I voted today. I was a proud American, voting for president. It was my privilege and honor to vote, and I’m grateful to live in a country where I can.
Here’s the kicker – I really hate politics. Really. Hate. It. Did I say really? The farce of it all, the picking of sides. Yuck. Not for me. But I voted, and I’m glad I did. We truly are blessed to live in a free country.
My latest character, Maggie, lives in the late 1800’s, and she’s far from free. Society dictates what she wears, what she says, what she can do, and she hates it. She’s defiant, and I love that about her. Maggie doesn’t want to wear a corset, she refuses to ride a side-saddle, and she doesn’t want to be fake or prim and proper. She wants to be herself…just Maggie. And even though her life has been shattered and pieced back together, she’s not afraid of moving forward. She’s finding her own freedom.
Here’s a snippet from Maggie’s story:
Mrs. McGreevy stood at an island in the middle of the room, kneading bread on an ancient wooden slab. Her crooked fingers worked the dough with power and speed. Glancing up, she grinned. Taking in Maggie’s attire, she cackled, “So you want to learn to bake, do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“No time like the present, I always say. Come on over and let me show you what I know.”
Rolling up her sleeves, Maggie moved in beside Mrs. McGreevy and studied how she pushed and flipped the dough in half. “What are you doing that for?”
“It’s called kneading. You knead the dough to prep it for baking. No mixing with a spoon for this. Maybe for a cake or a batch of cookies, but for bread you have to put your hands into it and give it a good once over.”
Watching the elderly woman work, Maggie itched to try. But first she declared, “I’m not crazy…I just wanted you to know that.”
Mrs. McGreevy cackled again, “No mum, you’re not. Not at all. You’ve just had a changing of the mind, of the heart. Am I right?”
“Yes, exactly so.”
“Nothing at all crazy about that. Some might even say it’s nothing but a blessing in disguise. Not many of us get to change our personalities along the way, and if I may say so, much for the better. I’d reckon to say that your conk on the head was nothing more than God himself kneading your life.” Glancing up, her old eyes twinkled, “You ready to give it a go?”