Last Wednesday I was admitted to the Hospital for Special Surgery in New York to investigate the root of my foot infections. To date, I have had three surgeries on my left foot all stemming from a fall, tripping over my then black lab puppy, Lucy. It’s hard to believe so much destruction could occur from such a cute little face.
Lucy at eight weeks
This has been my third hospitalization in the last six months dealing with foot wounds. The first time, I was released on Thanksgiving, and this time I celebrated Easter in New York. All three trips to the hospital have been under emergency circumstances, but I was still able to pack sufficiently from home. And “by sufficiently” I mean I have my notebooks, favorite pens, my Nook, my laptop, my daily devotional, my make-up and comfort clothes. If I had to rely on my husband to pack those items, I’d be sunk. Let’s face it, as readers and writers we can bear any situation or delay in our lives as long as we have those few lifelines.
59th Street Bridge
When I arrived to the hospital on Wednesday night, I was pleasantly surprised to be placed in a private, corner room, six floors up on the East River with clear views of the 59th Street Bridge, also know as the Ed Koch Queensborough Bridge. Although it doesn’t have the history and beauty of the Brooklyn Bridge or the GW, it evokes an industrial message – something raw and vulnerable that appeals to me.
Erector Set analogy
The view from Manhattan over to Long Island City, Queens lacks the drama of a city skyline, yet serves as a reminder of the practicality of city life. People live and work here, but due to the high costs of living in Manhattan, most commute from the outlying boroughs. After some brief research, I learned that, from an engineering standpoint, it is a cantilever bridge, which means there is one long continuous beam from one support to the other. A close-up view of the bridge, reminds me of a gigantic Erector set.
When it was originally constructed in the early 1900’s, the bridge was built for cars, trains and a trolley car system. Although the plans were clearly developed, there were many setbacks in getting started on this engineering masterpiece. Through the years, the rails and trolly car lanes were replaced by car lanes and a pedestrian walkway. Although in form it was and still is an engineering wonder, now it functions more efficiently as a means of transportation.
As I researched a bit more, I also discovered that Simon and Garfunkel immortalized the bridge in their 59th Street Bridge song aka “Feelin Groovy.” Art Garfunkel wrote the lyrics when he returned to New York from England, and was subsequently dealing with a new level of fame. During his initiation into fame and a new fast paced life, he was willing himself to “slow down, you move too fast, you got to make the morning last….”
That could be the message for me as well. Right now, I’ve reached
Hardware – my own personal erector set
day seven on my hospital stay, which is quickly turning into day eight. On Friday, I had a fourth surgery; this time to remove hardware, which was cultured for bacteria. Unfortunately it has yielded a positive reading, which means I will need a PICC line inserted for at-home infusion of antibiotics. Although my surgeries have forced me to “slow down,” and I’ve tried to rest productively through all three set-backs, this time around, I’ll have to Wait and See believing that, “he’s not finished with me yet…”
Participating in this weekly Slice of Life challenge, has helped to develop my writing muscles. I am always amazed at what “turns up” on the page. Thank you to the Two Writing Teachers for providing this opportunity to write within such a supportive community.
On Sunday, I stumbled upon a crate of folders and binders, which contained the many papers I wrote when I returned to school to pursue teaching. At forty-years old, I was attending school full-time during the day to complete my English degree, while simultaneously completing my teacher certification at another university at night. In two of those folders, I found a writing assignment about fate versus free will and in another, an assignment to review five children’s books. When I reflected on the five titles I choose, alongside my thoughts on spirituality, I couldn’t help to notice the connections and themes that emerged.
This is my maiden launch with a community of bloggers who share their reading lives through the hashtag, #IMWAYR.
Although I will shelf the professional texts and adult lit for now, it’s interesting to see how all four titles intersect. Whether it’s strategies, independence, or truths, Joe and Ravi, the two main characters in Save Me a Seat, employ all tactics in order to survive their first week of school in 5th grade. Written in first person by each of the main characters in alternating chapters, the book is about two protagonists, whose lives intersect through personal adversity and the antagonist, Dillon.
There are many social issues raised in this narrative, which makes it great as a read-aloud or a book club choice. Beyond family values, and friendship, there is a thread running through each character’s life; Joey’s social and emotional aspect as a special education student looms large in his life, while Ravi, who recently moved to the States from India, is navigating his way through the cultural and educational differences. The authors provide us with another surprise as well by including snippets of Christopher Paul Curtis’ Bud, not Buddy throughout.
Bravo to co-authors Sarah Weeks and Gita Varadarajan for composing such a well written novel, with sophisticated topics and using kid friendly language. That’s no small feat for tacking issues kids will care about, and want to share with others.
Like many Catholic families, my brothers and I attended parochial school. On the first Friday of the month, we went to Mass, which meant every first Thursday we headed to confession. Each grade had an allotted time slot, so the priest would not be overwhelmed by the web of lies ready to assault him. As we stood in line waiting for our turn, we discussed the transgressions we would make up… “I’m going to tell him I fought with my brothers… I’m going to tell him I disrespected my parents… I’m going to tell him I coveted my neighbor’s lunch snack…” When it was our turn, we slipped inside the confessional, kneeled near the veiled window, blessed ourselves, recited the standard prayer, shared our sins, asked for forgiveness, received our penance, and prayed it all away. Our souls were clean, and we were renewed. It was a practiced ritual, which had little effect on me until a few years ago when I returned to my faith.
After more than a twenty year absence, I returned to church. Like many people faced with a crisis, it was an illness with my son, which literally brought me to my knees. I settled into the weekly routine, but this time around I knew I wanted more. Although I knew the “how,” of my faith, I never really understood the “why” to the degree that it would matter in my life. Through a series of events stemming from joining a Fellowship Prayer Group, I attended my first retreat called Life in the Spirit, which was a dynamic experience of faith renewal.
Beyond the inspirational talks, reconciliation was the most memorable. While instrumental music played, the room was darkened… illuminated only by candles along the path from the prayer service to the meeting area. When I met face to face with the priest, we had a beautiful conversation… instead of feeling guilty, I simply released my burdens and opened myself up to receive grace. Following reconciliation, a group of women washed my hands, warmed them with lotion, and handed me a candle to light and leave in the sand… Finally I was led to a dimly lit room where many people prayed over me. It was a powerful moment… one that healed my spirit, cleaned up my mess, and left me with a renewed sense of hope.
Thank you for this opportunity to share my spiritual journey. As I lead my parish’s next retreat team, it’s comforting to know I have a place to reflect on the process and share the insights gained from the wisdom of women. Women like me who are seeking the path toward truth, purpose and peace by sorting through our 
When we arrived at the sparse camp, I was a bit taken back at its simplicity. Although I grew up with brothers, and I spent my childhood exploring the woods behind my house, I am a girl who still appreciates luxury. One look at the bathroom and I was already longing for our move over to the second house. While I hung up a new shower curtain, plugged in the coffee maker, and put away the groceries, Dennis, Dana and Brian wasted no time; they grabbed their bikes and headed off to explore the paths along the lake. Meanwhile, I picked up my pen, notebook, and coffee and settled into my writing outside.
The beauty of the lake shimmered against the backdrop of rugged Mount Kineo. Chiseled and elegant, the mountain stood erect in its graceful surroundings. So much to contemplate, to discard, to embrace. A few pages in, the disappointment of the weathered cabin was replaced with gracious musings of the heart. Peace and tranquility were welcoming gifts to ease the transition from my harried life of corporate work into my grateful self.
In the distance, the faint sound of a barking beagle echoed. In response, one of the chipmunks immediately scaled the side of the woodpile, and frantically sounded the alert, “Attention my fellow chipmunks. Incoming dog bound for Cabin 10!” The vision of that chipmunk standing upright squealing that sound is forever etched in my memory.
I’ve returned to those camp entries countless times following that trip. Once, after my laptop went missing for three days in a Boston hotel, I wrote an essay about my dependence on technology. That piece was followed by a reflection on my tendency to be driven by materialism. And, in a writing section led by author Sarah Weeks on crafting picture books, the story of the chipmunks reemerged yet again.
When we moved into the big house, three days later, I was so disappointed. Although it had all the modern conveniences I thought I wanted, our intimacy was disrupted. In our one bedroom cabin and tiny campsite, we drew close at night, and reconnected. It remains as one of my favorite vacations.
Like many new slicers, I can’t believe I actually completed this challenge. As I face my final day, I am humbled by the moment. When I started the month, I made a list of potential topics. As I checked off those items, I mined my notebooks for inspiration and also tried techniques from other slicers. One quote that caught my eye for this culminating post is from Lucy Calkins, shared during one of the summer institutes. She asked us, “Can you feel yourself changing as a writer?” That got me thinking back with a wider lens on how my writing life has evolved.
Prior to my teaching life, I’d always been an avid reader and writer. When my children were very young, I’d wake up at 4:30, grab my journal alongside a cup of coffee, and head outside my front door to my writing corner on the porch. Two wicker chairs and a small glass top table became my sacred space. Whether it was my path toward 
Three years into teaching, I attended my first summer institute in 2008. Since then, my writing life has expanded along with my mentors. 
Reflecting back on that section with Lucy, she was discussing the power of conferring, and noted the importance of remaining present, in order to “be at the boundary” of a child’s readiness. Today, I am feeling like that child – on the brink of something new. Although I created this blog two years ago, I only posted twice even though I had eleven unfinished drafts in cue. The habit of writing every day has provided me with a renewed sense of joy anticipating what might come next. Suddenly, posting a Slice of Life every week, no longer feels daunting. I not only want to participate, but I need to participate.
Today, I thought I would share a bit about the book I am currently reading. As a lover of historical fiction, I downloaded a copy of Kate Hannigan’s The Detective’s Assistant, which is about the true adventures of Kate Warne, America’s first female detective hired in 1856 by Pinkerton’s National Detective agency. In her role, Kate travels all over the country on a variety of cases, but becomes well known for her work in thwarting an assassination attempt on President Lincoln as he made his way by rail from Illinois to Washington, DC.
The story is told through the eyes of Nell Warne, Kate’s orphaned niece, who moves in much to the surprise and dismay of her aunt. At eleven years old, Nell is a fictional character who tells the story of their detective adventures as well as the history that is unfolding. Through letters to her African American friend, Jemma, the reader is privy to the impact of slavery and the work of the abolitionists on the Underground Railroad. Beyond the incredible history and well crafted narrative, I am enjoying the use of dialect alongside sophisticated language. I was highlighting and book-marking so many pages on my Nook, I decided to stop and simply enjoy the story.
Thankfully, I was raised to believe I could choose any career I wanted. Although my mother’s opportunities in the corporate world limited her to remaining as a Girl Friday, my twenty-two year career in business culminated as a project manager for a fortune fifty corporation. And when I decided to switch careers into teaching, I pursued the workshop model and after eight years of teaching, I moved into coaching. During Women’s History Month, I’m grateful to women like Kate Warne, Harriet Tubman, Elizabeth Stanton, Amelia Earhart, Lucy Stone, Elizabeth Blackwell, Rosa Parks, Dorothy Day, Eleanor Roosevelt, Maya Angelou, and Sandra Day O’Connor, pioneering women who found their strength and voice to rise above their circumstances and create change. A generation of women thanks you for your unbridled passion, courageous heart, and unyielding spirit.
The Author's Purpose 