In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “All About Me.”

The name of my blog as you may know, if you’re a follower, is Cow Pasture Chronicles. The name has a special meaning to me.

I was a precocious child, or so they said. I prefer a smart, independent, and inquisitive girl ahead of her time. One of six kids, I was quiet, but sneaky. I didn’t mouth off or sulk as some of my siblings. I stayed quiet, said the requisite yes ma’am and no ma’am. I listened, paid attention, and when the timing was right, snuck off and did what I damn well pleased. I rarely got caught, but when I did, there was usually hell to pay.

We lived on a dirt road just outside of town, not many neighbors in sight, and right behind our house was a big cow pasture, filled with cattle. Located just over a hill, the road and pasture remained out of view from our house and provided the perfect opportunity for a curious girl to explore. All I had to do was get past mama. As it turns out, getting past mama was the easy part.

It took a few times of trial and error before the cows (I thought they were all cows, NOT) and I learned to ignore each other. I had no idea what a dangerous situation, it was climbing the fence. To me, running past a 2000 lb bull in giggles, after invading his territory seemed a game of catch me if you can, and I was the champ. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

The cow pasture became my favorite hide-a-way. Every day I climbed the fence running down the hill until I came to rest under the canopy of trees by the stream. I loved to hear the flow of the water and watch the cattle wander in to drink. The pasture became my escape, my paradise, my oasis.

It was there I began my writing adventure. As often as I could escape the house, I did. In the quiet of the pasture, beside a trickling stream, I filled my journals, writing about my grievances with my mother, poems, and stories. I even waxed poetic about algebra, the bane of my high school existence and signed my work with a pen name, Zeke

When I decided to start my blog, the name was a no brainer. The cow pasture I used for escape has long disappeared. Instead of cows meandering the fields, houses fill the expanse. My blog, Cow Pasture Chronicles, is  now my  escape. Here is where I explore the stories within me, voice the occasional opinion, and share the knowledge I’ve gained on the craft of writing.

If you haven’t stopped by, please do. I love to interact with other bloggers, readers, and writers. And I love feedback and dialog. And, as always you can follow me on Facebook at SheilaMGood and  Twitter @cofcmom.

For your reading amusement, my poem on theorems, enjoy. (Be kind, I wrote this in 1972, when I was just a babe and I am not a poet)

Theorem 31

Oh, that teacher in 1^st period

his Theorems and his Proofs!

the more I try, the harder it gets

and, the Lord knows that’s the truth

The corollaries and postulates,

know them one by one

now, get to work and state the Proof

Of Theorem 31

I proudly state the given

then comes L1=L2

man, on my way am I

and AB=BY.

I look again at what

I am proud to prove and

suddenly see despair

I know that Mr. Morgan’s near

I sense him in the air.

He’s standing there right over me

With ruler in his hand

Sheila that’s wrong,

dear heart

Erase it and try again

Oh, that teacher in 1^st period

his Theorems and his Proofs

they’re driving me up the wall

and, God knows that’s the truth.

With a long, deep

and sad, sad sigh

I begin to erase it

I begin to cry

The shreds of hair lay

All around

My tear-stained face

Is streaked

So here, go again

compose yourself

don’t look so stunned

Sheila it’s really very easy

now, take this sheet

Quit pulling your hair

Now, prove theorem 31

Zeke (aka. Sheila)

January 11, 1972