Here’s a fresh memoir, from just a few days ago.  It was a wonderful day that I wanted to freeze. I hope I did  justice to the experience.

It’s good to be sharing with Two Writing Teachers on the first Memoir Monday in April.

First time for me at the annual NWP spring conference always held in DC in early April, as the legislators vote on the upcoming budget that impacts on the future of the federally funded, National Writing Project.

So far, for 35 years we have been renewed and there’s no reason to believe that that won’t happen again, especially with  breath of  fresh air in the White House. But where is he when we arrive? Off representing us in the world? Well,okay.

Our role here is to make sure our senators and congressmen join us or  stay committed to our work, so on Thursday,  we were charged to meet with staff aides to share what we know and love about the work of our local sites

. Of course, our backdrop is the city of Washington and I am in the love with the city and feeling freer to enjoy it with Obama at the helm.

So here’s my glorious day…

We are up early, too early, for a hotel breakfast and  then the race was on  to the NWPs opening session at the  Cannon House Office Building. We are addressed by congressmen who have supported us for many years. Their legislation that has kept us alive and thriving and this year, unlike others, the mood was Obama positive, even with the economy still in a danger zone.

Sharon Washington, NWP Director

And we were off to meet with our new senator, Kristen Gillibrand’s aide with our New York Delegation

But on the way to her office we got to soak up the Washington all around us, even without sunshine.

Inside the Congressional Office Building,  we huddle together waiting outside Kristen’s office and surprise, surprise, a photo op as she suddenly  appears and Tom is in just the right place

But her rep is our line of communication and we step up to share our writing project experiences even if it’s in the hallway, in front of the elevators.

Then.with a chance for some fresh air, as this large group splits up for visits to local representatives. we are  now the lean and mean, Hudson Valley Writing Project and off to visit Maurice Hinchey and John Hall.

But first some lunch, some planning

and some people watching

Maurice Hinchey is up first. A positive staple in our area, I remember when I lived in Ellenville and a  loyal voting fan.. But now as an HVWP lobbyist, I have the chance to shake his hand warmly, knowing he has already signed on to support us.

Terri is filled with spirit as she offers him her hand just before we move on to our next meeting.

Feeling the rush of success, we are on a roll, 2 for 2,  and off to share more HVWP  with  John Hall’s new aide.

We are in luck to run into an expert who can move gracefully  from building to building with speed, as we follow up escalators and across indoor parking lots, door-to-door in minutes.

We meet at another table inside the Hall office,  just outside his office. His young aide Rachel  like Megan and Judy earlier,seems very excited about what we share,  but we don’t get to see John in the flesh.

Who knows, maybe he will make an appearance at Dover Day in May.

Three meetings down and I leave Tom, Mary and Terri for a session with Patti and Joseph, directors at the Maryland U, Writing Project. I am ready to get immersed in the digital storytelling document I’m creating for them.  I can’t wait to get their conference reflections on tape before I begin.

Tom patiently directs me to the Washington Court Hotel but at the first intersection, surrounded by empty cabs, I am itching to bag the walk for a ride in the one just waiting for me.

In 5 minutes I am in the lobby waving wildly at Patti and Joseph and soon, with a energy boost from Starbucks, we get crackin’ and  I revive from their excitement.

As we finish up and I get ready to grab another cab for the last visit of the day at Chuck  Shumer’s  offices, I wonder how I have manged to stay awake.  I don’t dare to even blink in this cab; who knows where I might wake up.

The Heart building is the most impressive, but it’s 4:30 and we are back with the larger  New York delegation and as we are finally led into a real conference room I am just happy to sit and listen and hope we can get out into the fresh air, ASAP.

Megan must be reading my mind, because we share some, leave her with lots of reading material, and I breathe.  I didn’t fall asleep at her table.

Finally we are back outside and ready to relax. Meetings are done!

Hey. Mary’s been using her new Flip to do a bit of her own documenting, YES!

We are off as a trio,leaving Tom on his own.

The NWP is hosting us at the National Postal Museum and we opt to walk and I need it.

Once we are down and socializing, I meet up with Ruth and my travelin’ raisins. She just isn’t ready to part with them and how can I say no?

After a Mexican dinner at the Banana Cafe, we take a short, invigorating stroll back to our hotel and as we collapse in our beds, I realize that I need it. It’s been a day out in DC from 8am-10 pm

I did all that?

On Friday afternoon at 3:00 I sat in the Lowes movie theater on 68th St. and Broadway in New York City waiting for a movie.  We got there early, really early to avoid the cold winds.  We tried walking the 20 blocks from “the TREE” at Rockefeller Center, but there was no way.

Taxi!!

So after a short walk around the theater lobby and the purchase of a small bag of popcorn, we had our pick of seats  in an empty room but slowly, in the next 30 minutes, the theater filled.  Did anyone else, know anyone in movie’s cast?  Anyone else know Christopher Carley? I didn’t stand up to ask, but Tuvia assured me that the answer was probably NO!

I was nervous.  Chris had been in a recent Robert Redford flick.  A small part with a few lines and that was just fun to watch.  In the last decade he had debuted on Broadway, he had been seen in lots of Verizon commercials, even an episode of the Sopranos, and all of that was exciting but this movie, Gran Torino, starring and directed by Clint Eastwood, now that was a nailbitter!

The movie opens in the church.  Clint’s wife’s funeral and yes, Chris opens with the sermon and he looks young and full-faced, Spencer Tracey? And the movie begins and  I am on the edge of my seat where I remain  for the next two hours.  It’s all good but for most of the 2 hours I am holding my breath, always wanting more of Chris until the last few scenes where I begin to relax and feel that Chris has been given an amazing opportunity.

I wonder how I would be feeling in Chris’ shoes at 30 years old working opposite CLINT EASTWOOD, who at 78 is starring, directing,  composing the score and even singing the last tune of the film. And there’s Clint calling Chris “padre”, treating him like an adult. Chris, from my 8th grade English class…

It was a lot to take in and digest.  Chris was great!  The movie is important to be seen and with Clint as Walt, standing in cardboard form everywhere looking like a Dirty Harry from movies past, I’m sure this full theater is a preview of coming theater audiences when the film opens nationally on Christmas Day.

Chris has been sharing the process with me from the day he first read for the part.  On Saturday morning we had a long talk about the film now that I could contribute to the conversation.

There’s life-long learning, there’s life-long s-t relationships.  I have both!

What a profession, teaching!!!

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I was scheduled check up on Friday at the dentist’s and I for one, don’t dread that visit. I’ve been with Dr. P for years and his bedside manner is perfect for me, but as both of us get older, I continue to ask him if he’s retiring. He keeps reassuring me that he won’t leave until he’s carried out on a stretcher. But recently he sold his business to his younger partner and stayed on as an employee for more freedom from the business aggravations. Nothing changed at first, but soon the name changed, the office went through a major renovation and finally the prices and rules changed.

Dr. P., who sees me for everything, asked me if I would try one of the dental hygienists on the request of his new boss who is not happy that a certified dentist is spending his time cleaning teeth. All I had to do was agree to see one of their hygienists, once and If I didn’t like the experience, given my long history with the office, I could return to my beloved dentist for my periodic cleanings etc. Okay, of course I’d try one even though my past with hygenists hasn’t been good, I wanted to be cooperative. Dr. P. introduced me to a very friendly young woman, someone he recommended and I set up an appointment with her.

Everything was okay, I missed my dentist and was annoyed that she tacked on extras to her service that were not included. Oh well, I scheduled another session with her, reluctantly.

I arrived early on Friday. The sun was shining, I had a new Obama button on my jacket and all was right with the world. As I entered she ushered me in to a flood of friendly questions and conversation. I shared my political excitement that we had a new president and new opportunities for a new chapter in American history. I’d been cautious during the campaign, careful to avoid uncomfortable confrontations with McCain supporters in offices, especially people that might be working on my mouth, but we have a new President-Elect, so let’s move on.

As she began to prepare me for the examination, she began to share her feelings of fear and the possible coming of “socialized medicine”. I was still able to converse and offered the Obama side of the picture. Soon the friendly tone disappeared as her hands entered my mouth and she began to share her feelings.

“What about those Hispanic immigrants? They are getting free medical care and they don’t pay taxes. And the Hasidem in Monsey, I’ve worked in clinics there. They get everything for free, even diapers. And there’s more to come. I’m very scared.”

What could I say? Her hands were still in my mouth. The red gel was numbing my gums now and she was not happy with me or my teeth. I wanted to bolt, but I waited, conflicted by what I was listening to. I could have chomped down on her fingers.

I feel for McCain supporters. I remember how it felt to be on that side of the fence but her comments were beyond disappointment. I’m Jewish but I was just as much incensed about her comments about other ethnic groups and I wasn’t doing anything to stop her. Finally Dr. P. arrived to check on me and talk about my need to see a periodontist.

I needed to get out of the office. He followed me outside and we talked about both issues. I left with lingering issues, wondering about the prejudice that remains strong here and everywhere.

I just got off the phone with Dr. P.  He has spoken with “her” and tried hard to reassure me that I’d be back with him once again. That’s all good.  I worry about the angry voters who are even more afraid than this young woman.  I pray that Barack has the iron-clad security.

I am writing my words for NaNoWriMo, I am remembering other eves of  presidential elections and I am feeling proud that I’m an American, poised to see our first Afro-American president elected in this country and to celebrate the event, I’m ready to travel to Washington and freeze as he is inaugurated.

I am writing my novel as I wait to vote in the morning, as the sun rises. I just finished my day’s word total.  I have committed to 1200 words, for 30 days of November. Day 3 is ending and I have 4822 words on paper, that’s 22 over what I need for today.

The totals do matter to me.  I am pushing to meet the word count. So many words to get down on the page has been expanding my sentences, my paragraphs, my conversations, ultimately, my characters.

I am good right now, familiar with my terrain but that will end soon and I wonder where I will take my girls, where they will take me would be a better way to consider this journey.

1600 words every day, wow, I wonder I will feel next Monday, the Monday after….

And beyond my challenge to write a novel, I’m wondering about Barack Obama, who lost  his grandmother early yesterday morning.  He is poised to win this election and his grandmother dies just one day too soon to see it happen- one day too soon for him to be able to call her, to thank her.

How frustrating!

But how exciting it will be for us to watch him grow into a president at a time in our history when we need someone different in a world poised for someone fresh and focused on the world of the future.  I can’t wait for tomorrow night.  I hope Tuvia and I are drinking the bottle of champaign I have the refrigerator for this event. He does want to celebrate with other Democrats tomorrow, but I would happy just to be quiet here with a warm fire.

I can’t wait!

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Last week for Rosh Hashonah we celebrated without the religious inspiration of a Jewish community in a synagogue. I would have donned a dress, stockings and appropriate shoes and joined Tuvia at the Hoboken synagogue but it didn’t happen this year. Tuvia didn’t insist and I didn’t push him. I even booked a one-on-one lesson at the Apple store on Tuesday morning and got to the gym for a workout.

We did enjoy a piece of Hilda’s honey cake on Tuesday afternoon with friends as we do each year. We did travel to Ellenville with a back seat filled with holiday foods catered by Harold’s of Paramus to share with my parents, a brother and his family. And the next day we did drive to Hoboken for lunch with Tuvia’s family, without stopping at the synagogue.

It did feel strange not to dramatically change our routine by sitting in a pew, praying with a community, listening to the rabbi’s sermon, observing the congregation and wondering about them.

Of course we will be there for Yom Kippur this week. I’ve missed some Yom Kippurs in a synagogue, but not since Tuvia. He needs to be present to honor his father. He continues to carry his father’s tallis with him even though he doesn’t wear it. Tuvia is not religious. His father was not religious, but somehow the synagogue is a place in the United States where Tuvia needs to be present.

If we were in Israel for this holiday, we would probably not visit a synagogue. Just being in Israel seems to be enough. And we will be In Israel for the holidays to come next week.

During this set of serious holidays I get to think deeply about my life, my family, our past and future. It makes me thoughtful, just something in the air…

For the last month I have been up and out of the house by 6:45 and I just couldn’t get to sit long enough for an episode for MM or Slices on Tuesday.  I didn’t even have time for my Word Count journal and something was missing.  Sure, during our writing project, I was able to write with out SI community of great teachers, many reconnecting with their writing lives for the first time in a long time.  As they connected, I wrote too, but my eyes were on the clock as I led most Writing Into the Day prompts and I loved the position, don’t get me wrong, you just can’t have it all.

And now I am back home, for a Monday morning able to write and it feels So good, delicious. The weather is working with me, a delicious August morning of cool breezes and I have a birthday arriving this week to celebrate on August 7, quietly.  Next year it’s a big one: 60 (OMG).  I wonder how I will usher in that one?  For now the celebration plans are on the back burner.

At this moment of calm, I have an hour or two to enjoy the morning and then we are off to Maine for the first time.  The first time.  Different from our trips to Israel.  That’s a known spot, but Maine, my camera is itching for new locations.

I don’t want to forget the SI we just ended.  I am hoping that our community stays connected and of course, we have blogs, a new one on ning.  Deb and Kevin joined.  Anyone else interested? http://writeon08.ning.com/

I don’t know if this writing counts as a memoir, but it is fun to write and get ready to post to the group that I’ve missed.  Thanks for your feedback on my SI pieces.  Working on them felt great.

Have a good one.  Tomorrow I will be in Rockland, Maine.

Bonnie

A Circle of Tears
Bonnie Kaplan

I was and will always be an 8th grade English teacher in my heart of hearts. Even though I’ve taught grades 7-12 and an array of electives for 30 years, I hope I’m remembered for my work with 14- year- olds. I loved the way that they bounced, like magical jumping beans, into my room each day and kept on bouncing with an honest spirit, spontaneous, authentic.

I was bouncing with them, into their writing, reading, and sharing as a community of learners and as we got closer to the spring and the annual Holocaust unit, I wanted their bouncing to take on an even deeper dimension.

The year that Schindler’s List came out I was on line on a cold Christmas day to see it and much to my frustration and pleasant surprise, I didn’t get in on my first try.  But I was persistent and did get a seat in another sold-out show the next afternoon.  I sat for 3 1/2 hours watching a movie in black and white and crying often.  Steven Spielberg moved up dramatically on my list of heroes.

When we returned to school after winter break, I shared my movie experience with my 8th graders and a number of them, deeply moved, came to me after class wondering and hoping that I would take them to see it.  I hesitated.  It was hard enough to sit through it the first time. As a Jew, I grew up with Holocaust family stories of loss and as I sat in that audience, listening to a chorus of whimpers and walked in the shoes of the dead.

But as a teacher, how could I say no to the very students that I loved.  I opened an informal invitation to their whole class and 12 kids met me for a Saturday matinee at the theater. As we sat waiting, Michael asked if it would be correct to get some popcorn. I didn’t feel much like eating, but left it up to him.  No one moved. No one moved for the next three and 1/2 hours, not even to go to the bathroom.

I watched them; they watched me.  We cried together and as the movie ended and we moved next door for coffee; no one eat anything, but we all needed this period of transition before parents arrived for pickup.

When we were back in class on Monday, my movie band began to share our experience with their peers and soon they were all urging me to begin the Holocaust unit earlier than I had originally planned for it. I was relieved that no one else asked me for another field trip to see Schindler’s List, but I’m sure that many in the group found their way to it without me.   My Schindler band filled our conversations with lots of empathetic connections and I promised them that I would show the film to future 8th graders when it was out on video.

The following year, I had my own copy and even though it would probably fill a week of class time I didn’t hesitate to build it into my unit plan and reserve the VCR from the library for an entire week. We had had no English department head for years and each of us did our own thing, especially with honors sections and who really cared about the 8th grade in an 8-12 building.

It was a challenge for me to watch it twice a day, but the responses from the kids were filled with the honesty I loved about them.  We ended the week, the unit, and moved to spring and to the final work of 8th grade.

Just before Memorial Day weekend. my principal stopped by to see me. He looked concerned. “Did you show Schindler’s List to your 8th graders recently?”
“Yes, about a month ago as part of our Holocaust unit. The kids were moved.”
“Did you have parents sign consent forms?”
“No,” I still didn’t know where this was going.
“Mrs. Roberts called about it.  Did you know that the movie has an R rating?”
“I would figure that.” Duh! I kept to myself.
“Bob come on, it’s the Holocaust, and Schindler’s List was Best Picture of the Year, Steven Spielberg Best Director, etc, etc.”
“I know, but why didn’t you let me know you were going to show it?  I don’t like surprises. (pause) You can’t show it again!”
“What?” Never? Bob, we both know this is not about an R rating.”  I was furious. I wanted to say more, but I knew better. I would wait.  I’m patient, sometimes.  Bob had nothing more to say.

It became our running joke.  Every year I would ask, every year Bob would say no, reminding me that I should have gone through the proper channels.
Finally, when it was out on TV, I did get the green light, and I did send out a parental consent form and Bob was prepared to support me when some parents objected. He created a community committee for controversial  materials.  I knew the committee members and they knew the parents who were fighting against it.  I spoke with passion and educational support and it was trying, but at least Bob had stopped blocking me at the door and was now pulling the strings he should have been pulling years before.

Now I was showing the film to three classes each day for the full week and my eyes were redder than ever. I watched my groups watching me.  They knew about the battle I had to fight to experience this film together and as the week ended, that last conversation with each group in a Socratic Seminar circle stiffened my resolve to love 8th graders forever.

As I walked to the library with the VCR, Bob met me at the door.
“I think you’d better let me return that for you.  Some of your students are in the nurse’s office.  You need to see what’s going on.”
“What? Sure.”

I ran to Pat’s office. The receptionist ushered me in.
Six of my kids, boys and girls, were standing together in a circle, hysterical.  Pat with her wide, flabby grandma arms had them all wrapped in an enormous hug. As I joined the circle, we cried together, passing around a box of tissues.
Pat smiled and gently whispered, “ These tears are good. We are crying tears of humanity.”