Having a bad moment at work... and to get my mind off of it I have come here and will write.

A little free write....
It is the beginning of spring everyone hoped that soon flowers would be blooming and they would be able to put away the winter coats that had burdened them for so long. But it was only the beginning of spring and everyone in New England knew that meant that they still might have one large snow storm ahead of them. The word snow had now become a curse word for Emmy Gregg and she rather live in a delusional world of daffodils and picnics in the gardens then having to deal with the still cold weather that gave her shivers when she walked home from Miss. Cole's millinery. She buttoned her last button cutting off air to her throat, wrapped her paisley scarf around her neck and wished her goodbyes to Betsy and Madeline. She was happy that she got to go home early today and still got the last few rays of sun but she dreaded what waited for her at home.

Mother was waiting for her at home with Mr. Simpson and Emmy knew tonight was the night he was going to prepose. Everyone in the neighborhood whispered as she walked by, a few young girls were brave enough to say "congradulations" as passed them but no one saw the sad heart that beat inside Emmy as she dreaded the idea of marrying Mr. Simpson, a man nearly twice her age, stout in figure and boring in looks. But she would have to say yes, mother would make sure of it. She would have to say yes and soon they would marry and she would be Mrs. Simpson of Commonwealth Avenue the young bride of Mr. Simpson. She would be expected to have three strapping boys and maybe a girl she could spoil and she would attend fine tea parties and maybe a Christmas ball but her life would be fairly routine and posivitely dreadful. But she was the only one who saw the negativity of it all, everyone else of Porter street saw this as a fine match.

Mr. Edward Simpson, born on Porter Street with eight brothers and sisters in an apartment no larger than a hat box. He was the only one to make it out of the dwellings. His parents and three sisters died of a terrible fever that had plagued the city one summer. His youngest sister, was taken away by his aunt to the country and he never saw her again. His eldest brother took off to be a ship hand with a penny to his name and died in the Boer War on the side of the British. The two others died in a drunken brawl. Though Mr. Simpson hardly acknowledged his roots he did give his money to the charitable causes that tried to help the poor of his old neighborhood and gave his membership to the Porter Street Methodist Church. He came every sunday in his fancy automobile and caught all the eyes of the mothers who wished their daughters to marry a fine off man such as Mr. Simpson.

It was on an ordinary Sunday that Emmy met Mr. Simpson. She had known who he was most of her life, he had the best pew in the church that he had paid a pretty penny for. Her father had thought it wasn't right for people to have pay for pews in church and therefore their family had sat up in the balcony. Also Mr. Simpson was the golden statue for the Porter Street neighborhood, every one hoped one day that they too would be able to make something of themselves and get out of the neighborhood and live in a house in the Back Bay. Mr. Simpson owned the most successful mercantile in the South End and soon he had a little chains of merchantiles through out Boston and one in Cambridge. Also Mr. Simpson could not be mistaken in his fine tailored suits and customed trimmed hats. So though Emmy had known Mr. Simpson most of her life it wasn't until the fateful Sunday that that the church held a little social for the newest missionary coming back from Asia and Emmy spilled punch on Mr. Simpson. At first Mr. Simpson was mad and mother apologized profusely for her daughter's horrible behavior. But then Mr. Simpson caught the glimpse of her soft blue eyes, amber golden hair, and fine looks that he calmed himself down and said to her mother's relief everything was all right.

My sister called me out

My sister who has now become a blogger, chatting about the daily works of her family (that I love to read) called me out for not writing much.
" I know," I said with a sigh. "I don't have time to write besides school papers."
Believe me they would not be fun to read. But I read blogs. Sometimes I get to work earlier than I would like and before I am ready to answer all my emails, I sit with my travel mug of coffee and read blogs. But my sister is right I don't blog much... but as my blog is titled "A journey through writing" this would be the low period of my writing.

I do imagine characters all the time though.

I have a wonderful little dialogues in my head of a librarian, no surprise, since that's what I am going to school for, digging through the of her library vaults and discovering letters from the 19th century (my passion in history). These letters might be from some one famous that everyone has heard of but no one knows her true history because these letters or maybe a diary has been hidden for 100s of years. Or maybe its a no one just a woman who seems to have a simple life (but there always has to be a secret). I don't have it all figured out yet.

What I have been doing with my time is....
http://womenmovement.wikispaces.com/
It is a path finder or resource finder as project for my reference library class. In it I am suppose to be helping a student/ information seeker that is looking for information on a certain topic. I have done my path finder on the Women's Rights movement of the 19th century (something that has always intrigued me).

Also for my history research paper I am doing my paper on a mostly unknown woman who was an abolitionist and a women's rights leader, Abigail Kelley Foster AKA Abby Kelley. I am finding her life quite fascinating.

What I am also loving about both my path finder and Abby Kelley is that these are women that pushed the mold of what a woman should be. Back in the 19th century the ideal woman was expected to stay completely in the "home sphere" and the women that pushed these boundaries I have loved to explore into their lives. Though I do often explain to people I am 19th century feminist not a 20th century feminist (for many reasons). But what I have loved doing about these projects is they have inspired my story ideas.

So Hunter, I will try to write more.

Awh Grad School

I would like to blame the fact that I haven't written in a year on the fact I have been in grad school but the truth is I have only been in grad school for a month. I have been filling up notebooks of story starters but I have yet to finish one.

This morning I got to work, way too early for me and I wasn't quite ready to start my day so I found this blog I haven't written in forever and decided to look at the blogs I used to follow when I made time for it. I sat at my desk sipping on my coffee reading these blogs and realized I do miss writing. Even though I write papers and read text books I miss writting for fun and having that creative flow again. My life isn't very creative now. I wake up go to work, where I work in accounting/processing, then I go to class two nights a week or go home and do homework. Its pretty much the same day in and day out. But I do need to do something creative or I think I will go crazy.

A beginning... The continuation of the story

A beginning- summer 1908

There was a time when we were all happy and innocent to the ever changing world. As children we could all be who ever we wanted to be and we didn't have to follow the rules of society. Back then it didn't matter if Parker was the heir to Norse Castle and was best friends with Ethan who was the son of Norse Castle's head cook. The gang of children would spend our summers in the Back Woods wading in the winding creek that divided Norse Castle and Southerton Greens. I remember it was here we could be a thousand miles away from everything or every one with only our dreams to play out.

My brother Marcus, who was then thirteen years old had stolen the copy of father's atlas and had perched himself on the large rock we had called the Captain's Throne. Marcus claimed that if one stood on this rock one could see all the way to the next county. He and Parker would stand on the rock proclaim that one day would see the whole world. I was seven and at that time standing on the rock I could only see the dense trees of the Back Woods that surrounded me and I felt sure at that time I would never want to leave Southerton. But Marcus made it very clear one day he would get off that rock, head down to London where a train or boat could take him any place he wished to be. Today however in the middle of summer the boys were much too young to leave their tiny bit of England. The boys or "the explorers" as they called themselves were Marcus Harrington, Parker Welford, and Ethan James and all of them sat admiring the new atlas our father had brought back from London two weeks ago.

Our new atlas was stiffed leather bound, with clean cut pages that had gold trimming on them. I admired the book for its grand appearance. The boys admired the book for the new country lines that had been drawn since the last atlas was published.

"Every day people are discovering new lands, and we can be the next ones," Marcus spoke daringly to his comrades.

Laurel, who had tried to climb the rock in her mint green dress and her flower pinned hat, could not make it up to stare at the pages the boys had been entranced with. She could barely see the pages through the tiny cracks the boys had between their arms. Laurel had always wanted to be a part of "the explorers" but could not manage a way to keep up her modesty and be an explorer. Laurel was then eleven and was at the age mother said "she had to practice her delicacy." I was still fortunate to be young enough to trump around climbing rocks or to swim in the creek and right then I hoped I would never have to practice my delicacy. If Laurel had truly wanted to be a part of the explorers she would have hiked up her dress and climbed on top of the Captain's Throne and prove to herself and the boys she could be just as tough as them. But the truth is Laurel didn't really care about being an explorer she only cared about catching a glimpse from Ethan who seemed to have captured her heart in early spring. She had done all she could to make Ethan love her. That morning she had spent two hours primping herself for our daily hour or so in the Back Woods. She had made sure every curl was in place and even put on mother's rouge and mother's perfume. Sadly though at that time I think Ethan cared two straws about Laurel and I had heard him snicker about how the rouge made her look like a clown and the perfume made him want to chop off his nose.

Fortunately for Laurel mother would never notice some missing items as she and father were off yet again to Scotland for a short holiday and were not due back for another fortnight. They had left the day after father came home from finishing his business in London. We were always at the care of Nanny Mugabe who every day after lunch took a long nap and expected us to do the same. Instead as soon as the weather turned warm us Harrington kids would run all the ways to the Back Woods not stopping for any breath. It was here and only here we found solitude and we grasped at it every chance we got.

Besides Ethan's harsh jokes I overheard Ethan barely noticed Laurel that day because of father's atlas and Laurel was left to her own devices of picking wild flower petals to determine Ethan's feelings. A waist of a good flower I thought. Maybe because I was younger I couldn't understand why my sister liked a boy especially when it was so clear he did not like her. Ethan James, actually had a crush on Susan Sedley, who was once a friend of Laurel's but that friendship was dissolved when Laurel found out Ethan, kissed Susan at the May Day fair. Of course Laurel didn't hear the fact that after the kiss Susan gave him two hard slaps. But for the past few weeks Laurel had heard nothing of Susan from Ethan and that made her hope he could like her. I quietly laughed at Laurel's behavior and how idiotic it all seemed.

The only boy in our gang who was not involved in the explorers club was Kelby James, who for a year older than me took much more an interest in fine works of literature than exploring distant lands. I didn't want to be an explorer either; I wasn't old enough to think about one day leaving Southerton. It had been a part of our family since King Charles the second. It wasn't anything grand compared to Norse Castle that had been built in the days of Queen Elizabeth but it was a prized estate. One that I in my small age still found nooks I could hide in for hours. My ancestors took Southerton Green from a lonely country home used as a hunting lodge of the third cousin of King Charles to its grandest scale being built in modern architecture when Napoleon was emperor. My Grandfather Harrington used to tell me of the grand days that seemed forgotten by everyone. I promised him I would recapture the grand days and bring them back to Southerton. Of course by 1915 I would learn of the Harrington finical destitution and would know to become once the grand family we used to be would be utterly hopeless. But right then in 1908 I thought no family could be better off than us Harrington's at Southerton Greens with a house in London and a mining factory in Wales.

"Fiona! I want to play!" My little sister Gloria called from the banks of the creek.

Gloria, my younger sister, who was then four, still, had her baby fat including puffy cheeks and stubby legs. No one seeing her then would realize she would become England's high class model by the time she was sixteen. She would always long for adventure but she would be kept from it mostly because of her age.

"I am not playing!" I yelled back to her.

I was panning the stream for gold. My legs were up to their knees in icy water soaking most of the skirt of my dress. My dress turned from a soft blue to an ugly brown as the mud splashed on me. I was bent over with one of cook's pie pans scrapping the bottom sand hoping to find any sign of gold. In one of our history lessons we had learned about the California Gold Rush of 1849 and I had hoped that our creek could be lined with gold but no one had ever dared to see. I knew why no one dared to look the water was almost a numbing cold and their seemed to be little success no matter how long you looked. Grandfather Harrington told me you just can't read history you must act on it, looking back on it I doubt standing in a creek is what he meant but at seven years old you could still have silly adventures.

"Fiona! I want to play!"
"No you can't, mother says you can't come in the creek."
"Please!"
"Laurel, you have to take care of Gloria," I pleaded.
"No! You promised you would do all my chores and one of them is caring for Gloria when mother is away."
"But," I moaned.
"Do want me to tell mother you broke the China rose teapot?"

I wasn't trying to break the teapot. I grumbled to myself that I really didn't think it was my fault that Pippin came running through the room as I was trying to host a tea party for my doll who I pretend was Queen Victoria. But apparently I broke the teapot and Laurel being the only witness to the incident had blacked me into doing her chores for a month. Years later I would find out Laurel told mother anyway but mother did not punish me because she hated that tea pot. The China rose tea pot was Grandma Harrington's and passed down to us but mother had always hated it and was glad when it was broken. If I had known that then I would never put up with Laurel's behavior.
Laurel finally noticed that my dress had become soaked and practically ruined with mud stains.

"What are you doing?" She yelled to me.
"Panning for gold like they did in California,” I said back.

Hearing this Ethan chimed in "there is no gold in that creek and if there was Lord Welford would have already dug it up."

"What does my father need with little rocks no bigger than finger nails? Fiona girl, if you find any gold you can keep it." Parker said pretending to stick up for his father, who was known in Parliament as being one of the cheapest Lords in the House. Penny and Pence Welford, I had once heard father call Lord Welford in one of his fights with mother.

“I agree with Ethan," Laurel said "there is no gold in that creek and you have ruined your dress for something that doesn't exist. Now get out of that creek and act like a lady."

By now all attention was shared between me standing in the creek, Laurel standing on the grassy patch of the creek bank, and the boys watching us fight up on Captain's Throne. No one had noticed at that moment Gloria had made her way into the creek and was getting to the point the water was close to her shoulders. None but Kelby James, who had been lying in the grass enjoying a bit of warm sun and strawberries to his delight. Kelby had seen Gloria make her way into the creek and slip on rock, going under quietly without a gasp or splash to get our attention. A large splash got our attention as we turned to see Kelby jumping in to pull Gloria out of the water. In slow motion I watched Kelby grab her out, laying her limp body lie across her arms as he ran to Norse Castle.

"See what you've done," Laurel pushed me "Gloria could have died, and it would be all your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yes. You were supposed to watch her."

"Well you’re older!" I pointed out the obvious but it was all I could do to defend myself.

"You promised you would do my chores. Why can't you just grow up?"

"Girls! Stop being such nit wits, arguing will not help!"Ethan yelled over us to quiet us down. "We should make sure Gloria is all right," he said a little calmer.

We both knew he was right and we both lowered our heads as the boys passed by us to run after Kelby.

Without thinking Kelby took Gloria to his mother, Mrs. James. Mrs. James would know what to do; she was the type of woman who knew everything. She was a cook, a seamstress, and a midwife if she was needed. Mrs. James always kept a calm head when things got nerve racking to the rest of us. No one at Southerton would have known what to do and they would have sent a telegram to mother and father before calling a doctor. But Kelby's instincts were right going to Norse Castle for Mrs. James jumped right into action when she saw Kelby busting through the kitchen door. She quickly cleared off the work bench and made a bag of flour a pillow and her apron Gloria's blanket while Kelby fetched for a large towel. She pulled out what seemed to be a magic concoction and poured barely a drop down Gloria's throat. I could see all that was happening as Parker pushed Laurel and me into a corner to prevent us from getting in Mrs. James' way.
But then we heard it. A wonderful, pitiful, sore cough coming from behind Mrs. James' body. Gloria had woken up and now was coughing up all the water she had swallowed.

I remember clearly Laurel taking a deep breath and putting her arm around me. As if at that moment all our fight was over and we would be happy from this time forth. Looking back on it I am sad to say our fighting did not cease and we were not always happy. I could tell the story otherwise but I want this to be as accurate as possible.