I know this because I see people’s foreheads smeared with what my Grandfather Abie called schmutz, or dirt. As in, “wipe the schmutz off your face.”

As a kid, I wanted to be Catholic. All my friends were Christian but it seemed the Catholics had all the fun. Midnight masses, Easter Sunrises, Christmas Trees, and Sunday Hams.  And Catechism. Back then, there was no issue holding religious education classes after school, using classrooms.

Once a week, my friends attended these classes, which to me seemed so secret. A gaggle of nuns, dressed in full black habits, their hair tightly bound under starched white wimples, a veil reaching their shoulders, arrived, school supplies and religious icons in oversized totebags.   My only exposure to nuns had been The Sound of Music  and Sally Field as “The Flying Nun.” 

I left to ride the nearly empty school bus home, alone.

The next day, the half-erased chalkboards showed glimpses of what transpired.  My friends talked among themselves about what occurred in my absence. Each nun sounded meaner than the next. I felt so left out.

Then there was Lent.  A month leading up to this period before Easter, my friends discussed what they were giving up for Lent. I wanted to give something up too but the thought of depriving myself of cookies and ice cream for an entire 40 days seemed rather harsh.

By high school, I no longer wished to be Catholic, though I dated Catholic guys and went to their homes for holiday meals. After school, kids played sports, or went to club meetings, or worked.  There were no religious education classes held on the high school premises.

Perhaps I began to identify myself more as a Jew, at least culturally. (My previous post on this topic.)

Yet seeing the ashes today reminded me of what it’s like to be different and want to fit in. And the importance of acceptance and tolerance.

“Mom, I left my luggage on the train.”

Jacob, then 17 and a high school junior, had taken the train from Newark, NJ to Philadelphia, PA. He had transferred to the suburban train line to reach Swarthmore College, where he had arranged an overnight stay with a student host and had an interview scheduled the next day.

“You what?”  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  He had become engrossed in conversation with another passenger.

“What will you wear to your interview? “

“I’ll borrow clothes. Don’t worry.”

Imagine my response.

The next day, after sleeping on the floor, he donned a pair of khakis and a semi-ironed shirt offered by his host, Zach, who had pointed to his closet and said, “take.

The interview went well and Jacob was accepted early decision. (And he retrieved his bag on the way home.)

His freshman year, we packed our mini-van and brought him to college. I made his bed, unpacked his things, gave instructions on how to do laundry, said goodbye, and cried practically the entire ride home. He was the first child to leave home.  

Returning to Swarthmore this past weekend to watch our daughter play tennis- the team traveled 8 hours by bus from Ohio- memories of Jacob’s college years returned.

An avid reader, Jacob used to walk the dog while reading a book; he refused to purchase required books, opting instead to borrow 30 or more titles from the college library about the subject. The librarians all knew him and loved how he boosted circulation. He acted in a play, campaigned for soy milk to be offered in the school cafeteria, founded a massage practice, and volunteered as an evening escort, accompanying drunk or drugged students back to their dorms.

By his sophomore year, he was disillusioned with college and announced his plans to leave.

We were devastated. He and the school had seemed a perfect match. We tried to convince him to finish. “Stick it out. Finish.” My father, furious, also attempted, telling him, “You have opportunities I never had.”

We argued. And finally acquiesced. There was no point wasting time or money if he wasn’t committed.  His college education- and that school- was our dream, not his.

I remember picking him up for the last time. Unmaking the bed, stuffing everything into the car. Frustrated. Annoyed. Worried.  We went out for Thai food as a family; the discussion dominated about what he would do now. Two gentlemen sitting nearby, eavesdropping, couldn’t help interjecting: “It won’t be the worst thing in the world if he drops out of college.”

They were right.

Allowing him to leave college and pursue his own path was difficult. In retrospect, what seemed so important at the time really wasn’t.  Part of letting go, we learned, is allowing children to make decisions themselves.

At age 16, she entered college, then interned with NASA, determined to become an astronaut.

Voss died this week of cancer.   One of only six women to have gone into space five times, she explored “the behavior of fire in weightlessness, how plants adapt to extraterrestrial flight” (NYT) and more.

She logged nearly 19 million miles circling the Earth.

Madeleine L’Engle‘s 1963 Newberry Medal Winner tells the story of how Meg Murry, her brother Charles Wallace, and their friend Calvin O’Keefe, travel through time and space, battling evil powers, searching for the Murry children’s father.  More fantasy than science fiction- the characters aren’t imbued with superhuman characteristics – this novel, considered a classic, is celebrating its 50^th birthday this year.

I taught A Wrinkle in Time and the four others in the L’Engle’s Time Quintet to urban middle school students.  Suspending belief and allowing their imaginations to enter unknown galaxies proved challenging for many.  Yet they preserved and came to love the characters and their odyssey.

I don’t know where those former students are now. Maybe some are scientists, inspired by their reading.

http://www.amazon.com/Trail-Ancestors-Cowboys-Across-America/dp/1468123920/ref=pd_rhf_ee_p_t_1

Please share!

Prince Charles, attending a celebration in Portsmouth, Dickens’ birthplace, read:  ”Despite the many years that have passed, Charles Dickens remains one of the greatest writers of the English language, who used his creative genius to campaign passionately for social justice. The word Dickensian instantly conjures up a vivid picture of Victorian life with all its contrasts and intrigue, and his characterisation is as fresh today as it was on the day it was written.”

What I wonder, is how many people still read him?

A Tale of Two Cities (1859) was my first introduction to Dickens. Assigned in high school freshman English, the book’s plots and characters were discussed and dissected, analyzed in essays and tested about in examinations.  This was before study guides existed- no Cliff Notes, Spark Notes or Internet to help understand the reading.

I remember loving the novel. My father, quipping about my mother’s knitting, would compare her to Madame Defarge; the infamous character who knit the names of her intended victims into garments.

Sophomore year brought Great Expectations (1860-61) and Miss Havisham, the rich spinster who lived in a decrepit mansion.  Even now, when cycling, I’ll comment about the appearance of a forlorn looking house, wondering if Dickens’ character lives there.

Then my reading of Dickens stopped. The rest of high school and college included other authors.

Moving to London in 1982, I became reacquainted with Dickens. The historical blue plaques that dot the landscape include seven honoring Dickens; his family moved a lot.

I bought used copies of his novels at the bookstalls on the South Bank of the Thames River and once again became enthralled with the plots and characters depicting Victorian England.  When the Royal Shakespeare Company announced its 1985 revival of Nicholas Nickleby, (1838-39) an 8-½ hour long stage adaptation, I bought tickets, ready for the marathon. The play is divided into two parts with about an hour in between; it was a fantastic theater experience.  

Returning to the US, and many years later, I took the children to Patrick Stewart’s solo performance of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol (1843) on Broadway.  Stewart played 40 characters from the ghosts to Tiny Tim.  

My three children, recognizing Stewart as Star Trek’s Captain Jean-Luc Picard, sat mesmerized. 

As each child entered high school, I reread some of these Dickens’ classics; it was a good way to inform dinner conversation about homework and provide ideas for essays.  Their reading of Dickens also ended by 10^th grade.

Happy Birthday Charles Dickens! You should be happy at least that teenagers are reading you, if not for pleasure, at least for school.

Sounds more like a cocktail than a clothing color.

For the first time ever, I’m actually ahead of the new style. I love orange and have citrus-hued clothes by the crateful: sweaters, blouses, sleeveless tops, a dress or two, and accessories: earrings, bracelets, scarves, and tights.   Alas, no shoes!

From my Orange Collection

Take me shopping and I gravitate to the oranges. (and greens)

Frankly, I love the use of colors- whether on walls, in towels, or clothes. I’ve never been the basic beige sort, preferring to don bright shades all the time.  While browsing at a local boutique, I realized I needed new key chains.  Surely these whimsical, snappy shaded baubles wouldn’t get lost. I’d never misplace my keys again. I’d remember that I’m holding them in my left hand while searching for them at the bottom of my pocketbook.

The Israeli designer, Orna Lalo, espouses her artistic philosophy: “Color for me is a language that has a sound, a smell, a touch and taste.”

The tag on the key rings reads: “I always think about the person who will be using my design- I want my colorful creations to smile at you and make you feel good.”

My new key chains

Isn’t that what fashion is all about?

But will I find my keys any faster?

I visited the HOOD to give a presentation based on my research about the history of the black jockeys.    While working as a literacy consultant in Newark, NJ, I met Miles Dean, a teacher who had ridden his horse across the country in 2008 to celebrate the history of African Americans. * 

At the time, he was trying to organize a National Day of the Black Jockey celebration. Dean’s journey and the jockeys, athletes they’d never known about, intrigued the students at the HOOD.

*Stay tuned: My book about his journey: “On the Trail of the Ancestors: A Black Cowboy’s Ride Across America” will be out in about a month.

A Daughter’s Recovery

“Did you get my racket?” My daughter whispered, sneaking a contraband telephone call during school hours.

“Yes,” I assured her. I’d collected the racket, restrung in time for her second to last match of her high school tennis season. As I left the club, where she’s trained for years, I couldn’t help think about the last 12 months.

At this time last year she underwent surgery to repair her torn anterior cruciate ligament, or ACL, one of two ligaments that form a cross in the joint under the kneecap. When I brought her back to school five days after her surgery, she was the 16th student on crutches– all from various sports injuries. During the course of the next nine months, Lydia, now 21, was strapped to a bulky continuous motion machine eight hours a day. She wore three different custom-made leg braces, attended physical therapy sessions three times a week, and was fitted with custom orthotics.  Each intervention was designed to rebuild her strength and prevent the injury from reoccurring.

Like any long rehabilitation, she had her low points. When a knee- strength test indicated she was only at 81% capacity, she felt her tennis days were over. She wrote about her injury and recovery in her school’s newspaper: “I concluded that 19% of me was still wrong, broken- a troubled work in progress.”  She considered not returning to the sport. “It doesn’t define me,” she said, citing her other interests, including the school newspaper, an advocacy group against hunger in Darfur, and the makeup crew for the school musical.

She also had her triumphs: after nine months without playing (and no gym, which she didn’t mind), she began slowly retraining. She learned more about her anatomy and what she has to do to prevent injury. Her tenacity earned her the first singles spot on the team.  At her second match, I talked casually with her opponent’s mother. Her daughter also had had ACL repair, not once, but twice. We joked about how the orthopedic surgeons had taken nice vacations thanks to us.

Yet as Lydia’s mother, I still couldn’t help question: Why didn’t all the pediatricians over the years, who knew she was an athlete, ever mention that the combination of her flat feet and tilted hips could lead to injury?  Why hadn’t coaches and trainers at prestigious tennis camps and clubs ever mention ACL prevention? Or was I just feeling guilty that I hadn’t protected her?

Then I read Michael Sokolove’s “The Uneven Playing Field” (New York Times Magazine,  May 11, 2008,) and  his subsequent  book, Warrior Girls: Protecting our Daughters Against the Injury Epidemic in Women’s Sports (Simon & Schuster, 2008),  and found answers.   The 1972 passage of Title IX mandated greater opportunities for female athletes- a civil rights measure that extends from town recreation programs to college athletics. But the rapid expansion of women’s sports overlooked several factors: women’s anatomy, hormones, and training among them.  How women run and how they’re built, both physiologically and chemically, dictate how they can be prone to injury.

As I read, I saw my daughter. Passionate about tennis since 8th grade, she realized she couldn’t continue playing soccer and taking ballet if she expected to play high school varsity. As she became more serious about tennis, she increased her hours each week, playing through the winter. Early specialization and year-round play contribute to injury, according to Sokolove.

I couldn’t prevent Lydia’s ACL tear.  Thankfully she’s healthy and was able to return to a sport she loves. I watch her matches and hold my breath when she seems to over-reach for a shot, or her leg seems to turn in ways it’s not meant to.  Sokolove discusses several ACL prevention programs and urges parents to become more involved in their daughters’ training regiments. From what I’ve seen, I recommend it.

###

Title IX should be celebrated and not forgotten.  Women fought hard to be considered athletes and to have their own teams, coaches, locker rooms, new uniforms, and be eligible for scholarships.

Today, Lydia is  a college junior and captain of the women’s  tennis team. I watch her matches and still hold by breath.

Including me.

So thank you Gabi  Coatsworth http://gabicoatsworth.wordpress.com for including me in your “Sunshine Award” list.

The guidelines for receiving this award:

1) Thank the person who gave you the award – Thank you, Gabi.

2) Write a post about it : see below.

3) Answer the questions below.

4) Pass it on to 10 bloggers who you think really deserve it and send them a message to let them know.  (Kind of a chain letter, pay it forward sort of deal.)

My Answers to 10 questions:

Favorite color: Green – all shades but kelly;  Orange a very close second, all shades.

Favorite animal: Labrador Retrievers

Favorite number:  My kids‘ years of birth.

Favorite non-alcoholic drink: Water

Facebook or Twitter?  Facebook. Still haven’t figured out how to Twitter and why it’s important.

My passions:  Family, Writing, Reading, Knitting, Cycling

Giving or receiving presents? Giving

Favorite pattern: I’m a knitter. I love stripes, cables, polka dots, squares. You name it.


Favorite day of the week: Any day I can cycle outdoors.

 Favorite flower:  Roses. My grandfather took great pride in growing them.

Here are my ten bloggers I’m nominating for a Sunshine Award:

Leah: http://leahsthoughts.com/  She was the first “stranger” to subscribe to my blog. She blogs from Southern California about cooking, books, her adorable daughter Sophie, and more.

Barbara Younger: http://friendfortheride.wordpress.com She’s created a blog about everything menopause; a great dose of humor to get through all the fun.

Sin City Siren: http://sincitysiren.wordpress.com The go –to place for updates on women’s rights. I share many of her excellent posts on Facebook.

Northern Narratives: http://northernnarratives.wordpress.com   northernnarratives.wordpress.com Beautiful photographs from northern Minnesota and more.

Huffygirl’s Blog:  http://huffygirl.wordpress.com/ Another “older” cyclist determined to stay fit to keep up with our grandchildren.

Stacey’s Snacks: http://www.staceysnacksonline.com Easy recipes for the novice to the advanced cook, told with humor and photos.

C. Hope Clark:  http://hopeclark.blogspot.com Every writer needs Hope. Her newsletter is free and fantastic.

Lesley Carter: http://lesleycarter.wordpress.com This gal has had some awesome adventures around the world.

Tales from the Motherland: http://talesfromthemotherland.me/ This woman writes, has foreign exchange students living with her, a novel in the works, and great insights.

Knitn’ Green  http://knitngreen.wordpress.com/ There’s an immediate bond between knitters.

Thanks, again, Gabi. I’m honored.

As President Barack Obama entered, beaming, a bit grayer than last year’s State of the Union address, I absorbed the fanfare and ceremony, watching him shake hands left and right, offer a quick buss on the cheek to select women, hug some, and wave to others.

Congress’ equivalent of Hollywood’s red carpet, the President runs the gauntlet through Republicans and Democrats, senators and representatives, members of his cabinet, the Supreme Court and the heads of military before reaching the podium. The audience- some  who according to news reports had staked out their seats at 8 am for a 9 pm (EST) speech – applauds and snaps photographs until he requests they be seated.

http://photos.denverpost.com/mediacenter/2012/01/photos-

I love watching the bi-partisan display of camaraderie and respect for the President, even if it’s only for the hour or so he’s speaking. I love seeing the women dressed in bright colors, designed to attract television cameras, to show their constituents they’re there. The First Lady, Michelle Obama, looked particularly elegant, wearing a shiny royal blue dress almost out of place among the more tailored suits of other women.

120124-obama-628p.photoblog600

I enjoy how these speeches make examples of regular people, who’ve been invited to attend.  This year’s speeches  included a woman who was laid off from her job as a mechanic and enrolled in a community college that had entered a partnership with a gas turbine company, creating courses, paying this woman’s tuition, and hiring her and a former furniture maker who found work in wind turbine manufacturing.

I share the excitement these ordinary citizens must feel sitting in that chamber, amid all the dignitaries- both elected and appointed.

Listening, I remembered another State of the Union address; the one I attended in 1979.  I had a six-month internship with the Hartford (CT) Courant’s Washington, DC bureau, which consisted of one correspondent and a rotation of interns- one at a time. Bob Waters, a seasoned reporter, sent me to the press box, saying, “Go watch some history being made.”

President Jimmy Carter addressed the 96^th Congress, offering messages not too unlike President Obama’s.  Hitting all the high notes, both speeches included commitments to energy, the economy, education, military reduction, and job creation. 

Regardless, I find them inspiring and revel in the patriotism that imbues the hall.

As a new reporter, I felt very important, traipsing around Capitol Hill, covering legislative hearings, then returning to the tiny office in the National Press Building to pound out my story on a manual typewriter that would be sent via teleprinter to the main office in Hartford.  It was a great first job.

My Press Pass