D is for Dreams Coming True

I am participating in the A to Z Challenge on my writing blog, Coming Down the Mountain, so anyone looking for the real alphabet posts can go there. However, with all these letters swirling around in my head, and seeing how I haven’t posted here for some time, I keep thinking of the letter D and dreams or dreaming of the future. What is a dream anyway except something we want to happen that hasn’t yet?

I’m a dreamy, imaginative, daydreaming kind of person. I’ve wished for a lot of things through the years. Many have come true, most have taken some time.

When I was fifteen and wishing for someone to love me (not my parents LOL), I would have been pretty irritated to hear that I’d have to wait seven more years until the boyfriend of my dreams showed up.

When I was eighteen, in college, taking writing classes, studying literature, and fantasizing about being a  la-di-da writer, I’d have been appalled to know it would be nearly forty years before I published a book. And a short one at that.

Sometimes patience is called for. Most of us don’t have patience. The elderly often do, probably because they’ve learned by experience that dreams have a way of coming true eventually. And those that don’t, end up not mattering anyway.

Like how I always used to wish on the first star of the night, the first robin of the season and every four-leaf clover I could find and every wishbone that broke my way that I could grow up and live on a farm and have a horse.

It never happened, which is okay. I no longer wish for a horse. Or a farm. But sometimes I wonder….What if one of my grandchildren grows up to live on a farm and has a horse and I can toddle over there with my cane and crawl my way up into the saddle and ride for hours on the mountain trails? Just what if.

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Writing Your Story

I love real life stories. From the time I was young, the biography shelf of the children’s section in the library lured me in.  Fantasy bores me. Give me a solid memoir any day. I’m curious about what people eat for dinner, where they work, where they go on vacation, all kinds of ordinary details that make up our everyday lives.

How to write the everyday details in story form is a challenge. When it’s done right, you get Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt. Or the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Sometimes you don’t care about all that, you simply want to get the information down in one place, in some kind of organized format to save it for posterity. Either way, we’re talking lots of time and effort– no easy task at all.

Where to start? With a collection of data: journals, letters, photographs, shopping lists, sales records– anything saved that gives information about the life in question. Start with a labeled box for your data, and later file and organize it. Collect it, keep it in one place, label and organize.

One time I did a presentation and signing at a small-town library. The women in this audience were from rural areas and identified strongly with Farm Girl. At the end, one lady sat there longer than all the rest, and with tears in her eyes she said, “I thought I would have more time to get my mother’s story written. She died last year. She was only seventy-two.”

Since then, I have thought many times of this lady. And many others who have read Farm Girl and related similar sentiments:

“I have pages of my life story written, but I don’t know how to organize them.”

“We can’t get my folks to talk into a tape player.”

“Oh how I wish I could do what you did. But I’m not a writer.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“My dad traveled all over the West. He was a cowhand. He told me stories of his life, but I’ve never written them down.”

“You wouldn’t believe my life. It would make a great book, if I could only get it written.”

Common thread– “I have a story to tell, memories to record, and I wish I had started sooner.” But there is no sooner. There is only today. And tomorrow. Are you ready to begin?

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A Farm Girl Christmas

(The following is an excerpt from Farm Girl, reflecting on Christmas during the Great Depression)

The Depression didn’t make any difference with birthdays, or with Christmas either, because children never expected much at those times. Back then children weren’t showered with gifts, not even at Christmas. I always got a book from Aunt Bernice and as long as there was Santa Claus, I’d get something from my parents.

One time around Christmas, we were in town and I saw this nice, big beautiful doll that had curly brown hair, a beautiful complexion, and eyes that blinked. She was about two feet tall, and you could move her arms and legs. Oh, how I wanted that doll!

Mother bit her lip and said, “Oh dear, Lucille, look how expensive it is. I don’t think you can have that.”

Dad laughed and said, “That’s not for you, Lucille. It’s not worth it.”

A few weeks later I was playing in the bedroom next to the kitchen and saw a box under the bed. There was that doll! I didn’t say anything, just pushed the box back under the bed.

I got that from Santa Claus on Christmas Day, and that was probably the biggest present I received from Santa or anyone.

One Christmas Eve, Dad came in from doing the chores kind of late.

He said, “Better get to bed, I hear some noises out there.”

I hung my stocking on the cupboard. Our tree was a few branches from a tree, stuck in a can of sand. You couldn’t go out and cut trees, this was Nebraska farm land, and trees were scarce. And you wouldn’t think of buying one.

We’d always celebrate Christmas with the Lutz’s, Aunt Dora, Uncle Jon and their kids. One Christmas Eve they arrived in their car, and it was kind of snowing. We could see Ford and Bernice coming over the hill in their horse-drawn wagon.

Aunt Dora teased them, “All you had was a mile to go, and you had to take the wagon!” Back then, people drove their cars in good weather, but in rain or snow they felt more secure with the horse and wagon.

I’d get a present from the Lutz’s, a present from Ford and Bernice, and one from Santa Claus. In my stocking, I’d get candy, an orange, pencils, a necklace or bracelet.  One year when Christmas was at the Lutz’s, my dad gave me a leather case with a manicure set containing a file, scissors, and a cuticle pusher. I used that for years and years; it was a very useful present.

I always looked forward to getting a book from Aunt Bernice, usually the Bobbsey Twins. I loved to read and always wanted more books to read. I couldn’t get books at the Red Cloud library because you could only keep them two weeks, and we weren’t sure of getting to town in two weeks. It was a nickel a day if you were overdue. We’d go to Inavale to trade eggs every week, but there was no library there. Just a post office, a bank, a lumberyard, a drug store and the Schneider and Waldo’s stores.

While Aunt Bernice was home from Lincoln for her Christmas vacation, Dad and I would go over there and visit in the evenings. Mother didn’t go, she preferred to stay home and work on one of her projects.

Dad, Bernice and Ford would talk for hours. Once I was telling Bernice about our school play, and I gave my part in the recitation as well as everyone else’s. I had them all memorized, and she was so tickled by that.

Ford’s house was heated by a round hard coal burner with lots of chrome that sat in the middle of the dining room. It had a point on top, glass doors where you could see the red fire, a chrome rack around it so you could sit close to it and put your feet on the rack. I’d sit on the little footstool next to the stove, listening to their conversation, enthralled by Aunt Bernice’s stories.

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Remembering Gratitude. And Maple Bars

My son in law loves maple bars. Two years ago my daughter gave him maple bars for his birthday.

But not just any maple bars. Think made from scratch, dough rising, cut in shapes, then fried, iced while hot, made in my own kitchen by my daughter and me maple bars.  We doubled the recipe. I fried for an hour and a half, and we ended up with four cookie sheets of maple bars.

Birthday party with fifteen people.

Menu: Two huge homemade pizzas with pepperoni, sausage and 4 lbs. of cheese.  Four trays of maple bars.

Cost: Meh

Memories: Priceless

That was the day before Thanksgiving.  Each year at this time I think of the maple bars and an over the top birthday party and feel grateful for a wonderful, over the top family.

 MAPLE BARS

  1 1/2 c. milk

  1/2 c. shortening

  4 tbsp. sugar

  2 tsp. salt

  2 yeast cakes

  4 tbsp. warm water

  4 3/4 c. flour

  3 eggs, beaten well

  Frosting (recipe follows)

Bring milk to boiling point and pour over shortening, sugar and salt in a large bowl. Cool to lukewarm. Dissolve yeast in warm water and add to lukewarm mixture in bowl along with flour and eggs; mix well. Grease bowl and add dough, turning to grease top. Cover and let rise in warm place until doubled. Turn out onto a well-floured board and roll 1/2″ thick. Cut in 2″x4″ pieces. Let rise again in warm place until double. Deep fry in oil heated to 375 degrees in deep skillet or fryer until golden on all sides. Remove to paper towels to drain. Make frosting and frost bars while still warm.

FROSTING

  2 c. confectioners’ sugar

  3 tbsp. butter, softened

  1/4 c. milk

  1/4 c. maple syrup

  1/2 tsp. maple flavoring

 Blend butter into sugar, add milk a tablespoon at a time until right consistency. Should be smooth and spreadable. Add more powdered sugar if mixture is too runny, and more milk and/or syrup if it’s too stiff.

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Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without

In my novel Uncut Diamonds, the main characters, Marcie and Shawn McGill, experience some rough times. It is the seventies, when the U.S. had one of the worst recessions since the Great Depression. Marcie has to get resourceful to make ends meet, and she gets ideas and motivation from the writings of her grandmother who was a farm wife in Nebraska during the Great Depression.

Many people talk about the poor economy right now, but believe me, it isn’t anything like what we experienced in the 1970s. *I sound so old when I say that* 

Along with a need to spend less is the current recycle, reuse, going green-type mentality that brings back some of the frugal practices of days past.

Like this awesome dress my friend made out of two T-shirts:

She took a red and a blue T-shirt, cut and sewed and came up with a cute jersey dress. Snip snip voila!

Because the T-shirts had been given to her free through her job, her cost for this cute and casual summer dress: $00.00

Spending money can be fun, no doubt about it, but only if you can afford it. Exercising cleverness and creativity like my friend did is fun too. Being in debt is a form of bondage that is never fun. So choosing frugality over mindless consumption of goods is a wise move when one is trying to avoid indebtedness or get free of it.

There are two proven ways to get out of debt:

1. Live beneath your means: spending less than you take in

2. Letting your money earn interest instead of paying it

Money can disappear so fast at the grocery store. When things got tight for our family, I tried staying out of the stores, even grocery stores, and getting by on what was in our pantry and our garden. Like Marcie McGill, I cooked a lot with beans, used eggs instead of meat for protein and yes, I have even made my own crackers.  And I still make my own salsa, especially when tomatoes are ripe and delicious.

SALSA FRESCA

8 medium-sized ripe tomatoes, quartered

1 medium-sized onion

cilantro

8 cloves garlic

8 T. lime juice (1/2 cup)

4 fresh jalapenos

1 tsp. salt

1 8 oz. can tomato sauce

Chop tomatoes and onion. Chop or press garlic.  Cut off cilantro leaves and add to mixture according to taste. Wear gloves to dice the jalapenos. Add the seeds according to taste: add a few seeds for mild, more for medium, even more for hot. I don’t recommend adding all the seeds unless you want super hot salsa. Add lime juice and salt and stir thoroughly. Add tomato sauce to thicken. Makes about one quart.

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It’s Either Time or Money

Yesterday I had a conversation with a son who needed to get something and I told him about a less-expensive place to purchase it. He said, “It’s not the money, it’s finding time to go buy it.”

His comment got me thinking about how it is either time or money that impact decisions.

Larry H. Miller was one of the wealthiest businessmen in Salt Lake, owner of the Utah Jazz and a chain of car dealerships. He died at age 60 of complications from diabetes. Those who knew him said, “He didn’t take care of himself. He was too busy taking care of everything else.”

People miss out on a lot because of  those twin devils, no time or no money. Sometimes even life itself as in Larry’s case. He had plenty of money for medical care but neglected getting it due to lack of time.

When Larry Miller died the Salt Lake area lost a great and good man. He used his wealth to build the local economy, to bring a major NBA franchise to Salt Lake City, to donate generously to charity.  The entire community felt the loss.

My husband’s brother also passed away from untreated diabetes. He was 56. Unlike Larry Miller, my brother-in-law didn’t believe he had much to live for. He wasn’t married, had no children, lived in isolation on an island off the Washington coast.

Once when my husband talked to him about his health, he replied, “Why worry about it? The Gowen men die young anyway.”

Their father and grandfather both died at age 60, thus his fatalistic attitude. He was resigned to the fact that his time on earth would be short so why spend time or money trying to prolong it? Being a self-employed carpenter with no insurance, this decision made sense to him.

Time and money are two huge assets bestowed upon us all in varying degrees and amounts, and learning how to utilize them effectively isn’t easy. Serious mistakes can be traced back to poor use of one or the other, and success is achieved by their wise use.

One’s perceptions about them are often based on emotions or prejudice rather than actual fact. And there are ways and means to accomplish goals without an abundance of either; like creative thinking, asking for help from others, and just plain old focus and determination.

Back when our children were young, my husband and I didn’t have much money. We wanted a large family, so we had one baby after another and money was understandably tight. One day my daughter commented that our family didn’t feel poor.

“That’s because we aren’t poor,” I said. “We make choices and live with them. We have what we need, who says we’re poor?”

She said, “Well, my friend Tara’s family eats the same kinds of food we do, like Toasty-os instead of real Cheerios and sometimes Ramen for dinner. Her mom says they have to eat that way because they’re poor.”

“Well, we aren’t poor. We eat Ramen because we like it. We eat Toasty-os because they come in a bigger bag and last longer and taste just as good.”

My daughter said, “That’s what I told her! But I just wanted to see what you’d say.”

Perception! Although time and money are tangible items,  they can shift and move and turn into slippery creatures of one’s own imagination. They fascinate me.

Not surprising that they are recurring themes in my books.  Choices made about time and money can change the course of a life. Such everyday, ordinary, basic elements of each person’s existence yet with such a powerful impact.

“Don’t say you don’t have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein.”~H. Jackson Brown

“Time is the measurer of all things, but is itself immeasurable, and the grand discloser of all things, but is itself undisclosed.” ~Charles Caleb Colton

“It requires a great deal of boldness and a great deal of caution to make a great fortune, and when you have it, it requires ten times as much skill to keep it.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

“The use of money is all the advantage there is in having money.” ~ Benjamin Franklin

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Introducing Myself

I am a wife, a mother, a writer, a knitter, a gardener and lover of nature, a blogger, a cookie baker, an editor, a creative genius, sometimes a madwoman.

I am a writer who has never been interested in finding an agent. At all.

I’m a fine editor, but don’t feel like an authority and dislike taking that tone on my blog. Yet I mostly post on Coming Down the Mountain about writing, editing and publishing issues– just not as an expert.

I am with a small press and have absolutely no desire to go anywhere else. Yet I think I am ambitious. Sort of.

I am not 30-something. I am as old as your grandma. I’m totally uncool.

I am not thin and attractive. It’s really hard for me to find any photos that make me look halfway decent. You won’t see photos of beautiful me plastered all over my website and blog. It’s all I can do to get one for an avatar that doesn’t make me look like a witch.

I don’t drink coffee or alcohol like writers have done through the ages. I eat cookies. I shouldn’t, but I do anyway. I love cookies.

I am not outgoing. Which is why I am much more comfortable talking to you like this instead of in person. And why I no longer do book signings and events. However, I will make an exception to that policy when and if I ever go to the UK, my dream destination.

I love to get emails. Contact me: karenjonesgowen@gmail.com

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