Vacationing...In Farmville!

When I started this blog, I wanted to write about my experiences as a new author and to use it as a medium for our readers to get to know me better. I have had great fun sharing my experiences and writing about the different things that have taken place since we launched The Angry Thunderstorm on April 1st, 2009. There were tradeshows, book signings, author visits, and other events. Needless to say, 2009 was a wonderful, action-packed year. Thanks so much for sharing the experience with us!


Writing a book is one thing. Marketing a book is a whole different story in itself. By late October, I was a little overwhelmed. The Holidays were coming. My husband and children had been very patient while I had lived my dream all year. It was time that I gave some of my time and attention back to them. There were several things that I could take a break from to relax my commitments a bit--Picklebear Corner was one of those things.

The first weekend on my self-imposed break, my darling daughter, Caitlyn, introduced me to Farmville, an application on Facebook. Most often, I visit Facebook only to see what my friends are up to. I seldom post anything--unless it is to The Angry Thunderstorm fan page. I had received a notification that Caitlyn had sent me a gift and that she wanted me to become a neighbor in Farmville. Another opportunity to interact with her--even if it was a virtual opportunity. I accepted her gift and agreed to become her neighbor; then, I was immediately transported to my new little plot of land in Farmville.

Before we go any further, I feel compelled to explain that addiction is something I have always feared. I have never tried drugs. I limit drinking to social settings. Why? The mere thought of something controlling and consuming my every thought scares the daylights out of me. That said, I had no idea what I was in for with Farmville.

I started out with four little squares. I planted strawberries; then, I left my virtual farm. In the real world, strawberries are hard to grow. In Farmville, they aren't--it only takes them four hours to grow after they've been planted. Needless to say, when I checked my crop the next day, my strawberries had already wilted and died. It didn't take too long before I figured out that each form of produce has it's own growth time. So now, I was having to schedule real life around when my Farmville crops were going to peak.

Before too long, I had expanded my crops and began planting different types of produce. I had peppers, pumpkins, strawberries, wheat and rice. That's when I learned that there were certain vegetables like artichokes that earned more Farmville cash. So I began focusing my energy on those vegetables. Each day, those Farmville coins began stacking up. Each day, my Farmville Neighbors sent me nice gifts, i.e., pigs, chickens, cows, turkeys and other little essentials to help my little farm grow. Each day, I watched my stash of Farmville coins grow and grow.

Before long, I had a chicken coop and three dairies. However, my poor little Avatar had no place to live and winter was fast approaching. Where was she going to sleep? With the cows? I set to work to earn a little cottage. This meant, I had to reach a certain experience level and have so much Farmville cash. So, you know what that means? I had to expand my farm and visit and help my friends with their farms as often as possible. Right before Christmas, I earned my cottage. But by then, I had set my sights on a farm house. So what did I do? I expanded my little farm and purchased a tractor, a seeder and a harvester. Now, I could gather my crops faster and earn cash faster so that I could buy my little farm house.


During the Christmas Holidays, I had a wonderful time decorating the cottage and putting gifts under my Farmville tree. With all the gifts my neighbors were sending, that tree grew fast. There was no snow on the ground in Austin, Texas; but, I could have all the snow I wanted in Farmville. While we were waiting on Christmas day to arrive, my daughter and I confided to each other that we were really excited about Christmas Eve. That's when we could open our Farmville gifts that we had received from all our Farmville neighbors--I actually received an alien cow!

My family began making fun of me for my exhuberance for Farmville. What had begun as an innocent activity with my daughter had become...dare I say it? An addiction. The dreaded thing I feared most. I was beginning to spend as much time in Farmville just trying to keep up with my neighbors as I had spent writing my blog and interacting with my readers and fans. Don't laugh. My neighbors were very competitive farmers. Talk about keeping up with the Jonses...

In my quest to break from the pressures of the real world, I jumped head first into the escape of a virtual reality. Farmville offered community, interaction, old friends, gifts and the ability to create your own virtual environment and wealth. In the end, I realized that I have these opportunities in the real world. I am proud to say that I have left the Farmville world behind. It was an interesting and very inexpensive place to vacation; but, I prefer to live in the real world. From now on, when I am contemplating a vacation, I'll just go to Disney World or take a cruise!

Every Husbands Nightmare - The DIY Wife

Ever had back trouble? Lower back pain is the worst; and it doesn’t take much – the slightest move the wrong way can take you out of commission for days. For me, recent lower back issues reinforced a few things:

· I’m not getting any younger;
· My sofa is pretty darn comfortable;
· And daytime television is - well... not very stimulating.

Daytime Television:
There I was, laying on my couch with my new best friends: a heating pad, a pain killer, a muscle relaxer and a steroid. While my new friends took the edge off my discomfort and set about to speed the healing process, nothing could relieve me from the pain of being held hostage by daytime television. I have one word for daytime programming: BORING!!! The Price Is Right, Let’s Make a Deal... Come on. Game shows, soap operas, talk shows. Even the movies on cable were lame. Ellen, Oprah, Tyra – a bunch of fodder on The View. It didn’t take long to get my own “view." Give me something interesting and informative to watch – something that will encourage me to do more things and make my life better. I kept helplessly clicking from one channel to another. Then I found it. Channel 207. The DIY Network.

DIY Network:
Bathtastic, Sweat Equity, House Crashers, Yard Crashers, Disaster House, Kitchen Impossible, Garage Mahal, Renovation Realities (the ugly side of renovation) – all of these are programs that show DIYers... well... DIYing. In one afternoon, I learned:

· How to install a toilet;
· Simple ways to give my home more curb appeal;
· How to determine if a wall is a load-bearing wall;
· Patching Hardwood Floors;
· Tips for installing accent lighting;
· How to use the newest cool tools;
· Installing tile.

And in between shows, DIY Network has these little 30-second instructional spots on everything from building a fire pit to replacing window screens. When my husband came home that afternoon, I began telling him how easy it would be to refinish this or replace that… Obviously, he thought that my new friends were having an adverse affect on me.

I’ll Show Him…
The following weekend, I was getting around much better. I had taken all my medications and had begun physical therapy for my back. The first cool front had blown in and it was a beautiful day. I wanted to open up the windows – but I couldn’t. The screens were old and the dogs had scratched huge holes in them. John had been putting off replacing them because we had five custom screens to replace and it was going to take two weeks and cost close to $200 to have them fixed. Then, I had a 30-second flashback. I did some quick measurements and calculations, then John and I got into the car and drove to our local True Value Hardward Store.

Turns out that our True Value hardware man was a woman. She quoted us a price of $185 for repairing the screens and confirmed that it would take two weeks to complete the order. Then I decided to show my savvy. I asked the woman if they carried a 36” inch stainless steel insect mesh. “Yes ma’am,” she said. Great! John, who is a contractor, nudged me and told me to be quiet. “I’ll need about 14 feet of the 36” stainless insect mesh," I said. "And what about that black strip that acts like a gasket and holds the mesh in place – the SPLINE?!?” “Yes ma’am,” she said. "Do you know what guage you will need?" I think it is a .180 round," I said. “Great!” John shot me a quizzical look. I gave the woman my calculations for the spline. “And I’ll need that special tool too – the splining tool… Yeah the splining tool. No not the metal one," I said. "I understand it can actually damage the mesh during installation. I’ll take the cheaper plastic splining tool. Thank you! You have truly been a person of true value to me.”

John and I headed to the register. The whole way I was being lectured on how I was probably going to end up costing us more money because I didn't know what I was doing. What do you mean? I just had a very knowledgeable conversation with another woman who knows her stuff. The cashier rang up our sale. "Twenty-seven dollars and eighty-three cents," she said. Wow! Is that all? That’s not quite $185 worth of material. I was beginning to second-guess myself. I had done the measurements and calculations twice and had added enough overage. Certainly I hadn’t miscalculated. Had I?

The lecture on the way home was less intense. After all, if I failed, the cost would be a minimal $27.83. We got home and John helped me removed the old screening. Then I got a small piece of plywood and laid it over the kitchen table. I placed the first screen frame on the plywood and unrolled the screen coil just enough to cover the frame. Then, I zipped around the frame with the convex edge of the splining wheel forcing the screen edges into the frame. After that, I took the spline and forced it into the frame edge using the concave edge of the splining wheel. In less than 15 minutes, I had replaced my first screen. Upon completing the last screen, I had exactly two inches of overage. I hadn’t miscalculated. For $27.83, I had done my first DIY project. I saved approximately $157 by doing the project myself and I did it in one afternoon. I opened my windows and felt the cool fresh air as it rushed through the screens and felt the satisfaction of a project done well, done quickly and done cost effectively. And...You can bet your sweet penny it won’t be my last DIY project!

Favorite Teachers...Revisited

Recently, having visited the wonderful teachers in Pocahontas County, West Virginia, I spoke of the wonderful teachers who reminded me so much of my favorite teacher, Clara B. Walker. [Posted: August 16, 2009] Mrs. Walker taught me in the third grade at Wooten Elementary School in Austin, Texas. At the end of the post, I mentioned that I might look her up so that I could tell her thank you. Well, I did!

The search for Mrs. Walker began with Google. Soon I found myself looking at ancestry records and the like. I would never find her this way. So I did what I would have done in the third grade. I found a telephone book and I searched for Walker, Clara. Bingo! It was definitely the Clara Walker I was looking for. I recall her telling us about her husband and recognized his name. I wrote down her address and telephone number.

The following week, I sent Mrs. Walker a copy of The Angry Thunderstorm, along with a letter. Not sure if she would remember me, I explained that she had taught me in the third grade and that I remembered her fondly. I shared my memories of her class and then, I thanked her for dedication to her profession. I explained that, through her, I had developed a love of poetry and writing that had lasted throughout the years. The book that she was receiving was a direct result of how she touched my life and how that one year as her student had shaped my being.

A few days later, I received a letter in the mail. I knew right away who it was from. The perfect cursive handwriting said it all. The first words I read were, CONGRATULATIONS! CONGRATULATIONS! CONGRATULATIONS! The same enthusiasm she had shown in the classroom resounded in her handwritten note. She told me that she had shared the book with her friends and that they were interested in having a book of their own for the children in their lives. And...she asked if I would stop by for a visit.

Last week, after work, my son and I visited Mrs. Walker. She had invited approximately thirteen of her friends to her home and we had a private reading and an enjoyable evening full of conversation. It was such a privilege for my son, Ryan, who is in the sixth grade, to get to visit with my teacher. Believe me, he had plenty of questions for her.

Later that evening, on our way home, Ryan said, "Mom, you were lucky to have such a great teacher. Mrs. Walker is the nicest person I have ever met." Then it dawned on me...just as I had been in 1973, Ryan, too, had been touched by this wonderful woman. And...although she is retired from her profession, she will never cease to be a wonderful teacher!

P.S. - We hope to post pictures of our visit very soon!

Jelly Mom Book Review

The latest book review for The Angry Thunderstorm by Jelly Mom.

http://jellymom-bookreviews.blogspot.com/

Incredible Journeys...

Recently, I traveled with my children to a place I have visited often since my childhood - Velma, Oklahoma. That's where my grandparents lived. Anyone familiar with the State knows that much of Oklahoma remains rural. Velma is one of those tiny rural towns tucked along Highway 7. If you are traveling west on Highway 7 towards Lawton, don't blink or you just might miss it! Three generations of Cartwrights have stomped the ground there...several more are sure to follow.

For as long as I can remember, we have driven the same route to Velma. From Austin, we travel north up the IH-35 corridor to Ardmore. Then, we head west to Ringling. In Ringling, we head north for about ten miles to Pinto and turn left on County Road 53 to Loco. On the outskirts of Loco (again, don't blink because you'll miss it) is a four-way stop. There we turn right onto a narrow, poorly paved road. As many times as I have traveled this road, I still cannot tell you the name of it. I have always called it "the road to Loco." [I know what you are thinking - Loco is an odd name for a town. It got its name from what was then known as the "loco weed" that grew wild there. ] Anyway, we take the Loco Road until it dead ends into another road I have dubbed The Road to Granny Bea's House and we turn left. In less than a mile, the pavement turns to gravel and dirt. And just before you choke on all the dust flying around, on the left is a little yellow house with green trim - Granny Bea's house.

I spent many a summer at the little yellow house that sits in the middle of nowhere. Even though there wasn't anything to do (in terms of the things that kids do today), there never seemed to be a lack of things to do. My brothers and sisters and I would romp all over the countryside with our cousins. We ate watermelon on the porch seeing who could spit seeds the furthest. We would eat hand-cranked ice cream and wave at the few passersby on the dirt road. We would run through the dirt devils that would spin up the driveway. At night, we would sit around in the back yard telling scary stories while the coyotes howled in the acreage behind the house - or playing Ghost on the Raft. When it was time for bed, Granny would make us wash the red dirt off of our feet and douse off in the shower. Then we'd pile as many as four to a bed where we would go to sleep thinking about the fun we would have the next day. Each day seemed to be measured by having more fun than the day before. I cannot recall a time that I was ever bored.

Something was always cooking on the stove. We would wake up to the smell of bacon and fried potatos, biscuits and chocolate gravy. [Yes. Chocolate gravy - a chocolate sauce poured over hot, buttered biscuits. Don't knock it until you've tried it.] Chocolate gravy is some of the best stuff I have ever eaten. About the only thing that rivaled her chocolate gravy was her chicken and dumplings. Moist, juicy check swimming in a sauce that was not too creamy and not too thin. The dumplings never fell apart. They were fluffy but dense - little pillows of boiled dough that melded the flavors of the chicken and the broth. Perfection! Granny tried to teach me to make them once; but, to this day I have never been able to get my dumplings to come out like hers.

Today, in a time of X-Box and Playstations, iPods and cable, McDonalds and Burger King, netbooks and laptops, the little yellow house in the middle of no particular place still holds the same excitement for my children. They are always happy to visit. For a few days, the gadgets are traded for hide and seek, catching frogs, climbing on hay bales and chunking rocks. They play all day with their cousins. They romp around the countryside hooting and hollering to their hearts content. They sit in a circle and tell ghost stories and watch for shooting stars at night. And when it's time to go to bed, they wash the red dirt off of their feet and douse off in the shower; then pile as many as four at a time into a bed knowing they'll have just as much fun the next morning when they wake up.

Each time I stir up the dust driving down that little dirt road, something stirs inside my heart. Going to Granny Bea's house was always an incredible journey. Although she left us a few years ago and is gone from our midst, her presence still resides in the small community where she lived. There is the beauty shop where she had her hair fixed. Martin's Grocery Store. Or, the dance floor at picnic grounds where she would dance a jig or two. She loved to dance. And when her body would not allow her to dance any longer; she would sit at the picnic grounds in her lawn chair tapping her toe to the music and watching everyone else.

I have been many places - traveled by train, bus, airplane or automobile. I have seen the ocean, the mountains, the birthplace of America. But the most incredible journey for me is going back to Granny Bea's. Each time I go there, the car may be going forward, but I am traveling backwards through time to a place where children still run barefoot and play in the dirt. The sun kisses little freckled faces... and a grandmother's hug solves all the problems of the world.

Favorite Teachers...

Clara B. Walker. My third-grade teacher. I remember her distinctly - a robust, African-American woman with a jolly laugh who loved children and her job. She suffered with us through our struggles and celebrated our triumphs - not only with our curriculum - but in our lives. I recall her stopping by my home for a visit because she "happened to be in the neighborhood." She made it a point to visit all of her students. Becoming acquainted with our home lives and situations helped her to understand her students. She was my favorite teacher and her fingerprints have left their indelible mark in shaping the person that I am today.

I thought of Mrs. Walker recently during my visit to West Virginia where I met the fine teachers of Greenbank, Hillsboro and Marlinton at the 2009 Summer Reading Academy. I had been invited to perform a special reading of The Angry Thunderstorm and to introduce the curriculum for the book with the Reading Instruction Co. I was very honored to have been asked to present the book to such an extraordinary group.

I am not an educator. In fact, I am probably the worst candidate there could possibly be for this role. I love children and love entertaining them. However, teaching requires great patience and the ability to articulate and adapt for different learning types. Listening to the conversations during the professional development sessions, it was clear that, while I have always remembered Mrs. Walker fondly, I never appreciated her (as well as the other teachers who taught me) as much as I should have.


What struck me and took me back to my third-grade teacher was the level of passion these teachers have for their communites, their schools and their students. Their conversations ranged from shared struggles to sure-fired strategies that were working in the classroom - a collaborative group effort where nobody had the corner on the smarts. Instead, the only focus was becoming better advocates and teachers and developing strong readers. I was touched by both their experiences and their dedication to their profession - a profession that is built on a solid purpose beyond making money.




Thank you, Pocahontas County, for having me at your Summer Reading Academy. I am grateful for having had the pleasure and for the trip down memory lane. I am going to try and locate Mrs. Walker and see if she is up for a visit. I would love to personally tell her thank you.

Book Review: Follow The River by James Alexander Thom

Last week, I traveled to Pocahontas County, West Virginia, nature's mountain playground situated between the Appalachian and Allegheny Mountains. I accompanied my friend, Ann B. Fiala, Founder of Reading Instruction Co., to do a special reading for the teachers of several school districts within the county and to introduce the curriculum that Ann has created for The Angry Thunderstorm [much more about this exciting event in my next posting].

Before we boarded our flight as we were departing Austin, Ann gave me a copy of the book, Follow The River by James Alexander Thom. She told me that I might find the story interesting because the setting of the story takes place in the area we would be visiting. Now, anytime Ann B. Fiala gives me a book, I can always count on it being an excellent read and I gladly accept it. So...I began my journey reading about another woman's remarkable journey.

Follow The River is based on the true story of Mary Draper Ingles, a young pioneer woman captured by the Shawnee Indians during the French and Indian War in 1755. Late into pregnancy and due to give birth any day, Mary was led away along with her two young sons, her sister-in-law and another gentleman from her settlement. At the time, they were the only known survivors to follow the bloody massacre of family members and friends in the Draper's Meadow settlement. During her captivity, Mary would be taken some six hundred miles from her home across uncharted territory that had yet to be traveled by the white man. Three days into this journey, she gave birth to a little girl.

From the onset of her captivity, the young woman knew that if she were to survive, she would have to keep her emotions low and her wit strong. Dignity became her tool for survival. Memory and instinct became her determination. The dream of a return to Draper's Meadow [and to her husband whom she assumed to be alive] became her purpose.

The hardships she faced along the trail were equaled to the hardships she faced upon arriving at the Indian camp. She witnessed her fellow captors run the gauntlet. She was made to watch as some of the captives were burned at the stake. Her days were spent working endlessly for the two French traders, sewing shirts for trade with the Indians. Her sons were taken from her. She was sold to the two French traders and forced to work in the salt camp. The ultimate sacrifice came when she made the decision to leave her baby in order to make her escape and arduous journey home.

Follow The River leaves nothing to the imagination in this incredible account. The terrain. The scenery. The weather. The wildlife. [I read that the author actually walked the route of Mary Draper Ingles return so that he could provide the most accurate account possible.] As a visitor to this beautiful, inspiring, yet still somewhat wild part of the country, I was able to connect with the tribulations of this remarkable woman. While we often hear about resourceful men who settled our great nation, it was a welcome change to read a story about a woman who managed to do something that no man of her time would ever dare to do.