Wallingford and Meriden Community Stories October 2007

Brought to you by the annual meeting of Meriden Children First

Welcome to The People's Press - Your Town, Your News, Your Views! We are the #1 Single Copy Newspaper for Wallingford and Meriden Connecticut Stories October 2007 October 2000 – The Very First Article in The Peoples' Press It’s your write to Ex-Press Yourself! By Dawn A. N-Reynolds Editor We would like to take this opportunity to thank the contributors to this, the first edition of The People’s Press. We have been pleasantly overwhelmed by the support we have received from the small group of advertisers we have contacted, the individuals that submitted articles or personal thoughts and the various town agencies that have supported our efforts. Thank You! Our goal is to put out a paper written by you the reader that highlights your hopes, dreams, your good times, your good fortunes and especially your creative expressions. In addition we hope to be a window to the local arts. We would like to do our small part to help the arts flourish within our significant communities. Lastly, we wish to offer ideas to you and your family for more good times, information and inspiration. If you are interested in submitting for the next edition, the deadline is October 30, 2000. William A. Henry By Samuel Henry – Age 9 I am the great, great, great grandson of a famous farmer who wrote the farming bible. His name was William Arnon Henry and he was born in Ohio on June 16, 1850. He grew up in the country. After he finished his schooling he became a principal in Indiana and then Colorado. In 1883 he became a professor of Agriculture, and in 1891 he became the first head of the Agriculture College of the University of Wisconsin. William created the College of Agriculture and made it the best there was in his time. Not all farmers thought they needed to go to school, but William thought it was important for farmers to learn the science behind farming. “Feeds and Feeding” is the textbook William wrote in 1898 that was used then and now in nearly every agriculture and veterinary college in America. Because he was so important to the University of Wisconsin for setting up the first school for farmers they dedicated the Henry Quadrangle to him. It is the area of land in front of the University of Wisconsin. Many people described William Henry as truthful, honest, hardworking, great leader, scientist, thinker and he made friends easily. William married Clara Roxana Taylor on July 11,1881 and had a son named Arnon Taylor Henry (A.T.) in 1882. William and Arnon started Blue Hills Orchard in 1904. Believe it or not fruit was not the first crop grown at Blue Hills, cabbage was. Next came peaches then finally apples. William died November 25, 1932. I’m proud to be the 6th generation of Blue Hills Farm. American Halloween By Carrie Purcell If asked what holiday the Irish immigrants brought to America, most of us would answer St. Patrick’s Day. But what about Halloween? Yes, Halloween. Although different versions of All Hallows Eve and All Saints Day are celebrated in different countries, our American tradition is rooted in the pre-Christian origin of the Celtic festival of Samhein (sow-in). On this night, the Celts would have a feast and light a sacred bonfire to mark the last harvest, the beginning of their new year, and the moving into a time of darkness – winter. And what about the ghosts and goblins associated with Halloween? Should we be afraid? Of course not. But for an ancient culture entirely at the mercy of the seasons and natural events, the cold, harsh winter was a time to fear. From ignorance of the workings of the natural world arose superstitions. The Celts believed the boundary between the living and the dead became blurred on the night of Samhein; the ghosts of those who died during the year would roam the earth to ruin crops and cause trouble. In order to fool and distract the dead, the living would dress in costumes and leave the ghouls dishes of food. At the end of the night, the Celts would take fire from the bonfire and light their hearths to protect themselves from the cold, hard months ahead. Eventually, Romans had conquered the majority of Celtic territory, including what is now the British Isles and Ireland. During their rule, Samhein blended with the Roman’s day to honor Pomona, the Goddess of fruit and trees, and the festival of Feralia, a day dedicated to commemorate the dead. As Christianity spread into the Celtic lands, the church attempted to convert the pagans living there. One method it used was to incorporate the pagan holidays into its own calendar. The church replaced Samhein and the Roman holidays with All Saints’ Day, a time to honor saints and martyrs. Although this was a holy day, the church still allowed some pagan festivities, including bonfires, costumes and feasts. This day of observance was called All-hallowmas and the night before it was called All-hallows Eve. The Irish called it Hallow E'en. Later it would become known as Halloween. Early European immigrants brought their assorted Halloween customs with them, but strict Protestant influence in the American colonies frowned upon the practice of Halloween. Up until the second half of the 1800s, varied Halloween traditions were celebrated sporadically in America. In the later half of the nineteenth century, the potato famine drove millions of Irish to the US. They brought with them their Catholic and Celtic customs. Among the most popular Irish celebration was Halloween. In addition to bonfires, feasts and costumes, the poor in England and Ireland would go door to door asking for food and money on All Souls Day. In exchange, they would pray for the souls of the deceased members of the donating families. Eventually, the two Irish traditions of going door to door and dressing in costumes to elude hostile spirits spread across America and combined to form a new tradition: Americans donned costumes and asked neighbors for treats. At the end of the 19th century, communities wanted to take the superstition and association with ghouls out of Halloween, so they held parties where both children and adults could play games, eat seasonal foods, and wear costumes instead of going door to door. As the 20th century moved forward, Halloween became a festivity focused toward children, especially after the post-war baby boom. Unfortunately, tricks of vandalism became a popular Halloween pastime. Before the second half of the century, Americans began to offer food just as the Ancient Celts did. Only, instead of warding of ghosts, people hoped to thwart the efforts of mischievous children. The age-old practice of trick-or-treating became a permanent feature of our American Halloween. Annual Meeting of Meriden Children First and debate for Board of Education Candidates The Meriden public is cordially invited to attend the annual meeting of the Meriden Children First Initiative. The event will be held on Wednesday, October 17, 6:30 p.m. at the Curtis Cultural Center. The evening will include: · Introduction of the 2008 Meriden Children First Board of Directors. · Status of 2007 priority issues and presentation 2008 priorities for Meriden children and families. · Recognition of this year’s ‘Children’s Champions’. · Celebration of ten years of quality preschool through the School Readiness Program, and a special tribute to the Meriden preschool teacher of the year. The annual meeting will be immediately followed by a lively debate of those candidates running for the Meriden Board of Education. Refreshments will be provided. On-site professional childcare is available upon request. To RSVP or more information about the event, contact David Radcliffe at Children First at 630-3566 or via email at dwradcliffe@juno.com Children First Initiative of Meriden 2007 Annual Report and Fact Sheet www.meridenchildrenfirst.org (203) 630-3566 About Children First Initiative (CFI) CFI was founded in 1995 with leadership funding from the William Caspar Graustein Memorial Fund. CFI improves the quality of life for children and families through increased parent involvement in civic life. What we care about All CFI activities aim at ensuring Meriden children are: Healthy Safe Prepared to do well in school Able to access early learning services. How we take action We provide local parents with leadership training programs on analyzing and influencing child-focused policy, budgets and services We serve as Meriden’s citywide convener on children’s issues, hosting regular dialogues and strategy sessions that unite active parents with leaders from child care, education, health, public policy and other community sectors. We publish key research on the status of Meriden’s young people and families, so the community has clear data on which to base its decisions. Successes Helped capture $700,000 in pioneer School Readiness funding, which improves the affordability and quality of child care so that 3 and 4 year olds thrive in the early school grades. (1997) Supported ‘Project Attendance’, a Board of Education effort that improved first-week-of-school attendance (annually starting in 2000). Partnered with Meriden Public Library to open two new satellite library branches in underserved parts of Meriden (2000). Secured fully-funded Board of Education budget, including $475,000 in new money for a variety of school enrichment programs. (2002) Led a successful campaign to expand the school breakfast program to all Meriden elementary schools. (2003) Created parent-led ‘Buddy Reader’s’ literacy program, connecting 90 seniors with 225 young children who need extra reading support. Reading scores have improved as a result. Program awarded Congressional recognition by Congresswoman Nancy Johnson. (2004) Co-hosted local and state candidate debates attended by more than 300. (annually starting in 2001) Produced ‘Parent’s Guide’ to the candidates, Guide to Education Budget, child and family resource directory. (annually starting 2003) Created baseline and updated report card on the well being of Meriden children and families. (2001 & 2004) Fought successfully to expand full-day kindergarten and to restore the Gifted and Talented program. (2006) Graduated more than 100 from the Meriden Parent Leadership Training Institute (PLTI)(since 1998). Priority Issues to Improve the Lives of Meriden Children and Families Work with Board of Education and community partners to restore Talented and Gifted, Project Reach Out (early reading support) and other key enrichment programs that have been cut. Raise awareness and encourage legislation that fixes CT’s broken health care system. Continue to address behavioral health issues and resources. Continue to grow the Senior Buddy Readers program. Expand availability of preschool experiences by developing an early learning center. Monitor progress on expanding full-day kindergarten and upgrading high schools. Seek funding for teaching and other costs related to operating full-day kindergarten Funding CFI wins are achieved only through a public/private funding partnership. Foundations, local corporations and local and state government funding sources each have a key role to play. Current investors in our work include: Graustein Memorial Fund, Napier Foundation, Cuno Foundation, CDBG, Levin Fund, Universal Health Care Foundation, and more. Children First Works with the Following Partners to Improve the Lives of Meriden Children: Family Resource Centers Meriden Public Library Meriden Chamber of Commerce Healthy Meriden 2010 City of Meriden / School Readiness Council Commission on Children Connecticut Voices for Children Meriden Housing Authority Substance Abuse Council Women and Families Center YMCA Child Guidance Clinic CT Birth to Three System Catholic Charities Meriden Adult Education United Way Easter Seals Head Start Meriden Public Schools NAACP Meriden Federation of Teachers Midstate Medical Center Nature as a Mirror by Dorothy Gonnick GRASSHOPPERS Hordes of grasshoppers Chewing ripened fields of grain, Devastating crops. The recent lack of rain has caused our garden to suffer, evidenced by the drooping plants and flowers and the dusty soil. The garden hose has brought refreshing moisture and new vigor to the plants with a promise of fresh veggies soon. Sparse rain has also brought memories of the 1930’s and widespread drought throughout the Midwest. The dry, parched soil of our Iowa farm constantly blew into the house and settled on everything, so dusting was an everyday chore that seemed such a futile task. The absence of rain was bad enough, but the horde of grasshoppers was horrid. They stripped the grains of wheat and oats in the field and were everywhere. They found their way into the house, and to Mom’s dismay began chewing on the pongee dining room curtains. Pongee is fabric made of raw silk, so it was very tasty to those grasshoppers. Getting rid of the grasshoppers was a disgusting job; catching them and feeling their scratchy legs against our skin; then their sudden jump away with outstretched wings was most annoying and haunted our dreams at night. When grasshoppers feel threatened, they have a nasty habit of spitting something akin to tobacco juice. Whenever cousin Maury attempted to make those grasshoppers spit their ugly brown “tobacco” juice toward us, we girls would quickly back away; yet watched in fascination as he squeezed them to make them spit. Dad and Grandpa would come in from the fields, quite disheartened, yet with hopeful outlooks for the year. Their thankfulness for our healthy chickens and the eggs they laid; for the pails of frothy milk from our cows, and last years’ grain (even though that supply was dwindling), gave them hope that rain was sure to come. Their faith kept them optimistic and in good spirits. Today we are thankful that there have been only a few grasshoppers this summer, and we have faith that the clouds will soon thicken and bring rain. Meanwhile, we use the hose to bring water to the garden, and note that the grape clusters look deliciously promising and the squash are getting bigger. The tomatoes and lettuce still give us delicious salads to savor, and for all these we give thanks. THE BEGINNING OF MERIDEN By Kenneth Cowing Part 1 of a 3 part series It would have seemed like a rather ordinary sight when a horseman approached the northerly end of the road from Wallingford. It was at the intersection of the other road leading from the west to the east towards the long river. His arrival, however, was a symbolic event. It was the beginning of a New England town and, during the life span of this rider, the passing of an era in an English colony. The change would not be evident to the inhabitants of this community, but eight years after this horseman’s death, the people would no longer be English subjects. He must have shuddered as the biting December wind cut through to the bone, but he knew as he passed the stark, bare trees they would become green and alive in a few months. It was God’s promise. He had faith. He certainly thought that his parents, Samuel and Love Hall, had made a prophetic choice when he was baptized, Theophilus. He could understand why the farms of the Wallingford Purchase Lands had petitioned the Assembly of the Colony of Connecticut for “the liberty to establish their own ecclesiastical society”. The travel from their farms to church in Wallingford was long, dangerous and difficult in the extreme weather that often prevailed in the new England Colonies. The area was populated with bears, wolves and panthers. The Wallingford Purchase Lands became the Society of Meriden in 1725, and three years later the farmers heard a sermon preached by Theophilus Hall, a recent graduate of Yale College. Hall at the age on twenty-one, expected to be a candidate for ordination the next year. His cousin, the Reverend Samuel Hall, was Pastor of the church in Cheshire. The Hall family was one of the most affluent in the area. They were rivaled only y the Yale family whose original land was granted to them by the English Crown. Theophilus Hall’s manner of dress clearly indicated his station in life. His black woolen cape, great coat and new britches, all of the same material, contrasted with a white satin waistcoat and linen shirt complete with lace and ruffles. The knee britches were secured with silver buckles, and silver buckles were also visible on the heavy leather shoes. Woolen stockings, of course, were required in the winter. The one article of clothing that would indicate his calling was his hat, made of black wool felt with a low crown. The wide brim, designed to protect the wearer from the elements was not folded in the traditional tricorn shape. The tricorn was necessary if the owner shouldered a musket, as required by law, in defense of the colony. All males sixteen to sixty were required to serve. Members of the clergy were exempt, so the flat brim of Hall’s had indicated his station in life as surely as the silver buckles indicated his wealth. His annual salary of L50 and firewood was barely enough for survival, but adequate for a person of independent means such as Theophilus Hall. Theophilus Hall was accepted and ordained in 1729 and the Society of Meriden became the Meriden Parish of Wallingford which was the legal status of the community until it became a separate town seventy-seven years later. Hall served as Pastor of Christ’s Church in Meriden Parish until his death in 1767. Bobbie’s Bevy of Beauties Whatever is blooming now is what remains of the beauties of 2007. This gorgeous weather has certainly helped. Some rain would be an added plus. I’m tired of watering as I’m sure many of you are. Thought the Montauk daisy and chrysanthemums were late last year to come into bloom. They are still only buds and probably won’t flower for at least another week. Let’s hope some of the very cool nights stay away for a while. Difficult to visualize brown limp dead stalks instead of green foliage with many different kinds of colorful flowers on them. The tomatoes are still plentiful. If I don’t make a sandwich or two out of them then I’ll cut them into small chunks and add Italian dressing and pig out. Jimmy was released from the Southing Care Center on Sept. 13th. The recovery is too slow for him but he’s doing very well. A nurse and physical therapist come to the house to check his vital signs and help with his exercises. Great gals. Climbing up and down stairs is nowhere as big a problem as we thought it might be. Of course driving right now is still a no no. Has some pain and stiffness but his doctor says his progress is very good. Just a matter of time. Prior to and when he came home I ended up with laryngitis, sinus infection and chest cold. Just what we needed. Finally much better now. Tahrah will have left us a year ago on Sept. 29th. Love her and miss her. LitlBit moved into our home and hearts on Oct. 8th. Almost a year now. Would bring him to visit Jimmy. He is so lovable. Had quite a fan club at the care center. When the next issue comes out I’m sure a lot of transplanting and cleanup will have been done. So until that next writing I will say good bye. Last but not least. A great big “Thank You” to family neighbors and friends. For the phone calls, cards, visits, food, picking up groceries and prescriptions, chauffeur service and even the weed whacking and mowing of our back lawn. And also the staff at his surgeon’s office who sent a floral arrangement. Thanks again. “B and J” Flowercerely yours, Bobbie G. Vosgien Wallingford Historical Society Annual Meeting The Wallingford Historical Society will hold it’s annual meeting on October 17th in the basement of the First Baptist Church located at 114 South Main Street in Wallingford. The dinner will begin at 6:30pm followed by musical entertainment at 8pm. The Southington Chamber Singers will perform a selection of songs from American History including folk songs, spirituals and Broadway favorites. Everyone is welcome. Call 265-0313 for reservations. There’s No Such Thing as a Bad Home Movie by Bruce Manke In uncertain times, when the world may be falling apart at the seams, we instinctively draw our families closer. On a fireplace mantle, in ornate frames, are pictures of great-grandparents next to more modern frames with images of babies still swaddled and close-eyed. A burgeoning scrapbook on a coffee table details the family’s history with pictures, letters, and other ephemera. It’s good to spend some time with memories that evoke a soothing response. With the aging of the Boomer Generation has come an explosive renewal in the search for our family history, and as newly-appointed family archivists rummage in closets or attics, some find more than scalloped-edged photos and dusty postcards. The lucky ones find a shoebox filled with small reels of home movies; a cache of potentially astonishing power. The rummager may have an instant flood of recognition or may never have known they existed. But most certainly, there are likely to be a few generations that have never seen them, ever. Our parents made these films, and as our parents age, our children grow, and we want to connect the generations. The actual science of motion film was invented in 1887, but it wouldn’t be until the early 1920s that average people the world over would be able to purchase cameras and make their own films. From that time on, the world was in love with “movies”, and the movies loved us back by recording everyone and everything the lens saw from hundreds of thousands of units. Three film gauges dominated amateur collections from the 1920s to the mid 1970s. Though video tape mediums like VHS then took over as the popular choice because of its immediate results compared to film, video tape has taken the public on a costly joyride from one format to another over a much shorter span of years. Film, on the other hand, remained dependably the same for some fifty years; a pretty astounding record of performance. It’s also one of the major reasons there’s so much of it throughout the world today. Film archivist Bruce Manke, of Video Imagination in Wallingford is a local expert in film preservation and transfer. “Because family films reach back to the earlier parts of the 20th century, these images are historical primary sources now, and I remind everyone that their films have a price above rubies. There is something so visceral in watching films of yourself as a child, or your parents as young adults. It’s the closest you’ll come to being able to go back in time. There’s a startlingly different emotional response between seeing a picture of your parent or yourself from an earlier time, and seeing a moving image of the same thing. The film is immeasurably more powerful. “Each collection can have unexpected surprises, said Mr. Manke. “I often played copies of my clients’ films on a large screen at my shop. One day an older gentleman walked in, stood quietly in front of the screen as a 45 year-old black and white film of a newly married young couple played. He turned to me and said “that’s Mary Cartwright. We buried her yesterday.” I was astounded. He didn’t know the man who took the films, and when I asked if her husband was still living, he said that Mrs. Cartwright was widowed many years ago.” But she had a son. He came to the shop the next morning and watched the short film over and over. He never knew it existed, nor did his mother ever mention it, and even he didn’t know the man who took it. It was a one-in-a-million circumstance. What were the chances that a friend of Mrs. Cartwright’s would walk into my shop at the exact instant her wedding film was playing? Naturally, we made her son copies and introduced him to the man who had taken the films. It was a humbling moment. Some collections have a few downright lucky shots of what turn out to be truly historic moments. One client used to spirit her dad’s camera out of the house and shoot a few minutes here and there. As her father was scolding her for taking the camera, she ignored him long enough to film a minute of something interesting she saw in the sky. It was the ill-fated Hindenburg passing over the shoreline of Milford, CT. There are many family films of JFK at Waterbury’s Elton Hotel the night of his famous Election Eve visit in 1960; the Naugatuck Valley flood of 1955 and a devastating tornado in Waterville, CT in 1962. There hasn’t been another time in history that an entire century has scenes of day to day life captured with the absolute realism of motion. Seeing these films a reel at a time is what people may be used to, but when you get to see everything in your collection played without interruption, there’s an unexpectedly different emotional response. The room around you disappears and you’re hurtled back in time. You live among those you see moving before your eyes. It’s pretty intense for some people.” Technological advances have driven part of the surge in interest to transfer and preserve family films. Less than a dozen years ago the cost to transfer these films to a digital format was prohibitive. “The advantage of film transfer to an easy-to-use medium such as DVD is practical and sensible” says Mr. Manke. “Once the movies are safely brought to another medium, the film collection can be enjoyed by everyone in the family without putting more wear and tear on the films themselves. “People are genuinely surprised to hear that their films can easily last for far more than a hundred years” according to Mr. Manke. “A tremendous amount of film I’ve worked with was recorded as far back as the mid 1920s. These films are already 85 years old and they’re in terrific condition. From what I’ve seen, there’s no reason to believe these films can’t last another few lifetimes. Properly cleaned and stored, the films are nearly indestructible” says the film expert. So strong is the renewed interest in the art and cultural importance of family films that the Library of Congress is in the completion phase of opening The Center for Home Movies. Its purpose will be to collect and catalogue typical home movies from individuals who might otherwise throw their collections away. Mr. Manke’s Video Imagination will be among those companies channeling donated family collections to the new Home Movie Center. Additionally, there is the increasingly popular National Home Movie Day. Mr. Manke served as the film technician for this year’s Home Movie Day held in New Haven. The event is held worldwide. “What a great idea. We evaluated family films, and then we projected them in a small theatre environment. What a tremendous connection; families watching each other’s films and enjoying it so much.” Speaking of the value of Home Movie Day, an annual event since 2003, renowned filmmaker John Waters said, “There’s no such thing as a bad home movie. These mini-underground-opuses are revealing, scary, joyous, always flawed, filled with accidental art and shout out from attics and closets all over the world to be seen again. Home Movie Day is …a chance for family memories to suddenly become show business.” “Home movies are wonderfully entertaining,” says Mr. Manke. “When someone tells me their film photography ‘isn’t that good’, I remind them that even if the films are technically imperfect, they were handmade, personal, and cement a connection from past to present. Listen as you watch. You’ll hear a family member telling you: ‘This is a scene from long ago’.” He sums it up this way: “Home Movies are more than an irreplaceable part of family history. They reveal a truth about our human condition that is so easily overlooked. I’ve transferred thousands of home movies from all over the world, and what I see is more of what’s the same about everyone than what’s so awfully different. It’s too bad more people don’t get a chance to see that for themselves. It would give us all a reason to be a little less fearful of each other. So, you see, John Waters comment is right on the money. There really is no such thing as a bad home movie.” My Beloved Smokey By Diana Lewis My beloved Smokey died on July 28, 2007. She was 14 years when she died—in cat years that is 98 years old. This story is about her life. She was born November 17, 1992 in the apts. on Willow St. A new friend that I met in the building told I needed a cat and she gave one of hers who was pregnant. Her name was Cuddles. Cuddles instantly like me and she stayed by ne through the whole birth. I had made up a bed in a basket for her to have her babies. When she started having them Cuddles would not let out of her sight. When she started delivering them, Smokey was the first to come. Smokey had gray long hair.. She cleaned her up and she let me hold her, but Smokey rambunctious and wanted to even though her eyes weren’t open yet. I set her back with Mama so she could eat. In about 15 minutes another came out, it was a gray and white boy. Next was a long haired calico which I named Fluffy. My neighbor who gave me the cat took the boy cat when it was big enough. I had made a little section beside the couch for Mam and the babies; I put a card table in the entrance. They had plenty of to play and I had a litter box there, so Mama could show them how to use it. As they grew they because part of the family and were treated as such. Once in a while I would get them some tuna and give the whole can and they loved. it, Smokey and Fluffy. They got all kinds of treats. They both like the hostess chocolate donuts and sometimes Smokey would drink the chocolate milk frim cereal. They loved cat nip that was another treat they enjoyed. Smokey loved me so, she would give me kissed. Fluffy gave me hugs and Smokey the kisses, especially when she wanted something, like a treat or something. At night when I went to bed, she either lay beside me on the bed or she was up on my hip. That was her spot most every night. When Fluffy want to do it she had to come to my upper back and shoulder. That’s the way we slept almost all night. When I woke most of the time they were still there in the morning. We went on many years like this. They became indoor cats all their lives. I loved them like they were my kids. In the first part of July noticed that Smokey something wrong with her ear. I called my vet who came to the house and he came and cleared the ear and gave me medicine to give her. I did that it seemed like she was getting worse, now she was walking wobbly and her breathing was heavy and raspy. I called my vet again and he came `10:00 at night and also my son and his wife came. He cleared her again and we found a large lump on the outside under her ear. Since my vet didn’t have facilities to treat these kinds of things so I had to another vet, This July 27. The next morning on the 28th I called another vet to see if they could get her in and they gave me an appointment for right away. I called my son and his wife and they took me to vet office. The doctor had see her before when he had done her teeth in January, He checked her over but said with all the rattling in there he couldn’t even hear her heart. “Is it cancer?” I asked. “Most likely. It seems to have spread and since can’t hardly walk anywhere, the best thing to was put her to sleep. I started crying. The vet said take your time deciding and he left. I picked Smokey up in my arms, she reached and hugged me and gave me her last kiss. She knew she was going to die, she was telling me that she loved me and she was going to die. I stayed through the whole procedure and we were told take our time with her. I kept stroking her fur and petting her but there was no movement. When we left and stopped at the desk, I told them I wanted her cremated and I wanted her ashes and I wrote a check for what they told me to pay. In the end Smokey she was loved and now she is missed by her sister, Fluffy who has been very lonely since Smokey’s been gone. I showed her Smokey’s ashes and she hugged the tin that Smokey’s in so she knows Smokey is gone .She will be missed by all the family and the extended families of the family. Smokey, you are very missed. No one could ever take your place in my heart A Story of True Giving Shared by Keith Gordon THE FIREMAN In Phoenix, Arizona, a 26-year-old mother stared down at her 6 year old son, who was dying of terminal leukemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent, she wanted her son to grow up and fulfill all his dreams. Now that was no longer possible.. The leukemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son's dreams to come true. She took her son's hand and asked, "Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up? Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?" Mommy, "I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up." Mom smiled back and said, "Let's see if we can make your wish come true." Later that day she went to her local fire department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son's final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her six-year-old son a ride around the block on a fire engine. Fireman Bob said, "Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! And if you'll give us ! his sizes, we'll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat-not a toy one-with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots. They're all manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast." Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy, dressed him in his fire uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven. There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Billy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the paramedic's van, and even the fire chief's car. He was also videotaped for the local news program. Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible. One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition. The chief replied, "We can do better than that. We'll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favor? When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire? It's just the fire department coming to see one of its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room? About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital and extended its ladder up to Billy's third floor open window 16 firefighters climbed up the ladder into Billy's room. With his mother's permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they loved him. With his dying breath, Billy looked up at the fire chief and said, "Chief, am I really a fireman now?" "Billy, you are, and the Head Chief, God, is holding your hand," the chief said. With those words, Billy smiled and said, "I know, He's been holding my hand all day, and the angels have been singing.." He closed his eyes one last time. Cat Lover’s (Minnie Mouse) To the people who adopted a cat at the Meriden Humane Society on May 4, 2007. Her name was “Minnie Mouse” and I would like to know how she is. The manager will not let me have your name or where you live. I miss her very much and hope she is doing well. Sorry, I gave you up Minnie! We all make mistakes in life. Your brothers and sisters are all fine and wish you were here. If the folks who adopted you could please let me know by calling 630-3474 or I would love to have a recent picture sent to me: Mary Morgan, 23 Randolph Court Apartment 1, Meriden 06451 I would really like it a lot. Take care Minnie Mouse and be good. I love you and miss you so much. Love you always! Love, “Mom” Mary Morgan Happy Anniversary Every so often someone or something comes into our life that makes a positive welcoming difference....Andy, Dawn and The People's Press has done just that. Thank You for all that you do and mostly for sincerely caring about others. In a world so intent on bringing negativity into our lives we need more papers like The Peoples Press!! Many Blessings! Brenda and Ernie GREY LADY,’ ALL GUSSIED UP, LOSES QUIET CHARM By Phyllis S. Donovan Back when I was a college girl, I went one summer with my roommate to wait on table in a small restaurant on Nantucket to earn money to pay for my school books and expenses. Up until that time, growing up in the Berkshires, I had only seen the ocean once in my life before boarding the ferry which took us 30 miles out to sea to spend the summer of our 20th year working on the island I would come to love. From the minute the boat skirted the lighthouse at Brant Point and nosed into the harbor, I was charmed by the island known as the “Grey Lady’. In those days, the cobblestone streets and grey shingled buildings harked back to the days of Quakers and whaling ships. The harbor was surrounded with a hodge-podge of workaday businesses and the Whaling Museum documenting its earliest industry, was an unappealing building with uninspired exhibits. Day trippers could pick up a rental bike at Young’s Bicycle Shop to peddle around the island to get to the popular Jetties Beach or out to Surfside with its more challenging beaches. For the not so athletic, a sightseeing bus was available to take folks out to see Siasconset (Sconset), the village at the far end of the island with its rose-covered cottages and stop by some of the island’s other attractions like the Oldest House, Old Windmill and Sankaty Lighthouse. Families could get a decent meal for not a lot of money at places like the Downyflake Donut Shop where we worked or other reasonabley priced eating establishments. Better healed visitors could dine at the White Elephant, Mad Hatter or even Sconset’s Moby Dick. There was a movie theater right near Main Street where they showed the newest released movies (which ran for a week at a time) and we spent many an evening with our young crowd enjoying beach parties with bonfires and singalongs. (This was in the 1950s before drugs, sex and rock and roll.) Simple times, simple fun. Eventually, summer ended and we went back to school with warm memories of our special island in the sun. Fast forward a few years. My roommate married one of the local Nantucket boys and settled down out there to raise a family and run her own real estate agency. Our family would go out there from time to time to visit and every time we went, we saw how the island was changing. The harbor area was spruced up and gentrified. People were buying the old grey shingled cottages and fixing them up. Real estate was booming and strict rules were laid down as to what and where people could build. There isn’t that much open space on an island that is barely 15 miles long and three miles wide. Over the years, we have been back and forth fairly regularly, to hear a Boston Pops concert at the Jetties Beach or sail with our friends from Nantucket to Martha’s Vineyard and back. But in the summer months, the island has increasingly become so loaded with tourists that a stroll up Main Street was like maneuvering the sidewalks of New York City it was so jammed and hectic. Stores were too crowded to get waited on (and the prices were so high out there, we mostly just looked and rarely bought.) Our friends were forced to shop for groceries late at night when the summer crowds were sleeping or partying. This year, my former roommate invited us and mutual friends from Pennsylvania who had never been to Nantucket, to visit Nantucket in September, after the bulk of the tourists had abandoned the place for home. Even the ferry ride over was more leisurely with barely one-third the people it carries at the peak of the season. Still, day-trippers were eager to sign up for the island sightseeing bus and Young’s, after all these years, was still renting out bicycles. With first-time visitors in tow, our Nantucket hosts drove us all over the island, showing us parts of the island we hadn’t seen in years. What an eye-opener! Even way out in the far reaches of the island, amid the moors which had been empty not so long ago, huge rambling houses have sprung up. Like the McMansions in upscape neighborhoods around here, they are far more house than any ordinary family would need. Some are as large as hotels. Yes, we know such well known people as Senator John Kerry, GE’s Jack Welch and designer Tommy Hilfiger have island digs. But how do all those other people afford to build such enormous places out there, especially since they only use them a month or two (or less) out of the year. Just getting their vehicles over there by ferry costs an arm and a leg….if they can even get a reservation to take them along from the mainland. Our Pennsylvania friend, who also sells real estate, was amazed at the prices they are asking for most of those houses. Even a small Cape Cod or ranch (with the requisite grey shingle siding) start for over a million dollars or two. The larger places are going for seven, eight, and even 13 million. The lowest priced place in the ads was a shacky looking house selling for 750,000! Who buys these places …. And as second homes! Where do the local tradespeople live? Where do the waitresses and chambermaids and bartenders live? Young people who grew up on the island can’t afford to live there these days. On a Saturday jaunt out to the airport while we women were checking out the shops, our husbands saw rows of trucks belonging to the plumbers, electricians, carpenters and others who work all week on the countless places that are being renovated (many of them gutted and/or moved once they’re purchased). The trucks’ owners had evidently flown home to the mainland to spend their weekend with their families. As island prices continue to escalate, who knows where it will end. I’m just happy that my introduction to Nantucket was back in simpler times when the quiet charm of the island was its main appeal. Now owning a summer place on the island seems to be a status symbol for those people who want to impress others. In spite of the social climbers, Nantucket is still a lovely place to visit. The one high point of our recent visit was finding the old Whaling Museum beautifully renovated by the Nantucket Historical Association. We were extremely pleased with the handsome exhibits, nifty gift shop, wonderful storyteller and film explaining how the bones of an authentic sperm whale hanging from the ceiling were salvaged from a whale that beached itself on a Nantucket beach several years ago. Seems even the whales think Nantucket is an ideal place for resting their weary bones. “Why Can’t Johnny Sing?” By Katrina S. Axelrod Of course I have spoken about “The Arts Economy” before this in the People’s Press, but let me explain it; “What goes around, comes around, artistically and economically- and academically”. I’ll start from the beginning as I see it. When you purchase a gift at a retail store in the mall that purchase helps the general economy. But when you buy that same (or better) gift at a museum or artists’ collective, you not only help that non-profit museum, but you help the entrepreneurial process in the arts. Some non-profits are Big Businesses- the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, for instance. You can go to malls in several cities and purchase a gift ‘from the Metropolitan’. They have overhead just like any shop owner and fewer of the dollars go to the non-profit for museum work, but it does Market the name, and I guess that is a good thing... Actually, I’m rather saddened to see big business in the non-profit arena, but that is only because I am living in a fairyland where non-profits are accorded all of the money they can use. Not. My feelings on that subject are a very mixed bag. OK, so, if you go and purchase an item from say, Gallery 53, you help 1) the gallery, 2) the artists who made the object, 3) the entire non-profit economy in the area. If you give your loved-one(s) a gift certificate for the next season’s performances of Con Brio, you have helped- yes, the members, the venue in which they play, and 3) “The Arts Economy”. When you get creative and have a recital/show/installation at the Augusta Curtis Cultural Center, another non-profit, you help 1) the recitalist/artist(s), 2) the ACCC, and 3) “The Arts Economy.” Yes, I do realize that the ACCC doesn’t sell toothpaste and that the big box stores do have a right to exist. But not at the expense of important things like people expressing themselves creatively for their living. However, there is growing optimism (mine) that when people see the artist down the street as an entrepreneur, a business person, just like an auto mechanic, then that artistic person has a better shot at a good living. He/she has done some serious work already, gotten some very expensive education, training, lots of practice, and needs to build a client base, and have some sort of business plan and probably has two or three jobs “to make a living”. Just like the guy down the street who fixes cars, only he only has to have on job because he is seen as “relevant”. Only the mechanic learned his skills in public school and maybe a for-profit training tech after that. But it started in school is my point. Now, the artist has one ‘day job’, (something related to his art if he/she is lucky), or does something else entirely that he/she learned is a “better” bet for a ‘real job’ while either having a home studio, providing lessons or some other way doing art on the side. Ick and Yuck. It is with this in mind that the whole Artist as Entrepreneur idea got started. I’ve given it some thought, and thanks to our Secretary of the State, with whom I had breakfast last week (with 40 other people, at a great Meriden Chamber of Commerce event), I have ‘hatched a plan’. She asked for ideas and this one is brewing almost 24/7. Just like with Auto Mechanics as a public school curriculum, I’ll start at the school level, I’ll move to the Independent Artist (mechanic) and then to the Independent Artist as Entrepreneur, or, that is, “The guy who has a business down the street.” The school systems around the country have as much arts as they can afford. True, true. That correlates to the community having as much arts (great grammar there) as they can afford? Sure, but if you look at it, the arts in the school systems are dead or looking like it, everywhere, and, so go the communities. Can the converse be true? If one school system peps up the Arts programs, could we have more Arts in the community? What do you think? We have new students coming into the school system every year. New people- new talents, new dreams. We have students leaving the school system every year. What did they get out of their educational experience? Can they dance? Can they sing? Can the write? Can the journal? Can they play an instrument? Can they express themselves adequately to family, peers and other constituents? Can they tell one musical instrument from another? Are those important life skills? Well, that depends on the decision that somebody made about priorities in the budgeting for education. I bet that student can kick a ball in several different ways, for several different kinds of games. I bet he/she can play a sport and I still bet that they can’t tell one instrument from another. How many know the difference between a band and an orchestra? The answer is that an orchestra has stringed instruments in it. Like violins violas, cellos, basses and harps, that sort of thing. How many of them have ever held a cello and pulled the bow over its strings to produce sound? That is as good a science lesson as I can think of. “Acoustics” and “the human being”, both of which are, in some circles, entirely scientific pursuits, should occur at every level of every school as artistic lessons, too. OK, so, I am making the assumption that there will be artistic/musical students entering every grade in every class. How many? How many do you want? Without music classes, we’ll never know how many we can make. There’s a convenient way to say that music and the other arts aren’t important- just say it! It’s true! It must be true- the authorities have said it! I am not haranguing local priority makers here, they get this shaft just as much as the students do, I know that. I’m talking higher up. I promised no politics here. But, come on, now, how many kids go to pee-wee sports programs and then have no team? Hmmm, well, the Curlers are flat out of luck, but the Bowlers manage. The soccer players and the football players, and the basketball players and the La Crosse Players and……oh, this is making me queasy. My point is that a student of anything usually starts early. Some children are scientific, and their parents send them to Talcott Mountain Rocketry camp, if they can afford it. But, not to worry, because science is taught at every level. Science teachers know to watch out for scientific kids and challenge them scientifically with Science Fairs and lots of enrichment. Math has Mathletix and so on. But what about the Arts? That is left to the parents who can afford it. Private lessons, which are costly to be sure, are the only option for the new young pianist or oboist. Musical and artistic children come along in every sector of society, not just the rich ones. The Arts are left to a second-and third-class status and a mixed-bag of budget priorities. Where are the African American and Hispanic violinists? Is that a strange question? I’m sorry that it is. How many students know what a cello is and don’t think it is a dessert? This is killing our country. The Arts Economy is Flat-lined. We have no one to carry on the Artists’ traditions, the basic information, the techniques, the love, the existence of the oboe. The what? The oboe. (Look it up). The younger the student expresses an interest, the more the public school system fails the artistic student. If that student goes to a school where there are no oboes, well then the student will never learn that she could be a world-class oboe player. Then when that student does have a chance to discover it, it will be in college, (again if the family’s economy works out) and then studying the oboe becomes a very expensive prospect indeed. Now there were obviously years wasted that cannot be made up for, and if the student has gone to college outside Connecticut because there is no program enticing enough, now this represents a “Brain Drain “ and “Talent Drain”. Lost to the Connecticut Economy, lost to the Arts Economy. When we deny our students their rights to creativity, we pay a dear price, but it is like bridge repair, you don’t notice it at first. Silent. When we add the Arts back into the curriculum, we add the reason that some kids go to school. Some kids are artistic kids. In the exact same proportion as there are kids who do other things. But the Math and Science and Auto Mechanics-inclined students get their public school training and the arts kids don’t. They should complement each other in the spectrum that is good public education. Not just rich kids are artistic. The rich kids just get the oboes. Multiply that by every school system. Every school system, even the rich ones. Because every school system has kids who are being denied the Arts in school, even the really rich ones. That is because the Arts themselves are being denied another talented member when a public school doesn’t teach the subject. The Arts are so far back on the bus that they are hanging off the back bumper. Who cares? I do. So do the parents of kids who are showing their artistry at three years old. Violin, harp, accordion, I’ve seen it. “Mommy, I want to learn the language of Music”. That is an actual quote from a young lady musician, who was then three years old. What will become of these students of music who are already choosing for themselves that which they love? Can we in good conscience bundle them off to kindergarten, give them ‘happy sticks’ and ask them to pound out some inane song or another? Meanwhile the musically-inclined child is feeling the music in his/her soul, reading music and performing for family and friends. What does school have to offer in first and second grade? Talented and gifted is only for fourth graders in many schools. But in the reality of a child’s life, there is a continuum, a life span, to consider. For the kid, being talented in a public school is a lonely social experience, because no one in the school knows you even play an instrument, because ‘nobody else is doing it’ until fourth grade. By this time kids who started young, in accordance with their talents, are playing Bach and Vivaldi and the public school kids are seeing music for the first time, the public school kids aren’t your peers- again! These ultra talented students are treated like well, the exception, in a bad way. They are exceptional, in a good way. That’s another kind of ‘diversity’ that teaches something too. Cultural Diversity is not the only Diversity there is. There is Talent Diversity. Talent Diversity is a good thing; it is one of the more positive ways of helping inspire kids to change themselves in their own chosen field- such as Science or any other. Kids who strive teach other kids to strive. But right now, there is nowhere in the public school system for them. Kindergartens are places for children to explore and discover. When they explore the sports portion of their abilities, it is picked up quickly; those teeny-tiny hockey sticks and these itty-bitty bats and ½ size soccer balls will attest to that. But how many parents know that there are 1/8 sized violins? There are 1/8, ¼, ½ -sized version of lots of instruments, and that’s why piano benches go up and down. So, we should rearrange our budget priorities for a few exceptional children? No, we should rearrange our budget priorities for all children. Will all children become mathematicians? No. But we have math books-aplenty. You see where I’m going with this? There are plenty, years worth, of opportunities for children to realize that they are mathematicians. Or scientists or Olympians, for crying out loud. But where is the child down the street going to be able to learn to draw a three-dimensional object, or photograph the moon’s craters, or design a building? The Math kids are sometimes the Music kids, too. They all deserve a good public school education. The students who learn like this grows up like this. Go ahead; ask 10 kids at the age of 10 what an oboe is. Ask the parents the difference between a band and an orchestra. Now I’ve shown you that schooling can be incomplete, too, perhaps now you feel foolish. That was not my intent. My intent is to tell you that there are worlds within worlds awaiting discovery, outside and inside every human being, and they include the Arts. Maybe you didn’t get shown them. But your children are different people and you want and should expect a more complete education than you got. That is how a civilization progress. Even the Army has a band. You can serve our country playing music. But it is extremely hard to get into - it is the elite, the cream of the crop. One would have to start playing early in life to be admitted after audition. Gee, I wonder who gets in? Children grow to know what they are taught. Some drum on trash cans and anything else they can find. Some become listless in school, knowing that nothing reaches them, a loss to themselves and our State of Connecticut. Oh, over-reaching am I? How many violinists are on your block? You don’t know and neither do it, because some of them will never have had a chance to find out. Next: The Artists’ “Brain Drain” The Artistic “Brain Drain” in this country isn’t spoken about much. It never makes the news. It exists. There are fewer orchestras, there are fewer communities willing to support an orchestra. AH, the Metropolitan Opera is having a wonderful success with piping their operas into movie theaters. People are going! They come home singing. There is hope. There is opening up for more accessibility and there is marketing. Remember the Metropolitan Museum of Art? Big business, because the New York City Arts community can afford to put money into Marketing and put more creativity in getting your attention. They need Connecticut bucks, too. That’s fair; we want them to be there in New York when we visit. Next: “The Brains” What do we suppose goes through the mind and heart of a child who KNOWS that he wants to play the trumpet for a living? Well, the one I know got roundly and soundly told to choose something else, because that ‘just wasn’t practical’. I got that, too. Singing was something that you did in the shower. OK- tell Barbara Streisand that - her Mom wanted her to be a typist. But, Barbara sang and we’re glad she did. It was very hard road. And that’s for a person of her talent! Should we make it easier for artists (all artists, now) to make a living? Hmmm, isn’t that what the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) does? Yes, it is. And without entering any politics in this discussion, the NEA is laying on its side, panting for life-sustaining water, that is- money and cooperation. The circular argument goes like this: So, why put more money into the NEA? Afterall, (seemingly), there aren’t very many people who pursue the arts, (because they aren’t taught in public schools anymore), so no one cares enough to keep them funded. My point precisely. We are Arts-deficient and there is almost no one left to scream about it. The bad guys have damn-near won. I care, a lot. I am not giving up. I propose a different way of thinking about the arts- a life-cycle approach. And in one generation, we’ll be back where we should be. Remember those kids who come into the school system every year? We’ll think of their arrival in school as Round 1. Those children can learn about the arts with our existing system-when we move the figures around to include more music and movement and drawing and imagining and nurture the children for who they are we get them, as they come in. Not things that take a whole lot of money, just common sense and sensitivity, like Math/Lit courses. Math/Arts courses or Writing/Music Courses. Take the resources we have, move them around, and listen to what the children say to us. Teach them as they come to us. The new arts students who come to the Middle Schools, the High Schools and Universities this year are new, too. Think of these students as Round 1, too. So, now we have five year olds and 13 year olds and 15 year olds and 18 year olds. Everyone can learn. It is only the level of instruction that has to change for the students, not the students themselves. When we use our school systems’ natural areas of redundancy and turn them into a more profitable use of the resources, we will all win with students who get a more balanced education. Students who become Connecticut Grown Artists. “Connecticut Grown” isn’t just for milk and produce anymore. Professional artists are in our communities. I suggest that we offer to teach them to teach, and hire them. Not everyone is a teacher, but some are, and we have GREAT teaching schools. Then we take the 18 year olds and teach them how to teach and we hire them when they become 22 year olds, or whenever they finish their training. And, in Round 2, we teach our elementary school students and our middle school students with these teachers and teaching-interns. Then as the natural process of attrition starts to require new people to replace those retiring, we have a bevy of well-trained candidates from whom to choose. So who are these people in this bevy? Yes, they are the Connecticut Artists that are now recognized in our communities are Entrepreneurs. They will be regarded well for the arts that they do. They can make their living in the Arts by teaching, or he or she can help pump up the communities’ arts economies because more money will be flowing through it. The Arts are natural multipliers in the big National Economy. Let’s use the Commission on Culture and Tourism to teach more entrepreneurial and managerial skills that the new artist needs to get established. Let’s get the Local Artists into the local Connecticut Chambers of Commerce. They can support themselves as artists because communities want them, as purposeful and valued members of communities who can make a living wage doing/sharing/continuing their art. More people buy their art, and, learning about their art, (maybe even cultures and traditions, too?) appreciate their arts. Children learn and then turn the Arts into their own Arts. Local Arts institutions become relevant again. Hence, “The Arts Economy.” And it goes around, and around in a self-sustaining, meaningful way. And we live to see Round 3. We will be Round 3. Katrina S. Axelrod is a Meriden resident and has founded the Meriden ArtsTrust, (MAT), an incubator agency for programs that link youth with the Arts. The MAT is now administering the Central Connecticut Civic Youth Orchestra. Meriden ArtsTrust may be contacted at meridenartstrust@yahoo.com Reader’s views are requested. Dear Housewives – Central Connecticut’s Know It All Gals Dear Readers, Do you have a question regarding family life, budgeting, customer service issues, DVD or book reviews, or home organization? We will give you our candid advise from a family perspective. Contact The Peoples Press by e-mail or phone with your confidential question and we will answer it in the next issue. June and Flora Dear Housewives, My step daughter is having her first child in November. I always wanted to be called Nana. The 'other' grandmother was OK with that until recently when she now wants to be called Nana. We both have the same last name initial too. This is becoming an issue. Please advise. Nana D in CT FLORA: I say you both can be called Nana. I had Grandma W... and Grandma B.... Since you are both Nana D's perhaps to distinguish you can be called Nana "Teresa" and she can be called Nana "Sue". Suggest it in this way: "Sue, how would you feel if I went by Nana "Teresa"?" It's too bad that some people have to complicate things...June? JUNE: Yeah, I see no reason to complicate this. You can both be Nana. Just my opinion but what is the deal with this whole Nana, Noni, Nunu, Gigi, Riri, Ramadamading Dong thing? What ever happened to Grandma this and Grandma that? I never had any of these fancy names for my Grandma and Grandpa and now they are Great-Grandma and Great Grandpa to my kids. What do you call a Nana when she is a great? Is it Great Nana? Maybe Granny #2 would stick with the traditions and be a Grandma. I think it is much cooler. Good luck and congrats! Dear Housewives, I work in an office and there is a coworker of mine that passes gas daily, multiple times during the day. There is no "excuse me". At first I felt like laughing but now I am annoyed. I leave and go to the restroom when I feel one coming on. How do I deal with this very awkward situation? Joe trapped in the Cubicle JUNE: Dear Joe, I have a question? How do you feel a fart of another "coming on"? Okay, seems pretty strange to me but the whole question stinks. Sorry, no pun intended. It just grosses me out. Who the hell, as an adult, "passes gas" at work repeatedly? And, what would an excuse me do for the situation? It wouldn't make it any better or more polite. How about tooty there get some sort of gas pills or learn how to hold it in until he/she gets into their vehicle and drives away. Talk to your boss. They get the big bucks to tell tooty to cut it out, no pun intended. That is gross! FLORA: Joe, your question made me laugh but gassing in public in no laughing matter. I would suggest to you to take the brave step and approach the gasser and privately tell him that you and others hear the gassing and that it is not culturally acceptable to gas in that manner. Tell him about anti-gas products (or just leave a package on his desk as a hint). If you can't approach him, go with June's suggestion and tell the boss. June, I think Joe was referring to himself when he 'felt one coming on'. The Journey When you bring a pet into your life, you begin a journey - a journey that will bring you more love and devotion than you have ever known, yet also test your strength and courage. If you allow, the journey will teach you many things, about life, about yourself, and, most of all, about love. You will come away changed forever, for one can not touch another without leaving its mark. Along the way, you will learn much about savoring life's simple pleasures - jumping in leaves, snoozing in the sun, the joys of puddles, and even the satisfaction of a good scratch behind the ears. If you spend much time outside, you will be taught how to truly experience every element, for no rock, leaf, or log will go unexamined, no rustling bush will be overlooked, and even the very air will be inhaled, pondered, and noted as being full of valuable information. Your pace may be slower - except when heading home to the food dish - but you will become a better naturalist, having been taught by an expert in the field. Too many times we hike on automatic pilot, our goal being to complete the trail rather than enjoy the journey. We miss the details - the colorful mushrooms on the rotting log, the honeycomb in the old maple snag, the hawk feather caught on a twig. Once we walk as a dog does, we discover a whole new world. We stop; we browse the landscape, we kick over leaves, peek in tree holes, look up, down, all around. And we learn what any dog knows: that nature has created a marvelously complex world that is full of surprises, that each cycle of the seasons bring ever changing wonders, each day an essence all its own. Even from indoors you will find yourself more attuned to the world around you. You will find yourself watching summer insects collecting on a screen (How bizarre they are! How many kinds there are!), or noting the flick and dance flash of fireflies through the dark. You will stop to observe the swirling of windblown leaves, or sniff the air after a rain. It does not matter that there is no objective in this; the point is in the doing, in not letting life's most important details slip by. You will find yourself doing silly things that your pet-less friends might not understand: spending thirty minutes in the grocery aisle looking for the cat food brand your feline must have, buying dog birthday treats, or driving around the block an extra time because your pet enjoys the ride. You will roll in the snow, wrestle with chewy toys, bounce little rubber balls till your eyes cross, and even run around the house trailing your bathrobe tie - with a cat in hot pursuit - all in the name of love. Your house will become muddier and hairier. You will wear less dark clothing and buy more lint rollers. You may find dog biscuits in your pocket or purse, and feel the need to explain that an old plastic shopping bag adorns your living room rug because your cat loves the crinkly sound. You will learn the true measure of love - the steadfast, undying kind that says, "It doesn't matter where we are or what we do or how life treats us as long as we are together." Respect this always. It is the most precious gift any living soul can give another. You will not find it often among the human race. And you will learn humility. The look in my dog's eyes often made me feel ashamed. Such joy and love at my presence. She saw not some flawed human who could be cross and stubborn, moody or rude, but only her wonderful companion. Or maybe she saw those things and dismissed them as mere foibles, not worth considering, and so chose to love me anyway. If you pay attention and learn well, when the journey is done, you will be not just a better person, but the person your pet always knew you to be - the one they were proud to call beloved friend. I must caution you that this journey is not without pain. Like all paths of true love, the pain is part of loving. For as surely as the sun sets, one day your dear animal companion will follow a trail you cannot yet do down. And you will have to find the strength and love to let them go. A pet's time on earth is far too short - especially for those that love them. We borrow them, really, just for a while, and during these brief years they are generous enough to give us all their love, every inch of their spirit and heart, until one day there is nothing left. The cat that only yesterday was a kitten is all too soon old and frail and sleeping in the sun. The young pup of boundless energy wakes up stiff and lame, the muzzle now gray. Deep down we somehow always knew that this journey would end. We knew that if we gave our hearts, they would be broken. But give them we must, for it is all they ask in return. When the time comes and the road curves ahead to a place we cannot see, we give one final gift and let them run on ahead - young and whole once more. "God speed, good friend," we say, until our journey comes full circle and our paths cross again. By Crystal Ward Kent Living in South Africa I live on the West Coast of South Africa in a small fishing and holiday town called Yzerfontein, with my husband, Peter and our two dogs, Lady and Champ. The town is about 70 kilometres from Cape Town half way between Table Bay and Saldanha Bay. We have a Mediterranean-type climate, with warm, dry summer and cool, relatively wet winter seasons. Even on the hottest days we have a cool breeze that comes off the cold Atlantic Ocean and so it never really gets unbearably hot. Most of the rain occurs from the end of April until October. The unspoilt beaches stretch for miles in both directions and the sixteen mile beach stretches northwards towards Langabaan and Saldhana Bay. Yzerfontein's name is thought to come from the spring water, that bubbles to the surface over Ironstone, hence Ironfountain, it could also mean Icy, as the very first spelling of the name Ijser fonteijn was in Dutch. Ijs refers only to frozen water, and the sea is definitely freezing cold. It was known from early times for its salt pans, as early as 1686 and up to the early twentieth century salt was shipped from the towns little harbour to Cape Town and was often described as the best in the Cape. Of fish, especially line fish, snoek (they are like barracuda) are caught by the local fishermen, whose boats seem to brave any kind of weather. There are months that go by when the boats come back with nothing, I asked if they knew where they went to, they told me that you cannot tag Snoek (thank goodness, or they would all be fished out) when they catch one, their scales immediately fall off and it cannot be put back into the water. So they can disappear for months on end and live in peace....but when they do come back, the boats bring them in every day. I see people come from as far away as Cape Town and buy loads of Snoek, either to re sell or for the restaurants. This part of the west coast is well known for its spring wild flowers and at the moment, from here up to Namibia the veld is covered in white, yellow and purple carpets of colour. During this month there are special passenger trains that bring people up from Cape Town to view the flowers in Darling, which is a small town nearby. There are also tours that take people all over the Western Cape and Namibia to see them and visit the game farms.The Rooibos, which is becoming a well known health tea grows here The local wildlife includes Angulate tortoises (which are classified as Protected as the local populations are threatened by the clearing of land for development) Mongooses, Dassies (Rock Rabbits/Hyrax), Duiker (deer) some Jackal and countless birds come to the garden such as Cape Robins, Pied Wagtails, Sunbirds, Mousebirds, Kelp Gulls, Pied Crows, Cape sparrows, Eagle Owls, Guineafowl, Heron and many more. Dassen Island is situated about 10km west of Yzerfontein and is a proclaimed nature reserve.It is about 5km long and 2km wide. The island has a light house and it is fringed with dangerous reefs, many ships have run aground here in the past. The earliest recorded was the De Hoop, in 1734 and the latest was the wrecking of the Apollo Sea on 20 June, 1994 which caused terrible devastation to the marine and bird life, due to the oil pollution. The island has the densest-known population of angulate tortoises and is the breeding ground for the African Penguin, which is the only penguin species that breeds in Africa. The White Pelican, (it is one of only two localities in South Africa where it breeds). The Cormorants, the African Black Oystercatcher, the Swift Tern , Hartlaub’s Gull which is one of the world’s rarest gulls and Leach’s Storm Petrel. The Cape Fur Seal used to be seen on the island in large numbers, but is now only rarely seen. Southern Right, Humpbacked whales and Dolphins come into our bay from about the end of August until more or less the end of November. The Southern Right come into the bay to calve in September. There is one in the bay now, she has been here for about 9 days in a pod of about 5 or 6 individuals and had her baby last week on about Tuesday, on Thursday I watched her and her baby quite close to the harbor wall enjoying the sunny spring weather and calm sea, she seems to be staying in the safety of the bay, perhaps until her little one gets his sea legs. The Southern right whale populations were depleted well before the end of the 19th century, and in between the years 1909 and 1915 some 17 000 whales were killed off the coasts of South Africa, Namibia, and Angola. Now, after more than 20 years of protection the whales of the West Coast are returning. We have noticed that some whales stay here throughout the year, and don't join the majority on their migration to Antarctic water. Saved by HU By Isa Navarre Why does God send angels? When a simple ‘miracle’ could do the job, the personal touch leaves us with an undeniable, unarguable knowing that we’ve been blessed and that God really cares. I am alive today because of an angel. When my daughter, Emily, was two, we took a vacation in Kauai. The beach was as lovely as the photo of a postcard, only the people playing in the waves were mostly senior citizens. Beautiful Souls they were, nonetheless, as they laughed and splashed with delight. I stayed on the sand, struggling with a lifelong fear of ocean waves. As toddlers do, Emily pulled and tugged my hand, begging to go into the water. Finally, I relented. If the seniors could do it, so could we. I would be careful to stay close to them. Emily and I splashed through the waves’ crest until we were just behind it. We held each other in an embrace as we were gracefully lifted up and down by the rolling swells. Soon my feet no longer touched the sand. No worry, I thought, I could just swim back to shore while holding Emily who was also supported by inflatable “floaties” on her arms. Strangely, my efforts were fruitless. I was drifting away from the other bathers and there was nothing I could do about it. Minutes later we were beyond the crescent of land that defined the beach, and moving steadily out to sea. I spun in circles, looking for anyone who might be swimming nearby. We were desperately alone, and too far away from anyone who might hear our cries for help. I panicked, certain now that my fear had been well founded and wondering why I hadn’t “listened” and stayed out of the water. The adrenaline peaked and then dissipated leaving me drained. My muscles were shaking and felt rubbery. “Emily,” I said, “Sing HU.” “Why Mommy?” “Sing HU, just Sing HU,” I answered breathlessly. My daughter began a sweet melody, singing the ancient word that we often sang together. HU is a love song to God and is sung with your heart as open as it can be, to receive divine love in return. I had no strength left to speak, let alone sing with her. Every ounce of my willpower was spent treading water. I knew Emily’s floaties would keep her aloft indefinitely, but they could not support my weight. I wondered how many minutes more I had left, and decided I’d let go my daughter so that she would have a chance to survive. Meanwhile, I listened to Emily’s HU, and asked for help with my thoughts. “Would you like a lift back to shore?” The voice came from a swimmer who approached from behind me, holding a boogie board. Where did he come from? I didn’t care. I nodded and grabbed the board with my last ounce of strength. Shortly, we were back on the sand. Emily ran onto the beach while I collapsed. Never before had I felt so exhausted. I’d noticed our rescuer was wearing blue swimming trunks, but when I looked up a second time to thank him, he was gone. The beach was too wide for him to disappear. I asked a nearby bather if she had seen him, and she had not. When I regained my strength I scoured the beach looking for him, wanting to express my gratitude. I never saw him again. God could have answered my prayer by reversing the riptide so we would be carried back to shore. He could have ceased the sea-bound current so I could swim back myself. Instead, he sent an angel—who could swim against the backward flow and tow us to safety. Why? I believe the answer lies in the question itself. When we are asked to ponder such unanswerables, we become the seeker. Our curiosity about life becomes like a current that may guide us from church to church, book to book, to study group to personal, spiritual exploration. On our journey, we become closer to God. Whether it’s by singing HU or through any other method, developing that closeness opens our heart to divine love—and any miracle we might need. Love Comes Tenderly Chapter 1 By Diana Lewis The shades of the evening sky were a magnificent purple, blue and yellow. Sara watched as it faded into night from her back stoop. She had been sitting there for hours it seemed but she loved the wondrous colors in the evening sky. God’s evening sky as she loved to call it. It also meant another day without rain that they desperately needed or the crops would be ruined for another year and they would not be able to pay their bills again this year. “God help us,” she prayed. Her husband, Jason, came out of the house to join her. “Praying for rain again?” he asked. “Of course,” Sara answered. “Do you really think He’ll listen to you?” he asked. “He always has in the past.” “It doesn’t look like this year is going to be good like last year, so with the money we have left why don’t we think about moving west to say, Missouri or Kansas. They say there’s plenty of land to pickin’ there” “You really want to leave our home here?” she asked. “As it is the bank is going to foreclose on the farm and I have money stashed away that’s not in the bank so we could go make a new start out west.” “I’m your wife, I have to go where you go, but let’s take it easy on my parents when we tell them.” “Okay, tomorrow I’ll check on the next wagon train headed west, and we can tell your parents when we go to dinner with them after church on Sunday.” “Do you think we will be going that soon?” “I think this will be the last wagon train out this year, it’s already July. Hopefully we’ll be in Missouri before winter sets in.” “You’ll have to give me a list of what to pack and what we will have to leave behind.” said Sara as they walked in the house and sat at the kitchen table. Jason poured them both a cup of coffee and got a piece of paper from the desk drawer in the sitting room. Sara put some sugar and milk in her coffee as he was getting the paper. She was stirring it when he came back and sat down. “We’ll have to take at least one mattress to sleep on and food stuffs to cook over a fire. We’ll need blankets, towels, sheets and any small important things you want to take. The papers I will get a box with a lock on it for them and each of will have a key. That’s where we will stash most of our money as well. Hopefully we can take this old stove with us.” “Will it fit in the wagon?” “I’m gonna try to get it in there. If we don’t take too much big stuff it should fit.” “What about the baby? Will it be okay on this trek?” “We’ll check with the doctor but if you take it easy, I’m sure it will be okay.” They retired to bed and Sara prayed about the trip and she felt peace about it more than she did when they were first talking about it. She felt that was what God wanted her to do was go west, so she would go. The next day, when Jason came back from town, everything had been arranged. They were leaving on July 23. They had two weeks to get everything in order and packed to be ready to go. Jason had brought boxes home for her to start packing and they wrote a list of things they needed to purchase for the trip. Sara suggested getting a few things for the baby just in case it decided to come early so he or she would have something to wear. Sunday after church when they went to her parents home for dinner, they announced their plans. It wasn’t a happy scene. Her parents absolutely forbid them to go, but they knew deep down they could not stop them, no matter how hard they tried. But they did try to get them to change their minds. “We’re going to loose our farm anyway because of the drought. They let us get by from last year’s drought but you know yourself they aren’t going to let us go another year without paying them. I have money stashed away. We’re using that to go on.” said Jason, trying to get them to see reason. “How about if I went with them?” asked Sara’s brother, Michael. “I could help them to get set up and then come back. We could take two wagons.” “If we did that, said Sara, “We could take Grandma’s Chest that I love so much.” “Well, alright he can go,” Calton Chambers, “but you’re responsible for him.” “Don’t worry, Mr Chambers, we will take good care of him.” answered Jason. The next day Mike, as he liked to be called, came over with the things he was planning taking with him. He surprise Jason by putting a rifle under front seat of the wagon. “What is that for?” he asked. “You never know if we run into Indians or something. And I could go shoot us some meat if we needed it,” answered Mike, “You should have one too. You still have that revolver?” “Yes, I’ll make sure we bring it.” answered Jason. “I’ll have to go into town and get more shells.” They were about to get both the stove and Sara’s grandmother’s chest in the wagon. The stove went in Jason and Sara’s wagon and the chest went into Mike’s. Sara was so busy the nest couple of weeks sorting through things. Some of the things she really wanted that she couldn’t take, she took them to her parents’ place to be shipped later when they got settled. She ended up with six boxes of those things. The things she chose to take, some went in their wagon and some went in Mike’s. They were finally all packed the day before they were to leave. Sara and Jason lay in bed the evening before they were to leave. They weren’t sleeping as they should be because they had to rise so early, in fact before sun up. Sara was looking at the ceiling and thinking. “I’m really going to miss this place.” she said in the darkness. “Yeah, I know,” answered Jason. “It’s our first home when we got married.” “Yeah, I’ll miss it too,” and he turned over and kissed her. “Now we better get some sleep. We need to rise early.” “I know,” she said as she snuggled close to him and closed her eyes. Jason heard her breathing slow and knew she was asleep. He lay there trying to sleep but sleep wouldn’t come. He wished he had the faith in God that his wife had. He didn’t know how to have that faith. He’d always thought that religion was a crutch for poor people and people who needed something to wish upon, but it really hadn’t been for him. He was too busy doing things for himself and for Sara. He did everything his way and thought it was the right way. He didn’t need God’s help to do anything, he was fine doing it on his own. Sara called him stubborn sometimes. He also thought about the house he was going to build for Sara. She had always wanted to live in a log home. He had carefully drew up plans for their house and showed them to Sara just last night. She was excited about the home. He finally dozed off. The alarm on the wind up clock by their bed went off. Sara heard it first and turned to Jason. “Honey, it’s time to get up.” He groaned and turned over and looked at the clock. He hit the button to turn it off. He rolled over on his back and stretched. Sara sat on the edge of the bed. She got her clothes that she was wearing for the day that she laid on out the night before, on the rocking chair next to the bed. “Just in case we run into any Indians. You should have one too.” ‘Yes, I supposed I should. He didn’t tell him about the rifle he has stashed in his closet. He would dig it out and buys some shells and bring it along. “Finally everything was packed that they could bring along. Sara was disappointed on some things she couldn’t take so she took them to her mother to take care of. On July 22, the day before they were to leave, Jason went to the bank to sign the farm over to them and what ever equipment that was being left behind. The next day, everyone from Sara’s family and Jason’s family came to see them off at the wagon train. They were two hours early so they had some time to visit. Jason and Mike went to find the wagon master and have a chat with him about the trip and what was expected. Sara’s mother, Julienne cried her heart out. She was losing her baby. They hugged each other for the longest time. Jason and Mike came back just in time to say goodbye to everyone before the wagon master hollered “Wagons Ho” and they got into their wagons and waved goodbye until they couldn’t see them anymore. Then Sara started concentrating on her new adventure. They must have traveled about 10 miles and it was time to stop for dinner. The wagons joined into a circle and the women started making dinner for their families. They barely got the dishes cleaned up and repacked when the Wagon Master hollered “Wagons Ho” and they were off again. They went about another 20 miles to a river and the wagon master sent word back to everyone that they would be stopping for the night and crossing the river the next day. They formed a circle for the night. The women fixed the evening meal and they settled in for the night. Sara had just finished the dishes when some of the men took out harmonicas, and fiddles and started playing hymns. Everyone gathered and sang with them until they decided they better get some sleep for another day of traveling the next day. The next day, they were awakened early and were rushed with their breakfast. Sara decided to walk with the women and children for a while. She met several of them. Mrs. Chamberlain and Mrs. Faulkner seem to throw insults at each other all the time. Sara couldn’t tell if they were joking or they were serious. They were both middle age women with three children a piece. Sara also met Belinda Cross, who was more her age and was pregnant as well. They both hoped they’d make it to Missouri before their babies came. They were both due about the same time. They both became good friends on the trip. Sara and Jason often were over to Belinda and Thomas Cross’s wagon in the evening after they dinner. They were on the trail for a week and on Saturday night the wagon master told them that they wouldn’t be traveling on Sunday. They could have the day to do as they pleased, but to be ready early morning to be on the trail again. “How about we have ourselves a little church service.?” Suggested Thomas Cross. “And who’s going to be the preacher?” asked one of the men. “Well, I can give a little Bible lesson,” said Thomas. Then it was settled, they would have a service on Sunday morning at 11:00. Look for Chapter 2 in the next issue. Home Country Slim Randles There’s something to be said for the brightness of day, of course, when the energies of the world improve our lot in life. But for a special time, give me the night. Give me the soft, velvety quiet of a country evening and its own sounds and flavors and scents. It’s good to hear the night shift take over the part of our world we call home. The coyote yaps off in the brush, calling his family to the hunt, the quail have a soft cluck and rustle down by the creek. The crickets set up the background music for all this in a spooky kind of harmony. It’s a resting time for most, but for those who will postpone sleep, there is the secret of another world, where we slow down a little and take a bit more time with our lives. A time when we can hear the world heal a little before it goes back into daily battle again. A time when we can smile and sit and just say thanks for bringing us to another evening like this. If we like, we can do a little mental planning for the next day. Or not. A country evening is what we get for being good all day. Girl Scout Earns her Silver Award Through her Hard Efforts and Great Love! Tori Sheldon set out to earn her Girl Scout Silver Award, by toiling in earnest towards a goal she is passionate about: the voiceless, abandoned fur-children in her hometown of Wallingford, CT. Tori logged in countless hours organizing and collecting donations at Stop and Shop, All Pets Club, and PetCo. Wow! What a donation it was! I was over the moon with all the gifts which we are always in need of and very grateful for. Tori also handmade gorgeous blankets and pillows for the fur-children, adding her special love to each stitch. To see a young lady giving so much from her heart truly offers such great faith in the next generation! I cannot express how impressed I am by all she has done, so very well. One young person making such an amazing difference! I am doubly impressed by her perception, as she spoke to me with wisdom about the Gift of witnessing the caring hearts of others that donated towards her cause. She spoke of a man leaving Stop and Shop, that donated the litter he had just purchased for his own kitty. The mother and daughter that drove home, and then returned to donate some blankets, one a favorite fleece blanket that belonged to one child in the family. The mom and child that gingerly placed each can of dog food, lovingly in the donation bin. The little boy proudly handing over his bag of puppy treats with a pleased smile. The gift of human care is a priceless gift to witness: the silver lining to Tori's Girl Scout Silver Award. To all those that donated, and to Stop and Shop, PetCo, and All Pet's Club, a big, warm Thank You! To all the other wonderful folks that gift us with supplies; I thank you as well. You all make a difference, something each good heart hopes to do. To Tori's parents, I say thank you for raising a child with such a loving heart towards those in need. You've gifted her with an altruistic heart, which in turn gifts the world. Kudos! To Tori, I say…your award was one of silver. Yet, to the furkids and those of us that daily see their plight .. YOU, will forever be Golden! Blessings and thanks, Lisa and the "fur-kids" - Wallingford Animal Shelter 203 294-2180 The Challenge Part 2 Discovering a New Me, (Maybe), on Columbus Day Many of you read Dawn’s article on Isogenix and Dr. David DeRosa of Precision Chiropractic Center, llc challenge that it would work. Again there were no conditions. He would provide us with the program and we would honestly report the results. He did not have to advertise but if he chose to that was his option. If you would like to read what Dawn had to say in Part 1, email me at andy@peoplespressnews.com and I will be happy to send it to you. So now I begin my challenge on Columbus Day. Before I get into my weight and all of my current measurements, I should once again explain that this is not just supposed to be a weight loss program but a chemical cleanse program. It will be a real challenge for the program and for me to do this. I have a horrible lifestyle. I smoke 1-2 packs of cigarettes a day. I drink 5 cups of coffee and maybe 3 glasses of soda a day. I’m a sugar and breadaholic. I eat only 1 meal a day even though I have to admit Dawn has forced me, (since she cares), to eat breakfast and lunch. So the question is – can I give all of this up? The program requires that I do so if I can’t then is it really a fair test to it? I will try to do so. If you call me after Columbus Day – I warn you that I will not be the same. When I quit smoking, I become for a lack of better words, not nice. So please don’t take it personally if I attack you, your family and everything. I’m not kidding. Everything that is required to be given up is my ENTIRE diet and habits. So send my thoughts my way as in the end – even if the diet does not work, if I can quit everything then it has been a success in a way and remember when you quit smoking you tend to eat much more and gain weight so keep that in mind. On to my current weight which I really don’t want to share. I am the heaviest I have ever been weighing in at 182.4 pounds. In part 3 of the series in the next issue – you will have the final results reported to you for both Dawn and I. You will also have the disgusting honor of seeing a before photo and an after photo of me, (that is only if it works), so be prepared and close your eyes if needed.