Reading, writing...that's what I do.

Why 2 Of My Life Decisions Got a Head Start in Biology Class

Sister Natalia was a small woman, but she had fire in her when it came to science. Her class was a requirement, the basics of biology, and wow was she fantastic in creating interest in that subject.

I can still picture her, almost lost behind her desk…and I can almost hear her voice, soft, not always clear and strong..but when you realized how smart she was, how fascinating the content she was imparting…you didn’t want to miss a word. At least, I didn’t.

Natalia taught sophomore Longwood Academy students basic science information. But later, when I looked back, I realized she was giving us information that was way beyond the basics. She was challenging us to  want more. It was a time that even though I was only sixteen, I was learning how to make decisions, to understand that every day moves you forward, molds you into who you are and who you will become.

In the second semester of her class, Natalia gave us a very difficult assignment: research, then write a paper about something new that was happening in a scientific field. To do so: Read and read some more. Do careful research, then write a paper concerning what you have learned.

She probably gave our class at least a month or longer to complete the assignment, because for me it required a train trip into Chicago to do research at the Chicago Public Library on Michigan Avenue. A friend and I took the Rock Island into the city, found the library, found a librarian who gave us information as to where we might access materials to satisfy our assignment.

Ironically and like a miracle, Life Magazine had been featuring a continuing series of articles about THE HUMAN BODY, with incomparable illustrations ie: How Your Body Converts Food to Fuel, (To Start, Your Teeth at Work); Fueling Teamwork by the Liver, Heart and Lungs. AND so much more: info about your Stomach, Back, Feet Bones, Muscles and Joints: how they work and what can go wrong. 

I was enthralled, took copious notes…and when Natalia lectured…please, keep talking! I love learning all of this. I’ll save my notes. This is fascinating. And so years later those notes helped me choose my second career: I studied much of this same  information when becoming a Maternity RN. 

And that other life decision?

One normal day in Natalia’s class, a note was passed to me. I don’t remember if it was just folded or in an envelope. And it will always be possible that others in class read it before I did, because I was in the back of the classroom, and the note writer, she was in the front when the note came to me. It read: You can have him, you Bitch.  

I did not save the note. And I don’t remember if soon after reading it I tore it up.

I did get the MESSAGE.

I knew this handsome guy had liked this person, and she had liked him. BUT WE WERE ALL SO YOUNG. We were in high school! No permanent plans had been made, each of us learning about one another, each of us growing, figuring out WHO WE WERE. And yes, she was angry, and yes he had become interested in me.

Did I make some big decision in biology class? No, but who we grow to love has to start sometime, and for me it was beginning, life carrying us along as our common interests and likes matured into love…a love that led to bigger, more serious decisions. I like to wonder if years later Sister Natalia would have approved my becoming a teacher and than an RN. And as for the handsome guy, you guessed right, I married him, my life being a wonderful journey because of our love and that subsequent decision. And once again, thanks for reading.

First photo: an artists conception of the Mitochondrion, the powerhouse of the cell. (Life Magazine) Second Photo: Longwood Academy students. 

KING CHARLES VISITS the US

I have written before about growing up, reading books about kings and queens….actually reading about history.

THAT IS NOT A BAD THING. My family also got a daily newspaper, and as is the way with headlines, when Queen Elizabeth stepped off the Brittanica Ship, which had dropped anchor near Buckingham Fountain….I developed a major interest in the Royal Family, and always regretted that no one took me downtown to see the queen in person. But there were photos and books, and thus began my interest in the Windsors. And my mother, who was also an anglophile, purchased an amazing hardcover book with beautiful photos of the queen, one of the best Christmas presents I ever received.

Thus began my journey to read about Elizabeth the Second, then Elizabeth the First and all things royal. That was a good thing. I became interested in English history, the struggle of Catholics and the English Church…King Henry the Eighth etc. While others were reading Nancy Drew, this was my go to reading adventure…also Little Women and all books written by Louisa May Alcott. My intense childish love of royalty and the past enhanced my love of music, particularly Symphony No. Five in E Minor, Op.64 by Tchaikovsky. 

We had a record of this piece and in early days, and a record player that actually sat on the floor in our living room. I know which record to select and where to set the needle, so that I could find the end of the piece and play the ending. WHY? Because it has a marching feel, a royal feel, and when you are a child you can put on a cape and walk up and down your living room, the music so amazing and royal as you live out a small part of your dream. 

This week King Charles became better known to America and Americans. Many are saying that the speech he gave has eclipsed many of those of trump. That is a good thing, I believe. We need to look out on the global community and see them as friends, not enemies. We need to fine those things that unit us. We need to make THE WORLD a better place and not honor a man who want to be KING, when the United States of America decided many years ago…NO. NO KINGS for the US. 

THANKS  FOR READING.   

After My Father Died, I Spent Hours Doing This….

I was three when my father died. It was June, it was summer. In time, maybe in the fall and certainly the following spring, I spent hours on the swing that hung from the aging cherry tree in our backyard. Yes, back and forth, back and forth. Hypnotic. 

But truly, what does a child so young know about death? He or she learns about vacancy…I kept asking my mother WHERE DID MY DADDY GO? I kept wandering our home looking for him.  

And that is how I learned about loss…not just a doll or a toy, but a person I loved, someone who hugged me, sang to me. His voice, smell and touch were suddenly gone.

But the swing in my backyard was something I could do…on my own. The swing was a place to be. It was sunshine and movement…and it was singing. But it is only recently that I truly discovered or remembered from nursing school, that such an activity would provide a three-year old with a healing process.  

The back and forth movement of a swing provides powerful sensory input that calms, regulates and organizes the nervous system. It stimulates the vestibular system (inner ear) to improve balance, spatial awareness, and core strength, while the rhythmic motion promotes emotional regulation, reduces anxiety, and enhances focus. 

I don’t know for a fact that my sorrowing mother asked my pediatrician about this particular activity, but I do know that he told my mother to LET ME BE, not to force me to do things, to allow me to live…because in doing so, I was also healing, and now I know I had found a way that helped me do so. AMAZING. 

And if years ago I had put all of this together, with the science behind it, realized the documented physical and mental reasons…it would mean so much more. ( We probably covered this in nursing school….) 

But now it says to me that children KNOW what they need in a time crisis, and thus they find something to sooth them, get through that particular time of sorrow and confusion: a new baby; a new parent; a move, the loss of a friend. 

THE IRONY of this is not lost on any of us. We still have habits that we go to when we are angry, confused, or deeply sad. Many adults us alcohol. My mother was careful, limited herself. But as I grew, I watched adults and saw how alcohol could change them…and I did not like it. 

Why? Because I experienced too early in my life, that in order to feel safe, I needed to rely on the behavior of adults. My father should not have left me. Really! WHY DID HE DO THAT? 

It was a time when I found comfort in the things I could relay on: my mother and her steady love and care; my home and my brothers. My neighborhood. I think within me was this voice beating like a drum: no change, no change. You cannot tolerate change.

Final Thought: I am currently reworking a short non-fiction work I wrote years ago. It is the story of growing up in Chicago, in the Beverly neighborhood, in the house where my father died, where my mother raised the three of us. It is the story of how we grew and thrived. And in my next post I will share some of it with you. Thanks for reading, Beth 

People of Means by Nancy Johnson

When a writer has a writer friend who has climbed the mountain and published TWO amazing novels with New York publishing companies, WOW. 

For me, that friend is Nancy Johnson, author of THE KINDEST LIE, a Book of the Month Club selection and a Target Book Club Pick…and recently, PEOPLE OF MEANS, a William Morrow novel. 

I met Nancy at a Writing Retreat sponsored by Women’s Fiction Writers Association, or as it came to be known, WFWA. When we realized we were both Chicagoans, a bond formed. When her first novel was published, I immediately purchased a copy and wrote a review. Breaking into New York publishing is no easy task. Nancy’s second book meant some changes…a different publishing company for one. But like all writers, when we believe in our work…we do not give up. 

This novel is a close-up history of characters caught in the battle for civil rights. 

Johnson writes: One little Black girl, who had to be no more than five years old, with  pigtails and barrettes on the ends of her hair, carried a sign almost as big as she was. It read: END RACISM SO I CAN GROW UP. TV and newspaper photographers crouched on the ground in front of her to capture what had made so many people stop and take notice. The girl posed, enjoying the attention. 

Nancy Johnson and I were both born and raised in Chicago, her novel addressing movements and problems that she experienced and I did not. 

One of the characters in PEOPLE of MEANS explains: “I’ll tell you what it’s like. I’m a single mother. It’s just the two of us, and Falana has no where to play, no where that’s safe to run around and be a child. She climbs in bed with me when gunshots go off. She takes cold showers at night because we don’t have hot water. The city has never done anything about that.”

This is Johnson using her characters to relate how things were, to underline and make history personal and human. Which is what we readers NEED, so that we can fully understand the struggle Black people endured in this country for decades.

In the novel a White man threatens, “They string y’all up on trees here in Tennessee and bring the whole family out to watch.” This, and then: “Travis Lee slid one finger covered in black grease down the front of Gerald’s freshly laundered white shirt.”

Soon after Johnson writes: Gerald opened and closed his hands, inhaling deeply. He was still alive, but the man had sapped his spirit, making him feel low like some creature that crawled underneath your shoe. Gerald turned his anger inward. Why had he gotten ahead of himself, letting his hopes rise higher than his station in this world? Gerald stood next to his dead car, the exhaust from Travis Lee’s station wagon covering him in gray haze. 

YES, Nancy Johnson knows how to end a chapter, leave us in a world of sadness and anger. Yes, she writes of those things in the past…but we all know that in many places this evil, this prejudice still exists. It should make every person wake up and fight for equality for everyone of us.   

Years ago, I benefitted from a Pullman Scholarship to help pay for my college degree. Johnson’s character Darius says: “As long as Pullman porters have been transporting money for the MOVEMENT, we’ve never had reports of any of them stealing. It’s hard to explain, but ones who do it treat this as a scared duty, an honor. Those men don’t even tell their wives about this.”

Yes, this is history, this is Johnson writing about Chicago, about prejudice, about the struggle to live a good life. Johnson’s skill is having characters from the past COME ALIVE for us on the page. People of means is history, struggle punctuated with LOVE, STRENGTH and surprising conclusions. Nancy Johnson’s latest novel is a MUST READ.  

Fiction…..A Very Short Story: The Result

Angela is in love. But HE doesn’t know it. At least Angela is pretty sure. She sees him once a week when she goes for the therapy…having a bad knee has become fun.

Angela sits at the edge of the table, watching him. His hands touch her kneecap, the back of her calf. His hands are warm, his eyes….she waits. They sometimes talk.

She knows she is waiting for the knee to get better, but also waiting for him to see if anything lies between them, in the silences. They talk of exercises, how to go up and down stairs…body mechanics. He says words to her like femur, soft tissue.

In the car driving home, she listens to the radio, has it loud, vigorous in her ears. But also his words, “Let’s see how you do this week. You’ll be okay.”

But in some ways she is not okay. She thinks of him, plans what they will talk about, considers that maybe her knee isn’t getting better, because her mind doesn’t want it to.

She turns down other opportunities, using her knee as an excuse. At some level she knows that’s crazy. It’s all crazy. He is married and she…what chance does she have…soon her knee will heal; then she reminds herself to make a new appointment.

In four weeks, he is ready to dismiss her. Feeling foolish, she smiles at him, goes through the motions, flexes her knee, lets her leg rock back and forth…the knee working, her calf hitting the deep edge of the table. He stops writing, reaching out to grab her leg, stop these unnecessary movements.

They don’t speak, though they are looking at each other. Soon his hand drops away. Her therapy is done, it’s over. He’s given her the help she needed and what she came for.

As she slides off the table, he taps her knee one last time, because now she is pain-free…right?

She tries to say something like Thank You…forgets herself, has to smile, has to walk away.