Does the Half Count?

Many of us hope to live a full rich life.  Perhaps we even have a number in mind, like reaching 80, 90, or even 100 years of age.  When you get up that high, it is important to count the half-year too, just like when you are single-digit young.  My great-Aunt Mary lived to be 108 ½ and we always include the half.  Were there secrets to her longevity?  I am not sure, but I can share some facets of her life and we can decide together.

Aunt Mary was born in Italy in 1887, the oldest of six children.  As a child, she used to suck on crystals of hard rock salt instead of candy.  This led to a lifelong love of salt.  She graduated from the Art and Needlework Academy at the age of 19.  As a graduation gift, her father let her sail to America with him as part of a business venture he was taking part in. 

Working for an Italian wine maker, his task was to bring casks of the best Italian red and white vintage wines to introduce to the American market.  In addition, he was to see how the wine fared on the 15-day trip across the ocean.  Although the wine traveled well, Americans had gotten used to beer and the venture failed. The trip was only supposed to last three months but they ended up staying and buying an embroidery business from their uncle’s friend.  

Aunt Mary was a very talented embroiderer.  She brought clothes to life using pearls, rhinestones, beads, sequins, spangles, and gems. Most of Aunt Mary’s designs came from her imagination, but other times they were created after research in the New York library and museums, where she looked for inspiration. 

The business with her father was successful and after three years they sent for the rest of the family to join them in America.   Two of her older sisters, Betty and Lee, helped out with the family business.  One memorable time was when Aunt Mary designed the embellishments on a satin gown for Florence Harding.  Mrs. Harding wanted something very special to wear to her husband Warren’s inaugural ball as the 29^th president of the United States.  This gown with Aunt Mary’s work is currently part of the First Ladies exhibit at the Smithsonian in Washington, DC.

When the crash of 1929 hit, they, along with millions of others, lost everything.  For the next 13 years, Aunt Mary held various jobs, including one as a fashion consultant at de Jaquids, a high fashion house in Manhattan.  She met many wealthy people who shopped there and made clothes for the wives of Astor, Hearst, and Vanderbilt.  Although she came in contact with wealthy, famous people, this never changed who she was and what her beliefs were.

Aunt Mary was destined to have her own embroidery business though.  In 1942 she opened Marie Novelties with her sister Betty.   Her embroidery was in high demand.  She did work for Dior, Saks, Bergdorff Goodman, and Casella.  She enjoyed the freedom that came with owning her own business. 

Aunt Mary was a very compassionate woman with a good business sense.  She often hired older women, many well into their seventies, allowing them to do most of their stitching at home.  This spared them the cost of commuting, making their wages go a little further.  She hired Hungarian and Russian women to work on smocking, Italians to do beadwork, and Spanish women to do appliqué.  She was proud of the good wages she paid to women.

Lo and behold, another first lady's inaugural gown dons Aunt Mary’s embroidery work.  Anna Eleanor Roosevelt bought a satin gown at Bergdorf Goodman, then wanted some beadwork added to the neckline and sleeves.  This gown was worn to her husband’s third inaugural ball in January 1941 and is also part of the Smithsonian collection. 

First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, wearing the gown that Aunt Mary embroidered for her.

I have fond memories of her life in the family house in the Bronx, where she lived with her other siblings.  These memories are described in another blog entry: A House in the Bronx.  Aunt Mary used to love showing us her work and trying to impart her knowledge to us.  We would go into her basement and become mesmerized with the boxes and bins of sequins and beads.  We were in 'Little Girl Heaven'.  

Aunt Mary taught me to crochet when I was six.  It never dawned on her that her great niece could not pick up the fine coordination skill needed.  I still love to crochet and I am grateful for the memories I have of her teaching me on the front porch of that house in the Bronx.  

We jokingly say that one reason Aunt Mary lived so long is that she never got married.  She had more than one proposal though.  One of her suitors told her he would take care of her and she would never have to work another day in her life.  That was a grave mistake and it was the end of him.  A very independent woman, she reflected afterward that God didn’t want her to be married. She believed her destiny was to work and to help others through her work.  She did, however, bring up her niece and nephew when her sister Laura and Laura’s husband died six months apart, while both were only in their forties.  She worked hard to give them a good life and send them to college.  She was always busy helping others, whether she was making a wedding gown for a niece or crocheting dolls for the senior citizens.  

My mother's wedding gown, which Aunt Marie made and embroidered.  She made all the gowns and special dresses for all her nieces and sisters.

Aunt Mary, with red bow in her hat, made most of the dresses in this photo for my parents' wedding.

Aunt Mary moved from the Bronx to Yorktown Heights, when she was in her eighties.  She had an apartment built as an extension a niece's home.  She attended every family party and holiday and enjoyed each festivity with gusto.  She sat around the table after the meal and participated in the wonderful discussions, not missing a beat.  Afterward, she would retreat to the couch for a nap. Never wanting to miss anything, she was one of the last ones to leave the party. 

It is pretty remarkable that Aunt Mary did not need to be on any medications throughout her life.  Her health was always remarkable, despite the fact that she generously salted her food throughout her life.  She used to say that salt was good for the blood; sugar was good for the brain.  She enjoyed a little swig of vermouth at night too.  Her only ailment was cataracts later in life, around the age of 95.  It was her only surgery.

As her eyesight declined, Aunt Mary would ask my mother to write letters for her.  As she dictated letters to be sent to the presidents, my mother would chuckle to herself.  Aunt Mary knew her current events and thought she had the answer to all the problems.  She enjoyed telling the presidents how to fix the country.  Aunt Mary remained lucid until the end of her life.

So, Aunt Mary’s longevity could be attributed to her lifestyle, her personality, her genes, her attitude, her generous nature, or the fact that she never got married and enjoyed her vermouth at night.  Her strength and independence made an impression on all the members of our family, boys and girls alike.  Not only did I have the honor to call her my great aunt and enjoy her for many years of my life, but both our sons also have memories of their great-great aunt.  She was truly a woman before her time...and she lived to be 108 ½. 

Aunt Mary (right) at one of her great-niece's weddings.  She made her dress.

A Challenge

Video games make up a multi-million dollar industry.   From the start of their release in the 70s, parents showed concern about the effects the violence could have on their children.  As the industry grew, so did the competition between manufacturers.  The change in content was quick and dramatic; the details of the violence improved along with the advancement of the technology. Let’s take a look at the violence in these games and the challenge I put forth to the industry.

The most popular video games are not the educational or sports ones, but the ones containing shooting and killing.   The goal of these games has always been to shoot ‘everything and anything that gets in your way’.  Earlier games like Space Invaders and Wonder Boy used cartoon-like characters killing aliens and monsters and lacked the gore used in today’s games.   Now games depict realistic looking people and include sprays of blood that cover walls and floors near a character and explosives bursting people’s bodies into small but recognizable body parts.  Video games have always included violence but now the realism and gore has caught up to the level of violence in the games.

Violent video games are played by people of all ages, not just children.  To point out that there is a rating on the games does not eliminate the problem of the violence contained in them.  Parents can control, to the degree they choose, the games that their own children play.  But those of age can buy and play any game they want and are generally the ones in our society who carry out the most violent crimes.  I believe that continually watching or participating in simulated violent acts is detrimental to the development of a healthy human mind.  It can also give people ideas that can be simulated or acted upon.

I often hear people say that the world today is not the same world it was when they were growing up.  I guess depending on your age that could leave a range of what time period they were talking about.  But let’s ‘just’ go back 50 years, to 1963.  Yes, society certainly had its problems, it always does, but the level of violence that has changed in our society in ‘just’ 50 years is astounding and frightening.  Second amendment rights were still in full force in 1963, but the number of guns on the street and the types of guns were nowhere near where they are today. Fifty years ago, ‘bad people’ could not get new bad ideas to act on from video games, movies, or the Internet.  But I am starting to digress, so let me get back to the point of today’s post.

Surfing the web, one can find many entertaining sites.  I see posts shared from friends from U-tube and other sites that are unique, funny, and entertaining.  Violence is not the only topic that can entertain.  The challenge for the video game industry is to try to come up with a new wave of games that does not include shooting.  I am not saying this will happen overnight since the industry’s beginnings were rooted in shooting.  But what I strongly believe is that there is immense creativity in our society and that creativity goes beyond being boxed into guns, knives, and explosives for entertainment.

There are so many advantages of changing the focus of video games away from shooting and violence.  Most importantly, we would not be putting detailed violent images into the minds of children and older people who play the games.  Secondly, parents would likely support and might even buy more games for their children if they didn’t have the violence, increasing sales for the industry.  Additionally, depending on what the creative minds come up with for new generation of games, they could increase future creativity in those people who play the games.

As a society, we have become obsessed with violence.  This is not only seen in video games, but also in movies, television, the Internet, and what the media covers.  Violence always seems newsworthy, whereas fresh stories with new ideas does not.   We need to start somewhere and for this I set forth my challenge.

As a teacher and the president and founder of a non-profit music and arts organization, I know firsthand how creative our youth are.  They are advancing to great colleges with fresh ideas.  They are entering the workforce with new, innovative ideas.  I challenge them to come up with a way to transition the video game industry into a less violent one.  Make something else the new cool besides blowing up someone’s brain with a machine gun or slicing off someone’s body parts with a machete. 

Who knows, maybe in 50 years people will say it is not the same world today that it was 50 years ago when all that violence dominated our society.  Wouldn’t that be nice?  But I certainly hope we don’t have to wait 50 years.

One Year Ago Today...

 …I started this blog.  I wasn’t sure what I wanted it to become.  I had been saying I wanted to write a book and my husband asked if I ‘had a book in me’.  I was not sure how to take that, but I thought I would start with a blog and see if I could keep up with the demands that it entailed while carrying on with my already over-booked life. 

I started out posting one entry a day. I thought of Julie in the movie Julie and Julia.  She cooked a total of 524 recipes in 365 days from Julia Child’s cookbook and posted about the meals each day.  I loved that movie but felt her stress.  Not only did she have to work each day, but she also had to come home and cook a new meal and then write about it.  Even though that was a fictitious story, I was up for the blog challenge and felt the need to finish up a full year of blogging.

At first, one entry a day was not a problem at all because I had so many stories bursting out of my head. I didn’t want my blog to be about one specific subject with a narrow audience.  This was appealing to me because I could write about anything I wanted, trying out different topics.  After a few months though, I slowed down to one post a week.  Life was busy and although I loved writing, it was getting stressful putting the pressure of one entry a day on my plate.  Being an English teacher, I don’t just write.  I write, edit, let it sit, re-read it, edit more, let it sit again …etc. until finally I post.  This all takes time.

So what did I learn in a year?  Looking back at my first entry, I learned not to shop at the outlet stores on the day after Christmas.  I learned that some topics elicit strong emotions (gun control) and others bring out similar childhood memories for my readers as they do for me.  I discovered that my immediate and extended family love reading my posts and I enjoy passing on what I think of as a public diary of events and thoughts, as I remember them. 

The most popular posts with readers were:

1. Twas the Day After Christmas (my first post): http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2011/12/twas-day-after-christmas.html

2. The Dalai Lama’s visit:  http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/10/the-dalai-lamas-visit.html

3. 12-14-12 (last week’s post): http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/12/12-14-12.html

4.  The Neighborhood Show: http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-neighborhood-show.html

5.  Finders Keepers:  http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/08/finders-keepers.html

The least read entries were:

1. Visiting a Navajo School: http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/01/visiting-navajo-school.html

       2. The Barbary Apes in Gibraltar: http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/01/barbary-apes-in-gibraltar.html

      3. The Earthquake I lived through: http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/01/earthquake-i-lived-through.html

       4. Slides: http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/02/slides.html

       5. The sense of smell: http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/02/importance-of-sense-of-smell.html

       6. Learning a second language: http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/02/learning-second-language.html

       7. The Sistine Chapel: http://mytwocentsct.blogspot.com/2012/01/sistine-chapel.html

It makes me feel good when I run into someone who mentions they enjoy reading my blog.  I also like seeing one of my posts shared on Facebook by a reader.  I enjoy reading comments that people post on my entries too.  

So do I have it in me to continue?  As long as I have readers, I will continue to write.  When I don’t have anything to say, I promise I won’t just post a junky entry for the sake of posting something.

As we approach 2013, here are the top 11 things I look forward to, in no particular order.  I anticipate some of them working their way into future posts.

       1. Our younger son’s graduation from Berklee College of Music (no more tuition payments!) 

       2. Leading my 5th student trip to Europe in June for 10 days to Prague, Vienna, Budapest, and Munich.

       3. Going on our second annual girls weekend to LBI with the girls in my family.

       4. Hosting my 4^th annual high school reunion party in September.

       5. Reaching my one-year anniversary for my new knee in March.

       6. Learning more Italian so my oral speaking skills get even better.

       7. Making more time for photography in my life.

       8. Continuing to lead RMAC (Ridgefield Music and Arts Center) in my 7^th year as its president, but looking for a replacement soon.

       9. Going to Sedona for Spring Break      

     10. Spending quality time with my family.

     11. Teaching my students…I am fortunate to love the work I do.

Happy New Year!

12-14-12

There really are no words for the horrific tragedy that happened yesterday in Sandy Hook, Connecticut, a beautiful, close-knit community two towns over from ours. 

As news began to seep into our school yesterday, teachers and administrators tried to find confirmed information, hoping that our worst fears would not be met.  My prep period was in the morning.  I spent it frantically searching the Internet and making phone calls to friends who could shed light on the ‘unconfirmed reports’ that were flying around. 

What started out as one dead gunman and one adult shot in the foot, shot to 27 dead, including 18 children.   A fellow teacher came into my classroom, which was filled with 11-year olds writing poetry. She was the one who delivered the news of the escalated count of those who died, confirmed by an official in Danbury.  I held her hand and we tried our hardest to hold back our tears. 

I do not know how I taught the last three periods of the day.  We are culminating a fun, light poetry unit with a celebration planned next week with parents.  The poems they shared today were recipe poems.  They were so proud as they shared them with the class, practicing their oral speaking skills.  The writing was so light and cute.  I held back my emotions as I listened to their innocence, which would be compromised when they got home and heard the news from their families.   

I had flashbacks of September 11, 2001.  When our principal delivered that numbing news to me shortly after 9:00, I was in my fifth grade classroom.  I had over twenty 10-year olds in my room for the whole day.  I was told to carry on and not tell the kids.  Not tell them what?  I could hardly grasp the concept myself.  That day I, as well as the world, tried to access the Internet, to try to comprehend what was happening.

Several teachers in our school live in Newtown.  One had children in Sandy Hook Elementary School.  The physical therapist that skillfully and wonderfully cared for me for three weeks after my knee replacement this past spring had her children in that school too.  Thankfully they were not among the fallen angels, but their lives will never be the same.  Neither will the lives of any of the children who were in that school yesterday.

The principal and other teachers and administrators who fell yesterday are among our heroes.  When you work with children and a disaster happens, you protect them before yourself.  That is our job and also our instinct.  Our professional community and the community at large mourn for their loss just as deeply. 

Our school happened to have had a lock down drill earlier this week.  Although this drill is no longer new to the children, it is still a little scary for them.  I scooped up an older student out of the hallway before locking my door.  As they sat silently on the floor in the corner of my room, I whispered to reassure them that it was a practice drill.  I had no knowledge of the drill, which is truly a drill for us as well, but I knew from our training that it was a drill. 

Afterwards, one student asked why we have the drills.  When they are younger one explanation is that if a wild animal accidentally got into the building, we would want to keep everyone safe.  As we all absorbed the dark news incessantly yesterday in disbelief, one innocent child said the same thing.  He thought a wild animal maybe got into his school; how right he was.   As the children grow older and hear more news, they are introduced to worse possibilities. 

Our school went into a modified lock-down yesterday, as did many of the communities near Newtown, until it was deemed all the perpetrators were apprehended.  Our building was locked, and no children went outside for recess.  In addition, a police officer was present in our building.  But I still felt better with my classroom door closed. 

The numbness is still with us all today.  As we grieve with our friends and neighbors, our coworkers and our families, let us all keep the little fallen angels and their families and friends in our thoughts and prayers.  Let us keep their six heroes in a special place in our hearts too. Nothing I write here can come close to the words needed for their comfort because this atrocity is beyond words.  Our hearts join in collective grief.  

Real or Fake?

Get your head out of the gutter…I am talking about Christmas trees.  If you decorate your house with a tree, where do you stand on the issue of real verses artificial ones?  Here’s my story. 

My parents used to set up a real tree on Christmas Eve, assemble the toys, and fall into bed exhausted, only to be woken by the pitter-patter of our little feet, not too long after they collapsed.  They wanted us to have the magic of Christmas, including the excitement of the tree, on Christmas morning.  

Clearly, we did not care if the tree was real or not...

I was more interested in my sister's underwear and my new doll.

For fun...recognize any of the toys?

When my parents moved our family from Yonkers to Yorktown, I was six years old  They made the decision to start using an artificial tree.  They could set it up earlier and reduce their Christmas Eve work to toy assembly only.  My mother admits they could have set up the real tree earlier, but with the new house, it seemed easier to set up an artificial one earlier in the month. 

One green tree was set up downstairs with colored lights and a variety of ornaments, including the precious ones we made in school.  This is the tree Santa visited without fail.  Upstairs in our living room, a white tree with only red lights and ornaments was concurrently set up.  This one was for ‘show’ and looked very pretty in a room that already had a red, white, and black theme going on.  I loved our trees and never felt slighted or deprived that the trees were not real.  My only memories are of the artificial ones.

My husband’s family always bought real trees.  Their tradition was to wait until a few days before Christmas to purchase the tree and then decorate it on Christmas Eve.  They didn’t move to a new house like we did and change their traditions.

When my husband and I started dating in the fall of 1984, little did we know we had different 'tree backgrounds'.  We decided to get a tree together for my apartment, which was a little bigger than his and could fit it better. He wanted to get a real one and I was totally up for the new experience.  I ran a 10 K race that morning in Venice Beach, and afterward we planned to find a place to purchased a tree. We had our close friends over that night for a tree trimming party.  I would have parties for just about any occasion, so why not to decorate a tree?

The first real tree that I remember.

Four years later, after our first son was born, we advanced to the chop-your-own stage. We drove 45 minutes north of Los Angeles to Valencia to a Christmas tree farm.  It was the beginning of a tradition for our son and for our family.  I was now hooked on the fresh smell of the pine and the silky feel of the bristles; I was completely in.

The funny thing about chopping down a Christmas tree in California is that you are NOT wearing coats and boots, nor is it snowy or cold.

In addition, you don't mind lying on the ground with your saw.

A tradition is born and he seems to approve.

Over the years we have maintained the real tree tradition, although we have alternated between cutting it and letting someone else do that part.  I do love the smell and the magic of the real tree.  Over the last few years however, I have had thoughts of an artificial tree.  But in the end, we still get the real deal.  Interestingly, my siblings all have artificial trees.

I was at the Christmas Tree Shop yesterday and spent $75 on Christmas decorations, none of which we needed.  One purchase was a 3-foot white artificial tree.  This should not be confused with a Charlie Brown tree.  It is actually quite pretty and will be even prettier when it is decorated.  I set it up on our black kitchen table.  The plan is to decorate it today with red ornaments, mimicking the black, white, red color scheme that I loved to much in my parents’ house. 

I feel excited about and content with my $5 tree, and it has allowed me to let my thoughts abandon the real or fake conversation for a while.  As we get older and more nostalgic, sometimes I feel like we tend to go back to the ways of our childhood or childhood upbringing. So what will the tree tradition look like for us in 10 years?  Decorating an artificial tree on Christmas Eve?  Or will our boys, who have been brought up only with real trees, sway the vote to maintain the pure pine?  Only time will tell.

The unevenness of the branches is one sure sign of a real tree...Wait...are you really looking at the tree, or the two cute kids under it?

How Music Can Affect You

There are many things in life that can have an effect on your mood.  The actions of other people rank right up there with the ability to impact you either positively or negatively.  Your health or the health of a person close to you can also influence how you feel.  Bad decisions, the stress of employment or lack thereof, bad drivers, and a lack of chocolate in your life can all have a bearing on your mood.  But today’s post is not going to be that deep.  Whether you realize it or not, music can definitely alter your mood.  Many people take music for granted, especially young people.  You don't even realize how often music is playing in the background until it isn't.

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How many times have you found yourself in your car alone, and a song came on the radio that made you either belt out the lyrics or even just tap your feet?  Perhaps it brought you back to another time…your high school or college years, a special event where that song was played, or in your own room playing that song over and over again?  You love that song for whatever reason and you react to it, physically and emotionally. There are many songs that snap me to action.  My hands start drumming the steering wheel, my feet tap the floorboard, and my voice tries to mimic the singer’s.  Of course if you are conservative like I am, you might reign in your rocking body when you get to a stop light with another car by your side.  And let's not even go to holding fake microphones or shower singing...

Let’s face it, there are some tedious tasks that we all must do.  Take cleaning the house.  It’s just one of those things that has to be done.  Most times I plow through the chore as my mind organizes my day or I just talk to myself.  However, it always seems to amaze me when I come home to my husband doing some mundane job like organizing the basement, clearing off the deck, or even raking leaves.  He takes the time to pipe some music to where he is to make it more enjoyable.  I love this idea, but never seem to take the time to do it when I do my tasks.

This got me thinking about Melanie Griffith in the movie Working Girl.  Do you remember the famous scene where she was vacuuming?  Music was blasting as she cleaned the rug, in a way only she could pull off.   Let’s leave it at that.

Music is so integrated into your daily lives.  You rely on music to relax and stay happy.  You use it to make a long commute enjoyable.  Some of you go as far as assuring you have your music ready to play on your phone or ipod.   You want to be in a certain frame of mind and having your set playlist facilitates this goal.  Music helps regulate your mood.

Think of the times you have heard live music.  It may have been a large concert at Madison Square Garden or a small concert at your child’s school.  Either one probably, or at least usually, resulted in a positive experience for you.  Seeing your favorite band in person is a fantastic experience.  Hearing the songs live while watching the actual musicians performing is exponentially better than any CD recording.  And for those of us who have sat through the annual third grade concert with the same recorder songs presented year after year, we were still filled with pride and joy at another child participating in the experience.  Music brightens the soul, sets the mood, and creates anchors for future memories.

Last night, our town held its annual Holiday Stroll.  RMAC, the non-profit organization that I head, provided live music by local students in the heart of downtown Ridgefield.  The sound of the music drew passersby to the tent.  Their smiles and tapping feet definitely showed how much they enjoyed the music and how it affected their mood in a positive way.

Her smiling face says it all, as she performed live for RMAC last night.

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Music can make you sad too.  Certain songs bring back nostalgic or just bad memories.  When that happens to me, I quickly change the station.  I don’t try to let music bring me down.  Music has this extraordinary force that can impact our spirit. 

Although there will be lots of holiday music playing on the radio this week which can be repetitive, try to focus on music for the next few days and see what it can do to your feelings and attitude toward your daily life.  Go ahead and tap away, screech out the tune, rock your head from side to side, and enjoy!

Watching these two grow up (the one on the left is mine; the one on the right a former student), develop as musicians, proceed to Berklee College of Music, and perform at many venues, has been an experience that has kept a smile on my face.

Being a Teacher

“I’ve come to a frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element in the classroom. It’s my personal approach that creates the climate. It’s my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher, I possess a tremendous power to make a child’s life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated and a child humanized or dehumanized.”  ~ Haim G. Ginott

Making the decision to be a teacher is one that should not be taken lightly. While on a surface level, it may appear to some people to be a fabulous profession offering summers off; teaching really has to be in your blood.

Think of the challenging stages your own child has gone through.  Of course you worked through these phases with your child. (Think Terrible Twos, puberty, adolescence…) Now imagine that there are teachers who actually choose to work with children during these developmentally challenging times, every day, year in and year out. Teachers choose the level they want to teach: elementary, middle, or high school.  Although they can be moved up or down a little by their administrator, they and their administrator know what age child they work best with.

During my early years growing up, I have memories of playing teacher.  I would line up my many stuffed animals and dolls on my bed.  They would always listen attentively as I played teacher, telling them what to do or teaching them something.  When my younger siblings were old enough to play, I used them instead.  We had little desks that I would have them sit at and they willingly played along with their big sister. 

I loved being a student too.  I remember coming home from school in first grade and sitting at the kitchen table, eager to do my work.  I thought of it as a challenge to see if I knew the answers and I was always pleased that I did.  I loved learning and that did not change throughout my school-age years.

When I was in college and was home for break, I would come home well after my parents went to sleep.  My mother would always leave a note on the kitchen table.  It reminded the last one in to lock up, turn the outside lights off, and things of that nature.  As I read it, I couldn’t help but to make corrections if there were spelling or usage errors.  I know my mom wrote it when she was sleepy and not paying attention to correct grammar, but I couldn’t help myself; it was in my blood. 

When I had children of my own, I loved teaching them things, as all parents do.  They were very eager to learn from me when they were young and I relished every moment of it.  But at some point, they pull away from parental help.  I now know that it is a natural part of the process, but I had a hard time with it back then.  I would hear things like, “Just because you are a teacher, doesn’t mean you know what my teacher wants.”  They were right.

I work with 10-12 year olds.  For seven years I taught fifth grade (10-11) and then I switched to sixth grade (11-12).  I love this age.  I describe it best by saying that they ‘will still do anything for a sticker’.  I would not choose to work with high school students, nor would I choose to work with kindergarteners.  I find my fifth and sixth grade students easy and fun to work with.  Yet, when I talk to early elementary or high school teachers, they comment they don’t know how I can work with that age.  I return the sentiment.  Teachers have to find their niche, whether it is the level or the subject they teach.

The 11-year old mind thinks its own way.  When one of our students was moving to another state mid-year, the other kids wrote goodbye cards.  While most said they would miss him, wished him luck, hoped he would like his new school and make new friends, one student said ‘I hope your things don’t break.’  Although that is not something I would think of to worry about, that was a concern for him.  

Last year I gathered all my classes into one room to announce that I would be out of school for a while because I was having a knee replacement.  I told them my knee was worn out.  When we returned to our smaller classes, one girl asked what my knee looked like.  I looked at her with a puzzled look and told her it looked just like her knee and asked why.  She said she wanted to know what a knee looked like when it was worn out.  I then understood, and told her it was the inside that was worn out and assured her that the outside looked very much like anyone else’s knee.  I imagine she was picturing a disintegrating piece of flesh…  Teachers really need to understand the way the brains of their students work. 

When our sons got older, they and my husband had to endure living with a sixth-grade teacher.  I used to repeat a task multiple times, restating it differently, making sure they understood what I said.  I would break down simple tasks, draw maps or diagrams, correct spelling, and tell corny jokes.  They were all very patient with me, especially my husband.  He used to look at me and smile.  That’s when I realized I couldn’t turn it off.  I didn’t need to repeat and restate for him, but it just came out of my mouth. 

I finally realized I needed to acknowledge that my sons were growing up.  They didn’t want to hear the corny jokes or want me proofreading their papers.  They wanted to be independent in school.  It was very hard for me, but I had no choice.  I raised strong independent boys who were as stubborn as I was in some respects. “The object of teaching a child is to enable him to get along without a teacher.” ~ Elbert Hubbard.

Teaching is also the only profession I know that forces you to have an official photo taken each year.  Looking through the school yearbooks, you can reflect on your better hairstyles and have a good laugh.  You can also notice the subtle changes from year to year of the aging process. I'm not sure if this is good or bad...

Sometimes a profession is in your blood.  For me, I can’t help but being a teacher.  I love to impart knowledge and watch as light bulbs go off, paving the way to enlightenment.  I love making an impact on a child’s life.  I love when students come back to visit and a few of them tell me that they are going to become teachers because of me.  That is what being a teacher is all about.  

Although I miss my stuffed animals, I love having real students who can smile. 

Around the age I knew I wanted to be a teacher...

The Neighborhood Show

Growing up now-a-days is so different from growing up in the 1960s.  During my elementary school years, our entertainment consisted of playing in the neighborhood.  Depending on the time of year, this looked like riding bikes up and down our dead end street, joining in on a game of kickball in the court across the street from our house, swinging on the vines or riding sleds in the woods behind our house, collecting tadpoles from the stream along the side of our house, making snow forts, or playing with dolls or other toys inside someone’s house.  However, one of the greatest memories of all was the neighborhood show. 

During the summertime, I would organize a group of friends from our neighborhood to perform.  We had many acts to delight the younger kids.  I know my friend Robin and I sang.  We even wore matching short sets and white knee high socks.  LuAnne dressed as like a gypsy and did a ventriloquist routine with her ‘friend’.  Several of the girls danced while Dorothy played the accordion.  The accordion was a popular instrument to learn back then.  Not sure why its popularity went away.  Finally, some of my friends exhibited their artwork.

LuAnne, one of my best friends growing up, performing her act.  I notice here my cousin Kevin from Long Island, so I guess our guests came from far and wide to see the show!

No show would be a show without a great venue.  If you are wondering where this wonderful show took place, it was in our family’s ‘little garage’.  This is what we called the second garage that my father added to the back of our house, next to the main garage.  We created our own backdrop for the stage, which was my Twister board hung from rope to cover my father’s tools and lawn mower.  We added posters and artwork to the sides of the Twister board to add a special artistic touch.  More artwork and posters lined the side of the garage doors.  Visitors could look at all these fabulous masterpieces before and after the show.

Our fabulous stage...Also, performers were more interested in their peer's approval.  How cute are the girls clapping for their friend?? 

Part of creating the venue was also to create the seating area.  We lined the audience area with picnic benches, my parents’ folding chairs, and borrowed chairs from some neighbors.  If you rode your bike down the street as Jeff did in the photo below, you sat on your bike to watch.   If seating got tight, which you can see from the photo, little ones sat on laps or kids squished together.  

I love that we did this for the younger kids in the neighborhood. 

Publicity was easy.  We lived on a long dead-end road and we had a neighborhood pool.  When we were putting on a show, everyone knew it and not because of a Facebook event invite.  Back then word of mouth was all you needed, but we made and hung some signs anyway because it was fun making them. Plus besides, what else was there for the kids to do during the day besides going to the pool?  This was a nice event to look forward to.

One thing I remember is that the kids watched the whole show intently and behaved so well. Perhaps it was a combination of instinct and upbringing. This was a special event for the kids in our neighborhood and it was new to many of them.  There was no talking during the show, standing up or shouting out, or leaving after their friend performed.  These are problems that exist today with behavior at performances.

Although my mother was home, no parent chaperones were needed or seen in any of the photos.  Adults were not part of this at all.  They were not adding their professional advice or making sure their kids were the best.  It was not about being the best.  It was about having fun and doing something creative with our time.

In sixth grade, Robin, Mindy, and I performed in the Crompond Elementary School Talent Show.  Our group, the Forget-Me-Nots, played guitar and sang Mr. Tambourine Man by Bob Dylan.  I also loved art classes and took them throughout high school.  But as I got older, I drifted more to sports.  Unfortunately, instead of embracing both I allowed my artistic side to fade to the background. 

It is interesting reflecting back on this memory because in 2007 I founded a non-profit organization called RMAC, Ridgefield Music and Arts Center.  Its mission is to provide performance and exhibition opportunities for students. My sons were interested in music and I guess I sensed that I had the ability to create something like this.  I was not thinking of my ‘experience as a 10 year-old’ at the time, but I think it is kind of interesting now that I dusted off these memories and look back on them.  The shows RMAC puts on are organized by high school students under adult advisors’ supervision.  We have to think about renting venues and providing insurance, which means providing adult chaperones.  The age group is different too; my neighborhood shows were organized and put on by 10-12 year olds, so the concerns were different. 

My neighborhood friends and fellow artists.

Going back to my opening statement, times were different then than they are today.  I sure do miss those simpler times of pure creativity of the kids, by the kids, and for the kids.