Archive for April, 2012

Does the media shape our society?

Wednesday, April 25th, 2012

Did you know that at the present time, 51% of our population is female? And did you know young girls' interest in careers depends heavily on their role models? Although these clips have been up for some time, they only recently came to my attention. It is worth every minute to watch both the short and longer versions!

After watching these, it made me wonder at the mixed message our youth are getting about who has power and who must submit. The affects of a mindset like that can have devastating results. I am all for promoting STEM (science, technology, engineering and math) courses in our schools as EARLY as possible.

I am grateful to have had teachers who told me it was OK - as a girl - to be smart, OK - as a girl - to lead, OK - as a girl - to win in competitions with the guys. I hope our youth have similar teachers!

And ... I hope after watching these videos we all will be more aware. We can write letters, vote by withholding and spending our dollars accordingly. Most of all, we can open our eyes and refuse to allow media to strategically dictate our society's parameters to fit their own agendas.

Girls have the right to succeed in their chosen careers. Let's support them as they dive into STEM studies, politics and unconventional arenas.


1311 Causeway Drive

Friday, April 20th, 2012

1311   Causeway Drive

What if you found out that nobody liked you; that all the laughing at your jokes and compliments were bunk.

And if this were true what would you do?

Would you ignore it and go on or write in your journal or just cry yourself to sleep each night. But what if it wasn’t the real you they despised and put up with but a person who looked like you and was you in every reasonable way, except for your most important part, your heart, with a goodness and kindness that emitted but was rebuffed by anyone who did not look deeper into your soul where you were sensitive and thoughtful, but would only see you as a phony and a put on.

What if that was the only way your personality could be and there was no way to change it, until now; right now; this minute and the true meaning of goodness was buried deep within you and no one recognized it, until today, when all hell broke lose in the world and you were its only salvation.

The End

Oliver stood on the top step of the front entrance to his home.

Home to him and fourteen other people who inhabited the small apartment building of which each one of them called home.

But how could everyone’s home be at 1311 Causeway Drive. It was, after all, this was not a group home, even though each apartment was in close enough in proximity to warrant it.

The air at eight in the morning was thick from smog and humidity and the sky was beginning to unfold from blue to a soft grey, then to blackness, almost night.

A crackling sound erupted from what seemed to be beneath Oliver, which made him place his hands over his ears to blot it out.

The clouds were gone and darkness covered the sky.

The other tenants from the building piled out of their only elevator then shuffled down the stairs from their home and stood with Oliver on the steps, then eventually made their way to the sidewalk.

“What’s going on,” Ellie said holding her hands together in prayer. “Sweet Jesus, it’s the end of the world.”

Ellie was a hold over from the sixties, hippie era. She believed that one day the earth would give up and be enveloped in some sort of apocalyptic hiccup and this was it.

“Calm down. Calm down,”  said Norton Penzer , a literary professor in his mid-fifties who taught at one of the universities uptown.

Oliver looked down his street only to see phantom groups of people hovering under street lights. Many of them were on their knees praying, while others stood erect with their hands waving in the air shouting “Save us. Oh my God. This is it. It ‘s finally happened.”

A Pumpkin Tale

Friday, April 6th, 2012

Here is a 200-word story I wrote in 2000 that I like for its simplicity and the story it tells:

A Pumpkin Tale

I live on 5th Avenue next to a rotting pumpkin patch. The smell of old pie, raw and sticky, reminds me of walks Pa and I took in the late summers. He knotted his fingers over my hand, engulfing it in his strength. I was his toy pulled along by stringy arms. If I stumbled, I had to be the one to balance while running to make up for lost steps.

I grew. My gangly limbs gained strength as my body expanded. My pa did not explain to me why my body changed.

I became tall, taller than he, and on our walks, he stopped holding my hand.

But he still talked.

“God damn corn this year. I aint gonna get a crop.”

“What about the pumpkins?” I asked, breathless as I ran.

He walked steadily.

“They are weeds,” he said. “They were here when I got this here farm.”

What about me? I wanted to ask.

In my house on 5th Avenue, I paste photos of Pa and me in my album. I close the book and look out the window. My husband is outside pulling a dandelion out of the ground, engulfing it in his strength.