I saw something adorable yesterday.
As I was pulling out of a parking place
at my Chiropractor’s office, a teen-aged girl was getting into her car carrying
what looked like a baby lamb.
I couldn’t resist, I drove over as the
mother was spraying her daughter’s shoes with disinfectant as she lifted one
foot then the other. I commented on how cute they were, and the girl stepped
back out and showed me her baby goat.
It made my day.
The baby was 8 weeks old, and the girl
said her name was Shadow because she followed her everywhere.
The mother said, with no school, now the
girl has a goat. How creative. She has time to take care of a baby, bond, have
fun.
If you have never experienced a goat,
you have missed tremendous fun. A goat is somewhat like a dog in that goats
will follow you, go on walks with you, like being around you, and, unlike a
dog, they will mow down the brush for you. They are not messy, as they poop pellets
like deer. They do like to climb, though.
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| Baby Darling on Wilbur with Orville looking on, Oregon |
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| Baby Darling and Ra, Hawaii |
One might say that little goat was the
girl’s cornfield.
What am I talking about?
“Blame it on my high school teacher,”
wrote Martha Beck. Her high school teacher, Mrs. Jensen she called her, was
married at 17, bore her first child at 19 and was a farmwife and mother of four
by age 22. When she felt overwhelmed, she’d retreat to a field of corn and hide,
listening to her children search for her. When she heard a genuine cry for help
or felt ready to reconnect, she would go back.
Everybody needs their cornfield.
Perhaps that doesn’t apply to you if you
live alone. Now with this quarantine, you feel isolated and in need of some
diversion and socialization, but if you are cramped into a house with a large
family, you might need a cornfield. That girl needed a baby goat.
You need someplace to hide where you can
recharge your batteries. As I have mentioned, my truck (my office on wheels) is
my cornfield, although I didn’t call it that until I read of Mrs. Jensen.
Sometimes, I need to get out, but I still want to work, so I take my materials,
my dog, and I drive and park someplace green and beautiful, and while the dog
sleeps, I center myself.
I feel that we, as an earth-people, have
just experienced a factory reset.
Things will never be the same, but I
hope we will emerge more enlightened people. I hope we take some stock while in
that cornfield to evaluate what’s important. Perhaps work will change.
Companies might decide that much of their work-- via computer-- can be done
outside the cubicle. Maybe we will touch the beauty that is our own soul, and
become happier. Perhaps we will see that this factory reset allowed nature to
take a breath.
I’m impressed with the restaurants in
town offering take-out and grocery stores providing delivery. The Olive Garden
has it down to a science, with a tent outside for clerks to take orders, send
you in your car to a parking place, and wait for your food to be delivered.
Someone came up with the glass or plastic shields in front of cash registers.
Human ingenuity, I love it. These are the ones that drive evolution in a
positive direction.
I’m ready to get back to interaction,
however, and please folks let’s not develop a fear of each other.
We, at-home workers, haven’t experienced
much change. I work at home, but don’t make a living at it. (In my dreams, and
bless Husband Dear.) I have, however, spent the past week on my upcoming novel.
I am suffering the “Holy cow, what it, nobody likes it, reads it, and I make a
fool out of myself,” syndrome. My shitty first draft should be long gone, but
now comes the finishing touches.
Some people like to read about
work-in-progress, some don’t. I do. I love to see houses before they are
finished, artists painting of sculpting or whatever their medium is, and here
I’m talking about a book in process.
One woman explained with self-publishing that she had carefully
formatted everything, She had it ready for the press, then discovered she had
left out the page numbers. Luckily she found it before press.
What I’m afraid of is that I will find my errors after it is
printed. I’ll look like a fool and fall flat on my face. But as Robinhood said,
“Faint hearts never won fair ladies.” so I am plunging ahead.
I spent an entire day on the cover. I
had a front cover laid out, but then I realized that if I have a print book—my
daughter wants at least one hard copy—that I need a back cover, a description,
and a barcode. I wanted the background to wrap around from front to back, but
where would the book bend, and how large would the spine be (that area where
the title is listed vertically)? And the background I choose is limited in
size, perhaps it won’t be long enough to cover edge to edge with the front
cover laid out the way I want it. I know the book will be cut, and they have
what’s called a bleed where the color extends past the cut edges. So, I dinked
and experimented and wanted the bird on the front to be in a particular spot.
The Frog’s Song Publishing LLC. is
official.
I have two ISBN’s, one for softcover,
one for an ebook.
My nom d’ plume will be jewell d.
And I’m waiting for the Library of
Congress to give me an official number.
And that’s not even talking about what’s
inside. That’s the fun part.
You see, I’m hoping to have Where The Bird’s of Eden
Sing out soon. The ebook will be reasonably priced, $2.99, and
available while people have time to read, are perhaps tired of Netflix, and can
take my book to their cornfield.
