As a little girl I grew up in a tiny farming community, 2 bars, 5 churches, a grocery store, more cattle than people, bad reception on the 2 channels we felt lucky to get, and unpaved streets. We learned to entertain ourselves, or clean, Grandma liked things tidy, so it should come as no surprise that I found myself in the back of my closet
I spent hours there, my secret room, I'd never read CS Lewis, we were fed a heavy dose of Psalms and the new testament, often quoted carefully verbatim by memory from my sainted Grandmother. Quiet, cool, safe from all my handlers, I entertained myself for hours in my secret fortress, occasionally coming out long enough to draw on the walls tormented scenes of cemetaries that my mother treated as art leaving it there years after I had left. Many a great adventure happened there, the world never knew how many times I saved it, because according to Grandma a good deed should never be discussed it should be carried out. Indeed, we should beware of anyone who felt the need to declare who they were.
School started, and I made a friend that lived nearby. I invited her over, excited to share my secret fortress. I guided her into the house, steering her carefully into my secret room, excited that she would find it as entertaining as I had. She saw was the back of a closet.
Years later, I bought a home in Alaska, built a lovely deck around it and began encouraging the birds and squirrels to entertain me with seeds and kernels. Excited, I pointed out to my friend how many things were enjoying the fruits of my bounty from the yard and on the deck. He saw was the bird poop.
The moral to this story: Share your secrets at your own risk.
I spent hours there, my secret room, I'd never read CS Lewis, we were fed a heavy dose of Psalms and the new testament, often quoted carefully verbatim by memory from my sainted Grandmother. Quiet, cool, safe from all my handlers, I entertained myself for hours in my secret fortress, occasionally coming out long enough to draw on the walls tormented scenes of cemetaries that my mother treated as art leaving it there years after I had left. Many a great adventure happened there, the world never knew how many times I saved it, because according to Grandma a good deed should never be discussed it should be carried out. Indeed, we should beware of anyone who felt the need to declare who they were.
School started, and I made a friend that lived nearby. I invited her over, excited to share my secret fortress. I guided her into the house, steering her carefully into my secret room, excited that she would find it as entertaining as I had. She saw was the back of a closet.
Years later, I bought a home in Alaska, built a lovely deck around it and began encouraging the birds and squirrels to entertain me with seeds and kernels. Excited, I pointed out to my friend how many things were enjoying the fruits of my bounty from the yard and on the deck. He saw was the bird poop.
The moral to this story: Share your secrets at your own risk.
