This is a post from another blogsite I write that I believe is very appropriate for our family story blogsite. We had to continue in a time of great uncertainty and we were embraced by our community teachers that would change our lives forever. I wish that these teachers were still around for this generation. We are in such need of them. I have only myself to send, and my words...
Leader Teachers-Are You One?
"The most important thing to remember is
this: To be ready at any moment to give up what you are for what you might
become."
__W.E.B. DuBois
As a life-long political activist and
teacher, trainer and leader, I know first-hand that my education includes an
unusual upbringing, over four decades of community work, and the culmination of
three successful university degrees. In Northeast Detroit, I took part in
intense teachings and trainings by my community's pro-active leaders following
the 1967 race riots through the 1970's. This education became a necessary means
to freedom's better ends. What the schools didn't teach us, our leaders taught
us. What the textbooks didn't teach us, our leaders taught us. What we didn't
know ourselves, our leaders taught us. Our leaders were many teachers of the
Civil Rights Movement, as well as individuals who lead politically aware lives.
One of my early teachers used to tell us that she had a "Ph.D. in Life" and she
did. She was and is wise, celebrating now 84 years young.
Detroit,
during these turbulent times, imposed the controversial STRESS (Stop the
Robberies and Enjoy Safe Streets) program, especially prominent in use among
Black males, Vietnam War protestors, and community people who began activating
to address local social, economic and educational issues. Keeping good people
out of trouble became a major concern for our community. In efforts to organize
and unify community people towards better ends, we were taught by the leaders of
a newly developed non-profit community organization. North End Concerned
Citizens Community Council (NEC4). They provided us with free lectures,
seminars, retreats and other functions intended to uplift people's hopes and
realizations. They offered conversations and sharing of experiences, applied to
our local community, our nation, and the Civil Rights Movement. Their intentions
were to educate and activate positive change. Irrespective of race, we took part
in strategies to offset the unfair limitations that were imposed through a wide
variety of racist and prejudiced systems. Self-education became part of the
lexicon of our plans to create change, allowing us to believe we can gather
knowledge and exercise wisdom, giving us the power to break our economic,
educational and self-imposed bonds.
A lot of students didn't finish
school in my neighborhood. The paths of formal education dwindled over time,
especially among the schools serving the impoverished people of color. The
majority of young people often fell into only a couple of categories. They 1)
joined the military, 2) went to jail, 3) moved away, and/or went to college, or
4) died, often violently. It was necessary for community leaders to stem the
tide of failure and help us recognize our real potential as young people who
took part in our own life decisions. All too often, there were others that
decided for us that we were "locked in a poverty cycle." Poverty and civil
rights issues have been around for a long time, but we have to ask ourselves,
and answer ourselves, whether or not we can do better than to embrace the
limiting ways of poverty's traps, racial traps, gang and violence traps, drug
traps, or any other crooked roads laid before us. As young adults, we were
taught to become aware and informed, and to step out of the suppressions,
oppressions, and depressions we faced. We were taught to recognize the
limitations and learned how to define ourselves as capable, and our goals as
attainable.
Education comes from schools, yes. But it also comes from
parents, mentors, from community leaders and church leaders, and volunteers
whose work furthers community goals. We all can learn from books, from essays
and poems, from experience and from others' experiences. We can learn from
President Barack Obama whose community organizing skills LEAD our nation, in
more ways than one. As a nation, we continue to learn from each other in our
continued walk towards full citizenship, endowed with full citizenship rights
and responsibilities.
During the Civil Rights Movement, I benefitted from
the teachings of my community leaders, my community teachers, who taught us that
we could advance ourselves by following effective strategies, to develop an
understanding of “self-awareness, self-determination and self-respect to attain
self-sufficiency.” These became the goals that we were taught—to offset the
limitations imposed and perpetuated by racism and classism in America. We
learned that we do not let others keep us ignorant, define us, or convince us to
lower our opinions of ourselves, no matter the race, or culture, or religion, or
creed. What I came to realize is that the beautiful individuals that our youth
are can only lay down all the arguments against success—by growing success
anyway. Education plays a key part of success’ growth.
Educating our
communities can be accomplished by efforts of leaders and teachers, by reading,
thinking and communicating, witnessing and steering yourself toward worthy
goals. It is important to come together in unity and strength when creating
strategies for positive and effective change. Self-education can be improved by
each one assuming the responsibility of being their own first teachers. It can
be improved by taking counsel from those who came before us, and are with us
still, that share valuable lessons learned. Literacy allows the book learning
necessary for us to prevent mistakes made from happening again, by not repeating
them. Historical and future reference points can be constructed through
knowledge gained. Ask yourself, “What has your solid education showed you that
are worth sharing?” We automatically become teachers when we have learned,
hopefully helping each other to achieve and practice self-awareness,
self-determination, self respect and attaining self-sufficiency.
Although
education does not guarantee absolute success, not learning takes you nowhere
and keeps you there. Learn and learn how to lead, and you will become a leader
who is a teacher.
“Ignorance is a cure for nothing.”
W.E.B. DuBois
About the Author: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/nancy-bell/30/231/855
Monday, March 25, 2013
The Sabatini Family Meets the Civil Rights Movement
Aisha,
This family blog
site has taken on a whole new meaning when it opened up to become a family
resource of stories that can be shared with and among one another, beyond just
you and me. We have a very interesting story to tell because of the radical
changes that rocked our family as we went from an extended Italian family in a
predominantly ethnic neighborhood to nuclear families emerging from a roiling
racially charged atmosphere in Detroit. Some of us stayed in the city of
Detroit and some of us rode the wave of White Flight out of Detroit. Even with
such disparate attitudes towards race, we were able, somehow, to maintain a
close family bond until after Grandma’s death. That’s when many phone lines
went silent and many shared meals remained unplanned. It was not so much that
we stopped loving each other so much as our worlds became separate and the
bridges between them were becoming few and far between.
My mother’s
household, as you know, stayed in Detroit, she being not only a Catholic who stepped
outside the Church at this time, but my parents divorced AND we found ourselves
in a sudden racial minority. Life was very different from the Catholic girl
making her first communion in the second grade with my white shoes, dress,
stockings and veil. I felt so safe and loved. But I was in for a ride when I found myself being one of two white kids left in my class when
the rapid White Flight changed my classmates, as well as our neighbors. The early 70s
were very militant and there was a lot of unrest with the police and the
S.T.R.E.S.S. program that equated to open season on Blacks, in general, and
Black males, in specific. The twist of fate twisted gradually more when we were
bussed, from our predominantly Black neighborhood, into a White neighborhood
that didn’t want any of us out there…and we were White kids. Neither side knew
how to take us and our color was relevant. But, being strangers about whom our
parents were fighting, made for a lot of interesting transitions as children
learned to work things out.
Our family was
very politically active, involved in community work, projects, events, and organizations.
We went to School Board meetings (city-wide and regional), went Court watching,
volunteered for many things and found some unexpected notoriety along the way because we
involved ourselves in positive change. In the sixth grade, I was part of a
weekly panel discussion on a local radio station discussing peaceful
integration, raising community awareness and working together between the
races. I was interviewed that year by a local news station news journalist for the
daily news segment after speaking before over 5,000 people at a state-wide convention
in Lansing, Michigan addressing education accountability issues (administrators, teachers, parents and students). I served as a
community board member of the Eastside Community Health Clinic at 16, the same
year I sent to the National Convention of the Coalition for Peaceful
Integration. A few months after that, I served as a Student Ambassador for
Peace to Israel. We were on welfare at that time, surviving on food stamps and not always keeping the utilties paid, yet we were walking an atypical path within this system.
My brother Ralph was involved in many things of equal merit,
the least of which not being his role in serving as a student representative on the New
Detroit Board of Trustees, sitting in meetings with a member of the J.L. Hudson
Family, the Mayor, and the "movers and the shakers" of Detroit during its brief renaissance. There were many other wealthy Detroiters whose work in the city
was unquestionably helpful to community promotion. Laurie Anne, the baby of my
mom’s family, served on the Police Community Relations Committee when still in
high school and after taking R.O.T.C. in high school went on to a successful
career as a law enforcement officer, reaching the rank of Lieutenant (so far). My mother served as a school board member
and helped start, and worked for, myriad non-profit organizations. Services like
creating a drop-in center to keep youth off the streets, providing tutoring and
lectures to teach anyone, neighborhood clean-up projects, low-income housing repair
and delivering hot meals to senior shut-ins, to name only a few.
Ralph organized a Students Rights and Responsibilities
Assembly at our Middle School when he was in the 8th grade and was
able to get a nationally known speaker named Junius Williams (a lawyer in juvenile law) to be the guest
speaker. We petitioned our school and were able to get chocolate milk added to
the lunch menu, and it was empowering to see our organized efforts for change work, even at such a simple level. But, when we petitioned our mother for a change in chores
(insisting that we re-organize the distribution of labor) she demonstrated the
"power of the control of resources." She withheld dinner until we agreed to
withdraw the petition. She said the lesson of power and wealth in this country
was not to be underestimated and you should know the reach of those you
challenge. Ralph and I held out the longest, but we, too, folded. Not to be
swayed, we continued our activities when Ralph joined Close-Up in high school,
which is a program designed for politically interested students to see
Washington, D.C. as part of a national program. He raised the funds for his own
trip by selling candy bars and participating in other school club activities, like car washes. I wrote for my
Middle School newspaper and learned how to LETTER well, making great looking
picket signs. We were dedicated to making things seem as right now as they were
before the sweeping changes of the neighborhood. We knew change happened nationally, but we lived it personally, locally.
The violence, the drugs and the decline of the educational
quality of schools continued to challenge our neighborhood. We all saw
shootings, stabbings, armed robbery, and fire-bombings. We all knew someone our
age who was raped and someone our age who was dead, before the end of Middle
School. We were embraced by some of our neighbors and distrusted by many
others, just based on racial histories and ongoing battles. Black kids, ten
years old, arrested for riding their bikes in a white neighborhood in case they
were “casing the houses.” It was raw and powerful.
So, as Jessica would ask, at this point, “…so you said all
that to say what?”
The bi-racial children in our family represent first,
children that we love. Second, they represent the possibility of a harmony
within human bodies, in a prayer that we will see racial harmony made of people
in America. We have fought for change and witnessed the beauty, intellect,
creativity, love and humanity in our children and it is a treasure that America
provided us now, what could never have happed in earlier times in our history.
We know struggle. We know hope. We know that change is possible and our
Grandfather and Grandmother’s family immigrated here to plant that hope in us,
our willingness to work for what we want most, and to love our children toward
a better future. Aisha, you and my children, and L.A.'s children, are the products of many lifetimes of effort to get to this
point in time. Thank you for letting your voice be heard, as you continue the
storytelling richness always evident in our family. You are a part of this
story, even as you are telling it. I love you, beautiful woman.
P.S. We also support the late Fr. William Cunningham's dedicated work in Detroit as founder of Focus:Hope. They are still there, doing their job to work for community education.
Homeschool Kids Rock!
Some rich family stories (for me) will come from the experience of home schooling my two youngest children and currently helping with Arin, who is 13 years old. Writing is something many of us love to do and a good sense of humor is something that shows up again and again in family writing. Jason would not prefer the spotlight on him and his life at 15 years old, so he wrote a fictitious autobiography that he turned in at the end of his freshman year (following homeschooling). It is very funny and will make you laugh out loud a lot! It is being linked to a separate blogsite related to my M.I.T. Creating Learning Class: Learning How to Learn About Almost Anything so I can keep track of the interest level to share with my son. So far, after three days, he has had 187 views. Now I can show him how funny others find his work. It is reminiscent of Garrison Keiller, creative genius of "Prairie Home Companion."
http://homeschooledchildrenrock.blogspot.com/2013/03/homeschool-kids-rock-writing-assignment.html
Since this is the only blog that my viewers have to follow a link for, I decided to post it in its entirety here. It is TOO FUNNY TO WASTE NOT READING!
My two youngest children
were homeschooled until my son started his freshman year of high school and my
daughter started her senior year of high school, at their request. It was
on my son Jason’s 15th birthday that this paper was written for a
Parenting Class in his freshman year that he didn’t want to take. The teacher
kept calling him “Derek” and it amused him not to correct her, deciding it was
her responsibility to know his name. It backfired on him when his grades and
participation in class would’ve exempted him from the final but she told Jason,
as “Derek,” to come in and take the final, which she said he “flunked” when he
turned it in. So, she required him to
write this set of papers to bring up "Derek's" grade again. He still didn't tell
her his name. Many of the comments in this paper are true and others are
obviously comedy and he was amused at the idea that she would have no idea what
to think about it or what to believe, so he retained his desired “privacy about
things that were “none of her business” by couching it in humorous
storytelling. And this happened right after he apparently accidently broke his
“egg” that he was supposed to be “babysitting” and taking notes about, and lost
credit for the assignment when, in fact, he thought the breaking of the egg was
one of the highlights of the class.
The promise to get
an X-box if he flunked the class was a joke because he was playing on his X-box
at the time, but he didn’t want his teacher to think she could harm him by not
giving him the grade he deserved. He asked her if he could pick up the paper
after it was graded, but she was not in the classroom at the appointed time. He
never got feedback from this paper and although he did get the A he deserved
(despite flunking the final he wasn’t supposed to take), he often wondered how
the kid named Derek fared as a result of the mix-up. He mentioned that she loved
him, spoke to him every day, but never learned his real name.
XXXXXX, 2007
Cherished
Pharmaceutical LTD
It became evident that Mr. B. nurtured a
special interest in chickens from the time he began working with us. Joining a leader in the area of
agro-industrial products would especially suit him because of his natural talent
for understanding the breeding practices of locally manufactured poultry and in
taking a personal responsibility for meeting their nutritional needs. Mr. B. has often expressed his love of
travel, and his aspiration to have a global understanding of the study of
chickens in their native environments world wide would make him a superior
candidate for this position. It is his
life’s dream to be able to positively contribute to help meet the demand of
animal health products in this area of the world. Please consider him as a candidate who would
absolutely apply himself to growing professionally as he helped the company grow
to meet the critical need of chicken care and
production.
< - - - - - - - - 1992 Born on a 13 acre farm in Bald Knob,
Arkansas
- - - - - - - -
-> 2007 Quite by accident I found myself in a
Parenting class at Lincoln High School and discovered mental illness limitations
by the magnificent and inspiring performance of Sean Penn in “I am Sam.” I also discovered that people, unlike
chickens, could contract STDs which were not only embarrassing but also
unhealthy. Plans have been made to allow
me to return to farm life over the summer in Butler , Indiana
Living first in the country and then
moving into the city has given me a view of life that is quite different from
the other students I go to school with at Lincoln High
School Michigan
Of all of the moments I have ever
had, I believe that the most defining one would have to be my birth. Without my birth, I would not have entered
into this life at all. Without my birth,
I would not have officially been given my name or the necessary paperwork to
prove that I exist. I joined the human
race in that moment and if that had not happened, I would have no definition at
all worth speaking about. Although I do
not have any direct memories of this moment, I have gathered much proof and can
clearly accept that this moment did, in fact, occur. Not only are there color pictures, which I do
not like to review on an empty stomach, but I have also interviewed many eye
witnesses who would be willing to give sworn affidavits if necessary.
References
http://homeschooledchildrenrock.blogspot.com/2013/03/homeschool-kids-rock-writing-assignment.html
Since this is the only blog that my viewers have to follow a link for, I decided to post it in its entirety here. It is TOO FUNNY TO WASTE NOT READING!
Homeschool Kids Rock - Writing Assignment 1
Forward
He included the bibliography,
and these are actual sites that contributed the factual information used to lend
some air of verifiable information, fictitious though it may be, as being part
of his life. This fact amused him as well and I do remember him having a great
birthday present in the opportunity to share this “joke” with us. (Home school
children are special in many ways! J)
My son took one writing class
in highschool/college and dropped out after the first assignment because the
teacher was completely uninspiring to him and so was the class. He was, at that
point, a duo-enrollment student at a local Community College. His sense of humor has always been something I
have enjoyed and I think it would be a crime not to share it.
This assignment
includes:
-
Letter of Reference
-
Time Line
-
Biographical Essay
-
Defining Moment
Letter of Recommendation- Jason
B.
12-km, Hafizabad Road
Sheikhupura
,
Punjab ,
Pakistan
To Whom It May
Concern,
Please accept this letter of
recommendation on behalf of Jason B. for the position of livestock feed chemist
with your organization. His dedication
to the concepts of chemistry and biology has allowed him to excel among his
peers and his concern for producing the highest quality livestock feed puts him
almost in a category by himself. I have
had the pleasure of working with Mr. Bell during his apprenticeship at Hee-Haw
Feed Depot and have witnessed the seriousness with which he devotes his
experience, expertise and love of animals in every batch of livestock feed he
produced.
Thank you for your
consideration in this matter,
Jedidiah Grable,
Owner
Hee-Haw Feed Depot
Amish Agricultural
Consultant
Bald Knob , Arkansas
25010
Timeline – Jason B.
Timeline – Jason B.
- - - - - - - - > 1993 Won the blue ribbon for the Suckling Pig and
Crawling Baby race at the county fair in a photo finish, making the front page
headline in the “Arkadelphia Siftings Herald” newspaper (serving Arkadelphia and
its surrounding towns, subscribers 21).
Celebrity status brought a surprising number of corn dog gifts from the
Hee-Haw Feed Depot employees throughout the following
year.
- - - - - - - - > 1994 Graduated from crawling to climbing to
walking and running and was found in the hayloft of the Putnam farm, after being
missing for three days, with nothing but a red-and-white checkered table cloth
full of stored up corn dogs and a tippy-cup of apple juice. At this point it was discovered that my
unique laugh had the unusual feature of calling chickens from surrounding farms
in the manner of a baby-pied piper.
- - - - - - - - > 1995 Received the town award of heroism when, in
the aftermath of a freak blizzard, which caused the tragic loss of the town’s
chickens, I belly-laughed for ten straight hours calling chickens to flock into
the town from counties as far away as 23 and 1/4 miles, saving the town from the
certain doom of having to resort to vegetarian diets. Nominated for the office of mayor, but
declined due to the fact that mama believed this position would interfere with
my necessary daily naps.
- - - - - - - - > 1996 Started kindergarten half-days and began work
at the Hee-Haw Feed Depot in the afternoons to help earn money so that we could
carry on the family tradition of eating daily.
My first job consisted of crushing egg shells to add to the chicken feed
and I was promoted to stirring the mix because of my passion for seeing the job
done through to the end. Before the year
was out, my duties also consisted of putting the mix into burlap bags, which
brought me a seven cents per hour raise, obliging me to start my own bank
account to handle such large sums of money.
- - - - - - - - > 1997 Bought my first pair of shoes and wore them
on the right feet most days, causing many townspeople to believe that I was
gifted. Although I was unable to also
purchase socks, I purchased magic markers to color my ankles at a discount
price. Nominated as the town’s “best
dressed youngin’” I learned to walk through tall grass to hide my fake socks on
days that I chose not to wear shoes. At
work, I graduated to actually feeding chickens and only got into trouble once
when I tried to feed them molasses on Christmas, causing the disaster of nine
glued beaks until we recognized the practical use of these chickens for
Christmas dinner.
- - - - - - - - > 1998 Received my first “National Geographic”
magazine, featuring chickens in Pakistan
- - - - - - - - > 1999 Lost my two front teeth within three days of
each other, one at work over feedbag at the Hee-Haw Feed Depot and the other was
probably swallowed in my sleep. At that
time my chicken-calling laugh developed a slight whistle, which also caused
several dogs to now respond to my laugh.
I outgrew my shoes, but since a dog fetched an old pair of boots to my
door on rainy day in August, I took it as a sign that I had a natural bond with
critters and accepted the gift with respect.
Just a couple sizes too big, I stuffed the toes with hay and no longer
needed magic markers to color my ankles.
- - - - - - - - > 2000 Began studying chemistry and biology, intent
on developing my special talent for mixing feed for animals. Although I learned to mix feed for cattle and
a special concoction of slop for pigs, chickens remained my purpose in
life. I was promoted to feed supervisor
at the Hee-Haw Feed Store when Jebidiah Grable, the store owner, opened a second
business in town selling Jesus figurines made out of recycled roof
tiles.
- - - - - - - - > 2001 Witnessed the laying of a new county road
which connected the town of Bald
Knob
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.> 2002 Began home schooling when my folks recognized
my destiny of greatness and I was given free reign on the subject matter, being
gifted and a good dresser. My first
self-appointed subjects were video games and Marvel Comics but since my mother
wasn’t sure how to test me on these subjects, I was exempt from finals. When I spilled syrup on my National
Geographic, I took it as a sign to improve my study habits and applied myself to
chemistry and biology into the wee hours of the night. I developed bags under my eyes, but since
this made me look older, I continued this pattern throughout the end of the
school year. Even still, I was denied my
driver’s license since I was still too young to drive.
- - - - - - - - > 2003 Moved out of Arkansas Detroit Warren
- - - - - - - - > 2004 Homesick for Arkansas Pakistan
- - - - - - - - > 2005 Discovered Hot Pockets and cable
television.
- - - - - - - - > 2006 Began formal education again at Lincoln High School Warren
- - - - - - - -
>
Essay – Jason B.
My oldest sister lives on a farm in
Butler , Indiana Iraq
My other sister just graduated from
Lincoln
High School
I do not have a real brother, but I
have adopted my best friend Adam as the brother I wish I always had. He does not know much about chickens, but he
does like to play video games and eat chicken.
I also have a good friend named Hunter who plays video games too, but he
does not stay at my house to eat because his parents usually pick him up around
dinner time. Hunter does laugh a little
bit like a chicken, but not as well as I do and pigeons tend to ignore him. I consider them both to be a part of my
social family and I hope to be able to stay in touch with them after I
move.
Probably my best talent is having a
sense of humor and no matter what profession I end up having as an adult, there
will always be room for laughter. No
matter how hard life may be, being able to laugh at myself, and to laugh at
others without getting punched in the face, are assets that most civilized
people can appreciate. Home school has
taught me that I am my own first teacher and no matter what subject I am
interested in, I know that my knowledge can be increased by studying,
researching and seeking information by talking to others. This helps to define me because I do not feel
limited by what others know, rather I am limited only by the questions I ask and
my ability to find the answers.
Defining Moment – Jason
B.
All of the other moments that have
occurred in my life rest upon the defining moment of my birth. Each event after that may have impacted my
thinking, my personality and the development of my character traits, but I
maintain without my birth they would hold little significance by
comparison. I do not dwell on this fact,
but in the moment that I first drew breath, I became not only a citizen of the
United States of America, but I also became a dependent of my parents and have
been claimed on their taxes ever since.
Today is my birthday, and it is the one day of the year which allows my
mother the chance to describe this moment and to give me presents for having to
listen to it all over again.
NOTE TO MS.
[NameRemoved]:
Because I have not lived long enough to
find the way to make my actual autobiography as interesting as I would’ve liked
it to be, I have used poetic license to make this assignment more interesting to
me. Since it is a parenting class, it is
my belief that the importance of the delivery completely outweighs the need to
maintain a close tie to actual facts.
Below is a list of references which helped make the completion of this
assignment possible. Thank you for
understanding and I hope you enjoyed my final project. If not, and my grade is lowered because of
it, just know this much- I will still really be feeding chickens this summer on
my sister’s farm in Indiana, which helped to inspire this slight bending of
facts for entertainment purposes. My
whole family contributed ideas to this project as part of my birthday present
and if I flunk this assignment, they have to buy me a new X-box game to help
make it up to me, so I win either way.
Thank you,
Jason B.
Arkadelphia Sifter Herald,
Daily Earth Homepage, http://www.dailyearth.com/USNews/arkansas.html. Retrieved
on May 28, 2007 from the World Wide Web.
Bald Knob, Arkansas May 28,
2007 from the World Wide Web.
Cherished Group homepage, http://www.cherishedgroup.com.pk/index.html,
Retrieved on May 28,
2007 from the World Wide Web.
Aisha - A Family Author
Aisha,
When you were born, we were very excited to meet you and were very frustrated and anxious until you were finally able to come to Detroit from your home in California. A sweet little girl with big, inquisitive eyes, you were walking by your next trip and from that point on, you were known best by the "back of your head," meaning, you were always on the move. You had quite a fan club in us, and you were as elusive as any Hollywod star. We often wondered how you were spread so far and wide on your rapidly passed trips to see us, but we knew wherever you were going, you'd find the most interesting thing about it. Congratulations on your book, and I nominate it as one of our extended family histories and am proud to see it take it's place in our blog site. If you get a link for online purchases, let me know and I will update the blog. We are very proud of you and proud of your work.
first published review of my niece's book by Publisher's Weekly. [review offered by my mom]
When you were born, we were very excited to meet you and were very frustrated and anxious until you were finally able to come to Detroit from your home in California. A sweet little girl with big, inquisitive eyes, you were walking by your next trip and from that point on, you were known best by the "back of your head," meaning, you were always on the move. You had quite a fan club in us, and you were as elusive as any Hollywod star. We often wondered how you were spread so far and wide on your rapidly passed trips to see us, but we knew wherever you were going, you'd find the most interesting thing about it. Congratulations on your book, and I nominate it as one of our extended family histories and am proud to see it take it's place in our blog site. If you get a link for online purchases, let me know and I will update the blog. We are very proud of you and proud of your work.
first published review of my niece's book by Publisher's Weekly. [review offered by my mom]
Black and White
Her mother is white; her father is black; her search is for light and
illumination. “Between blackness and whiteness” Sloan asserts, “brightness holds
clues about what connects one side to the other.” While threads of her racial
identity permeate the fabric of Sloan’s first book, her subject is the many
selves that constitute the whole self. In Sloan’s case, this grows out of
diverse places and out of her boundless passion for books, music, and movies.
The musician Thelonious Monk’s style and performance, the scientist Michael
Faraday’s lectures on candles, the works of the playwright Joseph Chaikin, the
conceptual artist Adrian Piper, and the performance artist Ana Mendieta, along
with Fellini’s films, the figure of Pinocchio, and the presence of Somali
refugees all form parts of her identity and how she sees the world. While the
move from location to location is loosely chronological—early childhood,
adolescence, college, teaching—the memories within shift by association. Thus,
in the midst of the meditation on reality and identity that is at the heart of
this book, Sloan sketches the world of family and friends. As she navigates this
network of identities, she adopts a casual tone that shares rather than
lectures. The result is an engaging book about a heavy topic. (Apr.)
Aisha Sabatini Sloan. Univ. of Iowa,
$19.95 trade paper (132p) ISBN 978-1-60938-160-8
Reviewed on: 01/28/2013
Family Cooking
Family Cooking
ADDED: I did finally get the blessings of my mother for breaking with family tradition and sharing this recipe. It was actually my Grandfather's recipe, his family's sauce recipe, originating in the Abruzzi region of Italy. Different regions DO have their own recipes and each of them are haughty about the superiority of their own sauces, even among the otherwise humble Italians. My Grandmother's family came from Calabria, and because of its close proximity to Sicily, my Grandfather refused to eat it. So he taught her his and it became hers, and she passed it on to me. My Grandfather honestly believed that adding sugar to your sauce is sacrilege, as is bell pepper, hamburger or other ingredients typically used in some Sicilian sauces. As it turned out, my Grandmother, who had 5 sisters, often hosted meals for them because the sauce was very popular among them, despite the fact that they typically used their own Calabrian sauces at home.
__________________ Grandma Sabatini's Macaroni Sauce Recipe* ______________________
as told to Nancy, the granddaughter named after her
3 lbs chuch roast (round bone, blade cut or English roast)
*2 pigs feet - sawed, half or quarters OR 1 lb. pork neck bones
1/8 cup vegetable oil (or less if using olive oil)
2-3 large or 5-6 small cloves of fresh garlic
**2 large cans crushed tomatoes or tomato sauce
2 cans (12 oz) tomato paste
1 Tbsp basic
1 Tbsp parsley
1 tsp ground black pepper
***salt to taste
1 small carrot, washed not peeled
1 stalk celery
Optional - 1/2 cup red or white wine
*Many people do not like the idea of pigs feet and this item can be optional. Mild Italian sausage can be added, as well as meatballs in place of the meat offered above. But if you want to taste it like WE ate it, you will follow the recipe.
**NEVER used diced tomatoes or consider adding bell pepper, onions or sugar to the sauce EVER and think you will hold a civil conversation with us about Italian sauce (and we do not count the Sicilian sauces as being in a category to discuss either). Sauces are family trademarks and they are very often not shared because to eat their food you must eat at their house. I share no such idea and will share this recipe with all who will enjoy it. We always do and have.
***Garlic powder can be substituted for salt for salt restricted diets.
Cut the meat into serving pieces (similar to large bite stews). Put oil and garlic in the stove and brown the garlic in the oil (like the color of medium toast). Add beef chunks and pork to oil and cover, stirring occasionally to keep it from sticking. Add the basil, parsley, salt and pepper. When browned, add tomato sauce, stir and cover. Tomato paste can be added next, stirring then add ~1/2 can of water and stir the remaining paste into the water, pour it into the pot. Add carrot and celery (to sweeten the sauce). Bring sauce to a medium boil, stir and lower. Cook on low for about 3 hours, stirring occasionally to keep the sauce from sticking on the bottom. If your sauce ever starts to burn, pour it into a new container without scraping the pot or you will spoil the pot. If it is very burned, there is nothing you can do, so make sure you check in one the pot about once every 20 minutes to stir well. The sauce is done with the oil rises to the top and darkens. (If you elect to add wine, do so about 20 minutes before taking the sauce off the stove).
NOTE: This sauce may be used on any kind of pasta, polanta, ravioli, gnocchi, or dipping italian bread into. Sauce may refrigerate well for about 2-3 days; it freezes well (if covered well) for about 3 months. IF you want to increase the amount of sauce to stretch it out, the less meaty sauce can double the tomato sauce and still do quite well. Suggested wine: Red wines such as Gallo or Paisano. Green leaf salad also goes well with this meal.
NOTE ADDED BY FAMILY REQUEST on 4/10/13: ALWAYS stir your sauce with a wooden spoon. If you stir it with a metal spoon, it picks up a hint of metal to the taste (for those of us who eat it a lot, it is noticeable).
Homemade Pasta (Grandma Sabatini's Recipe)
Although most people never really measure the flour,
the traditional proportions for feeding 8 people are:
4 eggs
3 cups all purpose flour
It's better to have less flour than more flour. It is easier to work.
Briefly, the steps are:
1. Combine the eggs with the flour - enough flour without becoming stiff or dry
2. Knead to a smooth, elastic consistency
3. Roll out to 1/8" thick
4. Roll up and cut into thin strips
More detailed instructions are:
Pour flour on working surface. Shape into a mound and make a hole in the center. (This will look like a hill surrounding a lake). Crack eggs and put in center. Beat eggs slightly with your fingers. Mis flour into eggs in a circular motion, drawing flour from the inside well. When the eggs are no longer runy, tumble the rest of the flour over them. Working with palms of your hands and your fingers, push and squeeze eggs and flour into crumby paste.
Set the egg and flour mass to one side and cover with a bowl monentarily. Scrape every last crumb of caked flour off the working surface and wash your hands. Then, knead the mass, pressing with the heel of your palm, folding it over and turning ti again and again. After 8-10 minutes, it should be a smooth, compact, elastic ball. Pat it into a flat, bunlike shape. Let it rest under a bowl about 1/2 hour to an hour.
Take it out and start rolling with a rolling pin. Roll away from yourself. Turn 1/4 every time you roll and keep it in a circular shape. Stop when it is 1/8" thick. Cut into strips about 2: wide. Roll each strip lightly and slice about 1/8". Separate these thin strips and let dry on a floured surface.
NOTE: If the dough gets sticky while you are working with it, sprinkle flour on the surface and dust. If it gets too dry and crumbly, you can sprinkle it with water and work it back to smooth. It is a matter of feel to the dough.
NOTE: If the dough gets sticky while you are working with it, sprinkle flour on the surface and dust. If it gets too dry and crumbly, you can sprinkle it with water and work it back to smooth. It is a matter of feel to the dough.
Pasta Dough (Uncle Paul's recipe)
(This can be rolled out and sliced by hand, or put through a hand-cranked pasta machine. There were arguments about the preferred method of pasta (spaghetti) making. My Grandma always said the hand cut held the sauce better and was preferable for those willing to do the work. My Uncle Joe said the machine was better because it did not make enough of a difference to do all the work.)
This recipe may be multiplied depending on the amount you wish to make.
1 egg
3/4 cup flour (Semolina, Durham, or if you can't get these then use all purpose)
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp oil
1 TBsp water
I usually make three eggs worth for four people.
Beat the eggs, water, salt, and oil together in a mixer if you have one. Then gradually add the flour. When it gets too stiff for your mixer, continue to add flour and mix by hand, eventually putting it on a counter and kneading it until you have a smooth, shiny ball, (add small amounts of flour or water as needed because the humidity in the air will greatly affect the proportions of the ingredients.)
If you do not have a mixer, the process is very different and this is how Grandma would make noodles (if is a lot of work). Put the flour (a little more than the recipe calls for) into a mound on your counter. Make a well in the middle just large enough to break in your eggs, water, oil, and salt. Using a large fork, begin to beat the egg mixture and incorporate small amounts of flour. Eventually you will set aside the fork and after dusting your hands with flour continue to incorporate the flour into the liquid until you have a soft but not sticky dough. Knead it until it is smooth and shiny (5-10 minutes).
Let the dough rest in a bowl covered with a damp cloth for 30 minutes or longer.
If you have a pasta machine follow the directions with the machine. If not:
On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough into a rectangle that is as thin as you can get it. Keep flouring your roller as needed if the dough sticks. Dust the entire surface of the dough with flour and let it get a little dry. While it is still pliable, dust lightly once again and loosely roll it up like a scroll. Then using a sharp (NOT serrated) knife, slice it into thin noodles. Using a flipping motion of your wrist as you cut each noodle so that you are tossing them slightly to the side. This way they will not stick to each other.
When you have cut them all, unroll them and hang them over a clean broom handle to dry (Nancy: I dry them out on clean, flour dusted cutting board or triangular hangers), --(unless you are using them immediately). An alternative method is to loosen them and let them dry on a kitchen towl that has been dusted with flour. If you cook them while they are still fresh, they will cook in 1 or 2 minutes.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Grandma (Sabatini) - Life & Death
This post is being written in memory of my Grandma; she inspired peace.
I
Grandma was the "glue" that held us together as
a family, brought out our best sides, and taught us all to love to read...
these are the first ideas that spring to mind when I think about her role in
our family.
That, of course, says almost nothing about her
personally; it speaks more about her founding persona in the continuing event
of us living in an extended family culture and it is worth noting. At our
family get-togethers, everyone in the room was there because of her, and we
were many. At least by this time, ours was definitely a matriarchal family, and
she was its head. She was, without question, someone we all got along with, we
all loved, and we all relied on in one way or another. We were a practicing
extended family, while she lived among us, and we all-too-quickly drifted into
our own separate, nuclear families after her passing. To me, the loss of
Grandma was a significant loss of our family and a dramatic change in our
family structure and practicing culture. We still bond to the name Sabatini and
we still remember how to make many of the Italian dishes we learned from her,
she who learned much about cooking from Grandpa. He believed that Calabrese
food was too close to Sicily for his liking and he believed that there was
something wrong with the minds of people who put sugar in their sauce. It went
hand-in-hand with his ill-feelings towards the mafia and he was adamant about
this. He taught her how to cook his food, so our food legacy comes from him
through her, for the most part.
Now we infrequently have large family get-togethers and
even when we do, we are not all together for a variety of reasons: obstacles based on distance, grudges or a lack
of generational and inter-generational compatibility or, who knows why, but we
have splintered away from our former collective connectedness. It is my opinion that as we rapidly developed our
separateness, away from our former extended Italian family culture, we became
more in keeping with the modern American
family culture. In a perverse way, we have become Grandpa
and Grandma’s dream of their progeny being American, for good or for ill.
Although I was a part of this transition, it saddens me sometimes because the
culture of our family is more like our history, rather than our present. You
miss what you felt you were not a part of, living in California; I miss what I
used to have now that it has changed. It is almost too much to hope that maybe
sharing our family stories will re-stir some of these shared bonds.
On this day, her birthday, I am thinking about her life
as an encapsulated segment of her mortal existence, believing very much in an “after
life” (and a “before life,” too, for that matter). One of the things you were
too young to remember well was her passing. It was actually a very beautiful,
though difficult, learning experience. The narrative you posted to your FaceBook
today made me think of her last days, so I hope you don’t mind me sharing my experiences
of Grandma’s passing with you. (I am
reposting the link to the narrative you shared in the link below, in the event
that other readers may share the remarkable piece of writing themselves. Thank
you for that. http://tropmag.com/2013/sonata/#.UUoCqxpmFGA.facebook)
I spent a lot of time at Grandma’s bedside during her final extended
hospital stay. Her death was not unexpected and knowing the end was near did
not make it any easier for us to handle. Her children were more distraught than
I have ever seen them, before or since. We all were aggrieved to our core as
the expected end approached, wanting it over with (for her) and not over with
(for us) simultaneously. The first three
stories may not be in proper sequence because these experiences have balled
themselves into what seems now like a single extended event.
Being a relative newlywed, I was unaccustomed yet to the
many challenges of marriage and asked Grandma if there was any one particular
thing about which she and Grandpa used to argue about more than others during
their marriage. I remember her laughing quietly and quickly answering, “That’s
not a hard question to answer, there is not even a close second.” She had a
beautiful smile and even lying in the hospital bed, with a respirator plugged
to her nose, she was so beautiful, it almost hurt my heart. I remember thinking
that I had to burn this image into my mind, knowing that soon I would have to rely
on retaining images mentally in an effort to hold onto her beyond death. I
remember thinking this, even as I strained my ears to hear her answer since she
was balancing speaking and breathing so her voice was low and soft. “We argued
most about the children. Your grandpa was a strict disciplinarian and I thought
he was too hard on the kids. He thought I indulged them too much.” Her eyes
seemed to be watching something far away for a moment while she chuckled,
reliving something intimate that was shared between she and Grandpa as parents.
I remember feeling
relieved by her answer because it seemed that my husband and I were similar in
this way, feeling better about having my sometimes too soft heart. Over the
years that followed, Keith and I often recounted this conversation as a way of
proving that neither of us was wrong when we discussed/disagreed/argued about
the children because if Grandma and Grandpa had to work these decisions out, we
would have to as well. We conveniently chalked these disagreements off as
gender disagreements and it probably kept us from thinking of each other as the
progenitor of our children’s destruction due to bad parenting. I remember
taking her hand and thinking that it was too cold, but when I asked her if she
was cold, she just fluffed her own blanket and said, “don’t worry about it, my
hands have been cold since I got here.” I didn’t want her to be cold, so I held
her hand until Keith, with his warm hands, took both of hers in his and held
them until they felt warm.
I
Grandma and Uncle Bernie dancing at Shelly's Wedding
Flash forward to the next remembered event at the hospital
when a member of the staff came in to collect Grandma for a trip to the MRI
scan that was scheduled for her. She was only 4’10” in life, and “shrunk” to 4’9”
by the time she was 84 years old, so I was accustomed to her size. But, for
whatever reason, at that moment she seemed so suddenly small and vulnerable that
I didn’t want her to be alone with the hospital. I asked the nurse if I could
come along to help explain to her what was going on and to keep her from
getting disoriented or frightened, as older people are often wont to do in
hospitals. I was ecstatic when consent was granted and I walked along at the
side of her rolling gurney telling her, “I’m with you Grandma, they’re taking
you for an MRI but I’m going to stay with you.” She just smiled and nodded. I
asked her from time to time, “Grandma, are you doing alright?” She would say, “yes,
Nancy, I’m ok.” As long as I kept asking, and she kept answering, I was
fulfilling my duty.
When it was time to put her on the sliding table to move her
into the machine, she was looking at it like she wanted to bolt. Her eyes
started to dart around as if she were looking for an out. I stopped them for a moment
and said, “Look, she is getting scared. I have to tell her what’s going on or
you are not touching her. She doesn’t have to be scared.” After I talked with
her a few minutes, she calmed down and acquiesced to them moving her onto the table,
knowing what was coming. I had never seen her worried like that before and I
was glad I was with her. I got my B.A. in psychology and I remembered that
these situations can sometimes overwhelm older people and I was anxious at ever
sound, every motion and every possible detail that might startle or disturb
her. She was alright until almost the end when she started to fidget and she
asked them to “Get me out of here. Please, get me out of here.”I told her, “It’ll
just be another minute Grandma, you’re doing really well. Just hold on one more
minute.” I spoke calmly but my heart was beating fast at the thought of her
becoming upset in what seemed like a monster of a machine.
By the time they pulled her out, she had fear in her eyes.
Not just worry, but she had the expression of a trapped animal and I didn’t
want her heart to be taxed. “I’m here Grandma. You’re all done. This is Nancy,
I’m here with you. You’re in the hospital and we’re about to go back to your
room. You are ALRIGHT NOW.” I added the stress to the last two words to
separate her fear from a new moment of calm that I was trying to usher in for
her. I never saw fear in her eyes before and it was of great relief to me when
I saw her recognize me as I took her hand and kissed her cheek. I told her I
was really proud of her, feeling strangely like I had some nerve acting like a
soothing adult to my Grandma who was the epitome of peace in our family. I held
her hand, walking next to her on the way back, bending awkward corners with the
orderly pushing the gurney. They were good sports and could’ve refused to
accommodate my wishes to stay at her side, but they would’ve had one hell of a
fight and somehow I think they sensed it.
When we got back to her room and she was back in bed, I kissed her cheek
and moved out of the way of the tide of relatives that now took my place. I
went in the hall to collect myself, shaking now inside if not outside. I was
surprised when ALL of Grandma’s children thanked me for staying with her. I was
told that I did for them what they could not, at that moment, do for
themselves, which was to be strong for Grandma.
Every one of them had been my strength as a child and now it
was totally surrealistic that I had somehow risen above my pain when they could
not. It was too close for them. I would like to say I felt really proud in that
minute, but there was another feeling altogether that was taking place. I was
quietly angry. I was angry that my Grandma couldn’t live for ever, free of
fear, pain, and even minor inconveniences. I could not give her that, but I would
be damned if she had to face anything alone. I wasn’t mad at the family, just
the opposite. I knew that their grief required me to be as gentle with them as
I could. I could not change what was happening, but I could help. All of us.
All of them. Her. Mostly her. Time opened up for me in a strange way as I saw
rapid scenes of time passing, wondering how this normal transition from life to
death could ever feel normal. It can’t.
III
Although both of our mothers consider themselves Catholic
Buddhists, Grandma was Catholic. She spent a great deal of her life praying and
living by the faith that helped her make sense of life. I have often stepped
down from my inclination to blame the Catholic Church for every injustice ever
associated with it, and there were many of them from the Crusades to the
Spanish Inquisition, to the priest who refused my mother communion after her
divorce. They also refused to serve Jessica communion when my mother decided
that Jessica was ready to make her first communion before the Church did. I
remember the priest refusing to give my mother money to buy us shoes so we
could start school as we struggled with life without a father for the first
time. None of those things made a difference when I realized that Grandma and
Grandpa’s investment in the Church, their faith, obedience and financial
offerings were not wasted, no matter what the Church looked like to me in my
quest to understand EVERYTHING.
I got to the hospital and even before I got to Grandma’s
room, several of the relatives told me that Grandma had been asking for me.
They didn’t know why, and they didn’t seem to really care beyond getting me to
her. I went to her bedside and took her hand, kissed her cheek and told her, “Grandma,
it’s me. I’m here.” She was so happy to see me. She seemed really excited about
something so I was eager to find out what she needed or wanted from me. Her
eyes got wide and her mouth formed an “O” before any words could come out. When
they did, they rushed out breathlessly and she said, “I saw it. I saw The
Light.” Her eyes were sparkling and filled with wonder and awe. “It is
beautiful…” she breathed. “You’ve seen it, too. I know you have. I saw it and
you saw it, too.”
This statement staggered me for several reasons. 1) Why else
would she have chosen me to share this vision of hers with except that I had,
indeed, seen it, too. 2) How did she know this about me? 3) What did it mean? I
have been doing meditation for years, after scrapping self-hypnosis for it when
I saw it as a superior exercise. In self-hypnosis, I held a conversation with
myself. In meditation, I cleared my mind and allowed it to focus on the Spirit,
accepting the sight of great and beautiful understandings that came along with
such visions. During one such middle of the prayers for clarity and comfort, I
saw, in my mind’s eye, a brilliant light that was so full of love that it
throbbed with apparent life, more than my own life was apparent. It was more
brilliant than any light I have ever seen with my eyes, seeing it in my mind
but feeling it also in my eyes. There were no words, there were no voices,
there was only a feeling of belonging to something much greater than myself. I
had shared this with no one but my husband and here was Grandma telling me that
not only had she seen it, too, but that in that moment she saw me as well. I could do nothing, in truth, but admit to
her that she was right. “I have seen it. And it IS beautiful. I am so happy for
you!” I told her. Then she added quietly, “You have to tell Bernie that he will
see it, too. Not now, but he will. Tell him that. Tell him I said for him not
to forget that he will see it.”
That was tricky. Seeing such a thing is so personal that
there is no way to convince anyone else that it was anything more than a
figment of your imagination, a deeply religious hallucination, as it were.
Having someone else, especially Grandma, to know this about me, and to be
waiting for me in particular to share it with, was humbling. It was something
else altogether when I finally left her room and had to address the many eyes
with questions about what Grandma had called me for so emphatically. I remember
there were chairs lined up against the wall in the waiting room and I felt like
I was looking down a line of expectant faces when I faced the truth, instead of
my embarrassment, and told them. After I shared this with them, there were many
expressions of what appeared to be somewhat of an awkwardness, or a question
about how Grandma and I were sharing something so unusual and what appeared to
be some reluctant doubt mixed with belief. Uncle Bernie broke the silence after
he heard the message she sent to him through me by laughing and saying, “Grandma
said I’m going to see the light, too? Well, I hope it won’t be too soon,”
meaning the sharing of a “deathbed” vision. But it was enough to make everyone
laugh and then all the eyes that had been on me went on about their own
business. Deep down, I was quite moved by this experience, seeing it as a
confirmation of a sight that can never be doubted while you are seeing it, and
is probably always questioned after it has passed.
IV
I was among a group of four people who were visitors to
Grandma’s bedside on the night she passed over. Jessica and Karen, Keith and I
were the last ones to take our turn at Grandma’s bedside. As far as I know, she
was never without someone in the family being at her bedside at all times. We
were on a death-bed vigil and it didn’t cross our minds to have her face this
alone. She earned the right to have family dote on her and we were not about to
short change her at the last minute. On that night, Grandma was slipping in and
out of consciousness and sometimes she spoke with us, other times she just lay
quietly, apparently listening as we spoke to her or with one another. Jessica
and Karen, Keith and I share a unique faith that is centered around the
Messiah, known to us in its closest rendition of the Hebrew name, Yahshua. We
were able to dispense with clashing religious beliefs because we were uniformly
in agreement on that night that Grandma needed something from us that we were
there to do for her. We were getting concerned about how she was unwilling to
depart from us, although she was ready, because she was still tied to us, the
family. She gave us requests to look out especially for Julie Anne, whom she
worried about because of their close bonds and Julie’s tenderest of hearts
towards her in a way that would leave her vulnerable in Grandma’s absence. She
asked us to be kind to our Uncle Bernie. She told us to try to hold the family
together and put aside our disagreements. She didn’t do it all at once, seeming
exhausted and in and out of clarity at times. We couldn’t always understand
what she was saying. I remember more than once one of us putting an ear right
up to her mouth to make out her words.
We decided she needed prayers to help her spirit be at peace
with leaving. We felt we needed to help her be alright with going, with leaving
behind the family that she spent most of her life being responsible for and
loving deeply. So, we did. We surrounded her bed, took hands, and began to pray
in earnest for her to be freed from her suffering and for her to be escorted by
the Angelic Host as she traveled from body to after-life. We told her
apparently sleeping self that her family wanted her to be free to leave and
that we would not want her restrained a single moment more than was necessary,
having earned a heavenly life, in all of our opinions. We told her we were ready and that she would
always be remembered and would always be loved. We thanked her again and again
for the many loving ways in which she supported us all. She had a way of making
each of us feel uniquely wonderful, accepted and loved. We may have decided to pray until we saw her
leave with our own eyes, when she woke up again, and spoke again. Her last time
to us.
“I see Ralph, and he is as handsome a “dandy” as the day I
met him.” We looked at each other, wondering what this new turn would mean. “He
is here right now and he told me he has waited for me long enough, it is time
to come home.” She even laughed, although now her eyes were closed again and we
weren’t even sure she knew we were still in the room. If not, who was she
talking to then? We told her, “Go to him, Grandma. We love you.” We were all
crying now, knowing something was different about the moment, but she was still
breathing peacefully. We were took hands again, without even discussing it, and
started to sing “Kumbayah” over and over, more and more quietly each time until
we had stopped. We stood looking first at each other, then at Grandma,
wondering what to do next. I don’t know how long we all stood there, all four
of us crying quietly and holding hands until it just seemed like the time to
go.
We didn’t believe she would really go if we stayed there.
Grandpa was there for her, to her, and to us, too. We each kissed her on the
face, held her hands, stroked her hair and kept telling her “We love you,
Grandma. Thank you for everything. We will be alright now. “ When we finally
let go of each other’s hands, we hugged each other (group hugs are great for
such occasions). We had to remind ourselves to go several times, and eventually
we did, looking back to a smiling, sleeping Grandma, on the threshold of her
transition to the “after life.” We were not surprised when the phone call came a
little later to tell us that she had passed peacefully in her sleep. It was a life changing experience, but I
cannot tell you how or why. I just know that it was the way it was supposed to
be, so that even in my grief and my selfish wish that she be with us still, I
could do nothing but accept it. Such is life and death.
About the Author: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/nancy-bell/30/231/855
About the Author: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/nancy-bell/30/231/855
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