• Back To School Blues

    For 22 years—first as a student and later as a college instructor—the school year framed my days. Consequently, the first day of school still evokes strong feelings.

    red-plaid-lunch-boxWhen I was younger, heading back to school touched off a prowling anxiety. Worries stalked me at odd moments—What if I can’t find my room? What if none of my friends are in my class? What if the teacher is picky and mean? Once classes were underway, anxiety gave way to feeling trapped. Oh God, I’m stuck in school for months on end. Lectures, homework, tests. Somewhere between Day 1 and Day 2, I accepted my fate and began to acknowledge bright spots—a teacher who liked to joke, Oreos in my plaid lunchbox, or a book I didn’t mind reading.

     

    When I began teaching college English, I discovered teachers often dread the start of school, too. For me, it was a sinking feeling that began several weeks before school started. Oh, God, I need to make a syllabus, which means I have to decide exactly what I’m covering: choose readings, dream up in-class exercises, and plan the assignments. What if I get a handful of surly students? They could completely undermine the class dynamic for 10 weeks. tan-brief-bag

    My anxiety culminated in a night-before-the-first-day-of-class nightmare. Every quarter, I dreamed a variation of this dream: I’m 20 minutes late to class. I’m walking down an endless corridor and can’t find the room I’m supposed to be in. I finally arrive only to realize that I’m in my pink chenille bathrobe and the students have given up on me. Some of them are already in the English department office complaining about me. My stomach would be roiling when I woke up. As I stuffed my leather briefbag with mimeographed syllabi, lecture notes, and my grade book, I laughed at how ludicrous the nightmare was.

     

    This fall, on the first day of class, I was surprised to again feel a frisson of nerves. What if I got lost or showed up late? Just to be sure, I double checked the transit routes and downloaded a campus map. What if the professor thinks retirees are cranky know-it-alls? Do I really want to show up twice a week and sit through lectures?

    Wait. Yeah, I do. Anxiety about the first day of school may be deep-seated, but it no longer makes sense. I’m only auditing a history class at the University of Minnesota. There’s no pressure to perform as a teacher or as a student. In the rush of those habitual feelings, I’d nearly forgotten that the beginning of school also sparks an invigorating sense of a fresh start.

    backpackI loaded up my backpack with the three heavy textbooks—ooof—and set off.

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    6 responses to “Back To School Blues”

    1. bbachel Avatar
      bbachel

      Heading back to school makes you once again my role model. As I continue to ponder what next, one thing is clear: I will spend more time in college classes (hopefully without the anxiety or pressure to excel I used to feel).

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar

        I’m really having fun! Just show up and learn stuff. If I don’t finish the reading–no big deal. I’m definitely not writing the papers! Hope you try it.

    2. Susanne Avatar

      Isn’t it strange that we have these anxieties years after the end of school? I still have dreams about not completing assignments and wake up in a panic only to realize – hey! – I’m 59. Wake up! Wonderful, evocative post, Ellen. You got my anxiety cranked up!

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar

        Glad you could relate! Thanks for following WordSisters.

    3. Clair Chaytors Avatar

      But just think about all of the tons of stationery that you simply just have to have 😉

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar

        Yeah, no kidding! Fine point pens too. Thanks for checking out WordSisters.

  • The Book That Needed to be Written

    Elizabeth di Grazia
    Elizabeth di Grazia

    House of Fire,is a book that needed to be written. I was the one to write it. I didn’t ask for sexual abuse to happen to me. I didn’t ask to get pregnant from brothers. But, I did. Who else could write this book but me? Who else to tell the story of how I came out of the hell that I lived as a teenager? Who else to tell the story of how I created a loving family? Who else to say to others who have gone through similar hells that they, too, can survive and have a good life? Who else to tell them that trauma doesn’t need to define them, that they are bigger than their stories?

    The fact is many of us could have written this book. The next time you see a group of children, consider this: 1 in 5 girls and 1 in 20 boys are a victim of sexual abuse. When a child is raped, 46 percent of the time, the perpetrator is a family member, according to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, U.S. Department of Justice. Those statistics suggest many stories. I hope to open a dialogue to change those statistics – and innocent lives – for the better.

    R. Vincent Moniz, Jr.
    R. Vincent Moniz, Jr.

    House of Fire took me over twenty years to write. It took a lot longer than that for ink to meet paper. But, it did. I tried many forms to tell this story: poetry, fiction, and essays. I kept coming back to nonfiction. This story did happen. This story happened to me.

    Healing takes time and work. When the day arrived that House of Fire was to be published, I was ready to stand at the podium as a statement that people can and do survive trauma and their dreams can come true. When you look at me, you won’t see the sexual abuse, the pregnancies, or the trauma. I don’t wear my past as a tattoo. You’ll see me in my allness. My smile, my kindness, my gentleness, and my happiness. You’ll see the peace that I have found.

    House of Fire is not a tale of woe. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, but most of all you will be left with hopefulness.

    I invite you join me on September 30th for a powerful night of stories and to celebrate the publication of House of Fire. Sharing the platform with me is a range of successful artists. When I first talked with Sherrie Fernandez-Williams, program director, of the Loft Literary Center she suggested I curate an event to celebrate my publication. I chose the title, Finding Your Bones. Sometimes the only thing of substance left after trauma is you, the bones of who you are. The artists who will be with me have in their own right found their bones and their stories. Wine and appetizers will follow the event.

    Keno Evol
    Keno Evol

    Below are the artists’ bios:

    An active force in the Twin Cities artistic community, R. Vincent Moniz, Jr. has received numerous literary awards and fellowships for his writing and live performances. The current and reigning IWPS Indigenous SLAM champion, he has performed spoken word all over the country, and parts unknown. A Nu’Eta enrolled citizen of the Three Affiliated Tribes located on the Ft. Berthold Indian Reservation in North Dakota. Vincent was raised in the Phillips neighborhood of South Minneapolis in the long long ago in the before time.

    Poet, essayist and activist Keno Evol is a six year educator having taught at nineteen institutions across the state of Minnesota. He has served as the chair of the Youth Advisory Board for TruArtSpeaks. A nonprofit in St Paul, dedicating to cultivating literacy, leadership and social justice through Hip Hop.

    Evol has received numerous grants and competed nationally as a spoken word artist. Evol has been published in Poetry Behind The Walls and on platforms such as Gazillion Voices Magazine , Black Girl In Om, and TC Organizer.

    Christine Stark
    Christine Stark

    Evol has performed, taught workshops and led professional development in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Detroit, Washington DC, Arkansas, Minnesota and New York. He has gone on to teach Spoken Word poetry in high schools such as Washburn High, Brooklyn Center High, MNIC High, PYC, Paladin Academy, Creative Arts and John Glenn Middle School.

    He has appeared on TPT and Urban Perspectives. He navigates noting Patricia Hill Collins as she has stated “My work has always been bigger than my job.”

    Writer, visual artist, and organizer, Christine Stark’s first novel, Nickels: A Tale of Dissociation, was a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Her writing has appeared in periodicals and books, including Chalk Circle: Intercultural Prize-Winning Essays; When We Become Weavers: Queer Female Poets on the Midwestern Experience; The Florida Review, and many others. A Loft Mentor Series winner, Stark is currently completing her second novel and conducting research for a nonfiction book.

    I hope you’ll join us for an evening of powerful truth-telling.

    September 30, 2016 at the Loft Literary Center, 1011 Washington Ave. S, Minneapolis

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    4 responses to “The Book That Needed to be Written”

    1. Kim Gorman Avatar

      I am so sorry for everything you went through. You are amazingly brave to share your story so that some who read it and see themselves can begin to heal, and others can understand. I would venture to say you’re more than a survivor, you’re a beautiful, powerful warrior.

      1. Elizabeth di Grazia Avatar
        Elizabeth di Grazia

        Thank you, Kim. I will remember those words and use them: Beautiful, powerful warrier!

    2. Ruth-Anne West Avatar

      Yes, these stories of resilience do indeed need to be written. Stories that lift up, inspire and raise thoughtful awareness about the realities we live with. The best part is a growing circle of survivors who say these events did not steal our light. Best to you.

      1. Elizabeth di Grazia Avatar
        Elizabeth di Grazia

        Ruth-Anne, All of our lights need to continue to shine. Our light is the essence of ourselves. Thank you for reading and posting.

  • Goodwill, Here I Come

    It seemed like a great plan: I’d take my no-longer-needed work clothes to a consignment shop and make a little money. Consignment store clothes are already inexpensive, and consignees only get a cut of the price—say 40 percent. So maybe I’d make $20. Then I’d use the cash for something fun—a little treat.

    Choosing what to discard (a la Marie Kondo) was hard. I liked the clothes, felt good in them, and had enjoyed wearing them. But it didn’t make sense to keep them, since I no longer needed business attire. Maybe somebody else could use them. Last winter, I came up with a pile of about 15 pieces—jackets, tops, and pants. I washed them, hung them on hangers, and tried to keep the cat and his walking cloud of cat hair away from them.

    Feeling virtuous and lighter, I called around and learned that the stores don’t want winter clothes in the winter. August is when I should bring in my fall and winter items. So I moved the clothes to the back of the closet and made a note on my calendar.

    Last week, I loaded up the items and drove them to a nearby consignment shop. The sales associate said it would take an hour or so to go through my stuff. I assumed that meant deciding how to price everything. I took off to run some errands.

    When I returned, I warned myself that the prices for my things might be lower than I expected. My cut might be small. Oh well, it was just meant to be fun money. No big deal.

    When I found the sales associate, she said, “We are only able to accept a few of your clothes. Everything else is more than three years old.” In other words, my stuff was too out-of-style. I have never considered myself to be a fashion maven, but I thought my clothes were within acceptable limits for middle-aged business style. It’s not like I brought in a bunch of 1980’s power suits with jumbo shoulder pads.Power Suit pattern

    “Do you want to take them back with you? If not, we can donate them,” the sales associate suggested. After making the decision to part with the clothes, I wasn’t bringing them home again. “No, go ahead and donate them,” I told her. I glanced at the three things she was keeping for sale and thought, “I’ll be lucky if I get $5 out of this. That’s a lot of work for a cappuccino!”

    I laughed as I left the store and mentally paraphrased David Foster Wallace, “That’s another supposedly fun thing I’ll never do again.”

    Next time I clean out my closet, I’ll go directly to Goodwill!

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    10 responses to “Goodwill, Here I Come”

    1. Susanne Avatar

      Bravo to you for purging and lightening your load. I love it when I can easily move the hangers in my closet and find things after a good clean-up. That must have felt good, right? Or not. I’m a born purger. I shop almost exclusively at consignment stores now mostly because I love the variety, the reduced environmental impact, the thrill of the hunt. I also shop Goodwill and other thrift stores for the same reasons so keep cleaning for those of us who love “Goodwill hunting”. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.)

    2. Valorie Grace Hallinan Avatar

      I went through that at consignment shops, too, now I don’t waste my time. I keep my clothes a long, long time, so by the time I’m ready to part with them no consignment wants them. I’ve been wondering what to do with my business attire, too. I keep thinking I might need them down the road…So now, I just love to shop in consignment shops.

    3. Eliza Waters Avatar

      Oh, boy, what an exercise. I’ve had better luck selling my old books, which astonished me. I made about $100!

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar

        Lucky you! When I tried to sell my old books, I got about $10.

    4. Pam Avatar
      Pam

      Before we moved I did the same thing with my books, with more success. I knew better with my clothing; I’d tried to sell the vintage stuff I wore in college and got s dismal sum. Good for you for donating before all of the stuff comes back in style. They say if you wore it back then, don’t wear it again. But I have my eyes on some embroidered jeans…

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar

        Embroidered jeans, huh? Recently I got a beaded hippie chick tunic–I knew I shouldn’t but did it anyhow. Love, peace, Woodstock!

    5. bbachel Avatar
      bbachel

      Loved it…you made me laugh out loud. I have so many clothes I need to do the same thing with, including many things with shoulder pads that I just “inherited” in the cleaning out of Steve’s mom’s house. And are you telling me that clothes that are more than three years old are out of fashion? If that’s the case, I am definitely one out of date Idea Girl.

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar

        Crazy, huh? I figured if I was wearing it, some other middle-aged woman might want it, but consignment stores have different standards. I prefer to think of my older clothes as “classics” not out-of-style,

    6. woodlandgnome Avatar

      ‘Retirement ‘ can be surprising . You may find yourself dressing up again for all sorts of social or volunteer gatherings ….I have 😊

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar

        Retirement IS surprising, but good! I still have a LOT of clothes (too many), so I’m wearing ’em. Thanks for reading.


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