Category Archives: Uncategorized

25 Rules for Mothers of Sons

Life Out of Bounds

My dear friend, Maria, passed a blog post onto me and I had to share it with all my readers.  Have a tissue handy; maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones or maybe I am starting to grasp reality since my baby with my 5 years old in a few short weeks.

25 Rules for Mothers of Sons

1. Teach him the words for how he feels.
Your son will scream out of frustration and hide out of embarrassment.  He’ll cry from fear and bite out of excitement.  Let his body move by the emotion, but also explain to him what the emotion is and the appropriate response to that emotion for future reference.  Point out other people who are feeling the same thing and compare how they are showing that emotion.  Talk him through your emotions so that someday when he is grown, he will know the difference between angry and embarrassed…

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Why I don’t teach anymore

Bryn Greenwood

I don’t think I’m bragging when I say that I was once an excellent Freshman Composition instructor. I did my best in Comp 2, where I taught my students how to conduct research that did not involve citing Wikipedia. I taught them skills that would serve them throughout their college careers, even into graduate school and beyond. I got great student evaluations, and my supervisors always lauded me for the quality of research essays that my students produced at the end of my rigorous but fun* research portion in Comp 2. On more than one occasion, other faculty members asked to sit in on my classes to see what I was doing, and graduate students asked for my help in improving their research and writing skills.

Unfortunately, I don’t teach anymore. I made the decision to become a full-time secretary primarily because of an environment like the one described in

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Risk in the Eye of the Beholder 9.13.13

Following the writer’s path, my daughter’s weekly post.

A Journey in Writing

Risk. Some people see risk as dangerous, lively events. It may be taking a new class that is completely unrelated to our major, delving into something purely of interest. Or it may be as simple as stepping out of the house wearing an unusual fashion trend.  Risk is the deviation from an individual’s normal behavior or expectation in order to grow and develop. It is different from person to person, character to character, and day to day.

 

I like my risk in minimal doses. Maybe I stay up late and watch a movie, risking the amount of exhaustion I will feel the next day. Perhaps it is choosing the mystery novel over the romantic escapade. These choices, my risks, do not make me a boring person. They create my character. They provide growth in a personal way.

 

In class the other day, there were several comments about those…

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Passion for Freedom

Living life’s purpose.

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Monday Memories – Ready, Set, Go!

The continued chronicle of a young American teenager living in Europe during the mid 1960′s.

We moved from Paris, France to Germany in the middle of a cold, rainy January. The holidays were behind us, the trip to Nice and the Mediterranean a lovely memory of Christmas with Americans, the long lavender fields of Provence and the smell of French perfume wafting through the air. Although the trip had been fraught with the knowledge we would be leaving for the US, we had learned of the change in orders when we returned home to our apartment on Boulevard Victor Hugo. We would be moving with all the NATO allies to Germany and not returning to the US as anticipated.

There was a flurry of contact with all my classmates. Where were they going? When were they leaving? We wrote notes between classes, stuffed into our lockers with phone numbers, addresses and contact requests. “Please be sure to remember me when you move.” We begged each other to send letters and addresses as soon as we knew where we were going. And then, one day a friend was  missing from the bus, or another from a class. The lunch table emptied over the several weeks after our holiday break. Orders for the military called for families to pack and leave at a moments notice. Ours, as civilians, were almost the same. We would be moving to Stuttgart, Germany in a matter of days.

I returned from school to find my mother packing our belongings into the large suitcases purchased the previous June. This move would be just four of our family of five. My older brother was in England, attending the University of Manchester. My father returned from the NATO base with a file folder full of information about our new location. Orders to report in one weeks time left us little time to pack up, travel across the country, cross the border and find our new home. As civilians, we had time to pack as a family, say our goodbyes and begin the trip across France to Germany. Our car was filled with our suitcases, household goods purchased during our stay and my mother’s plants. Never one to be without a flower or green plant to add to our home, she made sure the plants were packed into the car. Many years later, I am the same.

I said goodbye to my friends at school, rode the bus one more day from our apartment and then it was time. The box of croissants reminded me of the familiar areas of Paris and hinted of the wonderful breads of the Germans. We would discover the rich bread of Bavaria, beer of the Garmisch region and the  wonderful Black Forest traditions of southern Germany. We were on another adventure. I would learn to appreciate a love of food, entertainment and the outdoors. I would travel by trolley, bus and train to learn the German culture. Little did I know, the adventure was a roller coaster of fun, laughs and good times. Typically German.

I learned later of the beauty of Germany, I studied ballet in a world-famous ballet school. I traveled through the beauty of a rebuilt and occupied Germany, Austria and into Switzerland. As we set off that cold rainy day, I promised myself I would learn German, live fully in the German culture and learn how to be European rather than an ex-pat. The years that followed that trip from Paris were full of adventures and eventful escapades, many laughs and the most fun. Little did I realize the importance of that move, more than any other, it would change my life.

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Friday Friends – Joyce Norman, Writer, Teacher, Friend

I am fortunate to share “friendships” with people I have never met. Through the power of technology and the internet, I have shared many wonderful moments with Joyce Norman, although we have never met. Introduced through a mutual friend on Facebook, Joyce and I have shared a love of writing, books, literature and life. I learn something new every time we speak on Skype or message through email or Facebook. My writing has been inspired through the magic of her editing and reading her stories inspires my own recollections. Her editing is renowned in our circles, a former journalist and teacher, Joyce spends hours reading and working through the manuscripts sent to her. I gladly call her friend.

Joyce has been advisor, teacher and mentor to the many students who attend her classes, join her workshops and follow her Monday Morning Writing Chain. With a brief prompt on a Monday morning, Joyce sets our imaginations free to complete a story with other writers. No other impetus is provided but a few sentences to set a scene or a picture to prompt our story. The co-creation is sometimes filled with great writing, dialogue that flows from characters created by a distant author. Sometimes we hear Joyce attempting to reel us in, as she reminds us of the details of writing, maintaining scene, character’s names and the dialogue written previously.

Joyce’s editing skills have allowed many beginning writers to be published in an anthology, It Was A Dark and Stormy Night. Encouraging her students and colleagues to produce short essays, stories and including a few Morning Chain entries, Joyce compiled the anthology and edited our entries for readers to enjoy. No entries were denied.

Joyce’s own work, Coming Together, published in 2009 with Joy Collins, is a novel filled with foreign intrigue, the love story of a mother in search of her son and a fascinating story of a film maker. Set in Brazil, a place Joyce visited repeatedly, the story uses many of Joyce’s own experiences to engage the reader in the action. Currently, Joyce is writing a fascinating story of her travels throughout the world. Looking back at her past without becoming mired in reminiscing Joyce leads us to tropical islands, a look at other cultures and how experience can be the best teacher.

I am honored and grateful as a writer to know Joyce and to benefit from her skills as a writer, teacher and journalist. Her positive attitude and encouragement has assisted many writers through the dark waters of their first publishing efforts. Her classes and workshops are always filled at the local university and online. I hope you will seek out this talented woman, a woman who seeks to lead by example, skill and experience. You will be encouraged to continue on your path.

 

 

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Tuesday Temptations – A Piece of My Heart

Spring is in the air although the temperature belies the season. Central heat stills warms the house rather than the warm sun. Near the beach, the wind is still cool, the air crisp with promise that make kites dance and sun worshippers shiver. Walks along the water’s edge still chills bare feet and shell seekers find sand dollars among the whelks and clam shells soon to be discovered by vacationers. A few intrepid souls try surfing, wet suits zipped tightly to the neck.

Safe at Home

Safe at Home

I love the beach in any season, the endless rolling waves, the cries of gulls and serene flight of a squadron of pelicans make each visit a reminder of the constancy of the ocean and its shore. Anne Morrow Lindbergh recovered at the shore, walking miles along the sand, listening to similar sounds. She wrote in Gift from the Sea, “Women need solitude in order to find again the true essence of themselves.”  A walk along the beach provides the solitude to reflect and pursue the dreams coursing within. I seek the peace the shoreline offers, the bright hope of the constant sand and the creative direction as well.

These past winter months have opened new doors to friendships and jobs, new opportunities to develop.  The months of spring hold hope for change. I am changed each year in Spring, renewed faith that growth is possible and probable. The shoreline changes and yet is the same. The sand dunes rise and are swept to sea, the water washes out a sand bar, replacing it further along the coast. The birds continue to seek their dinner along the edge of the waves and nest far inland away from salt spray. A constancy of change is remembered each time I walk along the shore.

Wrightsville Beach Kite Festival

Wrightsville Beach Kite Festival

Kites fly above the dune, secured to railings and beach chairs. Vivid colors of the rainbow splash the clouds above. The few that fall nose dive to earth and rise again to sail across the horizon. Who can resist the temptation of a kite? The urge to run and tug the line sending the colors up to dance in any breeze. The solitude continues but beckons all who wish to try.

I seek the beach, I seek the restorative solitude and the crowds, the calls of the gulls and the sight of kites high above the dune, dancing.

 

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