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Cold Water – The Shaping of a Female Entrepreneur
By Deborah | July 10, 2008
Chapter 1
“The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself.”
Mark Twain
It was damp and cold under the bleachers where I sat crouched so no one could see me. I could hear faint voices from the adults perched in the gazebo nearby as they watched the other children playing. I looked forward to this day for a longtime. I couldn’t wait until the end of school. This was it. The last few days of the school year were reserved for the class picnic. At 10-1/2 years old, it doesn’t get much better than a picnic of hot dogs and games in the park. And, this was Moorland Park. My favorite place in the world. Or, it used to be. Today is was lonely, cold and dark.
The rain started slowly coming over the hills. I could smell it from my hideaway. Parents and children began swarming the gazebo. In the commotion, I heard my mother ask about me. At first it was a casual interest, and then I could hear in her voice…she was more than a little concerned. I had a birds-eye view of the frantic search beginning, but I had no intent of letting her know where I was. I was angry and hurt. If she wanted me to go away, I intended to go away… and stay away.
When we first arrived at the park, several out-of-town classes emerged on us. They were all about the same age; however, there was something different. They were from a larger town nearby. They walked in as if they owned the place. I immediately felt that they were interfering in our picnic. Who did they think they were moving in on our picnic!
Being shy was definitely a handicap; nevertheless, I decided to be friendly and ask them to join us. I got no closer than ten feet from them when they quickly dismissed me as if I were bothering them and not cool enough to begin to consort with their group. They began laughing as I walked away.
I looked around to find someone I knew. No one was around. Returning to the fire pit, I realized that my classmates had ventured out on a hike. No one was around except for the parents sitting in the gazebo. I decided the best course of action would be to sit with my mother until my classmates returned.
Walking slowly up to the gazebo, several mothers greeted me as I entered the stairs. As I approached, my mother asked why I wasn’t playing with the other children. Before I could explain, she abruptly pushed me away insisting that I try again to play with the new children. When tears began to well up, she stood up and pushed me off the gazebo telling me, “go away, you are embarrassing me in front of my friends.” It was as if someone had punched me in the stomach. It never occurred to me that I would be rejected… especially by my mother. For the first time in my life… I felt loneliness. That was forty years ago, yet I can remember it like it was yesterday.
I was a lanky, tall, flat-chested young woman growing up. My grandmother, who was a wonderful seamstress, commented on several occasions that “my clothes looked better on the hanger than they did on me.” She was a wonderfully strong woman, who served to shape my life more than I would have ever realized during those years. Her name was Arlene Ida Roberts Hartnett, from Welsh decent. She was a survivor from the age of four when her mother died leaving ten children for her father to raise. As one of the youngest, she was sent off to live with the Mohawk Indians for the summers. It was a common practice for large families in difficult times. The older children went off to work to help support the family. There were no daycare’s or others to baby-sit.
Listening to my grandmother tell stories of her summers with the Indians was a favorite pastime growing up. She knew more about mushrooms, wild greens, wildlife and life in general than most. Her practical approach to life’s dilemmas and her gentleness of spirit created a personality that is, still to this day, unlike anyone I’ve ever met.
On one cold morning, I noticed my grandmother hanging clothes on the line to dry. It was still winter and the clothes were likely to freeze on the line, which my brother, sisters and I thought was great fun to punch as we walked by. As she was pulling one piece out of the laundry basket, she looked down and noticed a garden snake had wrapped itself around her ankle, seemingly for warmth. Smiling she excitedly stated, “isn’t that cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” I was desperately afraid of snakes, still am. I could see nothing…and I mean nothing…cute about a snake around her ankle. But, that was my grandmother. She looked at life differently than most women.
It wasn’t until her death at 82 years of age that I realized just how interesting a life she lived. Sitting on her bed looking through her personal belongings with my siblings, I found hundreds of letters and published articles. She was a fabulous writer. The words were eloquent and carefully chosen to paint a wonderful visual picture. I loved what I was reading and couldn’t wait to discover more.
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