By Roberta Mark Engel
Are you prepared to restore your house? What have you done in preparation to begin this interesting and exhausting episode in your life? Have you acquired that "how to" book? Have you begun to make the needed repairs toWhat have you done in preparation to stay “Home and Dry for the Holidays”? Have you thought of hiring a decorator? This affair will definitely be an education. Did you know that renovate means to make new or like new, repair to restore to its original condition? If so, let us keep your “Home and Dry for the Holidays”. With one repair, you are on your way!
What did I do to restore our house? I made a schedule, allotting for workman problems I left three days in between the personnel I hired as the general contractor. No, I do and don’t have a Contractor’s license, but I researched and managed each job within each renovations project. The preparations are essential to the completed project. I decided which items to do in each room, while completing one space at a time. I found that it was easier to hire these people during and after the holidays because these recruits needed extra cash and were willing to give deeper discounts.
How did the repairs and remodeling get completed? I began by looking up renovations on-line by searching through information about renovations. Some of the sites will have a step by step guide which you can mold to your specifications. I also suggest that you contact an interior decorator depending on your economic situation. This person has far more of an extensive knowledge base than you do.
The modernization project began with throwing away or donating unwanted items. I did this act several times, classifying as I proceeded. It is helpful to keep your house constantly organized and updated so the preservation of the house is quicker. My mistake though was not to rent a large garbage receptacle. Next project, I will. It helps with the organization, maintenance and debris.
How did the transformation project begin? We found a leak in the great room which was caused by a gift from the builders-a leak in the shower pan. Our reconstruction began with the bathroom. In addition, we re-upholstered furniture and updated our knickknacks. We originally thought that we would so a minor cosmetic update in the bathroom. Then, we renovated one room at a time. I tried to hire local workers so I could give back to the community. The two largest projects were the bathroom ad kitchen. The bathroom renovations project took approximately one month that encompassed new tiling, fixtures, cabinetry, electrical and plumbing. It was difficult to store our personal items. Get cartons to store these items which will reduce the allergens you breathe plus keep you organized.
Our next project was the kitchen which took a couple of months to complete. This project included installation of cabinets, appliances, granite, flooring, electrical and plumbing. The downside was going out to eat all of the time! Did I miss the most difficult item? The installation cabinet process requires the removal of all drawers and contents. I kept items in boxes once again. We needed to move our computers, televisions, piano, for carpet installation and painting. We also had the windows and draperies cleaned. Then, the carpets were installed. Eventually, all the rooms were completed. The entire production process with the interior and exterior of the house painted.
Now, are you looking forward to your participation in the renovation process and know that it is exhausting, but proper research will help your successful venture. Before long, you be thankful that you chose to be “Home and dry for the Holidays”.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
NAPHLIO AND THE HERO OF THE TROJAN WAR by Roberta Mark Engel
How is the hero of the Trojan War related to the Peloponnese Peninsula? Is the Peloponnesus locale an island or is it part of the mainland? Why is the coastline of this region so special? Since there is so much to see along the way, we will begin our tour in Athens. Bring your camera and tour Corinth, Nemea and its beautiful vineyards, Also; visit Mycenae, Epidavros, Argos, and my personal favorite, Naphlion with us.
Look, we can see a ship going through the isthmus of the Corinth Canal. If we are lucky, we can also get a glimpse of lowering the bridge into the water as the ships pass through. Did you know that St. Paul was put on trial by the Romans in Corinth? The Roman Baths are visible in Ancient Corinth plus there is a museum, in the temple of Apollo (where St. Paul preached to the Corinthians in 52 B.C). Corinth was influenced by Roman architecture.
Did you know that the Peloponnese region grows some of the best olives and grapes in Greece? Our next stop is in Ancient Nemea which is surrounded with vineyards. Do your want some wine? Follow me. It is also where the ancient Nemean Games were held. The city also has ancient fortifications for the viewing.
Continuing through a big forest of orange trees, we will reach Mycenae. The ancient city of Mycenae was discovered by Heinrich Schliemann in 1870. We will see the Tholotos tomb of Agamemnon and then we head toward his palace where we will see the Cyclopean walls the Lions Gate, the tomb of Clytemnistra and the museum.
Further east is Epidavros near the Saronic Gulf. It hosts many orange fields and olive trees. It also boasts about the ancient theater which was built in 4 B.C. and is known for its great acoustic sound. The theatre is used today by Greek actors who perform various ancient Greek plays. I actually heard an oratory by one of the patrons. It was impressive. The Sanctuary of Asklipeious and the beautiful museum are also well worth the viewing.
Argos is the city of Ancient Greece, in the Northeast section of the Peloponnese Peninsula which is three miles inland from the Gulf of Argos, near modern Naphlion. It was occupied from the early Bronze Age and is mentioned in Homer’s Iliad. Argos houses the Heraeum temple, six miles (9.7 km) North of Argos, was the principal center for the worship of the Goddess Hera. The Ancient Theater is another site in Argos. Argos has produced important sculptors, including Polyetus.
My favorite city is Naphlio, which is “the old Venetian town” was re-built by the Venetians in the 16th century and was the first capital of Greece. It is one of the finest cities in Greece and was the capital of the country in 1829. Because of the strength of the fort that sits above the bay, this town became an important strategic and commercial center to the Byzantines around the sixth century AD. The Franks controlled the city for 200 years and then sold it in 1470. That same year, they built a fort on the small island in the center of the harbor called the Bourtzi. The Venetians continued the fortification of the upper town and completed their work later that year. The new additions to the city surround the Church of Saint George which is a beautiful Venetian church. When the Peloponessos falls to the Venetians, Naphlio becomes the capital. Unfortunately, the Turks take control of the city, destroy and loot it. They even kill almost all of its defenders. Naphlio became the center of activities which would result in the formation of Modern Greece. In 1823, it becomes the capital of the state which is then recognized as a world power in 1827. In 1862, there is a rebellion in Naphlio against the monarchy. Then, the capital is moved to Athens which makes the city of Naphlio less important, but it continues to attract visitors daily.
Palamidi in Naphlion is one of the best castles in Greece. It was named after Nafphlios, son of Poseidon, and home of Palamidis, their local hero of the Trojan War. He also was the inventor of weights and measures, lighthouses, and the first Greek alphabet. Palamidi was built on the hillside. It is six hundred years old and offers a breathtaking view of Nafplio ad the Argolic gulf.
Naphlio is also a wonderful place to stop for lunch and to shop for souvenirs. The old town boasts the best tavernas and night life. See, Naphlio is not just a tourist area. As you can read, it is steeped in history. Therefore, the best way to enjoy it is to spend a couple of nights here. My top two hotel choices are the Grande Bretagne, and the Afitrion, both in Naphlion. The best eateries are Souvours and Elatos. They are in front of the harbor.
We hope you enjoyed your tour of “Naphlio, and the Hero of the Trojan War”. We also hope you relished learning about Corinth, Nemea, Mycanea, Argos, Epidavros, and Naphlio. We look forward to sharing our next tour with you!
Look, we can see a ship going through the isthmus of the Corinth Canal. If we are lucky, we can also get a glimpse of lowering the bridge into the water as the ships pass through. Did you know that St. Paul was put on trial by the Romans in Corinth? The Roman Baths are visible in Ancient Corinth plus there is a museum, in the temple of Apollo (where St. Paul preached to the Corinthians in 52 B.C). Corinth was influenced by Roman architecture.
Did you know that the Peloponnese region grows some of the best olives and grapes in Greece? Our next stop is in Ancient Nemea which is surrounded with vineyards. Do your want some wine? Follow me. It is also where the ancient Nemean Games were held. The city also has ancient fortifications for the viewing.
Continuing through a big forest of orange trees, we will reach Mycenae. The ancient city of Mycenae was discovered by Heinrich Schliemann in 1870. We will see the Tholotos tomb of Agamemnon and then we head toward his palace where we will see the Cyclopean walls the Lions Gate, the tomb of Clytemnistra and the museum.
Further east is Epidavros near the Saronic Gulf. It hosts many orange fields and olive trees. It also boasts about the ancient theater which was built in 4 B.C. and is known for its great acoustic sound. The theatre is used today by Greek actors who perform various ancient Greek plays. I actually heard an oratory by one of the patrons. It was impressive. The Sanctuary of Asklipeious and the beautiful museum are also well worth the viewing.
Argos is the city of Ancient Greece, in the Northeast section of the Peloponnese Peninsula which is three miles inland from the Gulf of Argos, near modern Naphlion. It was occupied from the early Bronze Age and is mentioned in Homer’s Iliad. Argos houses the Heraeum temple, six miles (9.7 km) North of Argos, was the principal center for the worship of the Goddess Hera. The Ancient Theater is another site in Argos. Argos has produced important sculptors, including Polyetus.
My favorite city is Naphlio, which is “the old Venetian town” was re-built by the Venetians in the 16th century and was the first capital of Greece. It is one of the finest cities in Greece and was the capital of the country in 1829. Because of the strength of the fort that sits above the bay, this town became an important strategic and commercial center to the Byzantines around the sixth century AD. The Franks controlled the city for 200 years and then sold it in 1470. That same year, they built a fort on the small island in the center of the harbor called the Bourtzi. The Venetians continued the fortification of the upper town and completed their work later that year. The new additions to the city surround the Church of Saint George which is a beautiful Venetian church. When the Peloponessos falls to the Venetians, Naphlio becomes the capital. Unfortunately, the Turks take control of the city, destroy and loot it. They even kill almost all of its defenders. Naphlio became the center of activities which would result in the formation of Modern Greece. In 1823, it becomes the capital of the state which is then recognized as a world power in 1827. In 1862, there is a rebellion in Naphlio against the monarchy. Then, the capital is moved to Athens which makes the city of Naphlio less important, but it continues to attract visitors daily.
Palamidi in Naphlion is one of the best castles in Greece. It was named after Nafphlios, son of Poseidon, and home of Palamidis, their local hero of the Trojan War. He also was the inventor of weights and measures, lighthouses, and the first Greek alphabet. Palamidi was built on the hillside. It is six hundred years old and offers a breathtaking view of Nafplio ad the Argolic gulf.
Naphlio is also a wonderful place to stop for lunch and to shop for souvenirs. The old town boasts the best tavernas and night life. See, Naphlio is not just a tourist area. As you can read, it is steeped in history. Therefore, the best way to enjoy it is to spend a couple of nights here. My top two hotel choices are the Grande Bretagne, and the Afitrion, both in Naphlion. The best eateries are Souvours and Elatos. They are in front of the harbor.
We hope you enjoyed your tour of “Naphlio, and the Hero of the Trojan War”. We also hope you relished learning about Corinth, Nemea, Mycanea, Argos, Epidavros, and Naphlio. We look forward to sharing our next tour with you!
SEASONS CHANGE
What change is forthcoming? Yes, the holidays are almost here. There is a chill in the air. There is fresh powder on the ground. But, what do we do with ourselves for entertainment? What about facing depression during and after the holidays? Here are some tips to get you keen on spring and out of the blahs of the holiday season because “Seasons Change”.
• Volunteer to feed the hungry and homeless during this holiday season
• Plan a small mini-vacation to a destination driving distance from your home. (I live in California so I suggest Santa Barbara, San Francisco, Las Vegas, or San Diego. There are always inexpensive packages for these locations at this time of the year)
• Go to the mall (my mother and her caregiver do this daily. They do people watching which makes them happy)
• Go to the beach, look at the waves (I personally find this quite recuperative)
• Buy a digital camera and take pictures
• Remember, take care of yourself first
• Be alert to physical problems and keep yourself healthy. Our immune systems are in more jeopardy this time of the year.
• Postpone major decisions until Spring when the weather is better and less gloomy
• Laugh
• Pamper yourself. Get a facial or go shopping. Window shopping doesn’t cost anything and is therapeutic.
• Make a list of what you enjoy doing alone. Do these items. It will help with depression after the holidays.
• Set future goals
• Take one day at a time
• Spend time with friends and accept them with all their imperfections
• Join a club
• Eat nutritiously and consider taking vitamin supplements
• Avoid masking the melancholy with drugs or alcohol
• Try to reduce financial or other stresses in your life especially during the country’s economic crises. Things will improve.
• Help others. You will forget about your ailments.
• Spend time outdoors as the weather permits
• Do a winter house cleaning project-pick a closet that is neglected-it’s fun and therapeutic
• Continue to participate in activities that are fun for you, and with people who are special to you
• Don’t underestimate the effects of small pleasures
The holiday season will be here before we know it. This will be the year that will provide us with happiness and a wonderful end to the blahs of the holidays. “Seasons change” and this one appears to be a great one.
By Roberta Mark Engel
• Volunteer to feed the hungry and homeless during this holiday season
• Plan a small mini-vacation to a destination driving distance from your home. (I live in California so I suggest Santa Barbara, San Francisco, Las Vegas, or San Diego. There are always inexpensive packages for these locations at this time of the year)
• Go to the mall (my mother and her caregiver do this daily. They do people watching which makes them happy)
• Go to the beach, look at the waves (I personally find this quite recuperative)
• Buy a digital camera and take pictures
• Remember, take care of yourself first
• Be alert to physical problems and keep yourself healthy. Our immune systems are in more jeopardy this time of the year.
• Postpone major decisions until Spring when the weather is better and less gloomy
• Laugh
• Pamper yourself. Get a facial or go shopping. Window shopping doesn’t cost anything and is therapeutic.
• Make a list of what you enjoy doing alone. Do these items. It will help with depression after the holidays.
• Set future goals
• Take one day at a time
• Spend time with friends and accept them with all their imperfections
• Join a club
• Eat nutritiously and consider taking vitamin supplements
• Avoid masking the melancholy with drugs or alcohol
• Try to reduce financial or other stresses in your life especially during the country’s economic crises. Things will improve.
• Help others. You will forget about your ailments.
• Spend time outdoors as the weather permits
• Do a winter house cleaning project-pick a closet that is neglected-it’s fun and therapeutic
• Continue to participate in activities that are fun for you, and with people who are special to you
• Don’t underestimate the effects of small pleasures
The holiday season will be here before we know it. This will be the year that will provide us with happiness and a wonderful end to the blahs of the holidays. “Seasons change” and this one appears to be a great one.
By Roberta Mark Engel
Friday, October 30, 2009
Work Was
by Anna Bernard
Work was bad smelling whiteboard markers,
Rote repetitive Open Court lessons,
A hundred repeats of 2 digits times 2 digits,
Show and tell with trilobite fossils,
Holding off going to the bathroom,
Being hungry but too bad (same as the children),
Not wanting to say one more word,
Preferring to sing the Camouflage song
or the one about the homeless little bird.
Work was enjoying writing skills so textured and soulful
from those so young that I wanted to cry,
Suffering over writing so meager,
badly spelled, and reluctant
that I did cry.
Work was sharing my intense delight
in learning something new,
But so much of it became
Sharing how to take a test
how to take a test
how to take a test
Get it right (dammit) this counts--
Perhaps now this is all that counts.
Ask the principal.
Ask the president.
How many of you are already hopelessly
left behind?
Listen! Listen! Listen!
Don't run,
Don't fall,
Don't trip and land on my left side.
If you must, bump my right side
which has no consequences.
Where did the joyous times go?
And all your precious days of childhood?
And my well being?
I had a vision once of the teachers
from 90 years ago walking down the Main Hall
in their long sleeved white blouses,
long gray skirts softly swaying.
Now I don't see them or me.
Me, younger and cheerful,
or me, wobbling with tremors
in that last year.
My likeness from a 1996 school portrait
is in one of several murals in the long hallway.
I am in the California Missions painting
wearing a full length green dress,
a soft red shawl.
I stand beside a friendly cow,a duck,a lamb.
I stand beside other faculty members
painted in their mission finery
or humble white if they were
cast in the role of the Fernandeño Tataviam.
That is all that is left
to be my mark - my Gilroy was here -
now that teaching the young is there
and I am over here
some place else.
Work was bad smelling whiteboard markers,
Rote repetitive Open Court lessons,
A hundred repeats of 2 digits times 2 digits,
Show and tell with trilobite fossils,
Holding off going to the bathroom,
Being hungry but too bad (same as the children),
Not wanting to say one more word,
Preferring to sing the Camouflage song
or the one about the homeless little bird.
Work was enjoying writing skills so textured and soulful
from those so young that I wanted to cry,
Suffering over writing so meager,
badly spelled, and reluctant
that I did cry.
Work was sharing my intense delight
in learning something new,
But so much of it became
Sharing how to take a test
how to take a test
how to take a test
Get it right (dammit) this counts--
Perhaps now this is all that counts.
Ask the principal.
Ask the president.
How many of you are already hopelessly
left behind?
Listen! Listen! Listen!
Don't run,
Don't fall,
Don't trip and land on my left side.
If you must, bump my right side
which has no consequences.
Where did the joyous times go?
And all your precious days of childhood?
And my well being?
I had a vision once of the teachers
from 90 years ago walking down the Main Hall
in their long sleeved white blouses,
long gray skirts softly swaying.
Now I don't see them or me.
Me, younger and cheerful,
or me, wobbling with tremors
in that last year.
My likeness from a 1996 school portrait
is in one of several murals in the long hallway.
I am in the California Missions painting
wearing a full length green dress,
a soft red shawl.
I stand beside a friendly cow,a duck,a lamb.
I stand beside other faculty members
painted in their mission finery
or humble white if they were
cast in the role of the Fernandeño Tataviam.
That is all that is left
to be my mark - my Gilroy was here -
now that teaching the young is there
and I am over here
some place else.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
UP, UP AND AWAY
By Roberta Mark Engel
Have you flown on an airplane recently? The security lines are longer. We are interrogated, searched and told to undress. Liquids have to be packed inside our checked in luggage or else they are confiscated. Any toiletries to be carried on the airplane must fit in a four ounce zip lock bag. We are exhausted before we set foot on a plane.
There are similarities and differences between procedures for domestic and international air travel at US metropolitan airports. Before we go “Up, Up, and Away”, we will provide you with information about the ticket counter, x-ray area, and the departure gate.
The Ticket Counter is the beginning of our trip where we show our identification and e-ticket. We need to adhere to the individual carrier’s baggage requirements which are up to 50 pounds per bag for domestic and international flights. In addition, the piece or pieces of luggage needs to be unlocked. Quite a number of the domestic airlines charge for luggage placed in the baggage compartment of the plane. In addition, each individual airline has its own rules governing your luggage. Arrival time recommendations vary by airline and day of travel, so check with your carrier. Remember to give yourself adequate time to check your baggage and move through security.
The X-Ray area is our second information check point where we are either instructed to bring our luggage to an x-ray counter and watch it go through the x-ray process. Hand luggage and personal items are x-rayed. Most carriers permit one piece of hand luggage and one personal item such as a laptop. Film should go in your carry-on bag. Do you have a gift to carry? Please do not take it wrapped. If a security officer needs to inspect a package, he or she may have to un-wrap our gift. If there are any specific questions, we need to contact the individual airline carrier.
We are also asked to remove our shoes, coat, suit jacket and purse and place them in one or more bins provided at the station and then put them through the x-ray machine for inspection. We need to try to pack our coats and jackets in your checked baggage when possible. We could wear slip-on shoes. This will allow us to take them off and put them back on quickly. We also need to remove all animals from their carrying cases and send the cases through the X-ray machine. We need to hold our pet in our arms and proceed through the metal detector. Infants and children need to be removed from baby carriers and strollers and take them through the metal detector with you. Strollers and baby carriers go through the X-ray machine with your bags. If possible, collapse your stroller before you get to the metal detector.
We may also be asked to remove jewelry and coins, depending on the sensitivity of the scanning equipment. We are also required to remove our laptop from its case and lay it flat in one of the bins. We will may also have to be searched by a metal detector receive a possible pat down inspection. Items that might set off an alarm on the metal detector include:
• Keys, loose change, cell phones, pagers, and personal data assistants (PDAs) or smart phones
• Heavy jewelry (including pins, necklaces, bracelets, rings, watches, earrings, body piercings, cuff links, lanyards or bolo ties)
• Clothing with metal buttons, snaps or studs
• Metal hair barrettes or other hair decoration
• Belt buckles
• Under-wire bras
• Head coverings and religious garments are acceptable during the screening process. You may be directed to additional screening if your headwear or clothing (religious or otherwise) is loose fitting or large enough to hide prohibited items.
There are additional TSA requirements to follow called “3-1-1” requirement which means the following: It stands for 3 ounces or less in a one quart-sized clear zip-lock bag. One bag per passenger is placed in the screening tray. The definition is the following: a 3.4 ounce bottle or less (by volume) ; 1 quart-sized, clear, plastic, zip-top bag; 1 bag per passenger placed in screening bin which limits the total liquid volume each traveler can bring. Obviously, this is a security measure. Each time TSA searches a carry-on it slows down the line. We need to declare larger liquids. Medications, baby formula and food, and breast milk are allowed in reasonable quantities exceeding three ounces and are not required to be in the zip-top bag. We also need to declare these items for inspection at the checkpoint. Heavy travel volumes and the enhanced security process may mean longer lines at security checkpoints.
Departure Gate identification and boarding passes are still necessary for all flights. A passport for international flights or a drivers’ license for domestic flights is required in addition to your boarding pass.
Once we arrive to our European destination, passports are rarely checked if we remain in the terminal for other European locales. Planes don’t always drive up to the gate; we may be required to take the assigned bus transportation to our gate. The decision is dependent on available parking spaces at the hanger. Our luggage is checked through to our final destination. If we are taking another flight, we will go through hand luggage security and then show our passport before taking our flight. But, here is the caveat for international travel: Did you know that meals served on all international (non-American airlines) flights are hot and complimentary inclusive of all liquor? In addition, most international airlines have individual, integrated entertainment seen on a TV monitor.
I am led to each checkpoint with friendly personnel at Los Angeles International Airport, but, I noticed that there is no consistency with the rules and regulations for each carrier. In addition, safety enforcements increase or decrease depending on our security status. I have noticed, though that the international airports have less security especially while traveling within the European community (EU).
Hopefully, travel information will now be more comprehensible. “Up, Up, and Away” should have provided you with information about the ticket counter, x-ray area, and the departure gate.
Have you flown on an airplane recently? The security lines are longer. We are interrogated, searched and told to undress. Liquids have to be packed inside our checked in luggage or else they are confiscated. Any toiletries to be carried on the airplane must fit in a four ounce zip lock bag. We are exhausted before we set foot on a plane.
There are similarities and differences between procedures for domestic and international air travel at US metropolitan airports. Before we go “Up, Up, and Away”, we will provide you with information about the ticket counter, x-ray area, and the departure gate.
The Ticket Counter is the beginning of our trip where we show our identification and e-ticket. We need to adhere to the individual carrier’s baggage requirements which are up to 50 pounds per bag for domestic and international flights. In addition, the piece or pieces of luggage needs to be unlocked. Quite a number of the domestic airlines charge for luggage placed in the baggage compartment of the plane. In addition, each individual airline has its own rules governing your luggage. Arrival time recommendations vary by airline and day of travel, so check with your carrier. Remember to give yourself adequate time to check your baggage and move through security.
The X-Ray area is our second information check point where we are either instructed to bring our luggage to an x-ray counter and watch it go through the x-ray process. Hand luggage and personal items are x-rayed. Most carriers permit one piece of hand luggage and one personal item such as a laptop. Film should go in your carry-on bag. Do you have a gift to carry? Please do not take it wrapped. If a security officer needs to inspect a package, he or she may have to un-wrap our gift. If there are any specific questions, we need to contact the individual airline carrier.
We are also asked to remove our shoes, coat, suit jacket and purse and place them in one or more bins provided at the station and then put them through the x-ray machine for inspection. We need to try to pack our coats and jackets in your checked baggage when possible. We could wear slip-on shoes. This will allow us to take them off and put them back on quickly. We also need to remove all animals from their carrying cases and send the cases through the X-ray machine. We need to hold our pet in our arms and proceed through the metal detector. Infants and children need to be removed from baby carriers and strollers and take them through the metal detector with you. Strollers and baby carriers go through the X-ray machine with your bags. If possible, collapse your stroller before you get to the metal detector.
We may also be asked to remove jewelry and coins, depending on the sensitivity of the scanning equipment. We are also required to remove our laptop from its case and lay it flat in one of the bins. We will may also have to be searched by a metal detector receive a possible pat down inspection. Items that might set off an alarm on the metal detector include:
• Keys, loose change, cell phones, pagers, and personal data assistants (PDAs) or smart phones
• Heavy jewelry (including pins, necklaces, bracelets, rings, watches, earrings, body piercings, cuff links, lanyards or bolo ties)
• Clothing with metal buttons, snaps or studs
• Metal hair barrettes or other hair decoration
• Belt buckles
• Under-wire bras
• Head coverings and religious garments are acceptable during the screening process. You may be directed to additional screening if your headwear or clothing (religious or otherwise) is loose fitting or large enough to hide prohibited items.
There are additional TSA requirements to follow called “3-1-1” requirement which means the following: It stands for 3 ounces or less in a one quart-sized clear zip-lock bag. One bag per passenger is placed in the screening tray. The definition is the following: a 3.4 ounce bottle or less (by volume) ; 1 quart-sized, clear, plastic, zip-top bag; 1 bag per passenger placed in screening bin which limits the total liquid volume each traveler can bring. Obviously, this is a security measure. Each time TSA searches a carry-on it slows down the line. We need to declare larger liquids. Medications, baby formula and food, and breast milk are allowed in reasonable quantities exceeding three ounces and are not required to be in the zip-top bag. We also need to declare these items for inspection at the checkpoint. Heavy travel volumes and the enhanced security process may mean longer lines at security checkpoints.
Departure Gate identification and boarding passes are still necessary for all flights. A passport for international flights or a drivers’ license for domestic flights is required in addition to your boarding pass.
Once we arrive to our European destination, passports are rarely checked if we remain in the terminal for other European locales. Planes don’t always drive up to the gate; we may be required to take the assigned bus transportation to our gate. The decision is dependent on available parking spaces at the hanger. Our luggage is checked through to our final destination. If we are taking another flight, we will go through hand luggage security and then show our passport before taking our flight. But, here is the caveat for international travel: Did you know that meals served on all international (non-American airlines) flights are hot and complimentary inclusive of all liquor? In addition, most international airlines have individual, integrated entertainment seen on a TV monitor.
I am led to each checkpoint with friendly personnel at Los Angeles International Airport, but, I noticed that there is no consistency with the rules and regulations for each carrier. In addition, safety enforcements increase or decrease depending on our security status. I have noticed, though that the international airports have less security especially while traveling within the European community (EU).
Hopefully, travel information will now be more comprehensible. “Up, Up, and Away” should have provided you with information about the ticket counter, x-ray area, and the departure gate.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Man on Wire
by George Rembaum
The Man On Wire is a documentary movie about walking across a wire between the Twin Towers in New York. It shows how one can dare to do an impossible act and succeed if one stays with the dare. What kind of person can take on such a challenge and stay with it? First of all, you must share a total belief in your instincts and feel that anything can be done if you work hard enough at it, and refuse to be discouraged by the naysayers. The hardest part is to have such belief in yourself that you would try anything, and not give up when things turn against you. The first part,the total belief in yourself, shouldn't be so hard. In your life you have seen experts in all fields turn out to be people with simple goals that were highly studied and not found to be wanting. We are all experts in living and keeping abreast of intellectual endeavors. So why can't we hope along with all the others that we can affect the flow of events by our studied ideas?
The Man On Wire is a documentary movie about walking across a wire between the Twin Towers in New York. It shows how one can dare to do an impossible act and succeed if one stays with the dare. What kind of person can take on such a challenge and stay with it? First of all, you must share a total belief in your instincts and feel that anything can be done if you work hard enough at it, and refuse to be discouraged by the naysayers. The hardest part is to have such belief in yourself that you would try anything, and not give up when things turn against you. The first part,the total belief in yourself, shouldn't be so hard. In your life you have seen experts in all fields turn out to be people with simple goals that were highly studied and not found to be wanting. We are all experts in living and keeping abreast of intellectual endeavors. So why can't we hope along with all the others that we can affect the flow of events by our studied ideas?
Thursday, July 9, 2009
My 60th Birthday
By Gary Bernard
What left have I
When I turn around
to see my footprints fade
And time in a child's cradle
Gives it a brief look
Only to be surprised again
And again
As History is a fool's child
Because it's sixty years
And my birthday
And the mariachis
Martin and the staff surprise me with
And seventy people and more
And it was supposed to rain
But it didn't
And the sun nestled in the puff of clouds
And the garden that tried to thaw
In the weeks past the February freeze
And cousin Ron leaned over to me
"Gary" he said
"All the people are here because they love you"
And Diane brought me a diabetic cake
And Adam was on time
And the mixture of work
And friends and family
Like all old friends and family
Talked and strummed guitars
And ate
And the shoulder surgery that hasn't properly healed
And the tax audit
And people enjoying themselves
All friends, all family
All the people
I love
What left have I
When I turn around
to see my footprints fade
And time in a child's cradle
Gives it a brief look
Only to be surprised again
And again
As History is a fool's child
Because it's sixty years
And my birthday
And the mariachis
Martin and the staff surprise me with
And seventy people and more
And it was supposed to rain
But it didn't
And the sun nestled in the puff of clouds
And the garden that tried to thaw
In the weeks past the February freeze
And cousin Ron leaned over to me
"Gary" he said
"All the people are here because they love you"
And Diane brought me a diabetic cake
And Adam was on time
And the mixture of work
And friends and family
Like all old friends and family
Talked and strummed guitars
And ate
And the shoulder surgery that hasn't properly healed
And the tax audit
And people enjoying themselves
All friends, all family
All the people
I love
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Remembering
By Ruth Aroni
I remember sunny days and pink roses and skinny girls with smooth legs and bald old men crying in the night.
I don't remember where I left my virginity or if I ever had it to begin with or if it was on the bus after I got off and walked to my apartment.
I have always tried to be clean and neat and tie things in bundles and smile at handsome men who I hoped found me attractive although I never did get picked up by one.
I don't see why you are always telling me to change and get better and do better and look for another answer when I'm fine just the way I am.
I have never sat in first class on an airplane, drank a martini, sat through three movies in a row, eaten less than two chocolate chip cookies at a time, danced the tango, or used a hula hoop.
I wonder why the sky is blue, why Nuns wear black and white, why I love to dance so much, what it's like on the moon.
I do not want to shut down, lose my sense of humor, miss a sunset, lose my teeth, miss love, break a red crayon, burn my mouth from hot chocolate, get a ticket.
I tried to fry an egg, laugh at your jokes, wear pants that were too tight, rob a bank, run for school president, make friends with someone small.
I try not to let my ground turkey spoil.
I remember sunny days and pink roses and skinny girls with smooth legs and bald old men crying in the night.
I don't remember where I left my virginity or if I ever had it to begin with or if it was on the bus after I got off and walked to my apartment.
I have always tried to be clean and neat and tie things in bundles and smile at handsome men who I hoped found me attractive although I never did get picked up by one.
I don't see why you are always telling me to change and get better and do better and look for another answer when I'm fine just the way I am.
I have never sat in first class on an airplane, drank a martini, sat through three movies in a row, eaten less than two chocolate chip cookies at a time, danced the tango, or used a hula hoop.
I wonder why the sky is blue, why Nuns wear black and white, why I love to dance so much, what it's like on the moon.
I do not want to shut down, lose my sense of humor, miss a sunset, lose my teeth, miss love, break a red crayon, burn my mouth from hot chocolate, get a ticket.
I tried to fry an egg, laugh at your jokes, wear pants that were too tight, rob a bank, run for school president, make friends with someone small.
I try not to let my ground turkey spoil.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
This is Where I come From
By Anna Bernard
Rolling mountains, determined creeks, small shacks,
red earth and brown cliffs with minimal vegetation
Heavy basalt rocks that formed at the bottom of the ocean
before they were shaken
and thrust to lie mild and still by the roadside,
by the cemetery, the railroad tracks.
I come from a great abundance of tears
Stubbornness, grit, and prayers before the shrines of saints
I come from Blessed Mothers and Novenas and dark polished pews with
horizontal scratches made by fidgety hands that came unfolded somewhere
around the Agnus Dei.
I'm from hard work and dreams, both humble and soaring
from rugged shoes and no shoes on the way to hundred dollar shoes
I come from pinching pennies and learning to splurge
From hope in Burma and a rock that a soldier carried in his pocket
I come from yellow roses
and memories of a girl who loved chickens and was loved by chickens that clustered around her in the twilight
I come from Wars and a Revolution in the 20th century
I come from the unique heartache of miscarried children and children under 3 months and under three years whose names are spoken in a whisper of loss
I come from winding roads and leaving home forever
Clifton and Morenci, Silver City and Hanover, Juarez and places in Chihuahua,
From floods and fires that rang the ridges and the understanding that Santa Ana is both the bastard who sold us and the devil winds
that gave us jumpy nerves and dry skin
I come from Pasadena and 90 years of Rose Parade watching
A hometown that changes all around but keeps the street names and the remembrances of my parents, my siblings, myself
I come from ocean splashes on a trip to Zuma Beach in a bathing suit with a turquoise clothespin pattern
I'm from homemade lemonade with bits of branches and sweet blossoms discarded by the sink
From countless family dinners around an oak table that I was taught to set perfectly
From Grandmas who believed in literature and universities though they had never been to campus
From people who thought poverty was for climbing away from while reaching out with helping hands
I come from copper mines
From Apache land and the Rio Grande, from the Gila River and the Mimbres,from Durango
From seashells found far from homes and the Tarahumara runners of Copper Canyon.
I come from walnut trees, and palm, sycamores and blue sky covered by smog.
I come from countless stars in the Southwestern sky
From lightening strikes and thunder
From people who moved North
Perhaps a millenium after moving South
I come from people who don't think in borders and boundaries
but in terms of rivers running first one way and
then the other and flowing
as we move out ahead
and as we follow...
Rolling mountains, determined creeks, small shacks,
red earth and brown cliffs with minimal vegetation
Heavy basalt rocks that formed at the bottom of the ocean
before they were shaken
and thrust to lie mild and still by the roadside,
by the cemetery, the railroad tracks.
I come from a great abundance of tears
Stubbornness, grit, and prayers before the shrines of saints
I come from Blessed Mothers and Novenas and dark polished pews with
horizontal scratches made by fidgety hands that came unfolded somewhere
around the Agnus Dei.
I'm from hard work and dreams, both humble and soaring
from rugged shoes and no shoes on the way to hundred dollar shoes
I come from pinching pennies and learning to splurge
From hope in Burma and a rock that a soldier carried in his pocket
I come from yellow roses
and memories of a girl who loved chickens and was loved by chickens that clustered around her in the twilight
I come from Wars and a Revolution in the 20th century
I come from the unique heartache of miscarried children and children under 3 months and under three years whose names are spoken in a whisper of loss
I come from winding roads and leaving home forever
Clifton and Morenci, Silver City and Hanover, Juarez and places in Chihuahua,
From floods and fires that rang the ridges and the understanding that Santa Ana is both the bastard who sold us and the devil winds
that gave us jumpy nerves and dry skin
I come from Pasadena and 90 years of Rose Parade watching
A hometown that changes all around but keeps the street names and the remembrances of my parents, my siblings, myself
I come from ocean splashes on a trip to Zuma Beach in a bathing suit with a turquoise clothespin pattern
I'm from homemade lemonade with bits of branches and sweet blossoms discarded by the sink
From countless family dinners around an oak table that I was taught to set perfectly
From Grandmas who believed in literature and universities though they had never been to campus
From people who thought poverty was for climbing away from while reaching out with helping hands
I come from copper mines
From Apache land and the Rio Grande, from the Gila River and the Mimbres,from Durango
From seashells found far from homes and the Tarahumara runners of Copper Canyon.
I come from walnut trees, and palm, sycamores and blue sky covered by smog.
I come from countless stars in the Southwestern sky
From lightening strikes and thunder
From people who moved North
Perhaps a millenium after moving South
I come from people who don't think in borders and boundaries
but in terms of rivers running first one way and
then the other and flowing
as we move out ahead
and as we follow...
Friday, May 15, 2009
No More T.E.s
By Anna Bernard
In my poems
I am not struggling with a numb foot
a twitching eyelid
and a weird hollow feeling in my chest
when I come awake.
My skin isn't going all to parchment
and my hair is fluffy.
I have vitality and adventures.
I can bounce like a child with moon shoes.
In my Audi, I am spoiled,
A Peruvian Moche woman ruler
in my chariot of gold.
My long black braids
whip along in the wind
and my crown is riding
easily in the back.
I eat no guinea pigs,
Just well prepared maize and potatoes,
green vegetables and grains.
Dinner will be waiting
when I pull up to the palace.
Since childhood I have been a teacher,
always a reader
a maker of many crafts
and a songful diurnal coyote.
Ten thousand stories
have walked up the ramp of my consciousness
and of those,
I remember ten thousand fragments
that color my adulthood.
In my wishes I am retired and learning new ways.
I write letters to the editor.
I edit my own writing and I write.
Lemons and sugar commingle
in a pleasant blend of life as art
and life becomes Art
and toil becomes Art and
Teacher's Editions darken my days no more...
In my poems
I am not struggling with a numb foot
a twitching eyelid
and a weird hollow feeling in my chest
when I come awake.
My skin isn't going all to parchment
and my hair is fluffy.
I have vitality and adventures.
I can bounce like a child with moon shoes.
In my Audi, I am spoiled,
A Peruvian Moche woman ruler
in my chariot of gold.
My long black braids
whip along in the wind
and my crown is riding
easily in the back.
I eat no guinea pigs,
Just well prepared maize and potatoes,
green vegetables and grains.
Dinner will be waiting
when I pull up to the palace.
Since childhood I have been a teacher,
always a reader
a maker of many crafts
and a songful diurnal coyote.
Ten thousand stories
have walked up the ramp of my consciousness
and of those,
I remember ten thousand fragments
that color my adulthood.
In my wishes I am retired and learning new ways.
I write letters to the editor.
I edit my own writing and I write.
Lemons and sugar commingle
in a pleasant blend of life as art
and life becomes Art
and toil becomes Art and
Teacher's Editions darken my days no more...
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Life After Retirement from Teaching
I retired in 2005, after serving United Teachers Los Angeles. I also taught in the Compton, Culver City, El Segundo, and Lawndale school districts before spending 30 years working for Los Angeles Unified School District as a classroom teacher.
Since I was dedicated to my students’ progress, I created The Bulldog Magazine and The Bulldog Magazine for Second Language Learners to provide my students with the opportunity to write, edit, and publish their work. I was also a trainer for the WRITE Institute for District C in LAUSD. I managed the citizen of the month recognition program, PRIDE, and VIPs to encourage students to do their best and to reach goals for personal achievement.
In addition, I became an activist in United Teachers Los Angeles as I became involved with assisting teachers at all levels. In 1983, I was elected to the House of Representatives and later served as the union commissioner at James Madison Middle School in the Valley East Area. My passion has always been the advancement of teachers as professionals, always championing for professional respect and recognition for the teachers I represented.
Since my retirement, I have become a published travel writer which included creating a website, www.luxurygreecetravel.com. I have also remained an eclectic writer. I will share my published works with you and look forward to your comments and mutual experiences.
by Roberta Mark Engel
Since I was dedicated to my students’ progress, I created The Bulldog Magazine and The Bulldog Magazine for Second Language Learners to provide my students with the opportunity to write, edit, and publish their work. I was also a trainer for the WRITE Institute for District C in LAUSD. I managed the citizen of the month recognition program, PRIDE, and VIPs to encourage students to do their best and to reach goals for personal achievement.
In addition, I became an activist in United Teachers Los Angeles as I became involved with assisting teachers at all levels. In 1983, I was elected to the House of Representatives and later served as the union commissioner at James Madison Middle School in the Valley East Area. My passion has always been the advancement of teachers as professionals, always championing for professional respect and recognition for the teachers I represented.
Since my retirement, I have become a published travel writer which included creating a website, www.luxurygreecetravel.com. I have also remained an eclectic writer. I will share my published works with you and look forward to your comments and mutual experiences.
by Roberta Mark Engel
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Observation
By Anna Bernard
I see myself as a child industriously, curiously, dismantling flowers. I'd find an aging rose that was already played out, opened too far, petals beginning to hang limply from their holding spots - and I'd pull the petals all the way off to study them and marvel at the softness, softer than anything I knew. I'd study the way the color sat so deep inside and couldn't be rubbed off. I tried. I experimented with paper and a pant's leg but it was in there to stay - crimson, blush and butter - securely sealed in the rose petal fabric. Which was what exactly? It held together well but also tore if you tugged enough - similar to a well made paper towel. The colors made me dream about lipstick purchases of the future and beaus, gifts, proms, and wedding bouquets and all the things that made women smile.
The tuft, the sad plucked tuft, was reduced to a bit of plant life with all the beauty gone.
I marvel that I was once an observant child with time on my hands and summer afternoons to explore the natural world of a surburban neighborhood and I wonder if current children have time and opportunity to learn by direct exploration. I wonder if I would still know how to take delight in close observation. My world now is text, books, newspaper, HD television, movies, photocopies and the internet. Now that I am so recently and abruptly retired, I want the time to observe again in a relaxed state and leave tasks in the dust - the soft, loamy pale milk and coffee colored dust of a trail in late September - the kind that coats your shoes or your bare feet with the Earth's affection.
Roses
Roses in a garden.
Of all the gifts I treasure from my students
nothing quite compares
with a slightly frumpy, thorny rose
wrapped in a wet paper towel,
then wrapped in foil.
"For you, Teacher."
I always feel special.
Roses in a garden
Make me think of hot summer days
sprinklers and bees
sprinkly pollen
flower guts.
Roses in a garden.
I used to pull the old ones apart
to examine the interior.
I pulled a few new ones apart
to discover the way the petals
folded together and
squashed themselves up tightly.
To be closed upon oneself
is an amazing thing to children
who can't remember
when they were wrapped up tightly
and folded over on themselves
in the womb...
Rose in a garden.
I see myself as a child industriously, curiously, dismantling flowers. I'd find an aging rose that was already played out, opened too far, petals beginning to hang limply from their holding spots - and I'd pull the petals all the way off to study them and marvel at the softness, softer than anything I knew. I'd study the way the color sat so deep inside and couldn't be rubbed off. I tried. I experimented with paper and a pant's leg but it was in there to stay - crimson, blush and butter - securely sealed in the rose petal fabric. Which was what exactly? It held together well but also tore if you tugged enough - similar to a well made paper towel. The colors made me dream about lipstick purchases of the future and beaus, gifts, proms, and wedding bouquets and all the things that made women smile.
The tuft, the sad plucked tuft, was reduced to a bit of plant life with all the beauty gone.
I marvel that I was once an observant child with time on my hands and summer afternoons to explore the natural world of a surburban neighborhood and I wonder if current children have time and opportunity to learn by direct exploration. I wonder if I would still know how to take delight in close observation. My world now is text, books, newspaper, HD television, movies, photocopies and the internet. Now that I am so recently and abruptly retired, I want the time to observe again in a relaxed state and leave tasks in the dust - the soft, loamy pale milk and coffee colored dust of a trail in late September - the kind that coats your shoes or your bare feet with the Earth's affection.
Roses
Roses in a garden.
Of all the gifts I treasure from my students
nothing quite compares
with a slightly frumpy, thorny rose
wrapped in a wet paper towel,
then wrapped in foil.
"For you, Teacher."
I always feel special.
Roses in a garden
Make me think of hot summer days
sprinklers and bees
sprinkly pollen
flower guts.
Roses in a garden.
I used to pull the old ones apart
to examine the interior.
I pulled a few new ones apart
to discover the way the petals
folded together and
squashed themselves up tightly.
To be closed upon oneself
is an amazing thing to children
who can't remember
when they were wrapped up tightly
and folded over on themselves
in the womb...
Rose in a garden.
Friday, April 17, 2009
DO YOU KNOW THE WAY TO SAN JOSE?
I wrote this piece while I was in my teaching career. I wanted to show other teachers that they could travel for fun, fulfillment and to pay for their expenses. I wrote this article in 2000, but it is still a hot topic. I also title most of my pieces as songs. Watch for more and enjoy.
Are you interested in reimbursement for your vacations? Washington, D.C., San Jose, and London are a lot closer than they seem to be. Are you interested in a free summer vacation? Did you know that taking in the sights can actually pay you for your expenditures? You can become educated on what all of these and other cities can offer you. But, how can you make this a possibility? How can you make your vacations an educational expense? Read on and you’ll see how.
Money is what generally precludes many from taking the vacation of their dreams. Were you aware that every major company has a travel agency on call or has an employee who logs in and books flights for their employees? With the internet advances, most of us are able to access the web and plan our own trips with a click of a mouse. In addition, you can make money on their travel whether it is for business or personal in nature.
There are advertisements in the Los Angeles Times offering classes in SABRE or APOLLO travel computer systems. You could be trained in only a few short weeks to work in the travel industry. This summer you could take an investigative trip to a large city and begin the research. The next vacation should pay for itself. There are also discounted search engines for purchase such as YTB.
Did you know that you can have a great time when you travel to major cities; thereby you have the opportunity to report on the most historical sites? You could make your pictures and text into a travelogue and present it to your school. Who knows what can happen? Be an expert in your field! Just think; your summer vacations could pay for themselves!
Soon, you can arrange a head of time what city or country you are teaching about, and then go. It is fun to educate others while educating you. And “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” Now you will know!
By Roberta Mark Engel
Are you interested in reimbursement for your vacations? Washington, D.C., San Jose, and London are a lot closer than they seem to be. Are you interested in a free summer vacation? Did you know that taking in the sights can actually pay you for your expenditures? You can become educated on what all of these and other cities can offer you. But, how can you make this a possibility? How can you make your vacations an educational expense? Read on and you’ll see how.
Money is what generally precludes many from taking the vacation of their dreams. Were you aware that every major company has a travel agency on call or has an employee who logs in and books flights for their employees? With the internet advances, most of us are able to access the web and plan our own trips with a click of a mouse. In addition, you can make money on their travel whether it is for business or personal in nature.
There are advertisements in the Los Angeles Times offering classes in SABRE or APOLLO travel computer systems. You could be trained in only a few short weeks to work in the travel industry. This summer you could take an investigative trip to a large city and begin the research. The next vacation should pay for itself. There are also discounted search engines for purchase such as YTB.
Did you know that you can have a great time when you travel to major cities; thereby you have the opportunity to report on the most historical sites? You could make your pictures and text into a travelogue and present it to your school. Who knows what can happen? Be an expert in your field! Just think; your summer vacations could pay for themselves!
Soon, you can arrange a head of time what city or country you are teaching about, and then go. It is fun to educate others while educating you. And “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” Now you will know!
By Roberta Mark Engel
Saturday, April 11, 2009
August Amber
By Rita Murstein Wohl
It was August and people were sweating from the Monongahela to the Ohio River, along the great and the little Miami Rivers. The mighty Missouri was no place to cool down and the Mississippi was giving the South a chance to live up to its reputation as defined in books by Tennessee Williams and the rest of the great writers.
The steam from the Ohio River rolled up the state all the way to Lake Erie. Cleveland, the coldest city in Ohio, was suffering. Glasses with Mint Juleps, Tom Collins, and homemade lemonade were clinking all over the country. The kids couldn't stay in their clothesline tents. It was too hot to roll weed cigarettes. The dogs were heaving their breaths and drooling white foam. Everyone was back from the YMCA camp, Girl Scout sleep outs or a week in Canada with their families.
We were lolling around and totally lacking in energy. The elm tree offered the only respite around. We cooled off under the hose which we later used for drinking. We were lying around trying to figure out how they made opium from poppies. Mr. Hensler, the principal, had beautiful ones in his garden and we knew he wouldn't do that. We speculated about boiling them or drying them. But which part? That would be our next project but right now we could barely move.
The cicadas were singing like mad and butterflies were all over the gardens. In cooler times, given enough boredom, we would try to catch them with our nets from the dime store. I only know one person who ever caught one and he squashed it in a book because that's what scientists did. I had a lot of respect for him.
We were showing off some of our summer trophies. A broken antique vase from a trash pile, on old pipe, a shiny new knife, an aggie, and a clear yellow stone. We loved to go through trash piles and find fantastic stuff, and when we tired of our trophies, we would dump them back in the trash pile.
I remember the vase. It had a white base enhanced by a scenic painting. Its body was entwined with loops and scrolls of raised china. It still had its spout but was very broken. The new knife of course was the favorite. It spelled power and wealth. The only other prestigious item was the set of pearled handled guns that Lila had. The aggie was passed around for all to lovingly hold.
And then there was the clear yellow stone. Interesting, but what was it? The bottom of a beer bottle? Part of an old medicine bottle? Just as we were looking at it, two yellow butterflies fluttered right under our noses. Everyone rubbed their noses, fell backwards, and screamed. At last, there was some action today.
We laughed and grabbed the hose for relief. That is , everyone except Eunie. She just sat there thoughtfully. She told us that when the twin butterflies touched us, the yellow stone that she was holding got very hot. When that happened, a shadow grew inside of it.
Everyone wanted to see it. It wasn't passed around. It was grabbed around. Eunie polished it on her shorts and then cupped it to see if it had an inner light. No such luck.
Richard said his mom had a string of beads just that color. Tim said his mom had some too and she got them at Brown's Department Store on Main Street. Maybe it was a rare yellow diamond. Little Sugie said it looked like tree sap she had seem in a display at school. Lila said she had a set of Book of Knowledge in the house. As much as we had an aversion to books in the summer, most of us followed her into the house.
The house was always clean and not too hot. Wilda was babysitting today. She was so nice and pretty with lovely blonde ringlets around her face. She offered us water from the spigot but not ice. We had a ice box, not a refrigerator, and we had to save ice until the iceman came.
Wilda helped us look up yellow and then stone and then yellow stone. Somehow, Wilda got us to Amber. Wow. Sugie was right. It was tree sap encasing bugs from thousands of years ago. But this wasn't a bug - this was a shadow. What did that mean? If you opened the stone would the bug come out? Would it come out alive? If we opened the stone , what would come out? Should we dare? Wilda gave us a bowl of fruit and we went back under the elm tree.
We gravely pondered the immediate future. What was in the plum pit? Had anyone ever opened an apple seed? What about a peach pit or a cherry seed? What were we really doing when we spit watermelon seeds?
We knew these were seeds but what was inside them? Little trees? Small plants? Little fruits? Well this situation was asking for it. We picked out the seeds, opened them, and everything was gunk. How could God open a peach pit and we couldn't? Everything had something in it. Nothing had a shadow.The mystery was still there.
We loved mysteries. We love to solve them. Nothing was safe from our speculation. We noticed the comings and goings of everyone. Houses of mourning attracted the most attention. They all seemed to have a strange aroma. We decided that some people were murdered, but that's another story.
We speculated what would happen if we opened the yellow stone. Richard, who was older and liked to scare us, described the unleashing of a black cloud of evil. We would all die in our beds if we were good or be strangled if we were bad. Howie, a devout Catholic, whom I dearly loved, said we would die of pestilence. Not to be outdone, Annie, the group Protestant, said it would be the time of the Apocalypse.
After screaming at each other, jumping up, and raising our hands, we decided to open the stone. Tommy ran home and got a hammer and we began. Each one took their turn. We would hammer, cover our faces, and scream. We ended up with a glistening pile of amber.
Our dads were walking home, the big kids were riding their bikes home for dinner, and the moms were calling their kids. Reluctantly, we peeled off from the circle.
If only I could learn so much in a day today. Now it's your turn to figure out how the shadow existed.
It was August and people were sweating from the Monongahela to the Ohio River, along the great and the little Miami Rivers. The mighty Missouri was no place to cool down and the Mississippi was giving the South a chance to live up to its reputation as defined in books by Tennessee Williams and the rest of the great writers.
The steam from the Ohio River rolled up the state all the way to Lake Erie. Cleveland, the coldest city in Ohio, was suffering. Glasses with Mint Juleps, Tom Collins, and homemade lemonade were clinking all over the country. The kids couldn't stay in their clothesline tents. It was too hot to roll weed cigarettes. The dogs were heaving their breaths and drooling white foam. Everyone was back from the YMCA camp, Girl Scout sleep outs or a week in Canada with their families.
We were lolling around and totally lacking in energy. The elm tree offered the only respite around. We cooled off under the hose which we later used for drinking. We were lying around trying to figure out how they made opium from poppies. Mr. Hensler, the principal, had beautiful ones in his garden and we knew he wouldn't do that. We speculated about boiling them or drying them. But which part? That would be our next project but right now we could barely move.
The cicadas were singing like mad and butterflies were all over the gardens. In cooler times, given enough boredom, we would try to catch them with our nets from the dime store. I only know one person who ever caught one and he squashed it in a book because that's what scientists did. I had a lot of respect for him.
We were showing off some of our summer trophies. A broken antique vase from a trash pile, on old pipe, a shiny new knife, an aggie, and a clear yellow stone. We loved to go through trash piles and find fantastic stuff, and when we tired of our trophies, we would dump them back in the trash pile.
I remember the vase. It had a white base enhanced by a scenic painting. Its body was entwined with loops and scrolls of raised china. It still had its spout but was very broken. The new knife of course was the favorite. It spelled power and wealth. The only other prestigious item was the set of pearled handled guns that Lila had. The aggie was passed around for all to lovingly hold.
And then there was the clear yellow stone. Interesting, but what was it? The bottom of a beer bottle? Part of an old medicine bottle? Just as we were looking at it, two yellow butterflies fluttered right under our noses. Everyone rubbed their noses, fell backwards, and screamed. At last, there was some action today.
We laughed and grabbed the hose for relief. That is , everyone except Eunie. She just sat there thoughtfully. She told us that when the twin butterflies touched us, the yellow stone that she was holding got very hot. When that happened, a shadow grew inside of it.
Everyone wanted to see it. It wasn't passed around. It was grabbed around. Eunie polished it on her shorts and then cupped it to see if it had an inner light. No such luck.
Richard said his mom had a string of beads just that color. Tim said his mom had some too and she got them at Brown's Department Store on Main Street. Maybe it was a rare yellow diamond. Little Sugie said it looked like tree sap she had seem in a display at school. Lila said she had a set of Book of Knowledge in the house. As much as we had an aversion to books in the summer, most of us followed her into the house.
The house was always clean and not too hot. Wilda was babysitting today. She was so nice and pretty with lovely blonde ringlets around her face. She offered us water from the spigot but not ice. We had a ice box, not a refrigerator, and we had to save ice until the iceman came.
Wilda helped us look up yellow and then stone and then yellow stone. Somehow, Wilda got us to Amber. Wow. Sugie was right. It was tree sap encasing bugs from thousands of years ago. But this wasn't a bug - this was a shadow. What did that mean? If you opened the stone would the bug come out? Would it come out alive? If we opened the stone , what would come out? Should we dare? Wilda gave us a bowl of fruit and we went back under the elm tree.
We gravely pondered the immediate future. What was in the plum pit? Had anyone ever opened an apple seed? What about a peach pit or a cherry seed? What were we really doing when we spit watermelon seeds?
We knew these were seeds but what was inside them? Little trees? Small plants? Little fruits? Well this situation was asking for it. We picked out the seeds, opened them, and everything was gunk. How could God open a peach pit and we couldn't? Everything had something in it. Nothing had a shadow.The mystery was still there.
We loved mysteries. We love to solve them. Nothing was safe from our speculation. We noticed the comings and goings of everyone. Houses of mourning attracted the most attention. They all seemed to have a strange aroma. We decided that some people were murdered, but that's another story.
We speculated what would happen if we opened the yellow stone. Richard, who was older and liked to scare us, described the unleashing of a black cloud of evil. We would all die in our beds if we were good or be strangled if we were bad. Howie, a devout Catholic, whom I dearly loved, said we would die of pestilence. Not to be outdone, Annie, the group Protestant, said it would be the time of the Apocalypse.
After screaming at each other, jumping up, and raising our hands, we decided to open the stone. Tommy ran home and got a hammer and we began. Each one took their turn. We would hammer, cover our faces, and scream. We ended up with a glistening pile of amber.
Our dads were walking home, the big kids were riding their bikes home for dinner, and the moms were calling their kids. Reluctantly, we peeled off from the circle.
If only I could learn so much in a day today. Now it's your turn to figure out how the shadow existed.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
To Be A Child
By Gary Bernard
To be a child is to explore, is to ponder, is to experiment, is to enjoy.
One day in May of 1955, I found a packet of zinnia seeds while I was exploring inside our garage. I sat down on a cardboard box filled with LIFE magazines and looked at the pictures on the front of the packet. It was full of wonderful red and yellow zinnias. I turned the packet and read the instructions.It said to plant two or three seeds two or three inches into the ground, cover it, water, and let them grow.
It was Thursday afternoon and it was beginning to get dark. I put the packet down in a place I would find it the next day and went into the house to eat my mother's Thursday dinner:macaroni and cheese. That night, lying in my bed, listening to the crickets, maybe a million of them, I planned my zinnia garden.
Friday, when I got home from school, I went into the garage to reread my packet of zinnias. It was then I decided to plant the zinnias next to the garage between our house and our neighbor's, Mr. Celosi. That way, nobody could bother me and my zinnias.
Saturday, I woke up early, dug my trenches and planted my seeds precisely as I was instructed, and then I watered my garden and went off to play.
Sunday, there were no flowers. Not even anything peeking out of the ground. I talked to my mother with great concern. She told me to be patient and keep watering. Patience was not one of my virtues. The first plant life in my garden were weeds. And then more weeds. But after a week of toil, my zinnias began to grow. And they were beautiful and they were big, so big that my heart opened up and my soul - my eight year old soul, just sat back in an old rocking chair and sighed and rocked and sighed again.
To be a child is to explore, is to ponder, is to experiment, is to enjoy.
One day in May of 1955, I found a packet of zinnia seeds while I was exploring inside our garage. I sat down on a cardboard box filled with LIFE magazines and looked at the pictures on the front of the packet. It was full of wonderful red and yellow zinnias. I turned the packet and read the instructions.It said to plant two or three seeds two or three inches into the ground, cover it, water, and let them grow.
It was Thursday afternoon and it was beginning to get dark. I put the packet down in a place I would find it the next day and went into the house to eat my mother's Thursday dinner:macaroni and cheese. That night, lying in my bed, listening to the crickets, maybe a million of them, I planned my zinnia garden.
Friday, when I got home from school, I went into the garage to reread my packet of zinnias. It was then I decided to plant the zinnias next to the garage between our house and our neighbor's, Mr. Celosi. That way, nobody could bother me and my zinnias.
Saturday, I woke up early, dug my trenches and planted my seeds precisely as I was instructed, and then I watered my garden and went off to play.
Sunday, there were no flowers. Not even anything peeking out of the ground. I talked to my mother with great concern. She told me to be patient and keep watering. Patience was not one of my virtues. The first plant life in my garden were weeds. And then more weeds. But after a week of toil, my zinnias began to grow. And they were beautiful and they were big, so big that my heart opened up and my soul - my eight year old soul, just sat back in an old rocking chair and sighed and rocked and sighed again.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Through That Door They Come
By Anna Bernard
Anaphora -
"Repetition of the same word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or verses." This is one of the ways through the years that I have expressed my thoughts about teaching. The assignment would be,"Start with this phrase______" and whatever the phrase was, I would begin to write my feelings about classroom life. Consequently I have a series of teacher poems utilizing anaphora.
Through That Door They Come
Through that door they come every September
The overly short or tall
The overly chubby or thin
The just right
Like so many kinds of bears
or flavors of porridge.
Through that door they come year after year
Full of hope and excitement
Varying levels of fear and boldness
Curiosity and lack of
Sociability and shyness
Chalk full of gray matter
And with brains seemingly left behind on the pillow.
Through that door they come
Each one with bright clear eyes
And no idea what they will be
What joys and troubles life will dash upon them
These small sunwarmed beaches of life.
Fathers raking in the money
Fathers in prison
Fathers long gone
and Fathers drowning in too many beers.
Fathers who adore them
and Fathers who deny them.
Through that door they come--
The handiwork of their Mothers
Beloved
Neglected
Read to and well fed
Or short on story and weak in words,
Number loving and Math phobic
Through that door they come and then--
I close it.
And we begin to be a class family,
Another way of experiencing self
Set to balance with whatever and everything
they bring from home
From the treacheries of modern life.
Through that door they'll go
in June
and I will be an icon,
A set of memories and
the builder of a few new neural connections,
But in my heart,always a cheerleader
My megaphone teacher's voice
fading with time
Anaphora -
"Repetition of the same word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or verses." This is one of the ways through the years that I have expressed my thoughts about teaching. The assignment would be,"Start with this phrase______" and whatever the phrase was, I would begin to write my feelings about classroom life. Consequently I have a series of teacher poems utilizing anaphora.
Through That Door They Come
Through that door they come every September
The overly short or tall
The overly chubby or thin
The just right
Like so many kinds of bears
or flavors of porridge.
Through that door they come year after year
Full of hope and excitement
Varying levels of fear and boldness
Curiosity and lack of
Sociability and shyness
Chalk full of gray matter
And with brains seemingly left behind on the pillow.
Through that door they come
Each one with bright clear eyes
And no idea what they will be
What joys and troubles life will dash upon them
These small sunwarmed beaches of life.
Fathers raking in the money
Fathers in prison
Fathers long gone
and Fathers drowning in too many beers.
Fathers who adore them
and Fathers who deny them.
Through that door they come--
The handiwork of their Mothers
Beloved
Neglected
Read to and well fed
Or short on story and weak in words,
Number loving and Math phobic
Through that door they come and then--
I close it.
And we begin to be a class family,
Another way of experiencing self
Set to balance with whatever and everything
they bring from home
From the treacheries of modern life.
Through that door they'll go
in June
and I will be an icon,
A set of memories and
the builder of a few new neural connections,
But in my heart,always a cheerleader
My megaphone teacher's voice
fading with time
Friday, March 20, 2009
Long Before I Became a Teacher
By Rita Murstein Wohl
Over the ridge and sloping down near the river was the furniture store. Across the street was the hat maker. Haddie was very straightforward but warm. If you didn't see what you liked, she would make it for you. Many hours were spent designing and gently speaking well of others. Haddie didn't gossip. She spent her time twirling tulle and netting. There was a small assortment of feathers and small piles of felt waiting to be pressed into a superior design. Mama often took us with her. It was our female bonding.
Down the way was Main Street. On one corner stood one of our tallest buildings, five stories high. The top floors had offices and it always smelled like medicine. The Orr Felt Building had one of the few mechanical elevators that I knew of, but the ground floor was the best of all. Woolworth's was there. It was beige and brown and full of everything in the world. I think this is where I did my first and only theft. I stole two cellophane straws. The thrill was too much for me and that is why I went straight, I think.
In the next block over were Krege's and Murphy's. They were also beige with wonderful chocolate wood framed cases, with large chocolate and gold signs like candy bars hanging down on gold chains. Murphy's was on the corner in a lovely yellow brick building. All of the dime stores looked and smelled like Hershey bars. I bought a beautiful canary on layaway at Murphy's. It later, but not much later, had a nervous breakdown and died on its back.
A few steps over was Gallagher's Drug Store. It had a huge glass square of candy cases much bigger than I ever got to be. I lost my Mama in that store and still remember crying while she held my hand and led me back through the store while people smaller than I stared and made the experience go from tragic to traumatic. If my sisters or I had gotten a good report card, we sat in a booth at the back and could order Sundaes from the soda fountain for 25 cents. If we didn't do so well, Mom would order dopes for us. One scoop of ice cream was a dope. Chocolate. Fifteen cents.
The greatest place in the world was Bussers Ice Cream Parlor. You immediately smelled the soda and chocolate. The place was roaring from the giant belt churning the cream in the basement and reaching up to the gears upstairs. Nothing in the world will ever smell so good again. The counter and the tabletops were soft gray marble and the ice cream chairs were green.
Right next door was Brown's Department Store. This was the real thing. Rollers sent tubes with the money racing through the tracks to and from the office. Later the tracks became pneumatic tubes. We would go to the back of the second floor to stand in front of the dressmaker while staring at the bleak backs of the few other big buildings in town. The end of the block opened to the town square that had granite water fountains and flowers.A huge gray stone castle commanded an entire view of the area. The sidewalk was fitted with thick colored glass rounds. I loved to feel the round raised smoothness of them under my feet. I was so sad to discover they had a purpose - to light up the basement for the workers. I wanted them to be there just for beauty. We would march up the decorative iron steps to the large cool lobby. On the left, Pop would buy a cigar and shoot dice a few times. There were some sizable round holes in the large leather lobby furniture. I am told they were gun holes. Somehow, I always related them to Abraham Lincoln.
Around the corner again and we come to the furniture store with the funeral home across the street. This store has the biggest windows in town. Above it was the Elks Lounge, restaurant, bar and card room. Above that were the spooky maroon draped meeting rooms.
The furniture store was special. You didn't see one every day. This was where I stopped and stared. I stopped there after school and after funerals and after walking the gas light route to and through downtown every year. During this historical tribute, people put their old furniture and treasures in candle lit windows and stores did it too. I started there for the crowded Saturday night stroll down Main Street when the farmers were in town.
People would always gather on the sofas and talked in lowered tones if there were customers in the store. I remember telling my friend that a chair cost $3000 dollars because it was so big. I wanted so much to be a big shot so that my Daddy would let me be the elevator girl on occasion. I would ask which floor(there was only main and the basement). Then he would lower the big wooden gate and I would start pulling the rope for our journey.
Christmas was fabulous. The boxes were pulled from the back workroom and out came the shiny red and green trimmings. They were scratchy, but wonderous. We had to be a little older before we were allowed to help hang the swags. My mother spent a lot of time there talking to the people and handing out candy.
My father had the first TVs in town - Admirals and Motorolas. I told him to sell out. They were only fads. Did you ever know anybody's advice to ask for because the opposite was the right answer?
The store was close to home so we could always get there for nickels and dimes if we needed to. It was close enough so that we could eat dinner before 5:30 after the store closed at 5:00. Mr. Looney was the salesman and always looked the same. Miss Sigler was a wonderful and loyal secretary. There was usually a furniture finisher up the small steep ramp to the back where the furniture would be loaded onto the trucks.
The store was a place for serious family talks, celebrations, planning and mostly, with saddened heart I say, for memories.
Over the ridge and sloping down near the river was the furniture store. Across the street was the hat maker. Haddie was very straightforward but warm. If you didn't see what you liked, she would make it for you. Many hours were spent designing and gently speaking well of others. Haddie didn't gossip. She spent her time twirling tulle and netting. There was a small assortment of feathers and small piles of felt waiting to be pressed into a superior design. Mama often took us with her. It was our female bonding.
Down the way was Main Street. On one corner stood one of our tallest buildings, five stories high. The top floors had offices and it always smelled like medicine. The Orr Felt Building had one of the few mechanical elevators that I knew of, but the ground floor was the best of all. Woolworth's was there. It was beige and brown and full of everything in the world. I think this is where I did my first and only theft. I stole two cellophane straws. The thrill was too much for me and that is why I went straight, I think.
In the next block over were Krege's and Murphy's. They were also beige with wonderful chocolate wood framed cases, with large chocolate and gold signs like candy bars hanging down on gold chains. Murphy's was on the corner in a lovely yellow brick building. All of the dime stores looked and smelled like Hershey bars. I bought a beautiful canary on layaway at Murphy's. It later, but not much later, had a nervous breakdown and died on its back.
A few steps over was Gallagher's Drug Store. It had a huge glass square of candy cases much bigger than I ever got to be. I lost my Mama in that store and still remember crying while she held my hand and led me back through the store while people smaller than I stared and made the experience go from tragic to traumatic. If my sisters or I had gotten a good report card, we sat in a booth at the back and could order Sundaes from the soda fountain for 25 cents. If we didn't do so well, Mom would order dopes for us. One scoop of ice cream was a dope. Chocolate. Fifteen cents.
The greatest place in the world was Bussers Ice Cream Parlor. You immediately smelled the soda and chocolate. The place was roaring from the giant belt churning the cream in the basement and reaching up to the gears upstairs. Nothing in the world will ever smell so good again. The counter and the tabletops were soft gray marble and the ice cream chairs were green.
Right next door was Brown's Department Store. This was the real thing. Rollers sent tubes with the money racing through the tracks to and from the office. Later the tracks became pneumatic tubes. We would go to the back of the second floor to stand in front of the dressmaker while staring at the bleak backs of the few other big buildings in town. The end of the block opened to the town square that had granite water fountains and flowers.A huge gray stone castle commanded an entire view of the area. The sidewalk was fitted with thick colored glass rounds. I loved to feel the round raised smoothness of them under my feet. I was so sad to discover they had a purpose - to light up the basement for the workers. I wanted them to be there just for beauty. We would march up the decorative iron steps to the large cool lobby. On the left, Pop would buy a cigar and shoot dice a few times. There were some sizable round holes in the large leather lobby furniture. I am told they were gun holes. Somehow, I always related them to Abraham Lincoln.
Around the corner again and we come to the furniture store with the funeral home across the street. This store has the biggest windows in town. Above it was the Elks Lounge, restaurant, bar and card room. Above that were the spooky maroon draped meeting rooms.
The furniture store was special. You didn't see one every day. This was where I stopped and stared. I stopped there after school and after funerals and after walking the gas light route to and through downtown every year. During this historical tribute, people put their old furniture and treasures in candle lit windows and stores did it too. I started there for the crowded Saturday night stroll down Main Street when the farmers were in town.
People would always gather on the sofas and talked in lowered tones if there were customers in the store. I remember telling my friend that a chair cost $3000 dollars because it was so big. I wanted so much to be a big shot so that my Daddy would let me be the elevator girl on occasion. I would ask which floor(there was only main and the basement). Then he would lower the big wooden gate and I would start pulling the rope for our journey.
Christmas was fabulous. The boxes were pulled from the back workroom and out came the shiny red and green trimmings. They were scratchy, but wonderous. We had to be a little older before we were allowed to help hang the swags. My mother spent a lot of time there talking to the people and handing out candy.
My father had the first TVs in town - Admirals and Motorolas. I told him to sell out. They were only fads. Did you ever know anybody's advice to ask for because the opposite was the right answer?
The store was close to home so we could always get there for nickels and dimes if we needed to. It was close enough so that we could eat dinner before 5:30 after the store closed at 5:00. Mr. Looney was the salesman and always looked the same. Miss Sigler was a wonderful and loyal secretary. There was usually a furniture finisher up the small steep ramp to the back where the furniture would be loaded onto the trucks.
The store was a place for serious family talks, celebrations, planning and mostly, with saddened heart I say, for memories.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
THE BULLDOG MAGAZINE
By Roberta Mark Engel
It is now March. Do your child’s thoughts turn to love and spring? Have you ever thought of expressing your thoughts on paper? Would you and your child like to compose together? You both could convey your innermost thoughts. This is an opportunity for an innovative focus on education. Read on. I’ll show you how to write!
How about an example of the importance and enjoyment of writing for “The Bulldog Magazine?” I taught middle school and published this magazine for students. In March, my editorial board judged the student manuscripts which followed a standardized rubric. This was an arduous task, therefore only publishing those pieces with the top scores. Did you know the magazine also had an editorial committee as for our artists and followed the same procedure?
You can be a published writer also. Now, here are the basics. The Writing Process begins with a storyboard which is a precursor to the actual script. When I taught, my students composed a sentence and drew a picture for his or her proposed writing exercises. Then, I asked them to think of a title for this poetry or prose. We shared this title with the entire classroom and this creation belonged exclusively to each individual child.
The students even invited their parents to join our writing class. They chose to draft companion “pieces.” Research has shown that the family that shared a common interest (i.e. writing) had far fewer adjustment problems.
Revision of work was actually the most enjoyable part of writing and strengthened everyone’s craft. Students and their parents shared their work with each other in the class. They repaired final highlighted requests chosen by their members. These associates listened to what their partners said about their pieces and the criteria for the assignment.
After they were happy with the content of their text, they edited, reread, edited, and reread while using “Spell Check” and a “Language, Thesaurus”. The last stage was the publication of their artistry.
We printed our magazine in-house-a vanity press operation. I am sure that you can imagine that our students enjoyed seeing themselves in print. These magazines were available for purchase and also for viewing in the library. In addition, they were cumulative over several years and consisting of over one hundred pages. These stages of writing process produced several drafts until the final “perfect” rendition was ready. How exciting!!
Can you imagine the excitement your child would have to be published at such a young age? Did you check to see if your child had a school-wide magazine? Maybe your child could write about Valentines Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Memorial Day, Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. The writing choices are limitless. These interests are worthwhile and give your children validation?
Aren’t you more interested in the excitement of writing? There are writing classes advertised in your city’s brochure. Also, check the YMCA prices, and your local two or four year institution. The Learning Tree University also offers writing classes, but for an increased monetary amount. There are also on-line classes. You both will learn writing skills which would be your craft that you can share with your child.
And remember that this is the time that young girls’ and boys’ thoughts turn to love. Why not make their interests worthwhile and give them validation? Their choices are unbounded and so are yours!
It is now March. Do your child’s thoughts turn to love and spring? Have you ever thought of expressing your thoughts on paper? Would you and your child like to compose together? You both could convey your innermost thoughts. This is an opportunity for an innovative focus on education. Read on. I’ll show you how to write!
How about an example of the importance and enjoyment of writing for “The Bulldog Magazine?” I taught middle school and published this magazine for students. In March, my editorial board judged the student manuscripts which followed a standardized rubric. This was an arduous task, therefore only publishing those pieces with the top scores. Did you know the magazine also had an editorial committee as for our artists and followed the same procedure?
You can be a published writer also. Now, here are the basics. The Writing Process begins with a storyboard which is a precursor to the actual script. When I taught, my students composed a sentence and drew a picture for his or her proposed writing exercises. Then, I asked them to think of a title for this poetry or prose. We shared this title with the entire classroom and this creation belonged exclusively to each individual child.
The students even invited their parents to join our writing class. They chose to draft companion “pieces.” Research has shown that the family that shared a common interest (i.e. writing) had far fewer adjustment problems.
Revision of work was actually the most enjoyable part of writing and strengthened everyone’s craft. Students and their parents shared their work with each other in the class. They repaired final highlighted requests chosen by their members. These associates listened to what their partners said about their pieces and the criteria for the assignment.
After they were happy with the content of their text, they edited, reread, edited, and reread while using “Spell Check” and a “Language, Thesaurus”. The last stage was the publication of their artistry.
We printed our magazine in-house-a vanity press operation. I am sure that you can imagine that our students enjoyed seeing themselves in print. These magazines were available for purchase and also for viewing in the library. In addition, they were cumulative over several years and consisting of over one hundred pages. These stages of writing process produced several drafts until the final “perfect” rendition was ready. How exciting!!
Can you imagine the excitement your child would have to be published at such a young age? Did you check to see if your child had a school-wide magazine? Maybe your child could write about Valentines Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Memorial Day, Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. The writing choices are limitless. These interests are worthwhile and give your children validation?
Aren’t you more interested in the excitement of writing? There are writing classes advertised in your city’s brochure. Also, check the YMCA prices, and your local two or four year institution. The Learning Tree University also offers writing classes, but for an increased monetary amount. There are also on-line classes. You both will learn writing skills which would be your craft that you can share with your child.
And remember that this is the time that young girls’ and boys’ thoughts turn to love. Why not make their interests worthwhile and give them validation? Their choices are unbounded and so are yours!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
It's a Long Time Ago
By Gary Bernard
Leonard Cohen
And it's a long time ago
And it wasn't a CD
But a record on a record player
And my books
And my rolltop desk
And the floor to ceiling window
Framing the garden
With spotted green
And rocks bouldered from Tujunga Canyon
And the pipe I bargained for
In the Kapp and Petersen shop
In the maze of cobblestones
That bring mystery and culture
And poetry to the streets of Dublin
And I would draw out my tobacco
Like a forgotten lover that greets me
Before my eyes close
And on my desk is my notebook
Open and blank
Waiting
And I light up my pipe
And my day is stretched
Over Freeway and downtown streets
To Tenth St. School
And I fight and argue
And bring together thirty-eight children
In an experiment
I call"education"
Am I being creative?
Civilizing?
Inventive?
Independent?
Or, am I just waiting,
Waiting for the bell to ring?
And the bell rings
And at my desk
After the children have left
My eyes linger at each empty chair
And one by one I think,
"Have I done my job?"
So,
Their mothers say,
"What did you learn today?"
Or, maybe they don't ask at all
Maybe mom is not home
Maybe working
Maybe working one of three jobs
Or maybe, in a fit of rage, passion,
Or fear
Has just run away
And I close my record book
My lessons are set for tomorrow
I lock my classroom door
I'm one of the late ones
The janitor knows me well
And I sign out in the office
And if my car is not working
That week
I drive my motorcycle
And in a corrosive wild spirit
I motor up Alvarado
Passing next to Mac Arthur Park
And I smell the taco vendors
With their pungent meat and salsa
And I pass my Uncle Chuck's newstand
And the used furniture stores
Staked with old kitchen chairs
And discarded vinyl tables
And with no helmet
My long hair secured with a red bandana
I race into Griffith Park
Speed
An elixir to cleanse and frighten
And touch what spirit rides reckless
And I grab my pipe
And with a strong inhaling of tobacco
I sit back at my desk
Exhale the smoke
And I write my words,
Massaged, like my spirit
To reach out and identify my
Dreams, my doubts, my fears
...And now,
Now it's Leonard Cohen again
And at Sixty-two
I find myself
With pen
But this time
All I have
Are my words
Words that speak only to me
Words in the shadows
That play
And dance
In shafts of light
That meet
Only in the afternoon alleys of my mind
And with my pillow to my headboard
And my pen
Feverishly penning
And penning
I keep writing
Writing more words.
Leonard Cohen
And it's a long time ago
And it wasn't a CD
But a record on a record player
And my books
And my rolltop desk
And the floor to ceiling window
Framing the garden
With spotted green
And rocks bouldered from Tujunga Canyon
And the pipe I bargained for
In the Kapp and Petersen shop
In the maze of cobblestones
That bring mystery and culture
And poetry to the streets of Dublin
And I would draw out my tobacco
Like a forgotten lover that greets me
Before my eyes close
And on my desk is my notebook
Open and blank
Waiting
And I light up my pipe
And my day is stretched
Over Freeway and downtown streets
To Tenth St. School
And I fight and argue
And bring together thirty-eight children
In an experiment
I call"education"
Am I being creative?
Civilizing?
Inventive?
Independent?
Or, am I just waiting,
Waiting for the bell to ring?
And the bell rings
And at my desk
After the children have left
My eyes linger at each empty chair
And one by one I think,
"Have I done my job?"
So,
Their mothers say,
"What did you learn today?"
Or, maybe they don't ask at all
Maybe mom is not home
Maybe working
Maybe working one of three jobs
Or maybe, in a fit of rage, passion,
Or fear
Has just run away
And I close my record book
My lessons are set for tomorrow
I lock my classroom door
I'm one of the late ones
The janitor knows me well
And I sign out in the office
And if my car is not working
That week
I drive my motorcycle
And in a corrosive wild spirit
I motor up Alvarado
Passing next to Mac Arthur Park
And I smell the taco vendors
With their pungent meat and salsa
And I pass my Uncle Chuck's newstand
And the used furniture stores
Staked with old kitchen chairs
And discarded vinyl tables
And with no helmet
My long hair secured with a red bandana
I race into Griffith Park
Speed
An elixir to cleanse and frighten
And touch what spirit rides reckless
And I grab my pipe
And with a strong inhaling of tobacco
I sit back at my desk
Exhale the smoke
And I write my words,
Massaged, like my spirit
To reach out and identify my
Dreams, my doubts, my fears
...And now,
Now it's Leonard Cohen again
And at Sixty-two
I find myself
With pen
But this time
All I have
Are my words
Words that speak only to me
Words in the shadows
That play
And dance
In shafts of light
That meet
Only in the afternoon alleys of my mind
And with my pillow to my headboard
And my pen
Feverishly penning
And penning
I keep writing
Writing more words.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Somebody Calls
By Anna Bernard
Somebody calls to me.
I answer.
Unborn children lurk behind the veil
bringing their mothers and fathers together
so that they can exist-
so that they can come into the world
and say
somebody calls to me.
They hover, the unborn, near the ceiling
They watch, they listen, they reply,
with or without words
They wait.
Somebody calls to me.
They come
to bring stories only they will be able to tell
Taste guavas and mangoes
Live on houseboats
Chase pigeons and turkeys
Bring water from the river
Stare at bears
Swim from hippos
Hold an ostrich egg
Unravel DNA
Unravel mysteries-
Be the mystery.
Climb the mountain
Write the poem.
Be new eyes to see in new ways
Be new voices to join in an old conversation.
Somebody calls to me.
I answer.
Somebody calls to me.
I answer.
Unborn children lurk behind the veil
bringing their mothers and fathers together
so that they can exist-
so that they can come into the world
and say
somebody calls to me.
They hover, the unborn, near the ceiling
They watch, they listen, they reply,
with or without words
They wait.
Somebody calls to me.
They come
to bring stories only they will be able to tell
Taste guavas and mangoes
Live on houseboats
Chase pigeons and turkeys
Bring water from the river
Stare at bears
Swim from hippos
Hold an ostrich egg
Unravel DNA
Unravel mysteries-
Be the mystery.
Climb the mountain
Write the poem.
Be new eyes to see in new ways
Be new voices to join in an old conversation.
Somebody calls to me.
I answer.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
WE WILL SURVIVE THOSE PESKY ADMINISTRATORS
By Roberta Mark Engel
Do you recognize me? I was your union representative and perhaps I was your colleague. I was successful at protecting my constituents and educating our youth. I also maintained a professional relationship with administrators and support staff.
Idealistic or not, this guidance worked until my final year of teaching before my principal decided to become vengeful. Maybe this information can be helpful. Just remember…
Morale-sappers take the form of freshman administrators, who may be intent on immediately showing everyone who is boss. Dealing with a lemon principal can be one of the most draining aspects of our job. These administrators also seem to rise to the top just like hot air. Are you a veteran, a novice, or a mid-career teacher? Hopefully, my advice will help ease your frustration level. These are some of the strategies I’ve developed during my thirty-one year teaching and leadership careers.
• Remember, administrators are to support teachers with our arduous task of teaching and discipline.
• Keep in mind, in some cases, these supervisors were only in the classroom for a few years, so their expertise is limited. We need to encourage them to understand our positions.
• Document, document, document (keep a log of incidents; write memos to anyone who is overstepping his or her bounds).
• Attend meetings at school and read any newsletter, magazine or newspaper articles relating to teaching. KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.
• We cannot show fear. Most administrators feed on this, so please don’t cry. Don’t show intimidation. When I was a novice teacher, I cried in front of a supervisor. I didn't like the results. I felt ashamed of my actions and became timid with the students. I did vow after I recovered from this that I would be strict in the classroom so there will never be a misinterpretation as to who is in charge.
• Counselors, deans, coordinators are teachers too; therefore there are not our supervisors, they are our colleagues. Their schedules are different from ours, but they are our equals and are supposed to be a support system for us.
• Be professional even if others are not. Remind administrators that we are the key players in the equation because we are the experts in the teaching field, not them.
• If we are called into a meeting with an administrator and we fear that it is disciplinary, we will bring a witness (someone trust worthy), hopefully your union rep. Take notes. Don’t close the door without your witness in the room.
• If we receive memos, we respond to each point. Enlist assistance from our union representative. It appears that new administrators love to write memos.
• Teaching is the toughest profession I know. Those individuals who are not in the classroom with a room full of students do not and cannot perceive the difficulty of the task at hand. We must be commended with the daily attempts to instill knowledge.
• When an administrator directs us to do something, we need to follow his or her request, otherwise it is insubordination and could result in “an unsatisfactory act”, but we need to document and take care of it at a later date with our union leader.
And
• Most importantly, we are the professional experts and must be considered as essential, not disposable.
Therefore, I dedicate this article to those of us who survived morale-sappers. If you are still in the field of education, I am sure that you have met one of these individuals. Don’t give up! You will endure!
Do you recognize me? I was your union representative and perhaps I was your colleague. I was successful at protecting my constituents and educating our youth. I also maintained a professional relationship with administrators and support staff.
Idealistic or not, this guidance worked until my final year of teaching before my principal decided to become vengeful. Maybe this information can be helpful. Just remember…
Morale-sappers take the form of freshman administrators, who may be intent on immediately showing everyone who is boss. Dealing with a lemon principal can be one of the most draining aspects of our job. These administrators also seem to rise to the top just like hot air. Are you a veteran, a novice, or a mid-career teacher? Hopefully, my advice will help ease your frustration level. These are some of the strategies I’ve developed during my thirty-one year teaching and leadership careers.
• Remember, administrators are to support teachers with our arduous task of teaching and discipline.
• Keep in mind, in some cases, these supervisors were only in the classroom for a few years, so their expertise is limited. We need to encourage them to understand our positions.
• Document, document, document (keep a log of incidents; write memos to anyone who is overstepping his or her bounds).
• Attend meetings at school and read any newsletter, magazine or newspaper articles relating to teaching. KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.
• We cannot show fear. Most administrators feed on this, so please don’t cry. Don’t show intimidation. When I was a novice teacher, I cried in front of a supervisor. I didn't like the results. I felt ashamed of my actions and became timid with the students. I did vow after I recovered from this that I would be strict in the classroom so there will never be a misinterpretation as to who is in charge.
• Counselors, deans, coordinators are teachers too; therefore there are not our supervisors, they are our colleagues. Their schedules are different from ours, but they are our equals and are supposed to be a support system for us.
• Be professional even if others are not. Remind administrators that we are the key players in the equation because we are the experts in the teaching field, not them.
• If we are called into a meeting with an administrator and we fear that it is disciplinary, we will bring a witness (someone trust worthy), hopefully your union rep. Take notes. Don’t close the door without your witness in the room.
• If we receive memos, we respond to each point. Enlist assistance from our union representative. It appears that new administrators love to write memos.
• Teaching is the toughest profession I know. Those individuals who are not in the classroom with a room full of students do not and cannot perceive the difficulty of the task at hand. We must be commended with the daily attempts to instill knowledge.
• When an administrator directs us to do something, we need to follow his or her request, otherwise it is insubordination and could result in “an unsatisfactory act”, but we need to document and take care of it at a later date with our union leader.
And
• Most importantly, we are the professional experts and must be considered as essential, not disposable.
Therefore, I dedicate this article to those of us who survived morale-sappers. If you are still in the field of education, I am sure that you have met one of these individuals. Don’t give up! You will endure!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Information regarding the viewpoint of our "teacher" articles
We are educators by profession who are now out of the classroom, mostly owing to retirement. Our experiences as teachers have colored our perspective of every facet of life including how we look back upon our own childhoods, how we recall our classroom experiences,and how we have spent our time after leaving the classroom.
Writing is a subject we have taught, enjoyed as a hobby, and have used as a creative outlet.The writing we wish to share reflects a range of topics, but always, we look out at the world from the viewpoint of "Teacher."
We hope you enjoy our voices. If you have similar experiences or a desire to communicate on the same subjects, we welcome your comments.
Writing is a subject we have taught, enjoyed as a hobby, and have used as a creative outlet.The writing we wish to share reflects a range of topics, but always, we look out at the world from the viewpoint of "Teacher."
We hope you enjoy our voices. If you have similar experiences or a desire to communicate on the same subjects, we welcome your comments.
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