Sounds of Hope

I am sure some of you are wondering how I am surviving after jumping off the high dive of the  pool .   It’s okay.   In some ways, it is better than last year, in other ways, not so much.   There are a lot I could say about dynamics.   There is a lot I could say about a “team” concept that doesn’t really exist.   There is a lot I could say about frustration.   Such as the high level of frustration I felt yesterday as we were told that much of what we’d already done and in my case, had been approved had to be redone to please another person.   It was all a matter of poor communication and “team” work on the part of the faculty.   Unfortunately, for my sake and those of my cohort mates, they didn’t hammer out their rules before they gave them to us.   Pretty sad for a program that is in its 14th year. However, I’m still here.   I am sitting out the pedogological babble – for those of you not in education like me, that’s a bunch ...

It seems my blogging has been neglected of late, hasn't it?  I guess I've been busy.  I think a better word is distracted.  I'm going to be even more distracted over the next few weeks.  It's time for summer ISLE.  No, this isn't some wondrous beach resort where I enjoy fun and sun.  Quite the opposite, it is a grueling 9 days living in a college dorm while taking classes from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily.  Sunday and weekends are included.  Yes, 9 straight days of preparation and instruction. I'm not looking forward to it.  Last year I was scared.  I was just beginning to come alive again.  Like the tiniest buds of April, I was just seeing the first glimpses of hope.  This was my first big challenge in a long time.  Could I handle it?  I wouldn't know until I tried.  Despite common perceptions, I'm a very shy and insecure individual.  A whole new group of people, most of them much younger, some the age of my ch...

I walked to the pay phone in the hallway.   Everything was green, the walls, the floor, a dull green to match the mood.   I picked up the phone and dropped my coin.   I dialed the familiar number of the church.   My call interrupted the merriment of an Afterglow, a time of fellowship after a Sunday evening service.   Pastor Calloway soon said “hello.”   I said, “my father is dead.”   He said, “I’ll be right there.” We stood in the hall.   I don’t remember for sure who was there.   I know I was there.   I think my husband was there, but then he might have been with our son.   I think my brother was there, perhaps his wife or one of his boys.   Marta, the nurse my mother loved was probably there.   We waited as the body was disconnected from the tubes and wires.   A day before a young doctor knelt by his urine bag begging for it to fill with yellow liquid.   That liquid was like gold.   It meant my dad would ...

It has been incredibly hot here in the south.  The weather feels more like the dog days of August.  I seem to be in a domestic mood.  The bounty of mangoes in season has resulted in freshly canned jars of heavenly salsa and divine chutney.  I suppose one would wonder how a girl from Brooklyn, with no 4-H training, knows how to can.  I taught myself many years ago.  I actually enjoy doing it.  I love looking at freshly preserved jars.  I will be doing a lot of that this year, we have a garden. The heat reminds me of the summer of 1965.  I had graduated from dear Pershing JHS.  Accompanied by my mother and my beloved Tanta Bitta , I, dressed in a white pique A-line dress with lace sleeves and adorned with a red rose corsage, together we rode the city bus to Brooklyn College early Saturday morning.  My dad was in Norway for his last trip to his homeland.  I had a boyfriend named Ray.  I would go to his high school graduation...

I posted a quick status update on Facebook yesterday.  It really wasn’t a big deal.  It was just one of my venting times.  Sort of like the big sigh when you mumble under your breath…but this time the mumble was broadcasted by my fingers on Facebook.  Foolish me J Not as foolish as I am sometimes.  I do think before I post, but… sometimes the knee jerk or should I say finger jerk reaction gets the best of me.  I’ve even been known to write a blog or two I had to later delete because of regret.  Oh well… most of you love me anyway. It’s always interesting how expectations and feelings get mixed together with disastrous outcomes.  Someone I love felt snubbed.  The other person I love didn’t know they had been the snubber.  Rather than let it just work itself out, as I am sure it would have since they love each other too, I decided to play peacemaker.  I thought I’d help the process along.  I am a fixer by nature.  While I ...

When people hear I grew up in the big bad city of New York, and that I ran the streets of Brooklyn, they have a certain image.  There have been times I liked that image.  I liked to make people think I was tough, or I’d been around the proverbial block.  Truth was, I hadn’t.  I actually had a very innocent childhood and youth.  Even though I managed to fool everyone and riddled myself with guilt, I was blameless. It was time for camp.  Our church had bought a camp “upstate.”  Any place with trees that was North of NYC was considered “upstate.”  The camp was in the Catskills about 3 hours from Brooklyn. It was a permanent home for Camp Challenge.  The main building consisted of dorm type rooms with a large mess.  The girls were put on the second floor.  The boys were housed on the first floor.  I roomed with a girl named Elaine and another girl whose name I do not know.  Neither were Norwegian.  Both were connected i...

So much for the idea of writing about camp for a few days J … busy and stuck get in the way.  I’ve had lots of inspiration this week about other things too… but they sat, because I was going to write about camp.  Oh well, the week is nearly over.  Don’t you love the fact that every day is a do-over from the day before?  As much as I’d like to share my thoughts about some other things, or spout off about my latest insult or discovery, I think on this quiet Saturday morning, I will write about Camp Ashford Hills.  I remembered a lot about this camp experience.  I was a Sunbeam and Captain Johnson arranged for me to go to camp.  I remember I rode in a van.  Any trip that involved my sitting in a vehicle was a big deal.  We didn’t have a car.  We were quintessential NY’ers.  We took public transportation everywhere.  It was too much expense or hassle to own a car and have to move it for street cleaning, not to mention diggin...