Winds of Change are Stirring

New Ideas

As some may have noticed, for the past several months, I’ve had a hard time getting back into a regular rhythm of writing and posting at “Self Censored.” I can write about why and where my energy is going, but the bottom line is I’m trying to figure out where I want to go with this blog. This ambivalence makes it easy for so many other things to get in the way.

For example, while I’m on a roll and in the groove at the computer today, Eliza – my furry baby girl jumps on my lap because she wants to go out. I put her down, but she gets back up and desperately tries to get my attention by licking my face. Naturally, I stop and go out for a while as she examines all the spots she missed the last time we were out. Needless to say, when we get back, she needs a snack to reward her for doing her business outside, and while I’m at it, I decide to warm up the pumpkin muffin that is still waiting in the fridge.

Let’s get back to why I’m here today. I want to change things up a bit on my blog. I’m thinking about changing the layout, title, and domain name. I’ve been working on WordPress.com, but I’ve been recommended to try WordPress.org because it has more flexibility. As I’m mulling ideas about the nuts and bolts, I’ve also been thinking about my content. Is the “About” page still accurate? Are my goals the same? Is my motivation the same? Who I’m writing for? Maybe I don’t want to be censored anymore.

The idea for change came one day as I was at the library working on “collection maintenance” (re-shelving books, straightening up and making the place look presentable). That day I found a little book called “Why We Write. Twenty Acclaimed Authors on How and Why They Do What They Do.” By Meridith Maran. I tend to be a wee bit superstitious and thought to myself, “Hmmm, maybe this is the insight I need right now.” Truth be told, the book did turn out to be encouraging and stimulating. Of course, there was the usual advice from well know authors about perseverance and dealing with rejection, but it was the similarities to my thought process that inspired me.

Like myself, many of the authors included in the book found reading and writing as an emotional outlet early on. I’ve been journaling since I was a kid. I had poems and prose entered in my school papers and yearbooks since middle school. At one point, I thought I would make journalism a career. A friend and I fantasied as kids about working on projects together. He’d be a famous photojournalist, and I’d be the writer. Ahhh youth….

In the book, I found some authors began writing to explain or to make sense of the changing world around them – first to themselves and then to connect with others with the same uneasiness in spirit. They described taking ordinary moments from one’s particular point of view, “freeze-dry” the moment to let the reader “add water,” connect with the notion and make it their own. As I read, I could hear that voice of affirmation and validation in my head.

It was from this book that I decided to write fantasy or magical realism instead of continuing with the short stories and snapshots of my memories. It was with this new project in mind that I started connecting with co-workers in the Nanowrimo model. But alas, here I am reaching the end of November but still quite far from finishing a novel or novelette or whatever. I do however have a better idea of what I want to write, how, and most importantly why. I’ve done some research to move my story and characters forward, and I count that as progress. I see my finished project as a female version of Santiago the Spanish Shepard looking for The Alchemist, meets King Arthur’s Merlin at The Shack with Mack. Wish me luck!

As for you, keep writing. I check in to the blogs I follow and get inspired. I enjoy getting updates, reading your stories, and delight in how creatively you let your voices be heard.

Until next time, all the best.

(Photo from Pexels in WordPress)

I love the Summer Rain

I’m late in posting for Father’s Day. This is always one of my go-to happy memories.

feet rain wet puddle — Photo by Alicia Zinn on Pexels.com Jeans soaked, feet wet in a puddle of rain

This is the original essay which was my tribute for Father’s Day a few years ago. I condensed it for an assignment last week. Please enjoy this version too.

“I love the summer rain!” I shouted in my head because there was no one around to hear my declaration and ‘cause no one really cared. “Why?” I asked myself; I knew the answer from the minute I felt the first heavy drops. It was because of him. And because of him, I stood there for a moment in the pouring rain. Just a moment, long enough for my jeans to get soaked and my tee shirt drenched and long enough to conjure up the video I wanted to play in my mind.

splash of water — Photo by Noelle Otto on Pexels.com Fun in the rain

He must have been about the age I am now that day. Mid-fifties, receding gray hair, twinkling eyes, round face with half a crooked smile and a round belly to match. He wore shorts, his thin shirt unbuttoned halfway, and he’d already lost his shoes on the porch as he ran out to catch the rain. In all the excitement, he skipped and twirled tempting my girls to join him. Lovey had already shed her sandals and was waiting for the “go ahead.” I realized it was contagious as I liberated Annie from her orthopedics. Soon they were all laughing and skipping and twirling, wet through and through in the tropical rain. My mother and I just smiled from the sidelines, more concerned with what

the neighbors in the subdivision were thinking behind their blinds.

They called him “El Sapo” – “The Frog.” They say as a kid he would love to cool down by laying on the floor, with his legs in a diamond shape like a frog. He loved the water, he loved the rain, and he loved us. In the good times and the bad, of that, we could be sure.

I wished him here today. I wanted to be that little girl and dance in the rain and to have him hold me tight like he did the day Eddie died and he had no words to console me. How does one console a daughter whose young husband just died in the recovery room? We held each other the same way as we said our final good-byes to my mom on a warm summer morning. I wanted to hold him for the night that he died that I didn’t, but rather blew him a kiss from the door because I had the flu and didn’t want to share it with him.

As I think of him now, I know he wasn’t perfect, but I am grateful for all he was and all he left behind including that little bit of him in me.

A Writer’s Illusions and Delusions

My heart quivers in anticipation

As a thousand butterflies do pirouettes in my belly

Photo by Dids on Pexels.com

Inspiration:

I’m awake and breathless with anticipation.

Or is it my allergic asthma because of the old oak tree outside my open window?

My belly quivers as if a million caterpillars crawl around trying on butterfly wings

Or… was it the chicken and curry from last night’s dinner?

When is it an illusion or a delusion? When does a delusion become an illusion or is it the other way around. Is it that difference in perception that makes one appear “crazy” or impractical?

Ah, the questions that keep writers up at night.

Work- a New Day, a New Chapter

“And suddenly you just know it’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.” — Meister Eckhart

I began a new chapter this week. I started a new job. I work as a Part-time Library Assistant at a local public library, and I am so excited about it! This job was one of the first positions I applied to several months ago. The process of getting here was excruciating though.

The other day I read a post from a young woman just out of graduate school but who had been working in her chosen field in different capacities for a few years. She wrote about how frustrating and disheartening it is to be a young person looking for work these days. She described feeling that she was jumping through hoops while trying to decide what the interviewer was looking for based on the odd interview questions. Looking for work does feel like a full-time job without the pay.

I found the article interesting because I felt the same way but from a mature person’s perspective. I was beginning to wonder if I kept getting turned down because of my age or too much experience. Generally, the application process is all done online, and even though you are asked to upload a resume, you still have to fill out a multi-page application in which you manually enter the information already on your resume. I found out that although some sites ask for a resume, your interviewer may only get the application questionnaire. Once you receive an invitation for an interview, there may be pre-interview personality testing or online testing of your general knowledge.

In my own experience, sometimes during the interview, the answers to the questions seemed so obvious that I stopped to second-guess myself wondering if there could be any other answer. For example, one retail giant asked. “If you get a phone call that there is an emergency at home what would you do?” I answered that I would tell my supervisor and find coverage if needed. As the interviewer stared at me blankly, I wondered if it was a trick question. Should I have responded, that I wouldn’t get an emergency call at work because my phone would be turned off and in my locker?

One employer had called a former co-worker as a reference. She asked if he thought I could tolerate not being in charge; and would I be able to adjust to an entry level position? I had honestly addressed the reasons for applying for this particular position working with families in the community. What was she thinking? After that incident, I thinned out my resume so that I did not appear intimidating on paper, but better qualified for an entry-level position.

I was so happy to get the phone call with the job offer for Part-time Library Assitant. Over the past several months, I had applied to several local libraries whenever I saw a vacancy advertised. As I was growing up, the library was a significant part of my life, as it was for my children and grandchildren. As an adult, I enjoyed volunteering at a local public library through a previous employer’s community partnership program. Although I sent applications to various companies with better salaries, I still prefer to work in a library. I believe compensation for work can be measured in different ways. I consider that libraries continue to be an essential part of the community and I wanted to be a part of maintaining that legacy.

I am looking forward to working with creative people who enjoy reading and writing stories as much as I do. I am anticipating good times in this next chapter in my life. Wish me luck!

The fragrance of our lives

I wonder how the month of May compares with Christmas for the retail industry. It seems there are people out shopping for Mother’s Day, Graduations and let’s not forget Father’s Day and June weddings.

On the weekend right after Mother’s Day, as Blaise walked into a major department store, he found himself accosted by a beautiful young woman who was dressed as if she was on her way to a night on the town. She blocked his path and with a coquettish smile asked “wanna try?” He froze as he took her in. Her makeup was perfect- her lips just the right shade of red; her long black gown was open to show her long legs and she smelled wonderful. As he regained his composure he realized she had a bottle of cologne in her hand, she was a fragrance model. “It’s called ENOUGH, its debuting today and it’s guaranteed to make your girlfriend realize you’re all she’ll ever need.” She smiled again and winked at him and said, “Hi, my name is Marcy”

Blaise didn’t come in shopping for cologne but when Marcy wearing that big smile, pointed at him with a spritzer bottle, he responded: “sure, why not.” He found that he did like the fragrance. Smells like a man, he thought. He enjoyed feeling fresh, clean and masculine with a touch of cologne or aftershave. It reminded him of his dad. On Sunday morning his dad told them that a man needs to clean up and be ready to stand before God. He would wear his best shirt and use his best cologne. During the week he would head straight for the shower when he came home from the shop. After a while his dad would come down with nails clean, hair combed back and smelling like a dandy just to please Mom. That’s what a family man does his dad had taught him, always come clean to the dinner table. Without a second thought, Blaise had Marcy ring it up. The fragrance would be his present for Camille, his wife.

On Monday Blaise had to be up early for work. After he showered and dressed, he remembered the new cologne he’d bought over the weekend. Because he was going to the office, he sprayed himself lightly, just ENOUGH he smirked to himself at the clever play on words.

In the bedroom, Camille was getting a whiff of something powerful coming from the bathroom, and she felt her stomach turn. What on earth?! When she sensed Blaise coming into the room, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She still had another hour before the alarm rang for her. Blaise stood over the bed trying to decide whether or not to wake her so that she could enjoy him and his new cologne. Camille wishing for him to go away with that smell, kept her eyes closed and pretended to roll away from him in her sleep. Blaise tiptoed out of the room and headed to work.

Blaise was greeted by Mrs. Meddles at the front desk like any other morning. She was an older woman who reminded him of his mom. She was always ready with a smile and a cheerful good morning as everyone came in. “Don’t you look dapper today?” Blaise gave her a shy smile “just as I do every day” he told her and continued on his way down the hall. She stared after him a little longer as he walked out of sight and then it hit her, it was the fragrance that made him look different. He was wearing cologne today and she could swear he had a spring in his step. Or did he? She asked herself. She remembered Bill when he was that age. He would get playful whenever he wore cologne. She loved that clean fresh shaven smell. It was like the chicken or the egg. Did he get frisky because he was wearing cologne or because of her reaction to him? It was so long ago, she felt lonely all of a sudden. It had been years since she and Bill….. The last heart attack took her Bill away. The stranger in her house just stared at her when she got home each evening. Did he remember? Fragrance is a powerful thing. She wondered if she were to buy his old cologne or her perfume would he have a reaction? Would there be at least a flicker, a bit of recognition in his gray eyes? “Good morning, don’t you look nice today?” she was grateful for the interruption. “Good morning, Mrs. Meddles. It’s always nice to see your smiling face in the morning.” said Mary Grey. Mrs. Meddles was glad to have people streaming in regularly now as she greeted each one with a smile and a cheerful comment.

On the other side of town, Camille was arriving at work. As she got in the elevator, she heard Winnie Madison call out “hold it for us!” Winnie came running to catch the elevator to their office, followed closely by her boyfriend, Randall. Camille had heard all about Randall who worked on the same floor of their office building. Winnie and Randall started saying their goodbyes, and Camille tried to focus on the numbers above the door in front of her as the elevator made its way up to the 22^nd floor. Winnie told her it was difficult for her to be apart from him during the day. “Doesn’t he smell wonderful?” Winnie asked “I can just eat him up” Camille didn’t know where to look, but she had noticed a smooth, wood and musk fragrance as the elevator doors closed. She was feeling lightheaded as she got off the elevator. Camille didn’t want to remember all the intimate details Winnie had shared but found herself wondering if it was true what they said about fragrances and pheromones. She thought of Blaise.

During the coffee break, Camille asked about Randall’s fragrance. She admitted it was pleasant and told Winnie that she was thinking of getting new cologne for Blaise for Father’s Day. She told her of the incident that morning with whatever cheap, awful smelly thing that he wore after he showered. “Of course, I know what kind it is; I bought it for him this weekend. They were presenting it to the public at the mall. It was a little pricey, but I think it’s worth it. It’s called ENOUGH but be careful, it may be too much for you and Blaise.” They shared understanding giggles. Camille decided to go after work to pick up a bottle, but Winnie teased, “Fragrances don’t have the same reaction on everyone you know.” Camille smiled; she didn’t think she would wait for Father’s Day to find out.

Day Eighteen: Compose a Series of Anecdotes; the same narrative from a different point of view. #everydayinspiration

Home to where I’d never been

I came across this quote from North 20°54, West 156°14, a personal essay by Maggie Messitt on Bending Genre. “Maps are about boundaries and perception. They are about recognizing and being recognized.”
It is a beautiful place
One summer as soon as school was out, our parents took us to their little island in the Caribbean. It was the late 1960’s; it was the year my paternal grandfather died. It was unexpected. I don’t remember him, and I don’t think he ever met the twins. That’s probably why they made an effort to get us over there to meet the family now. I was apprehensive at first. My Dad was staying home, but we were going for the whole summer! I was starting my teenage years, which is a big deal in itself but on top of that, all I knew about Puerto Rico were the stories my parents had told me. Whenever they got together with my aunts, uncles and older cousins, they would tell the stories of the “good old days.” According to my parents, “It is a beautiful place! Just wait and see.”
Who are we?
The teen years are confusing. It’s a time when we are trying to figure out who we are. We had moved to this neighborhood a couple of years ago. At first, we were told that we could not speak Spanish outside of our new apartment. Should I be ashamed to speak Spanish? Is there something wrong with speaking Spanish? In order to get this apartment in a “better neighborhood” (read white, blue-collar), my dad had lied and told the landlord that we were Italian. My parents were afraid if she found out we were Puerto Ricans, she could kick us out. Should I be ashamed to be Puerto Rican? We are a light-skinned bunch, and my mother had blue-green eyes. We were able to pull it off – we “passed.” The Fair Housing Act was signed in 1968. In Current Events class, we briefly touched upon the Civil Rights movement, but I didn’t make a connection to what was happening to us. When my parents thought it was safe to do so, they told her the truth. We lived there for many years after.
Puerto Rico had been a United States territory since 1898, and the people were granted United States citizenship one month before we entered World War I in 1917. Wilson signed the compulsory military service act two months later. Puerto Ricans have been serving in the military ever since. In school, we just briefly touched on its history. All I remembered from history class was that it was an island that Spain gave to the United States after they lost the Spanish-American war. Should I tell my friends I was going to Puerto Rico? I don’t know if they knew. I was born and raised in the North East. I looked and sounded just like them. How would they know?
What a beach!
As our plane approached the island, I began to feel excited. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea after all. The colors were the first thing that amazed me. My siblings and I strained to catch a glimpse through the tiny windows. From the sky, we could see the crystal clear turquoise waters and sandy beaches like superfine white sugar. I remembered during my aunt’s visit, she was so disappointed to see the beaches in New York. “You call this a beach? You have to come and see what a real beach looks like.” She laughed. Now I understood what she was talking about. Compared to this, Manhattan Beach, Brighten Beach, Coney Island looked gray and dirty. There were no boardwalks and no amusement park rides, but it was breathtaking. Beyond the water, we could see the vibrant greens and browns of the mountains with ribbons of rivers running through them. I decided then; I was going to enjoy this adventure.
My mother’s youngest sister, “Asore” still lived at home with her parents. She had taken time off from work to show us around. Our first trip was to the beach of course. I couldn’t get over how clear and warm the water was. The waves didn’t crash on shore; they gently rolled in and quietly rolled out. We didn’t need a beach umbrella; we had put our things between two palm trees and hung a hammock. To this day that is my mental go-to place; effortlessly rocking in the hammock and listening to the sounds of that beach. Afterward, she took us to the thatch-covered eateries that lined the road by the beach as we headed home. We each tried something different rellenos-de-papas, (deep fried meat filled potato balls), alcapurias de jueyes (root vegetables filled with crab meat), and meat-filled turnovers, just to name a few. We were in heaven! Everything was delicious.
Spaceships in the mountains, crawlers in the water
The next stop was El Yunque National Forest, the only tropical rainforest in the United States. My aunt said that many believed spaceships regularly landed on very top of the mountain. We explored the mountain and the waterfalls. Before we left, we swam in one of the pools that form along the river. I had never been swimming in a river! The water was cold, and I was afraid of what else might be swimming there. On the way back we bought tropical fruit on the side of the road. During that summer we traveled with my aunt and crisscrossed the island at least a couple of times visiting many beautiful places. There are plenty of travel blogs and magazines that talk about the wonders of Puerto Rico. This blog is about perception, awareness, and self-discovery. It’s about a young girl recognizing that there are no boundaries.
Who are these people?
As we visited and got to know family and friends across the island, I began to see Puerto Rico different from what I had imagined. We spent time with cousins our age; boys and girls who laughed and played like our friends in New York City. They used dried palm tree shafts like sleds to go down the grassy hills in the countryside just outside of town. They confidently walked right by the cows and pigs as we stared and walked cautiously slow, afraid that any sound or fast movement might call attention to us. Our cousins fished in the creek and showed us how to collect tadpoles in a glass jar. I don’t usually like tadpoles, but at the time I thought it was all fun and so exciting.
In New York, I didn’t know any Puerto Ricans outside of my family. The ones I saw depicted in movies or on television did not reflect my reality. No one in my family had been to jail or belonged to gangs or sold drugs on the street corners. We went to school and church. My family in New York was tight-knit and made up of all hard working folks, trying to survive all the challenges that came their way. They were printers, handymen, electricians, seamstress, and clerks. I didn’t know of any Puerto Ricans who were doctors or lawyers. In school, we didn’t learn about the artists, poets, musicians, actors, comedians, songwriters and authors. Here we learned that my grandfather’s brother had been the Mayor of their hometown. Our great-grandfather had been a well-known troubadour. Other family members were respected members of the community. It was a life I had seen on TV, but here the characters were real, and they were Puerto Rican.
For the love of art, music, and literature
I was glad my aunts took the time to take us to museums and talk to us about our history. We got to listen to some of waltzes and ballads that were written by Spanish and Puerto Rican composers. There was a Symphonic Orchestra! We saw the folk dancers in streets of San Juan and heard traditional music, played on instruments that originated on the island.

I fell in love with Old San Juan and the fort that protected it El Morro (Castillo San Felipe del Morro). It’s still picturesque and quaint, something that you would think of finding in Europe. It was old Spanish Colonial architecture painted in pastels and cobblestone streets where I imagined the Spanish senoritas walking with parasols. I was amazed at all the cultural richness that I found. Yes, I was already a nerd back then, and at the end of the trip, I wanted to twirl on the lawn of El Morro and down the streets of Old San Juan like one of the protagonists of a Roger’s and Hammerstein musical. Picture Julie Andrews as Maria VonTrapp singing “the hills are alive with the sound of music.”

A new me
When school started, I had been excited to share all this with my friends back home. My aunts had given me books and souvenirs that told our story, and I brought these things to school. My friends were not interested, not even the pictures of cute Puerto Rican pop stars made them look. They were still in seventh and eighth grade, and the world didn’t matter much beyond the cute boys in the next class.
I was hurt at first, but no one could take away what I had learned that summer. I wrote about it in my English class and had a piece published in the school yearbook. I argued with my history teacher and told him whatever he was teaching had nothing to do with me. (He was great though. He became one of my favorite teachers, and I Aced his class). In Orchestra class, I played my cello as if I was playing at the Pablo Casals Festival in San Juan.
I was glad we made that trip. I’m pleased with this assignment. Though not a typical road map, it took me on a fabulous journey. “Maps are about boundaries and perception. They are about recognizing and being recognized.” Maggie Messitt
How about you? Have you ever been “home” at a place you’ve never been before?
Day Seventeen: A Map as Your Muse #everydayinspiration

School Ratings, Beyond the Number

abc books chalk chalkboard — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The task for this assignment was to “mine” material, or story ideas from the web, old drafts, social media, etc. the inspiration came at me from Discover on Reader. The post is https://integratedschools.org/2018/05/30/the-problem-with-great-schools/comment-page-1/?blogsub=confirming#blog_subscription-6 Author Ali McKay from Integrated Schools.org, wrote an article which addressed questions that had been on my mind for some time. I understood the piece was encouraging parents to look beyond the numbers published by the GreatSchools.org rating systems. She explained that based on her own experience, she was pleasantly surprised that although the school she chose for her family was not in the top percentile, the school has been a good match for her children of different ages and skill level. The system does not give a complete picture of whether or not that school is a good fit for your child as it doesn’t take into account other tangibles such as the human factor. Ms. Mckay also notes there appears to be a correlation between racial percentages and the number indicators. The author notes that GreatSchools’ president, Mathew Nelson, encourages parents to visit the school and talk to parents in the community before making the decision that’s right for them. Where I come from that is called CYA on the part of Mr. Nelson. Check out the article attached for more.

There are many aspects of the public education debate that cause me to have concerns. As I was doing additional research to substantiate my post, I went down the proverbial rabbit hole. I found more unsettling articles about where our political leaders are taking public education, and as I have said before, these problems did not start with the 2016 elections but at least back to the Reagan area. I decided to leave a good portion of my findings to dole out in smaller increments and will publish them over the summer.

Questions about the future of public education have been swirling in my head for decades; since I sat on School Improvement and Education Reform meetings when my own kids were in school. However, now that I have a granddaughter who just finished Kindergarten in a Public School system this year, I’m forced to look at the question that I’ve been avoiding – “now what?” On a personal level, we are grateful that she had an uneventful year, considering that active shooter drills are now part of the school experience. Some liken them to fire drills or duck and cover drills in my era – but not quite. She’s a bright, resourceful and caring child but she is not a fan of going to school because she hates just sitting around for long hours (paraphrasing). She enjoys learning, and her parents make sure she and her sister have plenty of resources at home to complement their education.

The school, my granddaughter, attended last year was about a couple of miles from her home and was rated an overall 7 and 8 for test scores by GreatSchools.org. According to the report on the site, the student body is 85% white, 4% mixed race/ethnicity, 3% black and 12% are considered low-income families. For the most part, her parents heard good things about the school and yet at the beginning of the school year, they worried about the choice to send her public schools. Both parents are college grads, volunteer on a once or twice a month on a regular basis. They find the administrative support staff is pleasant and the teachers that they have encountered seem interested in the success of the students. The school has one principal, no assistant, and one counselor hour for every one hundred students. There is one nurse and one art teacher that come to the school two days a week and work at another school two days a week. They have a resource room to watch pre-recorded lessons, a library and they have a computer room. It appears that this school’s focus is teaching to test scores.

By comparison, a friend of the family has children in public schools within the city limits approximately ten miles from the other school. On GreatSchools.org that school has an overall rating of 5 and for test scores a 6. The student body makes up is 43% white, 36% black, 10% mixed ethnic/race, 67% low-income families. Both parents also college grads and both parents also volunteer in the school. The school has a more interactive educational approach and a fine arts and recreation program which include music and art lessons after school. The kids seem to have a more enjoyable experience, but l may be projecting.

When this family wanted to move, they tried to find an affordable house within that school district. With the fluctuation of the housing market, they did not find what they were looking for. The other option was to move out of the city limits, which would put the kids in the County’s School system and they could then apply for the School Choice Option. If accepted the parents had to pay fees comparable the city’s cost per child rate. On paper the idea sounds great, at least if they don’t live in the district, they can take still take advantage of the school’s programs, without using tax dollars. Keep in mind this is a “low rated” school.

I worked Real Estate for several years and more often than not, I would meet young families with corporate transfers who had researched schools online and would not consider anything outside of the recommendations of the school rating system, often these homes had bigger price tags. Interesting to note is that many of the ads on these sites are sponsors by real estate companies. Ali McKay’s article presents this as an example of modern segregation in today’s education system and consequently the Real Estate market.

To emphasize Ms. MacKay’s point about GreatSchools.org ratings, I found just by comparing these two schools; the score is not necessarily a reflection of how good or bad a school is. The school in the city with a more varied student body was rated 2 points lower than the other school. I find it ironic that the school with the better test scores and higher rating has limited resources in some essential areas. Is it that the school has not requested additional funds or it is overlooked in the budget because the school with the better scores has already tested well? What are we missing? What is the X factor?

Day Sixteen: Mine Your Own Material #everydayinspiration

A book that opened eyes

The previous assignment was quite a challenge for me. It was to recreate a single day with no backstory, flashbacks, or foreshadowing. Imagining what may be ahead is part of my nature. To look beyond what I see in front of me is part of my writing style. Everyone has a backstory; sure some may call it baggage, but regardless it does affect our actions and who we are in present day. I was feeling boxed in by staying within the confinement of the day. Every time my mind wandered to the past or the future, I had to reign myself in.

Today’s #everydayinspiration option: Tell us about a book that opened your eyes when you were young, or younger in my case. I chose this option because I knew exactly which book I can effortlessly talk about. It is “The Four Agreements” by Dr. Miguel Ruiz. I have referenced this book in part in my previous posts, and today I decided to take the opportunity to tell you a little more.

I was given this book many years ago by a new neighbor. Her name was Nora; we had spoken a few times, and one day as I was checking my mail, she stopped me and said: “I think you’ll like this.” She handed me the book and walked back to her apartment. I took it upstairs, read the cover, rolled my eyes and put it down. It read, A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom, The Four Agreements, A Toltec Wisdom Book.

After a couple of days, curiosity got the best of me, and I picked up the book and started reading. After all, how many times had I heard that you couldn’t judge a book by its cover? I read a few chapters that night, but quite frankly, I was not in the mood for the mumbo-jumbo about dreams and energy of the light and the stars, the earth and humans. I put it away. When Nora asked, I told her I had started to read it but got too busy with work and classes and family.

Fast forward to a year or so later, and I was between flights at an airport looking for something to read because I had forgotten my book. On display out front of the store I saw, From The New York Times Bestselling Author, Don Miguel Ruiz – Wisdom from The Mastery Of Love. Bestseller? Well, whadda ya’ know? I picked up a copy and started reading. The four-hour flight was enough to get me hooked. This seemed an easier read, or maybe I was ready to understand it. When I finished, I dug out the other book and read it too. It all made sense now. I’ve read each book a few times, and when the author and son teamed up to explain the Fifth Agreement, I read that too.

The “Wisdom” is not magic or beliefs of rituals with supernatural powers. It’s actually common sense insights that we have heard before from our parents, teachers, and preachers or in this case, from Toltec healers. The simple way the message is delivered is part of the charm. This wisdom is broken down into an uncomplicated formula- The Four Agreements. I will share my impression of what I’ve read.

Be Impeccable with Your Word: I take great care to make sure that when I speak, I speak with integrity. I think I show immense strength when I am honest in sharing my thoughts, and I try to be clear for others to understand me. If I disagree, I am mindful not to attack the person but to address the behavior. I think when one is conscious of how words are used, and the effect they can have on another person, one demonstrates respect for the power of the word.
Don’t Take Anything Personally: This agreement is one I find is particularly liberating for me. You may have noticed that on my blog I often bring up the idea that each person is living his or her own story. Each one is dealing with issues that may be foreign to the next person. The basic premise is that nothing the other person does is because of you. They are wrapped up in their reality; each one is the “star” if you will, of their movie. Sometimes we are hurt by someone because of their belief system. Once we learn that their opinion does not define us, we are free.
Don’t Make Assumptions: You probably have heard the saying that starts – When you ass-u-me you make… . The truth is when we assume; our imagination goes beyond the reality which can lead us to distress. Clear communication is such an essential part of our lives to avoid misunderstanding, sadness, and drama. When we make assumptions, our preconceived ideas make it almost impossible to move toward a solution. Learn to ask the right questions that will get you the answer you seek.
Always Do Your Best: Our best changes from day to day or even from each moment. Our best is different when we are in good health or when we are ill. The important thing is to put in all your effort. Don’t judge or abuse yourself in any way just because your approach is different from the mainstream. When you do your best – whatever that means to you, be proud that you did it to the greatest of your ability –no regrets.
Be Skeptical but learn to listen: This is another great truth that you’ve heard before. Just because a leader sad so, doesn’t mean you have to jump off the bridge. I have also written about listening to different opinions but in the end, research to confirm the truth. Just because you are trying to be “impeccable with your word,” doesn’t mean everyone else is. I remember a colleague used to say. “There are two sides to every story, and the truth lies somewhere in the middle.”

Revisiting these agreements at different times has helped me take another look at situations in my life. I have found that they blend well with my belief system and at times I have felt “enlightened” when I am moved to practice them. There was a time when I was giving this pair of books to family, friends, and colleagues. I know some people were able to take it to heart and expressed gratitude. Some even said it had changed their life by taking another look at some simple truths.

Day Fifteen: Take a Cue from Your Reader #everydayinspiration

This post is not a paid endorsement; just a response to an assignment as stated above. I hope it was helpful. Thanks for stopping by.

Book cover — The Four Agreements by Dr. Miguel Ruiz courtesy of Barnes and Nobles

The Girls were home today

alarm alarm clock antique bell — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The alarm went off as usual at 6:30 AM even though it was the weekend. She heard Cason go into the shower and wondered where he was going so early today. She rolled over got comfortable again. It was too early to the day to start. She heard him getting dressed and in a short while he mumbled something about the Club on his way out the door. Whatever the reason that got him up and out this morning, she was grateful.

Time to get moving

The sun peeked through the blinds, and Arielle Delsapo jumped out of bed with excitement. It was already 7:30 in the morning! The kids were home for the weekend, and she loved it! She planned to cook their favorite meals and pour on the loving. Arielle still liked to make everything special for them whenever she had a chance. She believed that if they found love and tranquility in their home, the world would seem like a better place.

Not ready to tell them

Arielle pulled the curtains and opened the windows. It was important to let the bright morning sun and fresh spring air fill every corner of the house with the beginning of a brand new day. She quickly stuffed the bed covers in the hall closet and arranged the cushions on the couch. She wanted to enjoy the day and not waste time explaining why she was sleeping on the sofa bed. Satisfied that everything looked, as usual, she went to the room to shower and change.

Time to Cook it up

She looked at the time. She was glad Cason has gone to the club early this morning; he would probably be gone all day. That worked out fine. It was 8:30 AM, surely the girls were awake already. Like her, they were early risers but were enjoying a lazy Saturday morning, reading in bed and cuddling with the cats. She knew once she started cooking, the smell of all their favorites would make it impossible to stay in bed. She lovingly prepared pancakes, scrambled eggs, crisp bacon. Her Dad would be here soon with an Italian breadstick warm from the bakery, and they would have real butter.

She knew the kids would want coffee. She took out her mom’s stovetop espresso maker for some old fashion “café con leche.” The coffee would go on last to make sure they had a freshly brewed pot. She knew they would be out in the kitchen as soon as the fusion of aromas reached the bedrooms and announced that breakfast was ready. She put out food for the cats and sat to drink some by the window as she waited for them all to get up. She enjoyed the smells and the sounds of a peaceful house. The curtains waved gracefully in the morning breeze hypnotizing and transporting her to another place full of anticipation and hope. She sipped her tea and let it take her away…..

The Kitchen smells of love

Arielle was snapped back to her kitchen as quickly as she had slipped out. Lovey came into the kitchen sniffing the air with her eyes closed. “The cat wanted to get out. Hmmmm, yum – where’s the coffee? “ Annie followed shortly after, she put her head down on the kitchen table and grumbled, “coffee?” Relieved for the interruption of her thoughts, Arielle jumped up to get a couple of mugs.

The Grandpa and the fresh bread

As expected, her Dad arrived on cue with the warm bread, at 9:30 am. The girls were always happy to see him. “Abuelo!” Hugs and kisses all around. Lovey grabbed another mug and plate, and Annie got the milk. They all sat around the table. They ate, laughed, and put on another pot of coffee. Before they knew it, it was almost noon, and the girls were still in their pajamas. Her Dad said he had errands to run and managed his goodbyes, without shedding a tear but he marveled one more time at how grown-up they were.

An eventful day

The girls wanted to get some things before they got back to school. All three headed to the Mall. The warm Spring weather was encouraging as they searched for jeans, sandals and sleeveless shirts. It was 1:30 PM. They were just about done but decided to check out which movies were playing. Surely they could get a matinee in before dinner. The girls had planned to meet up with friends afterward, and they tried to negotiate a time. Arielle called Cason to see if he had a preference for dinner, but he said he couldn’t make it and they should make plans without him.

Matinee and dinner

They picked a “chick flick” a romantic comedy about mothers and daughters adapting to major life changes. It was almost 7:00 pm when it was over. They chose a new restaurant nearby. It was trendy with just the right lighting, music and the food was good. While they were waiting for dessert, Ariel took a deep breath and said “I’m done. I’m getting a divorce.” The girls looked at each other and finally Annie said, “Well its about time!”. “No kidding” echoed Lovey. They hugged their mom. They were not children anymore. They had seen the writing on the wall.

They enjoyed their desert and headed home. Lovey and Annie crossed paths with their step-dad Cason, who was going out for the night. The girls decided to stay home with their mom and played Forty-Fives for awhile before going to bed. Arielle went to the hall closet and took out the bedding for the sofa-bed. She was glad to have spent another great day with her girls. She went to their rooms and kissed each one good night. They were reading, and each one had a cat snuggling under the sheets.

Day Fourteen: Recreate a Single Day #everydayinspiration

True story in One Hundred Words

black and white hand raining — Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

“I love the summer rain!” I shouted in my head. It was because of him. I stood there for a moment in the pouring rain; long enough for the video to replay in my mind.

He was fiftyish, receding gray hair, twinkling eyes, and crooked smile. He had lost his shoes on the porch. He skipped and twirled as his granddaughters joined him.

I wished him here today to hold him tight like I couldn’t do on his last night. I am grateful for all he was and all he left behind including that little bit of him in me.

Day Thirteen: Play with Word Count #everydayinspiration

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