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.”