One of the downsides of a chronic illness is having a lot of free time to read, knit, work on my photography, etc., etc., but then not having the motivation, energy or focus to do anything. But this year since my health is improving I am challenging myself to read 12 books this year (Pike's Peak level). I have so many books in my to-be-read list so I hope to read more than 12 but thought I would start with a realistic number. I read about the challenge here. Looking forward to improving my mental capacity for reading, writing, etc.Maybe you'll even see more blog posts...
Tuesday, July 4, 2017
My favorite childhood book was Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch. I remember receiving it as a gift for Christmas, or maybe a birthday. It was the first chapter book I read. The transition from children’s book to what to me was almost a novel is a vivid memory. Mrs. Wiggs was an impoverished widow who struggled to care for her children and lived in an urban slum. In film adaptations of the book the husband had left her alone to travel to Alaska to find gold. Still she handled the circumstances with great strength and aplomb. I always liked that her daughters were named after continents, because Mrs. Wiggs felt geographical names would be more refined. I haven’t read the book for many years but I do recall it was humorous, inspiring, beautifully illustrated (and probably unrealistic). Mrs. Wiggs, with her courage and fortitude, became a hero of mine.
When I was a public school teacher I taught many children who came from poverty stricken areas much worse than where I grew up and probably worse than the fictional neighborhood where Mrs. Wiggs raised her children. Many of the students I knew suffered hunger, wore ragged clothes and lived in old hotel rooms transformed by the city into housing for the disadvantaged. The old hotels also sheltered ex-cons, drug addicts and many other unsavory characters, making it an unsafe place for children to play. One student often complained that her mother never let her play outdoors with the other children. After school she was confined to the hotel room. The mother feared for her child’s life. School was her escape. When everyone else were making Halloween plans this child sobbed because she would be excluded from participating. One student was sexually assaulted there and all the children were exposed to more than they should be for their tender ages. They either grew up fast or became troubled children with emotional and behavioral issues. Brandon used to hear voices telling him to hurt other people. He would climb trees or hit his own head to prevent the voices from taking over. Matthew begged for food and to play games, any game. If he was refused and asked to do school work he would often fight and scream and rage to the point I often wanted to join him. Then he would fall asleep for hours, the only peace he ever received. His mother said she would get a job and move her children out of the hotel as soon as God gave her a car and found her a job. Angie lived with a demon in her head that she could describe and draw. His words were vile and harmful, causing her to act out and consider ending her life. William threw chairs and terrorized the classroom when he was frustrated. Calling the authorities often enraged parents, making them punish their children or, due to an overload on the system, nothing was done. I realize some of these students had legitimate mental health issues. But for some I think they were just hungry, neglected and discouraged.
Over 40 million Americans live in poverty. One out of seven Americans suffer from hunger. More than 500,000 people in America are homeless, a quarter of those are children.
I am not offering solutions here or blame. I am just troubled by the suffering.
Posted by Rhonda Boocock at 1:29 PM
Sunday, June 18, 2017
I felt the silence today.
The deep, dark kind that
Crushes any hope of getting free.
There are those random times
silence comes with
Radiant light…the peaceful
brilliance that brings comfort.
But sometimes silence surrounds you like
A glass chamber that isolates you
With only yourself to deal with
No escape, no relief, no reprieve
Often silence can descend upon you
While you are in a crowd. So can loneliness.
Silence can be evasive when you need it or
Crowd you when you don’t want it at all.
Slippery silence…comes and goes…
Two-edged sword of dark or light…
Comfort or nuisance…craved or scorned
And still we seek it in desperate times
Searching frantically for sweet repose
Or other times we try to avoid it
Shutting out the silence with
The noise of our distractions and cares.
Accept it as a gift in the somber void of night
Or in the sunlit day. Let it whisper to you its secrets
And welcome the refuge of its lack
when it cannot be found. Secrets can be
revealed there too.
Posted by Rhonda Boocock at 1:33 PM