Remembering Dr. Schuster....

(This is a note I signed in a memorial guestbook for Dr. Schuster, my favorite college professor)

In 1982, I was a college freshman, at Penn State, in Abington. I didn’t exactly set the world on fire in high school, and I came to college determined to turn around my questionable reputation as a student. My first day, I showed up in Dr. Schuster’s class. He was charming, charismatic and energetic. Our first assignment: a descriptive essay. I summoned up as many vocabulary words I remembered from high school, and painstakingly wrote a five-page essay, describing a day in my life. To my horror, he refused to grade the paper, and returned it to me with a note simply stating, “This isn’t what I asked for. You need to re-do this”.



Back to the drawing board.



I wrote the next essay, instead, from my heart. Nearly effortlessly, I wrote a descriptive essay about my dad. With my words, I painted a clear picture of my father. As I submitted my assignment, I held my breath, hoping that, this time, I’d gotten a little closer to what Dr. Schuster wanted.



Apparently I had. I got an A.



This was the first in a long line of A’s I would receive for that class. And with each assignment, I not only received the requisite grade, but also a commentary from him…explaining to me exactly what he loved about my writing.



I treasured those papers I’d written for him almost as much as I treasured his comments. They encouraged me, they challenged me but most of all they validated me.



Several years later, I ran into him. I was in my early 20’s, and just trying to figure out my life’s direction. As I told him my plans, he shook his head with disdain.



“I don’t care what you think you are. You are a writer.”



In my whole academic career, I had never been given a gift as great as what he gave me in that moment. Here was someone I respected deeply, and he believed in me!



I would love to conclude this note by telling you that I took his advice and became a successful author, or journalist…but, well…I didn’t. But I never forgot his words. And in a very big way, he encouraged me to trust my own artistic vision, to express myself and to create from the heart.



I am lucky, that in my life, I had one teacher who really made a difference. And for me, that teacher was Ed Schuster. I am just sorry that I never got the chance to tell him that myself.



My thoughts and prayers are with your family at this time, may his memory be a blessing.

Working Mommy

Yes, it's been 8 months or so since I last posted on this blog. Facebook and Twitter have proven to be an easier and more direct way to communicate. But really, who I am blogging for? An anonymous audience, my dear friends or for myself. Really, it's for myself. So, maybe I blog every day, more likely I blog once in a blue moon. But today I felt like writing. I needed to write. I'm not sure what I'll come up with, but that's okay too...


Well, I have have become a working mommy. Ever so much out of focus, and not capable of holding just one simple job...I have collected 4 part time jobs, that are keeping me super busy...and the most important job, 'mommy' blessedly remains.

Job #1 : Camp - Art Lady - Two Months a year of 24 hour a day intensity. Ten Months of preparation.
Job #2 : Pottery Lady - I actually got HIRED to work in a "Paint your own Pottery" studio. AND I LOVE IT...it's kind of like being the Camp Art Lady all year round.
Job #3: Digital Video Editor/Producer - sound crazy, right? Not really. Together with my co-movie producer from camp, we are embarking on a new venture. We make Bar/Bat Mitzvah Montages, Video Biographies and Video Portraits...we have a really exciting and challenging project already contracted for, and we are hoping that this little venture turns into a very big venture.
Job #4: Jewelry Designer - So, funny story...last November, a friend who is involved with my school's PTA asked if I wouldn't mind putting together a little something for a craft show they were holding at the elementary school. "Sure, whatevs" I replied. I made these cutesy little necklaces (and frankly sold them at rock bottom prices) and sold a veritable TON. (In fact, I think the other crafters were a little annoyed that day, because I was the only one that sold anything!) They were so well received, I started receiving phone calls from people wanting to buy more! I am now selling them at two local retail venues, I have another order to custom design another 150 necklaces for a fund raiser, and it feels like it's getting bigger than I could have possibly imagined. Fingers crossed.


So 5 days a week, I am officially working. I get home at night, and like any good working mom, I get dinner on the table, and prep for the next day to do it all over again. I'm working, working hard, but it's so much fun to be doing something other than laundry and grocery shopping, that it almost feels like I'm playing. I'm sure this will wear off. But I'm enjoying it for now!

So this is the hard part. I finally get "MOMMY GUILT". My girls are missing me. My husband is missing me. I'm not there after school, with a snack or a few word of encouragement. The laundry pile got EVEN bigger. It's hard to keep up with the housework.

Having two full fledged teenagers now, has made life even more mentally taxing. It has gotten so hard, that I almost laugh at my angst about raising a 13 year old.

This is hardly a well written post. This is hardly a meaningful post.

I'm living a chaotic life right now, and this post is pretty reflective of the tone of my current state.

The End.!

Home Sweet Home?

When my oldest daughter was born, I was a young insurance underwriter, not particularly enjoying my job. But I was making good money and had good benefits. We'd just purchased our first house and had a big mortgage payment hovering above.

There was no question that I would need to go back to work within three months after her birth. No problem, right? Everybody does it, this is the world we live in.

She was a fussy baby. Yes, colicky...to the extreme. She was an extraordinarily beautiful baby, with a head full of dark hair and fine delicate features, but boy, was she loud. No one could comfort her like me. No one could love her like me.

As I nursed her (it seemed constant), I would look down at her little face and try to figure out how I could possibly leave her. How could I place her in day care? How will anyone else know how to soothe her? She was so fussy, how would anyone have more patience for her than me?

I would compare the expense of GOING to work (work clothes, commuting, the cost of daycare, the cost of lunches everyday) versus the loss of my salary.

It was clear, I couldn't give up my income.

But I did. I had to. Because for the first time in my life, I had a responsibility that I LOVED. I couldn't leave that to go back to something that I despised.

So I left. Money was tight. But I was where I needed to be.

And I became a Stay at Home Mom.

And I still am. It's been 16 years.

But every summer, for 7 years, I become a working mom for 8 weeks. And during that time, I get to do something that I really love. Really enjoy. Really treasure.

I'm listened to. I'm respected. I'm able to help. I'm able to teach, to create, to collaborate. I make decisions, I set a good example. I'm shown appreciation.

That feels good.

And then I come home.

They don't listen so much around here. (Pick up that towel...pick up that towel...PICK UP THAT TOWEL!!!)
They don't show a whole lot of respect. ("Mom, could you not wear your hair like that, it EMBARRASSES ME")

I'm a chauffeur, cook, laundress, maid, psychologist, nurse, entertainment director, censor and most often, a referee. And I'm not shown appreciation.

I think it's time to go back to work.

I need to put myself in a position where I can take on new challenges, learn new things and find appreciation.

So I'm placing this out into the universe, I'M READY TO BE A WORKING MOMMY!

I think....no, I know. I'm ready.

Job? Where are you?

Proud

Each summer, I get to take on new challenges, and this summer was no exception. My job, has morphed from simply teaching Arts and Crafts into greater responsibilities including costuming our camp play, special events programming and this.

Three years ago, on a whim, I decided to create a little movie for our end of season banquet. Traditionally, at camp, we celebrated the end of the summer with a "themed" dinner party complete with decorations, centerpieces and even tablecloths (a big deal in camp world!) Anyone who knows me well, knows I love to throw a party, and love good surprises even more.

The theme 3 years ago was a Fifties Soda Shop. "And let's make a movie, too," I thought. Before I knew it, I recast the iconic movie Grease starring members of our camp upper staff. We whipped up some costumes, created a script and somehow, my colleagues were ready and eager to participate. Blessedly, my "Danny Zuko" was so excited by the endeavor, he dove in and took over editing responsibilities. And so, our little production company was born.

Somehow, I'm not sure how, in four days in 2007, we produced a movie that thrilled, surprised and enthralled our campers. This summer banquet has changed from being an exclamation point at the end of our summer, to a favorite and beloved event for our campers and staff.

The theme we chose this summer was also reflective of a special era in our history. The Eighties. Amazing that a time that is so fresh in my mind has now become nostalgia. Defining the '80's of course, is MTV, the inspiration for our video.

For a creative person, there is nothing cooler than taking an idea and turning it into reality. I'm so proud of this endeavor and am so glad to share it with you today!

Camp Saginaw Banquet 2009 from Jason Darnell on Vimeo.

Spackle

It's the last day of camp today. The children leave this morning, and the staff leaves early tomorrow. Today's a day for shutting down, packing up and saying goodbye. It's really hard.

Getting to spend every summer in paradise is a good thing. For two months, I don't have to cook, clean up after others, or fold mountains of laundry. For two months, I'm given a kind of respect among my friends, my colleagues and my staff, that I don't necessarily receive anywhere else. For two months, I live in a place where it's totally acceptable to dance in the dining hall, to scoot around in crappy clothes and no make-up, to go out to a bar at 9:00 at night (my normal bedtime!), to giggle incessantly. I watch my children have the time of their lives, learning new skills and making lifelong memories. They're happy. I'm happy.

And now it's time to leave.

How can I?

I really have to recognize that it's the transition that's the hard part. Nine weeks ago, preparing to get here, was an arduous task. Labeling, packing, shopping. Nine weeks ago, I looked around my comfortable home, my quiet neighborhood, the simplicity of my life, and didn't want to give it up.

Nine weeks later, I feel the same way about the journey I'm about to make. A little unsure, a little sad. The task ahead is daunting, but I'll do it. Ten months from now, when it's time to pack up our life again, I'm sure to feel the same uncertainty. Then I get here, and never want to leave.

In the end, I have to be grateful to camp. It helps to define who I am. It fills a certain void in my normal life, a little like spackling the crevices and cracks in an old tired wall. And even though it's only for a precious few weeks, I wouldn't be the same without it.

emptiness

Yesterday, we watched my sister-in-law bury her son. He was 16 years old. He was healthy and active and living his life to the fullest, when it was taken in an instant. Perhaps a momentary lapse of judgment or perhaps the hand of God coming down and plucking a special person from this world. Whatever the reason, he's gone now. The shock of the news still stings, but being at the funeral was probably the most unbearable experience I've ever had.

I worry most for his mother. One of the most nurturing people I've ever known. He was her youngest. Her baby. Only 2 1/2 pounds at birth, he fought then, and he survived. With a preemie, I think you always worry, particularly when they're little. Somehow, they're more fragile than full term babies. But Evan grew and grew and grew...amazingly, since when he was a little boy he ate little more than orange juice and pepperoni. At the time of his passing, he was looked to be at least 6 feet tall.

My heart is saddened for all the reasons one would expect. He was too young. It shouldn't have been his time. No parent should have to feel what my sister-in-law is feeling today.

My heart weeps for a reason I wouldn't have expected. I weep for the relationship we never really had. In listening to stories about him, relayed by his friends at the funeral, all I kept thinking was, I never really knew this about him. He was so much more than the quiet boy, who showed me a shy smile when I would touch his face to tell him how "grown-up" he was becoming. I weep for the loss of my daughters' cousin. I was so happy that Evan and Hayley were born just 6 months apart...but they were both kind of shy, so as they grew up, they became less and less connected. And over the years, the opportunities to spend time together waned.

His friends were understandably devastated by his loss. As the funeral, they were inconsolable. It was heartbreaking.

Hayley told me as we were leaving the cemetery, that she felt saddened that she hadn't had the chance to know him better. But then, she thought, this would have been so much harder for her to cope with if she had.

There are no reasons that make sense for any of this. There are no words that can make this better. I weep for my family. My sister-in-law. My nieces. My mother-in-law. My husband.

After leaving the funeral, you return to the land of the "living". For me, the daily routine, responsibilities, and friendships help to extinguish the heartbreak. But for his mom, oh my...I pray that she can find small joys as she begins her difficult journey towards healing.

Fork in the Road

My girls are on the cusp of the time in their lives where they'll start making real life-changing decisions. Experience has taught me plenty, not the least of which is the fact that my girls (sadly) aren't interested in learning from my experiences. When my own mother gives advice to me, there are times when I think, "I'm going to do this my way." But in the end, my mother is usually right. I guess there are just some lessons that we choose learn on our own.

But...if they would really listen, ....here's a bit of what I'd say.

1. Never act on a knee-jerk reaction. When something is a little unsettling, let it marinate for a little bit, before deciding how to proceed.
2. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Nobody sets out to be a bad person.
3. The person with most power in any relationship is the one with the least interest in that relationship.
4. Stick to your studies, you can watch TV or surf the internet later.
5. Don't get a tattoo. It might be really cute on a young wrinkle free body, but it will only look stupid when you are my age. Plus, it will embarrass your children.
6. A belly button ring is actually not that bad. As long as your tummy is flat as a board.
7. Push yourself to do for others. It's easier to sit back, and remain self-absorbed, but in the end, you will end up isolated and lonely.
8. Don't lose your virginity. Ever. Okay, maybe that's a little harsh. But when you do, make sure you are not drunk, you are deeply in love and at least 34 years old. ;)
9. But seriously, don't get married at least until you are in your late twenties. You have plenty of years to be a grown up, enjoy your youth, travel, stay up all night, eat cereal for dinner.
10. Don't get caught up in the romantic notion that having a baby is easy. It's not all lullabies and baby powder. It's hard work, and nothing can prepare you for the shock of a screaming hungry baby at 3:30 in the morning.
11. Pay your bills on time.
12. Don't ever think that material possessions will make you happy.
13. Never forget to remind yourself of your blessings.
14. Don't put yourself down, people can only intimidate you if you allow them to.
15. Put your goal's ahead of immediate gratification.
16. Take chances, color outside the lines, surprise yourself.

There are so many more little pearls of wisdom I could share, but duty (okay, really big laundry pile) calls.

In the end, I would tell my kids, this:

You don't ALWAYS have to listen to your mother. I may have my opinions, my wishes, my hopes for you, but in the end, this is your life. Make your own choices, but remember to value your mother's voice of experience. She's usually right.