Camp...

Picture it….the mountains above Santa Barbara, California. Clean clear air, stunning environment; you awake to birds chirping and fall asleep to cricket and frog melodies.   

It’s the week before school begins.  Myself and two other teachers actually plan ahead to spend four days away from hectic city life….with nearly thirty teenagers!   Before paranoia sets in, let me warn you…these are the four most fun filled days a teacher can have.   There is so much laughter during this time that the memories and jokes that arise, linger throughout the year.

ASB camp, headed by Mrs. Linda Wyatt, Modern Language Department Chair, occurs the 3^rd week of August and the 4^th week of January.  The Associated Student Body needs ample time to plan the numerous activities that take place on campus throughout the academic year.  Ms. Tanya Baronian and I, both faculty in the English department, accompany Ms. Wyatt.  I find it thoroughly ironic that I attend ASB camp with our students, since when I was a student here, I was not part of ASB. 

These four days, the students spend time in meeting after meeting, assembled in a large circle.  They generate ideas, write down suggestions and assign job titles, dealing with events as early as the back to school dance, the first spirit point event of the year, to the ever popular Theme Day.  They also have intervals of specialized group work, where they partake in activities that test one another’s strengths and weaknesses, learning how to work best as a whole. It is wonderful to see the growth in the students’ relationships with each other, between day one and day four.

They have periodic brakes throughout each day, aside from breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Ms. Baronian and I do the cooking and love seeing the kids wander in and out of the kitchen every once in a while, saying how good everything smells.  Each meal begins with a prayer and the students set the tables.  For many of them, it’s an opportunity to have meals that are not fast food, frozen, or out of a can or box.  They refer to each “feast” as “amazing” and the “best ever.”  They profusely say “please” and “thank you”.

The real fun comes in twice each day; recreation time and in the evening, as “lights out” approaches.  Rec time, a two hour block of freedom each day, is where they have the choice of a hike, swimming, ping pong, board games, sleep, Rock Band, or plain old fashioned laughter and conversation.  Ten O’clock is when they wind down, having finished the agenda for the day.  Bedtime is midnight, though often enough we go past that, since the kids keep us awake with their humor, stories and life experiences.  There are times Ms. Baronian and I laugh so hard, our stomachs are sore the following day. 

The four days away is comparable to other vacations, in that it feels long yet goes by quickly.  Some are anxious to go home and sleep, while others wish they could stay longer and enjoy the experience and environment just a bit more.

There you have it…reasons why we continue to attend ASB camp with our students.  I am amazed more with each passing year, at their wit, maturity and talent, as well as well their triumphs and struggles.  Our students are some of the best company to have.  Luckily, they bring their personalities with them to class everyday, something I am ever grateful for.  It is easy to say, being an alumna of Providence myself, that we acquire such wonderful young men and women each year; the proof is in the many student centered activities that take place and the results they garner, ASB camp being one of them.

Ode to Eleonora...

“In my opinion, Eleonora Greenhill is unsurpassed in her teaching strategies,” reflected Marisa Paolone ‘96, current English and Math faculty member.

“I will always hold her in highest esteem, since when I was fourteen, she took a great difficulty in my life and made it disappear. Her complete rationalization of concepts combined with her patience and entertaining repetition, were conducive to my learning. She is the first Math teacher to ever serve as a true Math instructor. Because of her I have cherished Math ever since. Years ago, if someone told me that I would worked towards a Mathematics Minor in college, I would have laughed.”

Ode to Jan...

It is said that “the mediocre teacher tells, the good
teacher explains, the superior teacher demonstrates,
the great teacher inspires.” To say that I aspire to be great
goes without saying; what is of the utmost importance
is that I thank Jan McLaughlin. This is one of those
moments in life where a thank you definitely does not
do justice.

Jan, my mentor and a constant in my life since I was
fifteen, is retiring. Although her retirement is an
increasingly difficult concept for me to accept, I find
that among some tears, are actually smiles.

This is the woman who taught me to love words. It is
because of her teaching tactics and distinct enthusiasm
that I love reading and writing. It is because of her that
writing has become one of my passions. Jan McLaughlin
is unsurpassed in her teaching strategies. She is able to
weave patience and humor while entertaining. To say
that I put her on a pedestal is a gross understatement.

It was my junior year at Providence when I entered into
Mrs. McLaughlin’s world. I recall sitting quietly in my
seat and ironically, feeling intimidated. Soon enough,
I marveled at how cool she was. She had a personality
that breathed this amazing vitality into the room.
Little did I know that aside from being my inspiration
to teach literature and writing, she would also be my
friend after graduating.
Twenty years later, when students thank me for
teaching them to love reading and writing I remind
them that they need to thank Mrs. Jan McLaughlin as
well.
Mrs. McLaughlin has been, and will remain, a part of
me. Though she will no longer be a physical presence,
I will see and hear her every day in all I do in the
classroom, in everything I teach and in each student
who thanks me.
Jan, I pray God grants you much deserved rest. I pray
you continue to laugh. I pray you never forget how
much you have enhanced and blessed not only my life,
but the lives of so many others.

He with confidence....

Says yes.

Two men, equal in style, class and love, believe in me.
Believe in my ability to write.
Their confidence, amazes me and refreshes me.

I want to write and edit for a living. 

Sometimes, the day to day of teaching others how to write and edit, weighs me down.

A freedom, of some sorts, that I want.

Rocket Man

Piano man
lifts his coattails
and takes his seat at baby grand.

A push of the pedals
an Captain Fantastic's handsome hands
deliver melodies I grew up with.

Here, my heart vibrates.
Mom let me hold my ticket,
Dad lets me stand on my chair,
so I could see those glittery platforms
and silk suits, the shades of sunsets.

Now, my teeth on edge,
a tasteless tongue.
The chorus penetrates all of me.

We have shared years together,
more than twenty.
Songs wrap around me:
my blanket.

I stand and clap until my hands sting with praise.

Jack

Alcohol drips from your eyes,
your clothes, breath,
yet no tear washes clean twenty years.
Every morning, mid afternoon and night,
Desperation leaves his loyal mark on the table.
Permanent rings of lifeless bingeing
that used to make you cry,
to stop,
to let your tongue go dry.
Please end the wild beast that dances
inside your head.
You've created your own Bourbon street
to dance down, alone. 

Just Float

A stare from Stevie Nicks across the stage
at The House of Blues.
My knees knocking together like a branch
against a window in the wind.
A stomach like a beachball.

I move closer to her, what a perfect moment.
Ironic, like snow in L.A.

Her hand almost touched.

All the valley girls speechless,
in black flowing chiffon,
Knee high platform boots.
The stiff mouths of feminine anger,
for it was only Wednesday,
the longest, hardest day of the week.

Then, the smart blonde pushes her way through.
The stage gets closer,
the crowd moves me.
For the first time, I float.

Stevie takes her microphone off the stand
and takes a step forward.

Our view

A horizon, the light, the one.  I feel him, I pray and when done, knowing thoughts of a heart so rare?

Or simply a delicate, lovely strength I am lost within.

A hue of every color, resonate within me.  Stopping it, no.  Continuing it, fearful, as bright eyes stare.

Wishing, yearning, this lifetime of waiting, for him, for me.  You completely surprise and get in my

way.  I'm out of the words I usually have; my own surmise at all we've done, seen, looked towards.

On the page

I believe in the written word.  I believe it still has value.  Not necessarily printed ink on a page; hand written words too.  I believe that when feelings and sentiments are expressed to others verbally, it's intense, yet when presented in writing, they have a power that firmly takes hold of the reader, making it increasingly difficult for them to explain what they felt, what they heard; what they saw.

I believe in the written word. even in our constantly changing and upgrading America; even for Los Angeles.

For a while I lost faith in this city I grew up in.  A city that with all it's traffic, diversity, impatience and noise, started getting to me.

I sit with my current issue of Los Angeles magazine and rediscover, with each issue, the L.A. that few know; yes, those who, have roots here.