by any other name---

these past two weeks i've been helping one of my students write an essay on helen keller. i've been really inspired as well. both of us have been inspired. writing on and off the essay topic, inspired by the persistence, the strength and the courage of helen keller and the details that surround us, those that we walk past and never notice, and the ones we stop and think about with respect to helen.

we were taking notice of the small details around us -- sight -- sound -- words spoken -- songs -- laughter -- rain -- conversation -- shadows -- with new eyes we saw the sounds and heard the words. the other day at the cafe where we meet i told her just to take a few minutes, look around, and see what was there. next thing i knew, i tried to talk to her and she held up her hand, mumbling something to indicate that i shouldn't bother her. she was very busy scribbling something down. "oooh you're gonna loooove this" she squealed with delight as she was writing. in about three minutes, the 11-year-old girl who came to work with me in september and told me proudly "i hate writing" had written this poem:

What Helen Should Have

the sun on a rainy day,

people in the café,

a look in a good book,

the way the cloud sway,

that’s what i see today. 

then we were on the phone this afternoon finishing up her essay that's due tomorrow and we --sidetracked momentarily-- were discussing the performance of the school play willy wonka and the chocolate factory that she was in last night. she started counting for me, the number of roses she received after the performance,"i got a lot of red ones... and some pink... and-- "

i heard her telling me the colors of the roses, yet underneath, my mind wondered as it was already composing this next bit that i've now finished writing below......




the roses as helen knew, as i hold them in mind.

they were never yellow, never red, nor pink, purple, white or speckled. they were r-o-s-e-s spelled in hand. they were never admired from afar, or on the kitchen table, never seen from the window. they were touched, learned from fingertips and palms, yet as far as i can see...

the smell was as sweet, perhaps sweeter, but more dangerous to the touch-- causing pain without warning, a disguise, enticed, by the pleasing scent above the stem... nature's silent way, to illustrate for helen, to warn, that nothing sweet can be held, can touch without moments of unexpected pain t-h-o-r-n soft petals at fingertips release with the breath of dusk into helen's trusting palm p-e-t-a-l. under her bare feet on the grass, the rose petals tickle helen with secrets as they fall one-by-one but she doesn't notice as the petals fall from her rose, from her fingers to the ground and touch her feet and the toes that hide in between blades of grass, never knowing a color of greenest green, or yellow petals at her feet.

the fragrant petals just fallen in the air faint perfume lingers in her nose, in her fingers that believe they will once again reach out and grasp-- and bring light to her face. she reaches once more, not knowing that what was once there will never be, has fallen at her feet, and thus believing and trusting--  the prick on her finger from the thorn of what remains from the beauty of what was once, of what was just-- of what was lost-- aches, unexpected blood unseen, and sudden movement away from uncertainty, the blood-stained finger and her hand brushes past the bush where red roses grow and the scent turns her head familiar, new, and knowing now, and trying once more. reaching higher this time with experience, for if one reaches higher, with more caution, perhaps the soft scented object of desire will come into hand, gently reaching with certainty-- seen or unseen-- pain will be avoided, not forever, but in this moment.

and not knowing the richness of the iridescent crimson glimpse of that red r-o-s-e she gently caresses in her palm, she knows. bringing her nose, her eyes, her lips, to the open petals that welcome her; and no one hears her laughter, but her laughter, and roses, fragrant vibrations fill the air, and roses are experienced, not seen, their colors are touched, embraced, fallen and held, never peach or violet, crimson or yellow. delicate p-e-t-a-l-s blush with fragrance. laughter paints the roses colors vivid as your presence, feel them bloom in season-- in turn-- in pain-- in palm-- in faith-- unseen lessons love tangible in essence unexpected detail the r-o-s-e as sweet, by any other name---




chantal--raquel--helen

News in (big) print

So now that I’ve got my age-appropriate glasses on (wink wink from behind the drugstore reading glasses that I tried on here and here and in the blurry process found out that 30 wasn’t exactly the right moment— at least for my eyes and this accessory— though they seemed so happy together) nevertheless it’s time to be serious and get down to business. And ok, I’m not sure if this counts as serious or business but you know how I have a writing program for kids (if you didn’t know that, check out their blog : writing from the rooftops) well now I will be starting a school newspaper with them! It’s already become a lot of work and yesterday we had our first official ‘meeting’ and— wow—

—but I mean, it’s going to be great, I just have to really get it organized. The cool thing is that, not only are the kids exceptional at writing, but the ones who I’ve already been working with (that you know and love : Abby, Pyper, Olivia ..perhaps.. if we can tear her away from the junior high saga I got her to start writing which documents life at her new middle school, and Raquel who you’ve yet to read much about, but will—) are now assisting me with the newspaper operations. And that’s pretty cool. They helped me run the first meeting and explain the elements of the newspaper to the interested students who came to find out what the newspaper was all about.

The girls were really enthusiastic and there to make sure everyone understood what was going on...a prime example of this came when were sitting in front of the rest of the kids and some of their parents at this initial introduction newspaper meeting, these talented, enthusiastic, helpful aforementioned girls decided to impersonate ‘Chantal’ for the crowd just so they could get to know me (this hadn't really come up before when we'd discussed what we'd do in the meeting...), so Abby took my big dark sunglasses off my head and wore them on her little face and crossed her legs under the table and made a face that I'm almost certain I never make and Pyper started writing like crazy in my notebook and Raquel reached for the multitude of bracelets on my arm that she told the rest of the group I aaaaaallllways wear... and the meeting kind of progressed like that..... so I just said something like, wow guys it sounds like you all have a lot of newspaper ideas to talk about, so why don’t you just do that now and I'll walk around and get to know you, now that you know me—

—but they are full of personality and energy and ideas and passion on and off the paper. After the meeting and before we locked up the classroom I captured some of it as I was watching Pyper dance in front of the fan...talk about charisma, just look on my flickr, none of these photographs were posed, that’s how full of life these girls are. And they really bring something into mine. So perhaps this newspaper is going to be a lot more work than I signed up for, but the potential words (and photo ops with my new cute little blue camera the Algerian gave me that’s way better than reading glasses from the drugstore as a gift at 30) are too good to miss. And so, it might take a while, but we’ll be there— to get those moments in print (...and I just might need those reading glasses by the time we’re done!)

x c

write now..

i'm sitting in the cafe where i meet the girls who i tutor in writing. both of the girls i worked with today never fail to inspire me in numerous yet different ways. first i worked with olivia who i somehow managed to persuade into agreeing with me that haiku was not boring "but i hate haiku" but actually fun..or at least it is when you sit on a couch in a cafe and write it with me... {will post some of our haiku next.} *O* as we call her by pen name, literally gets bursts of instantaneous inspiration. today she blurts out in the middle of our haiku fest "hang on i have an idea for a poem i need a piece of paper quick!" waits impatiently as i tear out a piece of paper for her and search for a pen, and within 2 minutes, had scribbled down a poem. she's done this in the past, written impulse poems of revelation, but this one blew me away:

the one you love

the one you love
could be right
around the corner

the one you love
could be right
across the street

the one you love
could be right
at your feet

when you find them
you may feel
complete

by,
*O*

{written in approximately 2.5 minutes}

i quickly and curiously looked around the room and finally ask her who.. i mean.. what inspired this?! she said it was something going on at school, and i was relieved as i hadn't spotted anyone in the cafe deserving of such a tribute..and ya, and she's in 5th grade. see more of olivia's writing here.

then there's abby, i see reflections of myself in her quietly persistent imagination. among many other things, abby is writing a series called pink princess {see here} this girl (abby) is so clever, her story is not simply about a princess who likes the color pink. in fact, she calls it a tale of sadness, because it's about a princess whose mother had an allergic reaction to pink lemonade when she was pregnant with her, and the unfortunate baby is born with pink skin. abby was sitting in the corner table of the café, writing away as i was working with olivia. she told me later that she doesn't know what's going to happen next in the story, it's the characters who live it out in her mind for her. i told her many brilliant fiction writers would say the same thing. abby's in 6th grade.

anyway, got interrupted with this post when my fav mexican bff sergio walked in the cafe {aka my office} to save the day and say hi, but i will have a haiku post soon!!!

pencils, papers, poems.

ahhh!! just had the best time with one of my writing students. we spent well over an hour together writing a furry of poems. we both feel pretty confident in our ability to transform ordinary moments, mundane objects and everyday situations into delightful works of poetry ;) and we seriously fed off of each others inspiration it was a great mental and creative workout! we would give each other topics such as 'bathroom sink' {yes, that's one olivia really gave me!!} and 'red wall' and we'd scribble like mad on lined paper from the back of olivia's binder, scribbling pencils trying to keep up with the pace of the poems swirling about in our heads, scribbling down those poems on paper until our pencil lead wore down, then with eager smiles, we'd share our brief creations. here's a sample of our best work from today:

i gave olivia the subject of red wall, she gave me the subject of bathroom sink, here's what transpired....

red wall

The pictures sit upon
the big red wall. The wall is
steady so they do not fall.
So much depends upon
the big red wall
for if it
was not there the pictures
would fall.

by
*O*

{a poem literally written in 3 minutes}

that bathroom sink!

uh! that bathroom sink!!
you know the one!!
gets me every time.

minding my own business
looking in the mirror
i turn the faucet on
water soaks my tshirt
water splatters my pants
walk out of the bathroom
feel like everyone's looking
feel a little silly

uh! that bathroom sink!!
you know the one!!
gets me every time.

by
chantal

{i know she had the idea to give me this topic
because the bathroom sink in the cafe where
we meet is very temperamental!}

and then she gave me the word croissant which was perfect {ha! did she see my last post?!}

croissants in the mail

croissants in the mail
warm from the sun
sitting on my front porch

croissants in the mail
she sent them yesterday
sitting on my plate
now breakfast today

croissants in the mail
taste of butter, and better
than any other croissants
in the mail sent with love

by
me

and one more for the road by olivia, i called this one 'a poem in 2 minutes' because, well, it was....

A Poem in Two Minutes

So much depends upon
the wind blowing through the
trees. It moves through the
air blowing through the leaves.
Blowing scraps of trash
through the air. Sometimes
i you're not lucky it
will mess up your hair.

by
*O*

anyway, we enjoyed ourselves immensely, think we both walked away inspired. perhaps we'll start a poetry collection together. and i will be posting these and all the others on the website i'm creating for my students. the blog is a collective space to share their work! check it out: writing from the rooftops. olivia even has her first fan on her three-part saga about a super hero called Super Brick.....

images: 1} robyn glaser 2} lightbulb chandelier 3} moleskine reloaded

dear abby

robyn glaser

i confessed to abby, one of the 12 year old girls that i tutor in writing, that i'd never finished reading the book island of the blue dolphins {that was back in 4th grade, mind you} she looked at me in disbelief, "you mean you never found out what happened to her?!" abby was reading the book again {on her own accord} for a second time. she proceeded to pull a copy of the book out of her bag, "i have two, you take this one so you can read it again and finish it" and she put it on the table in front of me. and so, i will be reading island of the blue dolphins. the whole thing this time. i'd say i learned my lesson, but really, the reason i so firmly remember not finishing the book, lies in the fact that this was when, at a young age, i discovered my own reading style. i don't generally read for the story, i read for the words, the crafting of the sentences, and if i can't get something out of almost every sentence, i'm often not compelled to continue reading it. and if i do get something out of almost every sentence {virginia woolf!!}, i read each sentence over and over, and forget what was happening in the story. this sort of reading i like to call métro reading, as i often read the same book in the métro {mostly virginia woolf} because i could get distracted, the lights could do that momentary dimming thing then come back on and i'd be right back on enjoying the same sentence. {hmm..writing this now, i hesitate to wonder if this could potentially be deemed a.d.d. reading, but i dismiss this thought, because i do in fact concentrate on every word, often getting lost in the rhetoric somewhere under the streets of paris...}


julia galdo

anyway. i'm in the middle of maybe 15 books and enjoy them all in their own moment. this is not to say that i never read books for the story, and that i never finish, because on occasion i do both. but all through high school and college as a dramatic art and english major, i don't recall finishing many books. one night i had a paper due the next morning on shakespeare's love's labour's lost, and though i'd acted in it, i'd never fully read the text {but talk about a writer whose every line can stand alone} so, at about 2am i decided to write the paper on the placement and meaning of the apostrophes in the title. we proceeded to spend the entire next class researching and discussing the importance of the apostrophe in this play's title and the professor was very pleased. this was more of a creative attempt to get that paper written without finishing -- or even starting -- the reading process, and it was a time issue more than anything, as i adore shakespeare and getting lost in his sentences... and really, i've seriously been know to take interest in the use of apostrophes... but this is neither here nor there.


julia galdo

i just have the image of abby handing me the book and i was so enthralled and delighted with the fact that there's a 12year old out there who reads for pleasure, who doesn't live to spend every free moment on that wii thing, who adores writing as much as i do, and who {as i came to discover} reads multiple books at once and enjoys them all in their moment. we both believe that we get something different from the same books every time we read them. when abby and i work together, i sit across the table from her in the cafe where we meet, and i see myself in her, and know exactly how the spinning mind in that shy, genuine, sweet head is mulling over the details and the fantasy, the spectacle and wonder of everything that dances before her in her reality and plays in the imagination....but anyway, i should go, i have another book to read...

From the rooftops

Seated up at a high table in the corner of a café, waiting for the young Olivia, the (star)girl I meet with every week to work with on her writing ((we’re creating a blog writing from the rooftops (see my blog roll) that features her very own writing, thoughts, inspirations and updates from the It Book Stargirl that she’s reading.))

...and during such moments in between I’m, as always, trying to figure it all out; still hoping there’s a way..and perhaps a way will come, for my personal stargirl said best...


“I was asked to act when I couldn’t act. I was asked to sing Funny Face when I couldn’t sing, and dance with Fred Astaire when I couldn’t dance – and do all kinds of things I wasn’t prepared for. Then I tried like mad to cope with it.”


I’ll take it from Audrey, try like mad to cope with it, and keep my fingers crossed, there must be a way.
xx
c

So an american & an algerian walk into an asian bagel shop..

Today the Algerian and I went to a bagel shop, (one thing I can hold over all my friends in Paris..easy access to bagels, though I’m not even in the habit of eating them anymore..) and straight after four hours of reading ESL (English as a second language)-approved books and practicing vocab with me, he asked the young Asian girl behind the counter, “what’s in that egg sandwich?”

“Egg, cheese, and chai” she responded.

Rather surprised, he asked, “chai? like, tea?”

She smiled all-knowingly shaking her head, “noooooo, chai..chai..it’s like onion” then she giggled about his mistake and smiled at me, as if we shared a secret.

“Oh,” I paused, “chive.”

“Ya” she giggled again and said it slowly, still trying to teach him this new word, “ch-ai, it’s onion. Some people say scallion.”

He looked at me still confused and said, “j’ai compris chai.”

“Ya, moi aussi,” I smiled, non-verbally reassuring him that I’d heard what he’d heard.

“It’s chive, chi-vuh” I couldn’t help but smile, saying it to him slowly and perhaps mocking her previously exaggerated repetition of “chai” for him.

“Chi-vvvvve. It’s fine” I said shaking my head to him “just get it, it’s good.”

Still very confident in her knowledge of onions, she began to prepare his egg, cheese and chai bagel.

“This is a ‘salami’ situation,” I told him, and we both laughed at the ever-present, often oblivious contention between foreign egos competing in accented English.

He worked in a café two years ago just after moving to the States. The owner of the café was a Korean woman -- I’m still not sure how they managed to communicate.

One day, she asked him to make her a cappuccino “and put it in a salami.”

I never even witnessed this, I’ve just relived it ever since, with countless reenactments done on my behalf.

And he tells it: “and I asked her, a salami? and she tells me, ‘a cappuccino in a salami, yes’ so I stare at her, I know what this is, salami, but I didn’t know how it goes with cappuccino, so she gets very mad that I don’t understand, and walks over and grabbed a mug holding it in my face like, I can’t believe you don’t know this, ‘a salami’ she showed it to me like I’m stupid, ‘sa-la-mi’ and I was like, oh, you mean, ceramic?”

“And she still looks at me like I’m crazy, like finally you understand English, ‘yes that’s what I told you, a salami.’”


...Just a hunch, but I’m thinking my recent decision to tutor in English and writing (to all students, btw, not just the international crowd) was a clever one. I’m sensing some English courses and tutoring sessions are needed (though, perhaps not admittedly so!) somewhere out there in, as our governor Arnold so proudly refers to his state, Cal-eeifor-neei-a.

But anyway, stories like this just make me laugh, and reminisce, as I’ve been the brunt of them countless times through my linguistic struggles in France, dealing with inadequate r’s.... But, whether you prefer cappuccino or chai, these words and moments keeps life interesting...and keep us chuckling in every language.

here's my card (obsession)

In order to support my writing habit, I’m urgently attempting to take on a smörgåsbord of small jobs (i.e. holiday gift wrapper/decorator, writing tutor for children, writing and editing assistance for dissertations, theses, collage essays etc...) In the hopes of actually getting some business, I started googleing around for ideas and websites to make some quick business cards that could possibly summarize this smattering of potential employment offerings. Not only did I find some very cool business cards (that I'll get in a heartbeat once my extra jobs make me some extra money) ..I also found sites where you can design your own business cards. And thus, an instant new obsession and the resulting reality of how the rest of my day was spent.

In addition, I discovered I was using one of those sites where you can actually sell the products you have designed. And I immediately added this to my recent lineup of extra jobs. I guess in the end this sounds like an ad, however it’s merely a fascination with the endless merchandising (and business card) options of today. Here is a link for one of the cards I very much enjoyed designing, but I plan on adding many more to this collection! http://www.zazzle.com/inotherwords_c*

Also check out this link for other innovative business card ideas (that I’m sure I can’t afford..yet) http://creativebits.org/cool_business_card_designs. The picture here is of a business card by a divorce lawyer ..very clever ..I won’t be needing one like it, but quand meme it’s quite clever.