Molly rose was the first child born to her parents. She was born on a farm in the spring in California.
In her youth she knew she was meant to do things....like Indiana Jones. She would be an archeologist. She would discover worlds and artifacts and strange peoples and holiness while brandishing a whip and a hat and exploring mysteries dangerous and profound.
She read a lot. She read about Egypt and the pharaohs about ancient Greece and the gods about native America and the spirits and about the Romans who stole their gods from the Greeks. She read the Old and the New Testament. She read the Apocrypha and about the saints and the martyrs. She got really into Abraham Lincoln and civil war history, and James Harriet's All Creatures Great and Small and L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables, and fairy tales by George Macdonald and science fiction by Charles Williams. She decided she would be a writer too. She wrote stories about princes and princesses and about cows and cracked cement sidewalks and prophets and slave traders and about hay and the dry dry California dirt that cracks and fissures.
Her grandmothers loved color. Ruth is an artist and taught her to draw....Molly thought she would be an artist too...and anyhow she loved the rag paper that was soaked with water and drenched with colors that followed creases and minute pores and looked like cells looked under a microscopic lens. Grandma Nancy loved vibrant and daring colors, molly learned how to wear earrings and make up unashamedly...perhaps she should study fashion? Her Grandfathers were a mystery. George had been a pilot and been lost at sea and sick with malaria and found. Harold could drive a motorcycle and cut hair. When it was fire season and time to create a barrier of earth six feet wide around the property he would hoist her onto the red tractor with him.
Her calling was with wood as well. Her father is a carpenter. She knew she loved the smell of sawdust though the numbers and the exact nature of form with form was daunting. Her mother fought fires and drove an ambulance at high speeds...molly knew this type of adventure would augment her archeologist aspirations. But she did not like the thought of smelly (likely to be unpleasant or violent) human bodies. With these skills as an aesthetic, practical, lifesaving, documenter of history and fiction, adventurer archeologist what did she have left but someone to rescue?
cue little sister:
Meagan (a ferociously independent child who was left to perform all the parts in her grand plays and theatrics because her sister was inside reading) had no desire to be "saved", in any situation from bullies real fictional or natural. In fact she could take care of herself and was adamantly opposed to suggested "help" from said sister. she made this well known. All molly's aspirations melted at this conclusive necessity refused.
There was nothing to do for it.
Molly would try and be a musician.
In her youth she knew she was meant to do things....like Indiana Jones. She would be an archeologist. She would discover worlds and artifacts and strange peoples and holiness while brandishing a whip and a hat and exploring mysteries dangerous and profound.
She read a lot. She read about Egypt and the pharaohs about ancient Greece and the gods about native America and the spirits and about the Romans who stole their gods from the Greeks. She read the Old and the New Testament. She read the Apocrypha and about the saints and the martyrs. She got really into Abraham Lincoln and civil war history, and James Harriet's All Creatures Great and Small and L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables, and fairy tales by George Macdonald and science fiction by Charles Williams. She decided she would be a writer too. She wrote stories about princes and princesses and about cows and cracked cement sidewalks and prophets and slave traders and about hay and the dry dry California dirt that cracks and fissures.
Her grandmothers loved color. Ruth is an artist and taught her to draw....Molly thought she would be an artist too...and anyhow she loved the rag paper that was soaked with water and drenched with colors that followed creases and minute pores and looked like cells looked under a microscopic lens. Grandma Nancy loved vibrant and daring colors, molly learned how to wear earrings and make up unashamedly...perhaps she should study fashion? Her Grandfathers were a mystery. George had been a pilot and been lost at sea and sick with malaria and found. Harold could drive a motorcycle and cut hair. When it was fire season and time to create a barrier of earth six feet wide around the property he would hoist her onto the red tractor with him.
Her calling was with wood as well. Her father is a carpenter. She knew she loved the smell of sawdust though the numbers and the exact nature of form with form was daunting. Her mother fought fires and drove an ambulance at high speeds...molly knew this type of adventure would augment her archeologist aspirations. But she did not like the thought of smelly (likely to be unpleasant or violent) human bodies. With these skills as an aesthetic, practical, lifesaving, documenter of history and fiction, adventurer archeologist what did she have left but someone to rescue?
cue little sister:
Meagan (a ferociously independent child who was left to perform all the parts in her grand plays and theatrics because her sister was inside reading) had no desire to be "saved", in any situation from bullies real fictional or natural. In fact she could take care of herself and was adamantly opposed to suggested "help" from said sister. she made this well known. All molly's aspirations melted at this conclusive necessity refused.
There was nothing to do for it.
Molly would try and be a musician.
