I will have to call in sick on Monday.
It seems that I broke my heart over the weekend. It was a very painful break and I went to the emergency room where they told me that they would be unable to apply any cast. I would have to just wait for it to heal.
In the meantime, the pain is excruciating and I can't put any pressure on it at all for a very long time.
That will mean that I will have to protect it at all costs from any stress or extraordinary pressure that will require it to function normally.
I feel like it may never function normally again. And that is what happens, I'm told, when your heart breaks.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Addendum to Izzy Guitarra
What I completely forgot to say, which was critical to the arc of this post, was that my mother, who was visiting me today and who has a penchant for clipping newspaper articles, somehow found Mrs. Fontana's obituary. I hadn't heard about her or from her in more than fifty years. I needed to toast her and, as it evolved, wonderful teachers.
Izzy Guitarra
I grew up in Park Slope Brooklyn in the same 6 family house that my father grew up in. My grandparents lived there too.
When it was time to go to school, I went one short block to P.S. 107, the same elementary school my father had attended. I had Miss Mooney for kindergarten, then Miss Curran in first grade (my father had had her too), Miss Ward in second (my father had had her too) Miss Donaldson in third (my father had had her too - are you detecting a trend?) and Mrs. Ott in fourth (and . . . need I say more?).
The amazing thing was these elderly and devoted, "cut from the original mold" school teachers (mostly unmarried) actually remembered my father. MY FATHER! It was one thing to follow a sibling through school, but I was following my misbehaved, mischevous, putting tacks on teacher's chairs father.
It wasn't till I reached the fifth grade that this pattern was interrupted by a miraculous occurrence. It was the entrance of Mrs. Fontana as my teacher. She was young. She was new. She was downright cute. And she was musical! She played the piano - an instrument I was attempting, without passion or inspiration. Mrs. Gastmeyer was my teacher - Janie Gastmeyer's grandma - a lovely lady, but not exactly someone who was exhorting me to great musical heights.
Mrs. Fontana immediately organized a chorus - A CHORUS! I was in my glory. We toured. Touring meant performing at the local savings bank on Park Slope's Fifth Avenue. We were all decked out. It was the holiday season and we felt like local celebrities.
The fifth grade went along like that. During that year, my parents had already decided to move from Park Slope - something about the neighborhood being in a negative transition. Oh well. Some folks don't read the trends well.
When Mrs. Fontana learned that my parents wanted to move, she recommended the best Brooklyn school districts and made contact with Moe (?), Principal of P.S. 236 in Mill Basin, reputed to be one of the best public schools in Brooklyn.
Correspondence was exchanged after my parents had decided on a house in that area, and so it was decided that I would go to P.S. 236, transferring from P.S. 107, leaving Park Slope and all my friends, and leaving Mrs. Fontana. A new phase of my life was to begin. I also learned that she was "instrumental" in finding Ms. Manasia, the piano teacher who almost turned me into a concert artist except that my adolescence kicked in and the piano and religion became foci for my anger.
I think of all that Isabella Fontana meant to one little girl who loved music. And I think of my daughter, a gifted and talented musical performer who passes along her love and passion to her students. It's an inestimable gift for a child.
I just bought myself a guitar. I've always wanted to play the guitar, and now I will take lessons. I have named my new guitar Isabella Fontana guitarra in honor of a young teacher who, perhaps unbeknownst to her, was instrumental in my love of music and performance, and in my life. Here's to you, Mrs. Fontana!
When it was time to go to school, I went one short block to P.S. 107, the same elementary school my father had attended. I had Miss Mooney for kindergarten, then Miss Curran in first grade (my father had had her too), Miss Ward in second (my father had had her too) Miss Donaldson in third (my father had had her too - are you detecting a trend?) and Mrs. Ott in fourth (and . . . need I say more?).
The amazing thing was these elderly and devoted, "cut from the original mold" school teachers (mostly unmarried) actually remembered my father. MY FATHER! It was one thing to follow a sibling through school, but I was following my misbehaved, mischevous, putting tacks on teacher's chairs father.
It wasn't till I reached the fifth grade that this pattern was interrupted by a miraculous occurrence. It was the entrance of Mrs. Fontana as my teacher. She was young. She was new. She was downright cute. And she was musical! She played the piano - an instrument I was attempting, without passion or inspiration. Mrs. Gastmeyer was my teacher - Janie Gastmeyer's grandma - a lovely lady, but not exactly someone who was exhorting me to great musical heights.
Mrs. Fontana immediately organized a chorus - A CHORUS! I was in my glory. We toured. Touring meant performing at the local savings bank on Park Slope's Fifth Avenue. We were all decked out. It was the holiday season and we felt like local celebrities.
The fifth grade went along like that. During that year, my parents had already decided to move from Park Slope - something about the neighborhood being in a negative transition. Oh well. Some folks don't read the trends well.
When Mrs. Fontana learned that my parents wanted to move, she recommended the best Brooklyn school districts and made contact with Moe (?), Principal of P.S. 236 in Mill Basin, reputed to be one of the best public schools in Brooklyn.
Correspondence was exchanged after my parents had decided on a house in that area, and so it was decided that I would go to P.S. 236, transferring from P.S. 107, leaving Park Slope and all my friends, and leaving Mrs. Fontana. A new phase of my life was to begin. I also learned that she was "instrumental" in finding Ms. Manasia, the piano teacher who almost turned me into a concert artist except that my adolescence kicked in and the piano and religion became foci for my anger.
I think of all that Isabella Fontana meant to one little girl who loved music. And I think of my daughter, a gifted and talented musical performer who passes along her love and passion to her students. It's an inestimable gift for a child.
I just bought myself a guitar. I've always wanted to play the guitar, and now I will take lessons. I have named my new guitar Isabella Fontana guitarra in honor of a young teacher who, perhaps unbeknownst to her, was instrumental in my love of music and performance, and in my life. Here's to you, Mrs. Fontana!
Monday, May 23, 2011
Commencing to . . .
College and university commencements have taken place all over the country by now. Hundreds of thousands of youngsters (and some oldsters) have "commenced" to the next phase of their lives.
The pomp and circumstance are over. The parties are over. Now the 2011 graduates have moved on to what I call the "what next?" phase. I have had an interesting seat in the theatre of this process since I not only work for a University, but my youngest child "commenced" this year. Commenced what?
I have now experienced four children and stepchildren going through this process and I have begun to see a distinct pattern. Each of them, after commencement, had a "cushion year." This was the year that had me deeply concerned where each of them was concerned.
For example, my oldest stepson graduated with honors from SUNY Albany, then proceeded for the next year to wash dishes in the kitchen of a local Mexican restaurant until a family friend rescued him, found him a "paying" job (because we couldn't really say he was earning a living washing dishes) and off he went to work in a law firm in Dallas; my older daughter graduated with honors with a degree in musical theatre, with talent we applauded from the time she first appeared as the youngest orphan in a community theatre production of "Annie." After commencement, she went to work waiting tables at a local restaurant. She did that so well, I was beginning to think it would be her career until she announced after about a year that she was moving into her own place. She finally got her Master in Education and is a happy second grade teacher who occasionally sings and acts in community theatre.
My second stepson graduated and delivered pizzas for about a year until he decided to take the LSATS and will enter Rutgers Law School in the Fall.
So, do you see a pattern emerging? This year's graduate, my younger daughter, has lined up a job as a nanny for the summer, earning pretty decent money while she decides what she wants to do in September. I try to remind her that September is really not that far off.
Who expects a college graduate to leap into a job for which their education has supposed to prepare them immediately after commencement? It took me eight years, during which time I married and had a child, before I figured out what I could and would do to earn a living. And the world, especially the economy, was much easier back then. I think I earned $20M a year at my first "career" position and was thrilled.
So, put your heads on your cushions, graduates, for as long as you need to ponder and reflect. Reflection is a good thing if you can afford it.
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