RV Siegel Releases Her First Inspirational Fiction Book Entitled "A Bee Called Kangaroo"

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This is the delightful story of a Bee with a funny name – Kangaroo – and a flower who would love to have a name all of her own. Kangaroo leaves his hive in search of nectar and when he returns his beloved Nurse Bee is gone. Follow his adventures as he travels far and wide searching for her; all the while learning life lessons that one can only gain through experience. In the end, he finds out that a name does indeed mean something, and that a rose by any other name can sometimes be just as sweet. (ISBN# 1-4116-3309). Visit http://www.webspawner.com/users/rvsiegel/index.html to obtain your copy today!

“Life is a formidable journey by itself. And finding your way in and around it is even harder. But that doesn’t mean that we just give up and let go.” - From: A Bee Called Kangaroo.

The story A Bee Called Kangaroo has profound and idealistic points about resilience, hope, life, love, and self-awareness. In it, Kangaroo traveled for miles and miles to find the reason why his Nurse Bee had given him a name. He met a wild flower with no name and a friendly old oak tree named Griff. Kangaroo told them tales of his adventure.

The author reveals her own views about the triumphs and troubles of mankind, and the simple wisdom that love is all encompassing and universal. These are all mirrored in each page in the lives of all the characters in this profound and insightful book.

Inspiration & illustrations by Dawn M. Landrum with many thanks to photographer Greg Summers for the beautiful rose used to motivate Mary Ellen's final transformation.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter One:

It was a cool spring morning. The snows of winter had at last melted away. The sun above me warmed the earth with her rays, yet there was still a chill in the air. My yellow petals and bright green leaves were so small then.

I remember Griff, the old oak tree. His large and broad trunk sheltered me from strong winds and from the pounding summer rains. Ah, yes, my dear old friend, Griff. I always felt strength living beneath his shadow.

“Griff,” I asked him that morning, “what should be my name?”

The powerful oak’s voice was loud yet gentle. “What’s in a name?” he replied.

Griff often spoke in riddles like that. They always put me at a loss for words. After all, he had been an old oak tree long before I was around. Everything he said, I believed. I respected his wisdom.

Of course, as usual, Griff enjoyed the chance to teach me something. He smiled behind his thick, lush leaves. “Oh, come on, little flower,” he said rolling his eyes backward, as if he just asked the simplest question in the whole wide world. “A name is just a word, or a bunch of words, that we call ourselves. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Again, his words – though wise, I’m sure – were far too lofty for me. It seemed to me that words, names especially, did indeed mean things! I couldn’t imagine, for example, calling the sun by any other name. Even the name “Griff” seemed so appropriate. It sounded like someone large and looming, though in a nice way, of course. Then again, I was but a humble little flower. What did I know?

I asked Griff to give me a name but he simply shook his head and said, “Why would I want to do that?” He looked around and held his mighty branches high in the air. “See?” he boomed, “There are no other flowers here by this dirt road. You don’t need a name. You are just ‘flower’.”

“But you have a name,” I exclaimed.

Griff patted my head and replied kindly, “But of course, my dear, I need one since there are at least a dozen oak trees around here.”

I remained silent, then he added, “We will all get confused which oak tree did what and when, and which oak tree said this or that. It’s just a way to make things simple, my dear little flower. That’s all.”

I gazed up at his proud, wide trunk and his strong branches majestically stretching out into the air, almost touching the clouds. Maybe he was right. Maybe what he’s really saying is that I’m not even worthy of a name.

After that day, I never again brought up the subject of names. I had thought that there was something magical about how you were named. Like the stars whispered a word or two in your ears and whalah! You have a name that was meant for you to cherish. But then again, Griff was right, I supposed. He was a wise old oak tree. I shouldn’t question him.

Griff and I would chat day in and day out until both of us grew weary. We talked about how blue the skies were, or how faeries covered each blade of grass with frost in the dead of night when all the earth slept. Sometimes, we watched how a spider spun her web, or better yet, even ponder the possibility that there may be other flowers like me beyond where I was rooted. What a wonderful thought! Yet it seemed to exist only in my imagination. I had never seen another flower like me with my own eyes. And I began to think that I never would.

My life as a wildflower by the dirt road seemed destined to continue on like this, for the rest of my days, without change…until that one fateful late spring afternoon when I first met Kangaroo. He changed my life, and for the first time, I found my name.

I remember this young tiny bee so well. He looked very distraught indeed as he buzzed his way into my placid life. I first caught sight of him as he circled aimlessly around Griff. My big friend and I watched him curiously. At last, he landed on the friendly boulder that sat directly between us.

The bee’s voice was small and high pitched. “Have you seen a swarm of bees like myself pass by,” he asked anxiously.

I shook my head, and with that, he collapsed on the rock and cried.

“I am lost!” he moaned. “I am all alone.”

My heart ached in a weird way I had never felt before. I had never seen anything nor anyone cry such sad and mournful tears. His little choking whimpers were like daggers plunging into my heart.

“Please don’t cry!” I finally managed to say.

“I am so tired,” he said to speak in-between his sobs. “I have traveled so far and I simply cannot go on…”

A perfect gift to your loved ones, young and old...

Please scroll down to view more illustrations by Dawn M. Landrum ...

“At the end of each day, before you go to sleep, what’s left in your mind is either the worst or the best thing that you have done – that’s all. You have a choice each day. To create memories you would like to last. Whether or not they are good or bad, well, that is completely up to you.”

From: A Bee Called Kangaroo

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Racquel Siegel