Inner Joy: Doane stuns No. 1 Morningside

Inner Joy: Doane stuns No. 1 Morningside: Doane stuns No. 1 Morningside

Doane stuns No. 1 Morningside

Doane stuns No. 1 Morningside

Loving Life- Low Maintenance Style

I sit here on this sparkling summer day and think about Love. Don't take me wrong. It's not about that kind of love but love about being alive. It's about the little things like summer at the cabin, the mother goose with her babies floating through the water. A deer that stopped and  looked both ways as I crossed the country bridge. Or the mother cat with the kittens. She's wild and had moved them at least two times. I know she's hungry and stressed. Will there be enough mice while I'm gone for a few days. I feed her.

My love isn't high maintenance. I've been there and while it's nice to be free from financial worry, I've never been a big spender. Of course, I write, and this cabin on the Little Blue provides my needs. For me, love is about the birds out on the feeder. The male cardinals feeds the females a seed to regurgitate for her babies.  How romantic! Or the wood peckers. We have three varieties of those red headed beauties. Even the cranky blue jay adds color. Along with those, we have the wild turkeys strutting down the road, slowing you up.Just across the way we have a 100 year old farmhouse along with a barn that's of the same vintage. The house has wanes-coating and a room upstairs where I can write. It's perfect for poetry.

Then to top it of that, we got a golf cart and an old boat on sale. The granddaughters come out here and ride over by the walking bridge. Better yet, little Anna and I took a walk the other night and went past the bucolic cabins that were built in the late 1800's when ferry boats brought people up the river to dance at the lodge or go into Crete Nebraska, a small college town.  Robert Taylor went to school here.(Doane College).
I hear about depression. Money is often an issue or self-image. I've been there, but for me, love isn't money, and love need not cost a bundle. Find your niche whatever it is. For me this is enough.

A Cyber Bully and Your Response

In a country that offers freedom, we have a powerful new weapon. The Cyberbully.....

A Cyberbully is a small and insecure person who lacks self-confidence and character. Think of them as being the size of a frog. They feel little and insignificant. So how can they feel big. They can increase their size by intimidating you on the internet on social media sights. I know becuase it happened to me. I felt powerless, embarssed, humiliated and very alone. I had posted a poem and someone blasted it. Why? 
Because they didn't write the poem and becuase I was having fun and my trust level was bigger than it should have been. I was not expecting that to happen. I confronted the bully who denied and asked how I could possibly call him that. Well friends, it happned four times with this person. They were no going to stop!!! I decided that my only recourse was to block the bully. Guess what? Now I can't post on Linked In. I went from being a person of influence to losing my right to say anything. Futhermore, there is nothing I can do. I can't offer any explanations for why I blocked them. Here we are on the July forth and I have no voice on LinkedIn. OK. That's all right. I can post here and I will.

Cyberbully- an insignificant person who uses words without consequences to humilate and degrade. Why? So they can feel bigger. So they can make you afraid to post or create a poem or write an opinion. Call then green, jealous, had beens who are power driven.

What can you do?
1. Remember: you are dealing with untrue words...A label and nothing more.

2.. Ignore the response and act like you never heard it. Ignoring is powerful. Ignore everytime they come at you. IGNORE

3.  You can leave for awhile while you decide what recourse to take. However, try to feel flattered. Apparently you did something right or why else would he bully want to put you down? A bully is jealous and troubled. They never have enough inside to thrive on their own accomplisments. 

4. Turn to people who love and support you. Frankly, being bullied can feel like a sting and blow. So go to your friends for reinforcement.

5. Study bullying. Learn what you can do. There are sites on line and you could even become an advocate for teens and small children. A child is helpless. When I was a therapist the best advice I gave was HAVE FUN. Always have a passion on hand to dist ract yourself.  Remember just how lovable you are and that their words are AIR. The are gutless people who turn to the vocabulary. In fact, it's easy to do on-line. Their are no consequenses...no penalties. 

The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen : iUniverse

The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen : iUniverse

Tracy's New York Life | A Blog About Life in New York City: My New York Sunday: What I Wore, What I Did, and What I Spent

Tracy's New York Life | A Blog About Life in New York City: My New York Sunday: What I Wore, What I Did, and What I Spent

Inner Joy: The Rag Princess

Inner Joy: The Rag Princess: http://goindiebooks.com/406110/ The Rag Princess by Barbara Franzen Developmental Edit-Ladette Randolph A Nebraska Story Meet the Cast...

Inner Joy: Inner Joy: Grandma

Inner Joy: Inner Joy: Grandma: Inner Joy: Grandma :    My Grandmother Stella ,  long dead, elicits the most wonderful memories. I can still see her when I knocked on her ...

The Rag Princess

http://goindiebooks.com/406110/


The Rag Princess by Barbara Franzen
Developmental Edit-Ladette Randolph

A Nebraska Story Meet the Cast:

 Celeste Dusty- a twelve year old farm girl-

 Socialite Aunt Sylvie from Lincoln - emotionally abusive to Celeste

 Pastor Evan (pedophile in desguise) who likes Celeste  more than God-

Will Temple-the boy from Celeste's  past with whom she falls in love-

Travel about the farm and field and see the John Deere's and Allis Chambers and Fords

Witness the Great Depression and Recreation-Banner Country Church, with baseball games
Cake walks, Box Lunches and the Harvest Festival and Canteen for WW11 and the Ladie's Union Aid, a Cessna, Vintage Department Stores and Lincoln's Sunken Gardens and A Street and see Shridan Boulevard at Christmas or watch Celeste fix her first dinner for Will and watch their first Kiss as warm as summer breezes and as sparkling  as  the fourth of July-


Meet the fill in cast of colorful character-1930-40

Bev Temple who fixes a traditional country Thanksgiving feast

Perky Ginny -Celeste's best friend from childhood

Country school teacher and Miss Whippet city school teacher


Fly in a Cessna, fall in love-learn about the worst abuse and the process of healing and disclosing

Laugh cry weep and dream---The Rag Princess on the plains of Nebraska-by Barbara Franzen

Amazon.com  Kindle softback and hard back or see the Link

Inner Joy: Grandma

Inner Joy: Grandma:    My Grandmother Stella ,  long dead, elicits the most wonderful memories. I can still see her when I knocked on her black screen door. Pe...

Inner Joy: Grandma

Inner Joy: Grandma:    My Grandmother Stella ,  long dead, elicits the most wonderful memories. I can still see her when I knocked on her black screen door. Pe...

Grandma

   My Grandmother Stella, long dead, elicits the most wonderful memories. I can still see her when I knocked on her black screen door. Peeking through her window, I saw her inching her way slowly towards me, then opening the door, her  face broke into a big grin. "Oh for land sakes!" she'd say waving her hand through the air. The next thing I knew she was drawing my face close for a smooch. A shrunken lady, because of her camel back, she would say,"Come on in," while her eyes laughed, "ha ha ha"...
   Stepping inside her house, I would take note of her long plaid house dress and her long apron. It wasn't unusual to find her baking her oatmeal cookies, an aroma that filled her house like potpourri. And if she wasn't making cookies, she was working with rhubarb or pitting cherries out on her back porch there in her house, beside the park, at the top of Main Street in Gothenburg, Nebraska. A one time homesteader and the wife of a rancher, who helped build the Union Pacific, Grandma cooked for a hotel in Brady. Of course, that was when she was young. In fact, she was making the pastries the day my French Grandpa came over from the saloon side of the hotel to the bar side. By the time I met her she'd moved to town and had grown fairly old. She was in her eighties. 
    Among the best parts were her wild flower garden, the fact that she lived beside the park, and the cherry tree in her back yard. My sister and I would get up on ladders and pick cherries which she baked into bubbling pies. My other favorite time was evening. We would sit down and talk about what we wanted to watch. Sometimes it would be a detective show or a talk show. I  remember how much she enjoyed Lawrence Welk. Even if I didn't like the show, I liked it because I was with her, and she was contagiously good natured, and because she was as talkative as I was. We spent a great deal of time researching relatives in my search for someone famous. They were either English like her or French like Grandpa.
   Grandma kept wrapped candy beside the couch. They were those chocolates in colorful foil. She had a gas log fireplace and a wrought iron, miniature stove that looked like a toy. Among her pretties was the flower covered china clock painted by Aunt Poe. Around ten o'clock we would turn off the TV lamp on her television. Fifteen minutes later we'd be laying side by side, Grandma in her silk nighty. We'd talk for a bit and make plans for the next day. In no time,  I'd hear her snoring. As soft spring breezes blew in through her window,  I'd listen to the traffic go by on Main Street, knowing that tomorrow would be as sweet as today had been.

Would You Believe Me if I Said...

Would you believe me if I said I was never sad, never had bad moods, or had never had a fight with my husband? 

Would you believe me if I said I never got lonesome or wished I had more friends?

And what if I said I'd never embarrassed myself, felt foolish, or wished I could do it all over again?

Would you believe me  if I said that I liked everyone and had never gossiped or had a bad thought?

And would you believe me if I said I never complained about anything like ice on the streets, boredom, hunger, being too warm or thirsty?

What  if I said  that hot flashes had never made me miserable...that I never worried about my hair and didn't care a whittle about what others thought or that my feelings were never hurt? 

Or how about my saying that my house was always clean with windows that sparkled and a toilet so white it squeaked. 

Would you believe me if I said there were no dust balls under the bed or that I still looked perfect at midnight when I laid my head down on the pillow? 

How about my saying that I said I fixed my husband a fully cooked meal three times a day and made desserts twice a week?

Just wondering what you would say or do if I said that all of these were true or said that even one of these was true of me?

The Rag Princess-Why A Book About Child Abuse-Emotional and Sexual

The Rag Princess  About Celeste Dusty Reclaiming Her Identity After Taken From Home

Following a tragic accident Celeste needs a new home. She is content living with the Temples-but an estranged Aunt Sylvie,a Lincoln Socialite moves her to her mansion in Lincoln
where she faces emotional and sexual abuse-

The predator is a popular pastor. Or is he bogus?

The other abuser is Aunt Sylvie-

Later Celeste's pretend boyfriend from childhood, a boy who was her best friend's brother, discovers a rag princess turned Cinderella- The ugly duckling has blossomed but remains scarred from years of abuse
A love story ensues in part three, the final half of the book

I chose to write this story due to my work with severely  with abused children. Multiple sclerosis cut my work short. 

 I worked with kids ages three to seventeen. The cases were heinous. Until doing this work, I had no idea how bad it really was. With Celeste's story,  I hoped to teach about the predator and the experience of the child. I included humor in the writing as a means of emotional breaks and because life includes humor. It is one way of coping.

While my work was with the children, I interviewed a male therapist who worked with the perpetrators. I think in order to catch abuse more quickly, the more we know, the faster we can intervene-The perpetrators are slick and good at what they do-using threats, gifts, anger, love, whatever the child buy into. 

Many CHILDREN are afraid to talk and if their abuser is a parent, they feel guilty at the idea of incriminating someone they love-or they believe they are at fault-It wasn't unusual for a mother to blame the daughter-not wanting to believe the man she loves could do this or that her child has been hurt or that the home will be torn apart.

1. Among those I worked with_One child that I saw was beaten so badly by a mother's boyfriend that almost every major bone in his innocent sweet body was broken. 

2.Another child had been strangled by his father. He hid under desks in the classroom and was afraid of everything much like an abused animal.

2. Another girl-came in week after week to talk about what she was doing wrong. It turned out that a very prominent parent was beating her out of rage.

3.With the sexual abuse, I had a child who was being abused by a predator, a friend of the family, while his mother, unaware, made supper in the next room. She thought the man liked her little boy and was playing with him. The same person had him for overnights and took him swimming in his pool where he proceeded to molest him. The young child was attacking other kids sexually.

Celeste, the main character-hopes to make a dent-In a sequel she marries-during the war-PRAIRIE BRIDE- a fun story-

Inner Joy: The Rag Princess-Approaching Child Sexual Abuse-

Inner Joy: The Rag Princess-Approaching Child Sexual Abuse-: The Rag Princess takes an intimate look at child abuse- Both sexual and emotional. Writing about the emotional was much easier. Deciding ...

The Rag Princess-Approaching Child Sexual Abuse-

The Rag Princess takes an intimate look at child abuse-Both sexual and emotional. Writing about the emotional was much easier. Deciding if or how to approach the sexual was far more difficult.

 I thought it would be simple...I worked with those kids day in and day out. Was I in for a surprise? YES- I spent three years writing the scenes over and over.  One editor suggested I skip it. Another person said..."But, it probably does happen." In fact, she said, "It does happen." She was right.

If I was going to write about the perpetrator and the victim, I wasn't going to gloss over it- as thought it wasn't painful and messy and heinous and frightening... 

I wrote about sexual abuse the way it happens, telling  what it's like for a young victim. One   goal of my story was ... to expose the perpetrator- to paint a picture of how smootly they work. They use gifts, they threaten, they find vulnerable victims and scare them witless. Perpetrators know what they are doing-They know their craft so well that they can be abusing a child... with the parent... in the next room. They threaten... telling the child that he or she will die or lose a loved one if they tell the secret-

I chose to be straight and to the point about this topic in The Rag Princess. I interviewed a therapist who has worked with the perpetrator treatment program for over ten years. 
 ...Regardless of the manner used to groom a child-the outcome is ugly-I chose to write it realistically, hoping to make a dent-a big dent...

Inner Joy: Inner Joy: Predator Scene from The Rag Princess by...

Inner Joy: Inner Joy: Predator Scene from The Rag Princess by...: Inner Joy: Predator Scene from The Rag Princess by Barb Franz... : The Rag Princess   Just Released on Amazon.com  digital or paperback A sc...

Inner Joy: Inner Joy: The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen :...

Inner Joy: Inner Joy: The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen :...: Inner Joy: The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen : IUniverse : The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen : IUniverse

Inner Joy: The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen : IUniverse

Inner Joy: The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen : IUniverse: The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen : IUniverse

The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen : IUniverse

The Rag Princess - Barbara J. Franzen : IUniverse

Inner Joy: Predator Scene from The Rag Princess by Barb Franz...

Inner Joy: Predator Scene from The Rag Princess by Barb Franz...: The Rag Princess   Just Released on Amazon.com  digital or paperback A scene where the Pastor has harmed twelve year old Celeste, rural farm...

Inner Joy: Predator Scene from The Rag Princess by Barb Franz...

Inner Joy: Predator Scene from The Rag Princess by Barb Franz...: The Rag Princess   Just Released on Amazon.com  digital or paperback A scene where the Pastor has harmed twelve year old Celeste, rural farm...

Predator Scene from The Rag Princess by Barb Franzen

The Rag Princess  Just Released on Amazon.com  digital or paperback A scene where the Pastor has harmed twelve year old Celeste, rural farm girl. Following the death of her parents, she goes to lives with socialite Aunt Sylvie of Lincoln Nebraska,-who also places her in the hands of popular Pastor Evan, a child predator. 
The story becomes a love story of hope when the grown, nurse Celeste, runs into Nebraska rancher, a childhood friend-A story of abuse and reclaiming the self. Laughter and tears and hope-a story written with realism in hopes of reducing child abuse- both sexual and emotional-a STORY THAT ENDS WITH  HOPE

     Celeste  felt herself being yanked up to the surface … tossed down on the side of the pool. Struggling, as water and mucus poured from her mouth, she gasped, coughing and gagging, wanting to dash over for her suit. That’s when she saw the blood swirling about in the pool and was struck by overwhelming pain. Her insides were split open, like a knife carving away at her flesh, her precious possession—not his for the taking. He’d taken regardless, having raped her.

She heard him yelling, “You dirtied the water… Here, take this towel,” he said, tossing it and her suit. “You asked for this,” he accused. “No one would ever believe you. Sylvie already knows about tonight. I’m disappointed in you. You let God down. Fighting the way you did, is another sin for you to write down. God expects this to remain secret; it’s his ritual and Wayward Home is waiting for you if you tell. I’m anyone. You are tarnished corruption; there will be no need to come over this summer. You are hopeless. God knows it is your fault.”

                                                       ***

Walking away, doubled over, Celeste felt numb and distanced. The man back there had raped a child, but the child was someone else. Instead, the Pastor had attacked a girl who looked like her while she stood at the edge of the pool watching.

If asked who the girl was, she knew. It just didn’t seem like she had been there.

Pain—that was the other feeling—the pain of rape. Stinging, throbbing, the agonizing rips were unbearable. In a dazed state, her feet walked her to Sylvie’s house. Surely, Sylvie would believe her and offer Celeste her help and comfort. She would remember what Celeste had told her earlier when she asked to stay home. However, her stomach said differently. Stopping, she threw up. Sickened, and smelly, and messy, Celeste was exhausted by the time she reached Sylvie’s. Wanting to lie down in the yard, instead, she went to the back door. Sylvie was in the kitchen making tea.

The sight of arrogant Sylvie revolted her. Why hadn’t Sylvie believed her? Crouched in pain, Celeste watched the lofty aunt turn to face her, walking towards her The woman’s eyes, scornful and appraising, were like a spotlight, revealing Celeste’s faults, blemishes, and imperfections. Wanting to hide the shame in her face, before Sylvie saw her, Celeste’s thin fingers were too slow.

“You there!” Sylvie hissed, staring at Celeste. “You knew there were locks on the gates? Why did you go over there?”

“Y…You said I had to go, “Celeste stuttered.s just been released on Amazon.com as perback or digital 

Inner Joy: Old Men and Body Stones

Inner Joy: Old Men and Body Stones: Darling, as we enter the final fifth of our time here on earth, I find myself finding you, a stymied nerd stubborn and narrow minded. Y...

Old Men and Body Stones

Darling, as we enter the final fifth of our time here on earth, I find myself finding you, a stymied nerd, stubborn and narrow minded. You are the crack under the locked door. A lump and a fart, needing to be right, even when wrong, and always a reason for being late or for anything you do That irritates me…like messy mail and scattered tools. But last Saturday night, following the birth of our first Grandchild, Anna, I sat and witnessed your momentary rebirth, there in Crete’s Pizza hut. You, retired and adjusting, I watched your face come alive. Leaning in towards me, your eyes a twinkle with imp and sparkle, you said, “I detest those stones they wear on the face, the nose, the lip, the cheek, the nostril… even the nipple. “Really?” I said, incredulous, wondering if babies nursed stones and choked, or if a jeweled mothers sat in sands, in faraway lands, gracious and glittering, offering milk from a smooth opal or ruby or jade. Then with the eagerness of a boy, you asked, “What would happen if I went up to a girl and said, “You know I think you’re very pretty, but I think you’d be a lot prettier without that stone?” You were so excited about your idea, the solution to the new generation. ’ Good Gracious,’ I replied, imagining the girl‘s cool glance, her thinking, ‘weird…get away from me you old man. I said, “Don’t you dare,” wondering, how many years of this with you?’ Then I fell apart laughing from the depth of my heart. Growing old really isn’t so bad. I looked into your blue eyes and saw, Walter Mattheau, a wonderful silly old man, and found myself falling in love all over again.

Inner Joy: Mature Women: It's Your Turn for the Pulitzer Priz...

Inner Joy: Mature Women: It's Your Turn for the Pulitzer Priz...:        If you're a mature woman, over fifty, you might feel a pull when it comes to indulging yourself: Back when you were younger and t...

Mature Women: It's Your Turn for the Pulitzer Prize

       If you're a mature woman, over fifty, you might feel a pull when it comes to indulging yourself: Back when you were younger and taking care of the kids and up to you eyebrows with your career,all you could do was fall in bed at night, dreading the buzz of the alarm the next morning. During those years no one cared what you did with your time, because everyone but you owned your time. During the few moments you had to yourself, you dreamed of the day you could lavish the hours away on a passion of your own without interruption.
     As women we give heavily of ourselves and though it's a bioloical need of ours to nurture and care for others, we find that we also have wants of our own. It's not that our husbands don't sacrifice because they do, but it  seems that when the kids are growing up, more often than not, it's the man who plays golf until seven or eight summer evenings or watches NFL, while we catch up on the house or take the kids to ballet lessons.
    At long last, but sooner than we think,  that time comes when we can have a vacation from  the pots and pans, stick the vacumn in the closet, and hire the wash done. It's  our turn to.pour our passions into art lessons or start writing the all consuming novel we've waited to write or play bridge five times a week... But does it happen like that? Just as we ready ourselves for a bath in self-indulgance, husbands retire and the "now grown" children want us to act like mature and proper women who can babysit 24/9, instead of being college girls seeking a dream. We can be made to feel "selfish or silly" for wanting time for ourselves.
     Has this ever happened to you? If so take this as meaning you are as important as ever. Your family still wants your brownies and care. In the meantime, go ahead and fullful that dream. They will still be there when you're up on the stage receiving the Pulitzer Prize and proud of you for all that you are. It's your turn.They will survive just fine, but expect to feel like a fish caught on a line. Meantime remember to laugh.     As women we give heavily of ourselves and though it's a bioloical need of ours to nurture and care for others, we find that we also have wants of our own. It's not that our husbands don't sacrifice because they do, but it  seems that when the kids are growing up, more often than not, it's the man who plays golf until seven or eight summer evenings or watches NFL, while we catch up on the house or take the kids to ballet lessons.    At long last, but sooner than we think,  that time comes when we can have a vacation from  the pots and pans, stick the vacumn in the closet, and hire the wash done. It's  our turn to.pour our passions into art lessons or start writing the all consuming novel we've waited to write or play bridge five times a week... But does it happen like that? Just as we ready ourselves for a bath in self-indulgance, husbands retire and the "now grown" children want us to act like mature and proper women who can babysit 24/9, instead of being college girls seeking a dream. We can be made to feel "selfish or silly" for wanting time for ourselves.     Has this ever happened to you? If so take this as meaning you are as important as ever. Your family still wants your brownies and care. In the meantime, go ahead and fullful that dream. They will still be there when you're up on the stage receiving the Pulitzer Prize and proud of you for all that you are. It's your turn.They will survive just fine, but expect to feel like a fish caught on a line. Meantime remember to laugh.

Inner Joy: The Rag Princress A Cold Intimate Evening on Templ...

Inner Joy: The Rag Princress A Cold Intimate Evening on Templ...: A scene from The Rag Princess-Now in production-Setting rural Nebraska and Lincoln. This scene is from Celeste visiting Will's home on T...

The Rag Princress A Cold Intimate Evening on Temple's Farm

A scene from The Rag Princess-Now in production-Setting rural Nebraska and Lincoln. This scene is from Celeste visiting Will's home on Thanksgiving..

      Evening was spent nibbling and stuffing, already full stomachs, on leftovers, building a fire, and playing pinochle and Scrabble. Quiet Mike was the winner at everything. He wanted Celeste to have his girlish prizes—a potholder in the shape of Nebraska, a plastic spatula with a long handle for stirring candy or jam, pink pillar candles, and laundry soap that smelled like a spring breeze on the prairie. Ginny playfully acted envious and tried to snatch them away. Celeste refused to let Ginny have them, hitting her with the spatula, saying, “Bad girl,” while Ginny yelped and whined.Finally, on Bev’s orders, the young people took their energy outdoors. First thing, Will grabbed Ginny and tossed her into a snow pile. That prompted a snowball fight, everyone creaming each other several times. It was the kind of night that Celeste promised herself to have someday.      After the others retired indoors, Will said he wanted to check on Wind and the other animals and invited Celeste along. The walk was romantic, with Will holding her gloved hand; he said that having her there was a blessing for the entire family and probably the reason Dad couldn’t stop praying.     “You know, I never told you this, but we weren’t the same family without you and Howie. You were like two missing pieces that make the puzzle complete. Maybe he’ll come out someday. Sylvie and your uncle could come with him.”    Talk of Sylvie and Mack, bringing Howie for a visit, set Celeste on edge. Will still didn’t know the real reason she didn’t see them. All he knew was what she’d said on their first date. Maybe she would tell him someday soon.     Unexpectedly, he stopped her just before they reached the corral gate. Not saying a word, he turned her toward him. Putting his mouth on hers, he pulled her against him, slipping his hands inside her coat, brushing them against her breasts and moaning.She gasped as electricity shot through her, wishing they were married and free to join together. Pulling him closer for a split moment, she thought she’d never forget how badly she wanted him. Pressed against each other in the moonlight, she let him hold her a few more seconds and then lightly laughed, pushing him away, yet aching for him, wanting him—more than she’d ever wanted anything.     Running his hand through her hair, he smiled and gritted his teeth, groaning. Taking her hand, he walked on with her beside her. Dang it! he thought.      The couple went on into the barn, where they talked to Wind and two other horses, rubbing their noses and giving them a Thanksgiving apple. Will stepped away to get some oats.When he returned, he put his arms around Celeste from the back. His surprise move tweaked her frayed nerves straight into a flashback.      Screaming, she blindly hit out at him, yelling for him to keep his hands off her. Shaking and white with fear, she took off running toward the house. He caught her, but she kicked hard, striking him on his ankle. Angry and limping, Will told her to go on inside, that he would see her the next day.

Inner Joy: The Rag Princess-Country School, Ginny Temple,age ...

Inner Joy: The Rag Princess-Country School, Ginny Temple,age ...: A petite girl with chocolate hair and freckles walked up to Celeste. “I’m Ginny Temple,” she said. “Who are you?” “Celeste. Celeste Dusty...

The Rag Princess-Country School, Ginny Temple,age 8, Plays Clara Barton

A petite girl with chocolate hair and freckles walked up to Celeste. “I’m Ginny Temple,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Celeste. Celeste Dusty,” a tiny voice answered.

“How old are you?” Ginny asked. Her long, ribbon-tied braids dangled to the tops of her shoulders.

“I’m eight. I’ll be a third-grader.”

“Me too. We’ll be in the same class together. There will be five of us, counting you. Four girls and one boy. I don’t like him though. He picks his nose. Mostly, I don’t like boys no matter who they are.”

“I don’t like them either.” Celeste hadn’t given them thought either way. In her opinion, girls caused the problems.

“The school’s down the road a mile. We’ll walk together every morning.”

“We will? I mean, we will.” No one had walked with Celeste at her old school. She was always the invisible one—except when her clothes got too patchy. Then the kids teased her.

“I came over to see if you could play. Like dolls?”

“Mine’s packed in a box. I’ll never find her today.” Celeste’s eyes flickered, looking away. As soon as Ginny learned about her dirty doll, the friendship would end. Oh, well. They weren’t friends yet anyway. Celeste had never had a close friend. “I’ll have to ask Mom if I can play.” Celeste paused. She might as well tell Ginny and get it over with. “My doll isn’t pretty. She has bad hair, an eye is missing, and one leg is gone. A dog attacked her.”

“Ouch!” Ginny exclaimed. “We can have a hospital. We’ll play Civil War nurses. I’d love to be Clara Barton. We did her in school. I was Clara, and several of the boys were injured soldiers. Will, my crazy brother, the one helping your father, was a doctor. Some of the girls were nurses, and some were wives. We cut up old sheets for bandages, using water from the classroom pump to wash the catsup off the patients. We also fed them soup.”

“Why the catsup?”

“Blood. We used chocolate cookies for dirtying the soldiers.”

“You really do things pretty real. Were you scared they’d die?” She smiled, knowing better.

“No,” Ginny laughed. “The stage was our hospital. We heated the bandages over near the stove. When it was all over, the parents had a potluck. I wore a Red Cross outfit that Mom made. I should show it to you sometime. We can both be Clara, and the baby pigs can be our patients. Or we could use dolls. Let’s ask if you can play.”