and got people discussing the book. And I even remembered what it was about this time.
Thanks to dear friends who stopped by to wish us well, the evening was enjoyable and a success. Everyone we met was so friendly and in the process of the evening we made some new friends.
If you get a chance, go to downtown McKinney and visit Landon Winery. It's a great place and the people there are so nice. And the wine is really good. We definitely plan to return.
Ole Earl
Today was a monumental day. We moved ole Earl, the elk, from his lofty spot in our den. He didn't come down easily, in fact he put up quite a fight.
My husband, Ray, scampered up an extension ladder like a mountain goat to around 19 feet above the floor, while I held the shaky thing steady. Ray connected two vices to the beam above ole Earl and let down rope. He wrapped one end around a column across the room and handed me the end. He tied the other to the leg of the pool table. To make circumstances more complicated, the nail that held Earl was bent. Ray wrestled with Earl for over an hour, but ole Earl clung to the wall, staring at us like we'd lost our minds. It was obvious he wouldn't give up his spot without a fight. Who could blame him? He'd hung there for over 18 years. All that time, his noble head and gentle eyes looked down on everyone that entered the house.
But so prospective buyers wouldn't freak out over dead animals on the wall, we had to remove Earl, along with the deer heads in our home. (Fun having your home on the market.)
Ray made so many trips up the shaky extension ladder that at one point I thought blasting ole Earl with a shot gun might be the best means to loosen his hold on the wall. Before Ray freed Earl, he told me that he didn't know how much Earl weighed, so I needed to brace myself. I clung to the rope and envisioned being yanked from the floor and dangling in mid air along side Earl.
Ray pried him from the wall and Earl swung free, I was relieved to find my feet still planted firmly to the floor. But another dilemma loomed over head. Earl swayed back and forth and twirled around. His gigantic antlers lunged toward Ray on the ladder. I feared Ray would be gored by those massive antlers. But as usual Ray persevered, and wrestled Earl gently to the floor. His ingenuity never ceases to amaze me. Really wish we had taken pictures or better a video, but all hands were busy holding onto precious Earl and the rope.
It's sad to not see Earl in his rightful place, but we have no plans to put him back. We will hold a quiet vigil as we place Earl in the garage until we can find him another home. We will make a toast in his honor as we pay respect to this beautiful, noble creature that kept watch over our home for the past 18 years. So long Earl, we'll miss you.
My husband, Ray, scampered up an extension ladder like a mountain goat to around 19 feet above the floor, while I held the shaky thing steady. Ray connected two vices to the beam above ole Earl and let down rope. He wrapped one end around a column across the room and handed me the end. He tied the other to the leg of the pool table. To make circumstances more complicated, the nail that held Earl was bent. Ray wrestled with Earl for over an hour, but ole Earl clung to the wall, staring at us like we'd lost our minds. It was obvious he wouldn't give up his spot without a fight. Who could blame him? He'd hung there for over 18 years. All that time, his noble head and gentle eyes looked down on everyone that entered the house.
But so prospective buyers wouldn't freak out over dead animals on the wall, we had to remove Earl, along with the deer heads in our home. (Fun having your home on the market.)
Ray made so many trips up the shaky extension ladder that at one point I thought blasting ole Earl with a shot gun might be the best means to loosen his hold on the wall. Before Ray freed Earl, he told me that he didn't know how much Earl weighed, so I needed to brace myself. I clung to the rope and envisioned being yanked from the floor and dangling in mid air along side Earl.
Ray pried him from the wall and Earl swung free, I was relieved to find my feet still planted firmly to the floor. But another dilemma loomed over head. Earl swayed back and forth and twirled around. His gigantic antlers lunged toward Ray on the ladder. I feared Ray would be gored by those massive antlers. But as usual Ray persevered, and wrestled Earl gently to the floor. His ingenuity never ceases to amaze me. Really wish we had taken pictures or better a video, but all hands were busy holding onto precious Earl and the rope.
It's sad to not see Earl in his rightful place, but we have no plans to put him back. We will hold a quiet vigil as we place Earl in the garage until we can find him another home. We will make a toast in his honor as we pay respect to this beautiful, noble creature that kept watch over our home for the past 18 years. So long Earl, we'll miss you.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
First Sign
I was nervous as I prepared for my first book signing. I'd heard stories of first events from other authors, and most were not very encouraging. But you have to start sometime. My biggest fear was that I would say the wrong thing or something stupid--well, that shouldn't have been my biggest fear.
When the first person asked what my book was about--my brain froze. My mind went absolutely blank about a story that I know backwards and forwards. Not one practiced comment came to mind, and my side kick never uttered a word either. I guess his brain froze too.
I hurriedly blurted out, "You'll have to read it to find out." Great save, huh? I immediately handed them a book, and while they read the details about the book on the cover, I read it too! So things have to go uphill from here, right? Not totally.
The title The Third Threat and a banner asking "What would you do?" set off lively debates between potential buyers. Extreme comments--from a suggestion to close all convenience stores because they're all fronts--to reporting any threat would be a violation of an individual's right to free speech. We even had a couple pray for us. They never said why, perhaps they thought we were the third threat.
On the whole, everyone was super nice, and we had a great time visiting with them.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
chigger blogger
I was told to blog that I needed a name. Some blog names center on what a person does, and others use nicknames. I considered the deadly pen blogger, but it didn't seem to fit. It was suggested that I use my childhood nickname, but to do so, would call for an explanation.
I grew up four miles from the center of a small town. Which basically means that I lived in the country. My dad refused to let me own a bike (long story), so my only mode of travel was to walk. We weren't connected to our neighbors by a winding sidewalk. A visit to anyone involved a trek through a pasture or along the road.
My cousins and best friend, Glynda, lived the equivalent of three city blocks across a pasture from me. Not that far. But if I went along the road, it was more like seven. Now why would I even consider the longer way? Crossing the pasture meant the possibility of a confrontation with a snake lying in wait in the tall weeds.
Depending on how brave I felt, determined my route. To cross the pasture was always a dare. I would take the stance of a sprinter, take deep breaths, and then run as fast as possible--never stopping until I reached the safety of their yard. In all the years that I crossed that pasture, not once did I ever see a snake, but no matter how fast I ran--red bugs, called chiggers in northeast Texas, would attach themselves to my body--not just a few, but dozens of them. All spring and summer, I would be covered with red bumps.
It seemed I was the only one afflicted by them, something that I found strange. My cousins found it amusing, so they started calling me, Chigger or Chig, and most still do to this day.
I grew up four miles from the center of a small town. Which basically means that I lived in the country. My dad refused to let me own a bike (long story), so my only mode of travel was to walk. We weren't connected to our neighbors by a winding sidewalk. A visit to anyone involved a trek through a pasture or along the road.
My cousins and best friend, Glynda, lived the equivalent of three city blocks across a pasture from me. Not that far. But if I went along the road, it was more like seven. Now why would I even consider the longer way? Crossing the pasture meant the possibility of a confrontation with a snake lying in wait in the tall weeds.
Depending on how brave I felt, determined my route. To cross the pasture was always a dare. I would take the stance of a sprinter, take deep breaths, and then run as fast as possible--never stopping until I reached the safety of their yard. In all the years that I crossed that pasture, not once did I ever see a snake, but no matter how fast I ran--red bugs, called chiggers in northeast Texas, would attach themselves to my body--not just a few, but dozens of them. All spring and summer, I would be covered with red bumps.
It seemed I was the only one afflicted by them, something that I found strange. My cousins found it amusing, so they started calling me, Chigger or Chig, and most still do to this day.
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