Fear

I looked and searched and tried to find something Halloweenie to write about. Was I afraid of spiders? Not really. Some are pets around the outside of my doors. They are cute, fuzzy, with bright shiny black eyes of different sizes and resemble small black grain combines. They can jump like fleas and generally spend their time hunting flies. They are a marvel to watch. Then there is the giant wolf spider that lives under my TV cabinet. Try as I may, I cannot seem to get him killed. Every once in a while, in the dead of night, I catch him racing back to under the TV cabinet. Where he's been and who he's been hunting I have no idea. Generally, my house is insect free so I don't know what critters he's eating. I am consoled with the fact that I haven't ever seen TWO wolf spiders so I expect he's a very lonely guy.
Was I afraid of snakes? Nope. I've got my own method of dealing with them and it includes a pony irrigation shovel. Snakes can be quite exhilarating.
Afraid of mice? No--a deep-seated disgust for them bordering on obsession--yes.
The dark? No, I can see pretty well in the dark. It feels like a dark blanket.
The sun? Maybe. It is pretty hot out and my skin burns easy.
People. Yes. I don't understand them very well. They seem to be hooked up by some power of telepathy that lets them all communicate with few words. My hookup is blocked. I don't get how they all know things I don't when I was in the same room or converstation.
Alone. No, I crave alone time. A minimum of an hour a day or I'm really ugly with my fellow humans--including myself.
Then it hit me. Fear drives me and has all of my life. Thats why I feel the need to learn, to examine, to understand. I have always owned a car big enough to live in if I had to. I learned to understand money and finance because I fear having no money for basics. I know how to make a fire from sticks and other ways, because I fear having no heat. I fear not being able to buy clothes so I learned how to make them. I fear not having food, so I learned how to get it, kill it, preserve it, and understand how to make plants or animals grow. I fear sickness, so I learned some healing skills and arts. I fear accidents so I learned about emergency medicine. I feared not having tools so I learned how to make them or make do. Writing has opened up all new avenues for fear. I fear success, for what will I do with that? I fear I have no talent and people are too kind to tell me to hang up my pen and go swimming. I fear that I have only a few stories and then will run out. Fear has a lot to answer for in my experience.

Now for the second half of this blog. The writerly half. Writers are supposed to write about what they know. That's true because they can't really use their brains to write a story unless the information contained in it is first in their heads. Think about that a bit.
All of our experiences, assets, fears, and talents are food for our stories. They contain the meat of them. The writing skills we learn become the bones from which the structure of the story hangs. My life of fears is why I write survival adventure romance stories. I can turn all of my experience at surviving as well as experiments into stories that have a natural feel to me as I write them.

Now for a true fear story.
My mother has always thought I should have a job. We were in the Colorado Rockies in a place called South Park. A water well drilling crew came to our cabin and drilled a water well. My mom was all over that as she wanted to understand and learn to witch for water. She did learn how, but also learned they were burning their food because they didn't really know how to cook. She offered me up on the altar of their hunger. She told them I could cook. Then she told me. I was nineteen. I was dropped off at their doorstep three days later. One skinny suitcase in hand.
As we came to a stop in front of a trailer house, I noticed a lot of the wood stacked in ricks. Lots of it. It turned out I was to live and work in this trailer house with three men. There was electricity--most of the time. The wood was used for heat and cooking. Cooking. Did you notice I said cooking? I had no idea how to cook on a wood stove. The crew was expecting real food and were so excited about it. I was to get up early and make bacon, eggs, biscuits (by hand) and gravy. I wouldn't have to chop wood at first I was assured. Chop wood. I didn't have a flying squirrel of an idea how to chop wood. Lunch the men would do on their own with standard lunch stuff. But supper. Oh, that was to be wonderful with steaks, stews, potatoes and all forms of wonderful things including pie. Pie...how was I supposed to make pie? I'd never made pie. How do wood stoves cook pie? There wasn't a dial or a thermometer on the thing...anywhere.
There wasn't a cookbook in the place.
There was a half wild cat that was half bobcat. I yelled at it to get out of the trash and it took out a window. First day on the job and I had a broken window to explain, and a missing cat, and no pie.
And it wasn't noon yet.
I did what any self-respecting teenager would do. I cried. Then I tried. Then I lied. I cried when I couldn't find any cookbook anywhere. I tried to get a steady fire going in the stove. I singed my arm hair off when I opened one of the 'eyes' on the stove top. Fire leapt out ten inches. I lied when they came in for supper. I told them all I didn't have time to make the pie because I was familiarizing myself with the supplies and settling in. Luckily, the steaks, mashed potatoes and gravy did the job of keeping their attention.
The area had nothing for signal--no radio, no television, and no phone. I found out I was to be left alone on Wednesdays while they went for supplies and I could have weekends off as the wife of the boss would cook on the weekends when she brought the entire family up.
That first Wednesday when I was left all alone I did as I was supposed to. I put some wood in the heating stove, wrapped up in a blanket to stay in that cot--not my normal room--so I could monitor the fire, get up through the night and put more logs on--or so I was instructed. I turned off the light. Crawled into those blankets--with all my clothes on. At first it was comforting to watch the flames. Then I wondered what would happen if a coal fell out while I slept. I'd burn to death. Then I heard the log drop in the firebox and bounce a few coals. Then I heard noises as the wind picked up. The groan of the trailer as it settled and changed temperature. Then I heard the log drop. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. The light dimmed as the fire burned lower. Then I heard the log drop. I stared at the glow until I thought I could take my eyes off of it and my backside was getting too cold, so I turned over. And heard the log drop. I was so tired, cold, and scared by the time morning came, because, you see, I'd only put one log on that fire. What had made that noise I'd heard every so often that I thought a log dropped? I never found out and get a creepy sensation to this day every time I think about it.

From then on, every Wednesday night, I slept under an electric blanket I bought that first weekend. I always let the fire go out. Before the crew got there on Thursday morning I started a new fire. I hid my electric blanket so no one would know.
After a while I learned to use the wood stove and have never made better food since. The cat came back and never got in the trash again--amazingly intelligent creature. I borrowed a cookbook from mom and learned to make pie crust. The pies that came out of that oven have never been duplicated. They were fantastic (really). There was a tiny hole in the back of the oven and it would shoot overheated air into the oven box, so, halfway through the baking I'd have to rotate the pie or cake or whatever was being baked. All in all, the experience is one I still hold against my mother, but I would like to have a wood stove to use occasionally (until I think about that wood-chopping thing).
The time was short at that job, not because the cooking didn't hold up to standards but because the wife of the boss didn't think a girl ought to be cooking in the mountains for an all male drilling crew. I never met her but thank God for her notions of propriety. I really hated having my jeans freeze while they hung on a line three days to get them dry. The men? They were great guys. All they wanted was good food--and of course--pie.

11 comments:

Reese Mobley said...

WOW! You are an amazing woman. I hope you're writing all these things down. What a wonderful legacy to pass on to your children and grandchildren.

Nina Sipes said...

Holy Cow, Reese! That's a nice thing you said, but what should I write down? I just admitted, in public, to being a fraidy-cat about everything and a fibber of epic proportions....

Reese Mobley said...

Compared to me you have lead a facinating life. I'd love to sit around a campfire and share stories with you.

Joan Vincent said...

Nina, I want you in my camp! I thought I was pretty competent in matters of survival but WOW you are woman!
Loved your post --so entertaining, so honest, so true.

Becky A said...

Hello Miss Nina,
Don't worry, you'll never run out of stories. Your life will provide plenty of ideas. I have a couple of questions for you. How do you know that the wolf spider you occasionally see is the only one? Maybe he's a twin or triplett? Does he have a unique identifying mark? Hmmm? And who says your sole motivation for learning all those things is fear? Maybe you have one of those inquiring minds that loves to learn. I know that I do. I also know that "necessity IS the mother of invention". I have learned how to do many things from scratch out of need. I keep at it until I figure it out, just like you. Maybe you have an ample supply of common sense that says, just do it. Or that independent spirit that refuses to be a helpless victom. There are a lot of reasons why you may desire to learn and conquer obstacles. Maybe you don't have enough challenges for your active imagination? Now, when can I come out and have you teach me how to preserve food????

Nina Sipes said...

Oh, Hey ladies. I never said I was any GOOD at the survival skills. But it makes me feel more secure to know something about them and to have practiced quite a few. Here's the one I'm proud of. My sister and I took a pickup to Brighton Colorado to pick up a huge welding generator that my DH had purchased at auction. We volunteered to go after it in a day run and see my brother for lunch. It is a 300 mile one way trip. Not a big deal, but my DH hates doing something like that in a day and what the heck, we were up for it. All went according to plan until the lights went out on the pickup and it died about 10 miles west of Limon, CO on I-70. We coasted to the edge of the freeway. It was right at sunset. We both were thirsty and needed a bathroom. It was too light to go over the side of the road and seek comfort in the dark. We looked everywhere in that pickup to give us a way to make a sign for help before it was too dark to read it. I ended up very carefully tearing the deposit slips in the back of our checkbooks into large letters. Then we spit on them and stuck them to the back window and side window. Someone saw it, read it, and sent help. It must have been a trucker because a guy from Limon came--he removed wrecks from the freeway and he could help us. The first thing he did was take us to town to a restaurant, and then went back and towed the pickup, put a new alternator in it, and then 2 hours later we were back on the road home. I've always thought it was way cool to have thought of making paper letters with no scissors and spitting on them to make a 'help' sign. It wasn't lifesaving or anything, but it worked. DH was very grateful we rescued ourselves and appreciated the guy for helping us. Evidently heartfelt thanks and paying for his services were not enough, DH sent him a letter and a pair of heavy duty jumper cables he made out of welding lead. (Almost too heavy to carry).

My mom is the one to watch. She went after a bear with a pistol one night because 1)she didn't like it sniffing around the cabin and I do mean sniffing. We could hear it. and 2)she wanted a bear skin rug for in front of the fire! You're not catching me going after a bear with a pistol unless it is very, very, necessary.

Nina Sipes said...

Oh, Hey ladies. I never said I was any GOOD at the survival skills. But it makes me feel more secure to know something about them and to have practiced quite a few. Here's the one I'm proud of. My sister and I took a pickup to Brighton Colorado to pick up a huge welding generator that my DH had purchased at auction. We volunteered to go after it in a day run and see my brother for lunch. It is a 300 mile one way trip. Not a big deal, but my DH hates doing something like that in a day and what the heck, we were up for it. All went according to plan until the lights went out on the pickup and it died about 10 miles west of Limon, CO on I-70. We coasted to the edge of the freeway. It was right at sunset. We both were thirsty and needed a bathroom. It was too light to go over the side of the road and seek comfort in the dark. We looked everywhere in that pickup to give us a way to make a sign for help before it was too dark to read it. I ended up very carefully tearing the deposit slips in the back of our checkbooks into large letters. Then we spit on them and stuck them to the back window and side window. Someone saw it, read it, and sent help. It must have been a trucker because a guy from Limon came--he removed wrecks from the freeway and he could help us. The first thing he did was take us to town to a restaurant, and then went back and towed the pickup, put a new alternator in it, and then 2 hours later we were back on the road home. I've always thought it was way cool to have thought of making paper letters with no scissors and spitting on them to make a 'help' sign. It wasn't lifesaving or anything, but it worked. DH was very grateful we rescued ourselves and appreciated the guy for helping us. Evidently heartfelt thanks and paying for his services were not enough, DH sent him a letter and a pair of heavy duty jumper cables he made out of welding lead. (Almost too heavy to carry).

My mom is the one to watch. She went after a bear with a pistol one night because 1)she didn't like it sniffing around the cabin and I do mean sniffing. We could hear it. and 2)she wanted a bear skin rug for in front of the fire! You're not catching me going after a bear with a pistol unless it is very, very, necessary.

Nina Sipes said...

Oh, Hey ladies. I never said I was any GOOD at the survival skills. But it makes me feel more secure to know something about them and to have practiced quite a few. Here's the one I'm proud of. My sister and I took a pickup to Brighton Colorado to pick up a huge welding generator that my DH had purchased at auction. We volunteered to go after it in a day run and see my brother for lunch. It is a 300 mile one way trip. Not a big deal, but my DH hates doing something like that in a day and what the heck, we were up for it. All went according to plan until the lights went out on the pickup and it died about 10 miles west of Limon, CO on I-70. We coasted to the edge of the freeway. It was right at sunset. We both were thirsty and needed a bathroom. It was too light to go over the side of the road and seek comfort in the dark. We looked everywhere in that pickup to give us a way to make a sign for help before it was too dark to read it. I ended up very carefully tearing the deposit slips in the back of our checkbooks into large letters. Then we spit on them and stuck them to the back window and side window. Someone saw it, read it, and sent help. It must have been a trucker because a guy from Limon came--he removed wrecks from the freeway and he could help us. The first thing he did was take us to town to a restaurant, and then went back and towed the pickup, put a new alternator in it, and then 2 hours later we were back on the road home. I've always thought it was way cool to have thought of making paper letters with no scissors and spitting on them to make a 'help' sign. It wasn't lifesaving or anything, but it worked. DH was very grateful we rescued ourselves and appreciated the guy for helping us. Evidently heartfelt thanks and paying for his services were not enough, DH sent him a letter and a pair of heavy duty jumper cables he made out of welding lead. (Almost too heavy to carry).

Nina Sipes said...

Oh, Hey ladies. I never said I was any GOOD at the survival skills. But it makes me feel more secure to know something about them and to have practiced quite a few. Here's the one I'm proud of. My sister and I took a pickup to Brighton Colorado to pick up a huge welding generator that my DH had purchased at auction. We volunteered to go after it in a day run and see my brother for lunch. It is a 300 mile one way trip. Not a big deal, but my DH hates doing something like that in a day and what the heck, we were up for it. All went according to plan until the lights went out on the pickup and it died about 10 miles west of Limon, CO on I-70. We coasted to the edge of the freeway. It was right at sunset. We both were thirsty and needed a bathroom. It was too light to go over the side of the road and seek comfort in the dark. We looked everywhere in that pickup to give us a way to make a sign for help before it was too dark to read it. I ended up very carefully tearing the deposit slips in the back of our checkbooks into large letters. Then we spit on them and stuck them to the back window and side window. Someone saw it, read it, and sent help. It must have been a trucker because a guy from Limon came--he removed wrecks from the freeway and he could help us. The first thing he did was take us to town to a restaurant, and then went back and towed the pickup, put a new alternator in it, and then 2 hours later we were back on the road home. I've always thought it was way cool to have thought of making paper letters with no scissors and spitting on them to make a 'help' sign. It wasn't lifesaving or anything, but it worked.

Nina Sipes said...

The 'leave your comment' thing told me twice that my comment was too long to post so I shortened it. Then it burped out all three. Sorry about that. Please blame the technology--not the blowhard.

Nina Sipes said...

Reese,
I love when people tell me their stories. I have a new ploy to get them. I ask people how they met their spouse and how they new that one was THE one. I've heard some of the CUTEST stories!!!

Joan,
Thanks! I'm on your team already!

Becky,
Preserving food. Yech. Didja know that people die regularly from bad food? It used to be a lot worse than it is currently. But every time some scandal comes out about food, I really get steamed up. Instead of widespread panic and disgust, people ought to take a pro-active approach--example: Do people EVER put their purse on a floor? In a grocery cart where children's bottoms have sat? Do they walk on bathroom floors? Then what makes them think their car floor or kitchen counter where they put their grocery bags or purse is so very clean in their own home. They are continually spreading bugs around and not thinking a thing about it. Bacteria happen. It is going to be in our food supply. Period.