Dear Readers,

If you asked me what I wanted for a gift for my birthday, for Christmas or my retirement anniversary,  I would probably say, “Oh, nothing.  I don’t need a thing.  I don’t have space for anything.”  Now that would have been true until I got this book in the mail.   The good thing for any potential gift givers  is that you can save your money.  I already bought  LOST IN TRANSLATION, an ILLUSTRATED COMPENDIUM OF UNTRANSLATABLE WORDS from AROUND the WORLD by Ella Frances Sanders.

Are you thinking that is a word nerd book?  It could be, but it’s more than that with its charming illustrations and its way to go straight to your heart and your funnybone.

‘AKIHI — This Hawaiian noun might define me…”Listening to directions and then walking off and promptly forgetting them means that you have gone “akihi.”   I might add this word to my name–Marguerite ‘Akihi Ferra.  How does that sound?

Then, there is a word for my friend, Virginia Dillon, who just received a gift of eight bananas.  PISAN ZAPRA.  This Malay noun indicates the time needed to eat a banana.  (Generally two minutes…)  Do the math, Ginny!

I vowed to give you only three examples–although there’s the thought that you can’t have too much of a good thing.  No, only three, but it’s hard to choose.

Okay, how about that impromptu meal that my daughter’s Vietnamese mother-in-law made for us on Thursday afternoon?  Chicken with lemon juice, corn on the cob and fresh bread that she brought to the living room coffee table…  Sitting there with three godsons, one son-in-law, two children of a godson, my daughter, my daughter’s mother-in-law and father-in-law  and listening to everyone talking in English and Vietnamese in that lovely way when we have known each other through thick and thin (except for the kids!) for more than twenty years, I felt something indescribably happy.

I didn’t have a word for it, but now I have it… GEZELLIG, the Dutch adjective that describes “much more than just coziness–a positive warm emotion or feeling rather than just something physical–and connotes time spent with loved ones, togetherness.

The illustrations make this book even more fun.  I am going to enjoy this book for a long time.

So–have a good weekend readers.  Good-bye for now.   I have to deal with KABELSALAT--“a mess of very tangled cables, literally a cable-salad.”  Thanks to the Germans for this oh, so handy noun.

Written by Marguerite ‘Akihi’ Ferra who also loves the word, DRACHENFUTTER…

P.S.  I’m going to throw around that word at my book club and see what happens.

Dear Readers,

How many times did I wish that I could fully savor the beauty of autumn, but I had to hop into the car to go to teach?   How grateful am I that I could retire while healthy and happy!

October is such a beautiful month here in Cramer Hill.  Von Neida Park, the park just down the block from me, blazes with color.  The leaves do their best to make the park a place of beauty.  The autumn sky is blue, blue, blue with white clouds–what could be prettier?

Today I drove by the park and the students from the local Catholic school were crossing River Avenue to go to the playground.  My heart turned over because they looked cute and sweet in their uniforms as they walked quietly and calmly in line.  I realized that perhaps I missed seeing kids every day, but not enough to regret retiring.

Being a teacher was sort of being a rock star.  I’d beep my car locked and while I crossed Mount Vernon Street to go into the school building, some of my third-grade ESL students would stand at the fence and scream, “Mrs. Ferra!”  They’d wave furiously at me to make sure I saw them.  I’d wave back and feel loved.

When I got into the lobby, parents, students and staff would greet me. Former students, now in seventh and eighth grades, would hug me.  The girls.  The boys would look cool, but give me a little side grin that said hey, I always remember when I was in your class. That was nice, very nice.

Now I must tell the truth.  It wasn’t rock star all day, but it was for those first few minutes.

When I saw the kids walking to the park today, those memories flooded back. I smiled in my Toyota Camry.  I watched how well they walked to the park and then!  The first few boys got to the playground and ran like heck.  The teacher shouted and put her hand up and they sheepishly got back in line.

Those students brought back my teaching life which ended at the end of June of this year. I laughed in pleasure because many memories were happy.  Kids are great.  They were the best part of the job, but not the only part of the job of a teacher in Camden.

I also laughed because I was about to enjoy this fine autumn day all for myself as I had longed for so many times.

Happy Autumn!

Marguerite Ferra, Cramer Hill

Dear Readers,

One of my first blogs burst with ambition about finishing my book….that was on July 10th.  However, July passed, August passed and so did September.  What did I accomplish on the book? Not as much as I had hoped.   Uh, very little.

I felt guilty that I was so enjoying this retirement freedom and not working on the book.    What did I accomplish?  Only feeling guilty…

“Hey, you!  Come wash me,”  say the dirty towels, sheets and clothing. So many voices call your name when you are writing a book.

“Attention!” shouts my Kindle.  “There’s a new book here.  Time to read–that’s what you do best.”

 “Now, now.  Calm down, Marguerite, You are RETIRED.  You have the rest of your life to finish that book,” she whispers seductively. That particular retirement voice is a she-devil.

But, I got up today and read and reread the first chapter.   I jotted down notes.  I made decisions about what to delete, what to rewrite, what to move around.  I sent out e-mails to the people who had helped me with the information so that they would know that their help had not been in vain.

Oh!  It was great to find out that I still l am bonded to the main character and her family in the early sixties in Trenton. I got upset with the news.   Bad news–Dad is taking them away from their Trenton neighborhood, school and friends to live in Revolutionary Cuba.  Who could resist writing that book?

From the three-inch binder filled with the rough draft and notes came another voice.  “Well, HELLO!  Welcome back.  Get cracking.”

And, I did and I am in love again with the rough draft/book/whatever I call it….

Away with guilt.  Replacing it with lots of hard work…  Can’t keep doing household chores, reading and whatever else I’m doing in retirement…

Marguerite Ferra, Cramer Hill

——————————————————————————

P.S.  Mom’s 90th little birthday celebration turned out well and she enjoyed the cards, gifts and the cake.  Above all, the cake.  Kudos to Wegman’s….their cakes are Number One!

P.P.S.  I would like to plug the blog,  livingwithleigh.wordpress.com,  and a workshop of my writer friend, leighmac17@comcast.net

Writer Leigh MacKelvey is doing a free workshop at the Gloucester County Library ( Mullica Hill) on November 3 from 7 – 9 pm. ” Turn Your Memory into Poem or Story.”

 

Dear Readers,

I found an article on Facebook, “Science Shows Something Surprising About People Who Love to Write.”    What could it be?  Carpal tunnel syndrome?  Neglected housework?  Less time spent on the Internet?  All three?

Let me quote the author, Rachel Grate, “No matter the quality of your prose, the act of writing itself leads to strong physical and mental health benefits…”  Wow.  Good news. Especially about the quality of one’s prose…  Don’t be discouraged, new writers.  Or experienced writers!

At the end of the article, I read that “One study found that blogging might trigger dopamine release, similar to the effect from running or listening to music.”    I need to think about that because I haven’t run for quite a long time, not even for a bus.  However, I do feel happy after I’ve written a blog and I do feel happy when I’ve listened to music.  Maybe it is true.

Not to change the subject, but today I bought a big kale, mushroom and onion salad at Wegman’s and brought it home with high hopes.  Kale is supposed to be a powerhouse of nutrients and is supposed to increase energy.  Just before I started this blog, I ate about a fourth of the salad.  Kale tastes okay, but I might need to build up a taste for it.  My husband admired that I was eating it, but declined a bite.  I guess he feels he has plenty of energy.  Hey, maybe he might want to paint that kitchen.

Now that I’m almost finished this blog and that I have kale in my system, I’m feeling quite happy and sort of energetic.

What a combination—Blogging and Kale!  Perfect Together!

What do you think about writing?  How does it make you feel?  What do you think about kale?  How does it make you feel?

Please reply because my inquiring mind really wants to know!

Marguerite Ferra, Cramer Hill

Dear Readers,

Not having to decide what to wear in the morning!  That was one of the top ten on my retirement bucket list.  However, I developed a new morning routine and I can’t go out the door in my cat pajamas.  The City of Camden increased the number of police and I don’t want to be locked up for walking in the park in my PJs.

By the way, there is always a patrol car or two in sight now in the part of Cramer Hill where I live.   I wondered if laying off the former police officers to make way for more new officers might have been a union-busting tactic.  I felt sorry for the men and women who lost their jobs after serving in the city and I hope that they found something better.  On the other hand, it is good to see many more police officers in the area.  I don’t know if any are Fashion Police–but can’t risk it.

With all those new officers, I just couldn’t walk in Von Neida Park dressed inappropriately.  Not because my happy felines night apparel is sexy— no, no, no.  It’s just that the park is undergoing a beautification process and the police might think that I am thwarting the progress.  I don’t want a fine.  I am a retiree on a pension, after all.

The other park walkers do not walk in PJs.  So far, I have seen female walkers in what used to be called house dresses, exercise pants, long skirts and capris. Baggy T-shirts complete the outfit for many. The men favor jeans or gym shorts, often topped with sweatshirt jackets. Everyone wears sneakers–New Balance seems to be the footwear of choice.

I used to wear a pair of long shorts that had lots of pockets for my cell and my keys.  But, cooler weather is approaching and I’m wearing my jeans. The jeans without pockets, but with that accommodating elastic waist…the ones that I will toss when I am thinner and when I buy zip up and  button up jeans with pockets.

I didn’t have enough “casual” tops for park walking.  So, I bought a BAZINGA! shirt at Target because 1.  I love the word BAZINGA!, 2.  I love the Big Bang Theory TV show and 3. I love soft T-shirts.

There were no  BAZINGA ! shirts in Carlos’ size when I bought mine in the Target men’s department.  Don’t ask what sizes we wear, but his size is smaller than mine.  This is why I’m walking in the park instead of staying in bed with my Kindle.

My daughter just gave my husband that shirt to match–she found his size– and we must wear them on the same walk and must ask someone to take our photo.  It will be our first photo in matching outfits–although he won’t have elastic waist jeans.

I am crossing off some items on that bucket list and it feels so good. No more what to wear to school teaching day!  Yay for elastic waist jeans (for the meantime, of course) and for fun shirts!

Written by Marguerite Ferra from Cramer Hill

Dear Readers,

I wonder what your vice is.  Uh, never mind.  Don’t tell me.  Please–I’m serious. However, I feel bold enough today to tell you mine.

It’s not tobacco, not alcohol, not gambling, not drugs…nothing so serious.  No–I confess that I am crazy about decorating magazines and HGTV.   Why, I don’t know because I’m not decorating or redecorating all the time.  I could read those magazines all day and all night.

Quite a few decades ago, I visited a former college classmate with another classmate and I felt a million miles away from them in my interests.  These two lovely ladies discussed flowered bedspreads and drapes versus solid bedspreads and drapes for exactly a half hour and I recall thinking that it was a torture to listen to this conversation and how I felt inadequate because I could care less about the topic.  Perhaps I was not a real woman.  I wanted to whip out the latest mystery, a chocolate donut or even that device that Star Trek Scotty used to beam himself up.

Now, at the wise age of sixty-four, I understand their fascination and I realize that I was delayed.   Now I pore over decorating magazines with the same passion that you might gaze at pastries in a super good bakery.

Let me refer to the latest issue of HGTV magazine where my favorite HGTV star, Genevieve Gorder, allows us a peek into the renovation of her home. I love her renovation (not that she’ll ever know or care) and I wonder if I, too, could have a bedroom door “which came from a fishing village in Southern Morocco.”  I don’t have Southern Morocco on my bucket list, but the list is proving flexible.

Genevieve’s four-hundred-year-old carved door is a keyhole design with carvings of fishhooks, the sun, and coral.  No kidding, I love it.  Really, I do!  I don’t want to covet it, but I’m wrestling with a teeny-weeny bit of envy.

I force myself to remember that I do have a 1983-1984 lauan bedroom door in my Cramer Hill home from Cherry Hill Home Depot that my brother, Bill, customized for me by putting the doorknob extra high.  That custom placement was not inspired by a designer, but by my active toddler’s  unnatural, frighteningly fast ability to unlock and open a door at normal height and to run out of the room while I folded laundry on the bed.  She did this before age one and fell down the steps.  Don’t worry.  She was okay, is now thirty-one and remains active.  She is a teacher and not a locksmith nor an escape artist.

My husband , Carlos, recently painted this door with the sky-high doorknob a shiny bright white with the rest of the bedroom.  He likes to paint—not.  However, he likes to make his wife happy and I am.

The Home Depot man in the paint department advised against the semi-gloss, “It will look like a mirror.”  He shook his head.  I bet his wife has their bedroom painted in semi-gloss and it keeps him awake all night.  But, I love the door.

I might not have that carved Moroccan door, but, hey.  I don’t want it anyway.  (Sour grapes.) What if Reina or Lovey or Bello dared to scratch it?  (Cats.)  What if it cost so much that my homeowner’s insurance rate soared? (Allstate.)   What if I missed my lauan, shiny white door with the memory of Kim as a toddler?  (Kim, I still miss ya.)

Well, readers, talk to you later.  My decorating magazines await me on this rainy afternoon and I’m content that Genevieve and I both have our very special bedroom doors.

Written by Marguerite Ferra, Camden, NJ

Dear Readers,

It was exactly ten years ago that my husband, Carlos, arrived in Philadelphia from Cuba–well, from Havana to Miami and to Fort Lauderdale to Philadelphia.  He made this trip all by himself and I didn’t go to the airport in Miami to meet him because school already had started and I didn’t want to miss school in the first month.  What a joke–now I am sorry that he had to do that all himself, but he did and it was his adventure.

I spent that day in school a nervous wreck.  It was a  Friday.  He had the choice of flights–September 10–when I would have to be in school– or September 11–when the date just didn’t seem right even if it was a Saturday.

He left Havana with a book bag (and it was really filled with BOOKS!), his Cuban passport and a three-month fiancé visa. For the very first time, he traveled in a plane, a small plane, and he got off in Miami and did the immigration thing with officials which probably was nerve-wracking.  What happened if Immigration took too long and he missed his chance to get to Fort Lauderdale–the flight to get him to Philly? 

However, all proceeded smoothly, except for the Western Union office in the airport not finding the money order that I sent him for emergency funds.  Having worked at Western Union, I KNEW that the money had to be available.  I made a few calls and then another clerk found it in the computer.  Huh.

Next, he hopped on the shuttle bus to the airport in Fort Lauderdale.

We talked about that day this morning in our Cramer Hill home and he said that he was amazed by “river of cars” and a highway that was up in the sky in Fort Lauderdale.  He couldn’t believe that so many cars had the headlights on during the day.  He wondered if something was wrong–were they signaling a warning? 

Then, he found his plane that would take him from Fort Lauderdale to Philadelphia.  That flight went well and he followed the other passengers when it landed.  My daughter, Kim, had seen his photo and she spied him first in the crowd of arriving passengers.  He spied her first because I had taken her photo with me on my two trips to Cuba.  (Yes, I went legally with a humanitarian visa.) Finally, the crowd thinned and we reunited with hugs and kisses.

Kim drove us to Camden. She acted as chauffeuse and we sat in the back seat.  We had not seen each other for a year, but now all the e-mails and long-distance calls were not necessary. Hooray.  He had made it out of Cuba.  We looked at each other in relief.

 I had brought a little American flag to give him and it was in the back seat of the car.  He jumped in the car so fast that he didn’t see the flag. He sat on it and the stick broke.  I held it up and looked sad, but started to laugh.

I joked, “George Bush might get angry,” and he looked upset because less than twenty-four hours ago, he had lived in a  place where people spoke cautiously of political leaders.

Kim pulled into our back driveway. This morning he recalled the red brick.  He said that he loved our split-level row house in Cramer Hill.  He loved my daughter.  He loved our big dog.  He loved everything.  He loved me.

 

Tonight we went out to eat to celebrate.  We bought ten dollars worth of PowerBall tickets since we were celebrating ten years tonight.  Even if we don’t win a penny, we are lucky.  Or, rather, better said—we have been blessed with ten great years together in Cramer Hill in the wonderful USA.

Marguerite Ferra

 

 

Dear Readers,

I sent the very rough sketch that was not edited and not finished and my edited one was deleted.  Duh, I guess by me.  Too late tonight. 

Boo hoo.  Don’t read that other one.  It would be like only seeing Brad Pitt’s foot or Jennifer Lopez’s hangnail.

Technology!  I have such a good picture for that blog and I just don’t know how I messed it up.

I think that the rough draft was sent to all my followers.  I deleted it on WordPress and on Facebook.

Forgive me, dear friends.

Until tomorrow…

Marguerite Ferra, Incompetent Tech Woman in Cramer Hill

Dear Readers, and especially today, dear Maureen,

Back in the day (before people said “back in the day”) I taught Language Arts to Grades Six, Seven and Eight.  Now that experience is a real blog and a half, but I’ll save that one for another day.  Somehow, some of those students from St. Anthony of Padua School, still on River Avenue in Cramer Hill, connected with me on Facebook.

How young and inexperienced I was?  Some students were only eight years younger than I was.  Oh boy.

Anyway, Maureen, one of those kids, and I reconnected and we discovered that we were both still Cramer Hill women, pet lovers and crazy readers.  She challenged me on Facebook to list ten books that have stayed with me.  Thanks a lot, Maureen.  Ten?  Only ten?

I accept that challenge today, but they’re ten that just pop into my head…not maybe not all are the tippity-top ten.  No theme.  Just whatever comes to mind, okay?

1.  The Bible–when I went to State Street Methodist Church in North Camden and I was a fifth-grader at John S. Read, I challenged myself to read the entire Bible.  I didn’t understand huge parts of it and I knew that I was reading what I didn’t understand, but I loved it.  I ended up memorizing Psalms for myself.

2. Charlotte’s Web–it was serialized in the Camden Courier-Post when I was in elementary school and later I read it in book form.  The last class that I had enjoyed the bilingual teacher reading it to them and it brought back memories as well as a few tears for Charlotte.

3.  The Cat in the Hat–I read this book so many times to my brother, Ken, that I could recite it and I still remember a lot of it.  “The sun was not out, it was too wet to play, so we sat in the house, all that cold, cold wet day…”  Hope that’s right!

4. Jane Eyre–my mom took me to Lit Brothers in downtown Camden and bought that for me along with David Copperfield with birthday money from my grandmother.  I read both of these thick, small print paperbacks over and over.  Again, I was in the fifth grade–the peak of my intellectual heights.

5. Anne of Green Gables–how I loved this red-haired girl who wanted a family and I loved her friend, Diana.  I read the entire series and as an adult, I found out that people from all over the world make pilgrimages to the home of the Canadian author, Lucy Montgomery.

6.  Little Women–I didn’t have sisters and how I would have loved to have been one of the March sisters, except not, of course, the one who died.  Can I remember her name?  Not Meg, not Jo, not Amy…  Okay.  Beth.    Thanks, Google.

7. Stone Fox–I read this children’s novel by John Reynolds Gardiner to students after school at Martin Lutheran Christian Day School in Pennsauken.  My daughter, Kim, was humiliated to see her mother choke up in front of her friends.  Hey, they all were almost crying at the end.  Grade Three?

8. No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency–I love, love, love Precious Ramotswe,  the detective, and her life in Botswana.  It is written beautifully.  I recommend the entire series.

9. Me Talk Pretty One  Day–made me laugh on a day in my life when I thought that I would never smile again.  Thanks, David Sedaris.  I laughed my butt off right in Barnes & Noble.  Joking, still have that butt…

10. Angela’s Ashes–I rue the day that I wrote a fan letter to Frank McCourt and never mailed it. He died and I thank Frank from  Earth to Heaven.  I read this book at a New Jersey state softball championship–lots of time in between six games.  The She Devils (my daughter’s team) won the trophy and I held the dubious distinction of being the only parent with a book.

I wonder what books have stayed with you?   I’d love to hear from you.

Marguerite Ferra

Cramer Hill

Dear Readers,

The 24-hour self-imposed challenge TO NOT COMPLAIN ended almost two hours ago.  I couldn’t make it to the computer on time (not complaining, mind you) because we were having a family dinner and the dessert was incredible donuts, cannolis and cake from my Cousin Ronnie’s bakery, PITMAN BAKERY.  Just couldn’t leave the table!  No complaints about those cream donuts.

Last night I tried to decide what kind of complaining would count against me in the challenge.  What a pain in the neck!  I concluded that I should complain about war, injustice, poverty, racism, homelessness, illiteracy and daytime TV.  However, I couldn’t complain anything about people, chores, inconvenience, aches and pains and noise.

Before I went to sleep, I found myself trying to stamp out seven complaining thoughts about all sorts of silly things–jury duty in September, noisy neighbors, cleaning the basement, heartburn, backache, laundry to do and crickets. 

This morning on our daily walk, I complained eleven times to my husband about the trees that were cut down in Von Neida Park for the renovation.  I tried to stop myself, but the stumps and remainders of beautiful trees made me froth, not just complain.  My husband feels that a renovation that will cost millions must bring about an improved park.  I shut up and I knew that I was going to fail the challenge if I kept it up.

Then, I came home and ordered Happy Birthday flowers for a favorite aunt, Aunt Lucy Wunsch, age 94, and got  excited thinking about how surprised she would be.  It was a bit of an extravagance, but I was not complaining because I was so happy picturing her face when the florist delivery person came to the door.  I kept trying to check the status of the delivery on-line and it kept saying that I had the wrong order number.  The order number that was on the confirmation e-mail was wrong?  I started complaining to myself.  About five times.  Frothing again.  Some inconveniences just beg for complaints.

I tried calling the flower company’s toll-free number.  Three times.  Each time I reached a recording that told me that due to unusually high rate of calls that I would have a ten to fifteen minute wait or longer.  Longer?  I complained to myself three times and I planned to complain to the company, but I never reached a live person. I mentally composed a customer complaint e-mail.

My husband came home with the groceries.   I appreciated that he did that and I did not complain that the lettuce and tomatoes were not in the bags.  To give myself some points to negate the bad points, I thanked him and I said that it didn’t matter.  I hugged him instead of complaining about having to change the menu a little bit.. I felt the heat from brilliant light from my halo warm me.

Then, my aunt called and the flowers arrived just minutes after she returned from a birthday lunch..  Indeed, she was pleased and surprised when the flowers arrived.  Hearing her cheerful and loving voice made me so happy.  We promised to get together soon. I canceled the mental customer complaint e-mail to the flower company.

My mom and my brothers came over and we had a good time.  Not a chance to complain. 

Finally, they left, I did the dishes and rushed to do my blog. 

The results?  I failed the challenge because I couldn’t stop myself sometimes.   I couldn’t do a 24-hour no complaint timeframe.   However, I did complain less and I became much more conscious about complaining.  I can’t complain about the experience.

Written by Marguerite Ferra, Cramer Hill, who will enjoy complaining now that the 24 hours are up….  No one noticed my improvement, anyway!

Dear Readers,

My former student, Maureen, from St. Anthony of Padua, also here in Cramer Hill, challenged me to make three positive comments a day for seven days.  I found it surprisingly easy, fun and gratifying.  Thank you, Maureen.

However, I am giving myself a super difficult challenge.  I don’t know if I saw this challenge somewhere or if I decided that I need to take this challenge.

I, Marguerite Ferra, challenge myself from this time, 7:39 p.m., Thursday, August 28, 2014, NOT TO COMPLAIN FOR 24 HOURS.

I’m going to be honest about this challenge and I will keep a record of how many times I messed up.  I’m sure that I might slip up here or there, but I’m going to do my very best.  I’m going to be tough with myself and I will record even any complaining thoughts that might pop into my mind.

What is going to be funny is that I’m going to see if my husband, Carlos, or if my daughter, Kim, notice that I am not complaining.  It will be more difficult for Kim to notice since she is married and doesn’t live here (of course, but…ha ha…it would be nice…that’s not a complaint, but a compliment to how much I love her!), but I have been known to phone her and to complain to her. Carlos has been subjected more often to my complaints.  Now–they will have a 24-hour timeframe of no complaints.

 Let’s see if they notice.

You might ask yourself, “Won’t they read about this in the blog?”

The answer is probably not because they don’t read the blog.  This is a fact, not a complaint.  I’m truly happy that their lives are so satisfyingly jam-packed that they don’t have time to read the blog.

So, dear readers, don’t tell them.  Let’s see if they notice.  I don’t know how hard this will be, but I’m going to give it my best shot.

I’m putting on my happy face. Only 23 hours and 40 minutes more of the No Complaining Challenge.  How am I doing?

Written by Marguerite Ferra who is lying in bed with the new a/c unit going full blast and her favorite cat, Reina Ferra, by her side in Cramer Hill

P.S.  This is the first day of the first day of school that I’ve stayed in bed in the morning… ha ha ha ha ha…  And, it was a great day, too.  A walk.  Breakfast.  Finding the perfect fun prompts for Woodland Writers.  Writing with Woodland Writers.  Chatting with my son-in-law and his mom and dad.  Eating dinner with my husband.  Doing my blog.  Whoopee…!

Dear Readers,

      Tomorrow my former colleagues from Camden City “Public” Schools must go back to work.  On August 28th!  Couldn’t they let them go back the day after Labor Day?  I know it’s professional development, but still.  The more relieved I am that I’m retired, the more I realize why.  Teaching is a complex job and it eats up all the spaces of your brain.

     I don’t want to list all the reasons that it is complex, especially in Camden City, but, take it from me, it is.  My mind is on summer vacation mode here in Camden, New Jersey and I don’t want to go there.  Retirement has vacuumed up those big and little stresses of teaching school that took over my neurons.

     Now my mind has so many empty spaces in it.  Ooh.  That didn’t sound complimentary to my mind, did it?  But, I can fill it up!

      It’s freed up to think about so many different things…how to declutter the basement, how many more French movies are there on Netflix, how can I lose x amount more pounds by walking and giving up nasty stuff like an occasional cola or a chocolate croissant, should I get up early or sleep late and is it greedy to read more than three or four books a week?  These deep thoughts are but a few of those rattling around in my brain.

     When I wake up, I first remember to be thankful.  That’s a thought that stands strong and straight in that newly cleared space in my relieved head.

     If you remember, in my previous blog, I was whimpering that the bedroom air-conditioning broke down and it seemed miserably hot and humid in a brick row house in the city.  Good news.  We have a new one and I am thankful.  No kidding.

     I’m also thankful that I could retire and I don’t have to get up early tomorrow to go to school. 

     And, I’m thankful that my mind can enjoy the fresh air and empty spaces that retirement brings to my mind.  That’s how I can write this blog! 

 

Written by Marguerite Ferra, resident of Cramer Hill, who is enjoying her increased patience, creativity and joy!

 

 

 

 

Dear Readers,

     Did you have air-conditioning when you were a kid?  Or, did you endure those hot summer nights when the window fan churned the hot air around? Did you get up in the middle of the night and wash your hands and face to cool off?   Get a drink from those brightly colored aluminum cups that were in the bathroom?  I almost forgot about those nights, but our a/c unit in the bedroom gave up the ghost tonight.

     We DO have fans.  It’s not super hot tonight.  I don’t have to go to work and look perky in case I don’t sleep well.  I can’t be a big complainatrix.

    Ahem.  I have to tell you.  I’m just busting to tell you that if you add -trix at the end of the word, it denotes the “feminine” version of the better known word.  Don’t think I’m smart and that I just know that.  I read it today in a book called, The Unexpected Evolution of Language by Justin Cord Hayes.

     If you are thinking where the heck would I get a book like that, let me tell you.  Barnes & Noble, Cherry Hill.  I bought it for myself just before I retired, figuring I’d have time to read it.  Apparently, I do. Here are a few examples:  janitrix, oratrix, victrix.   A female janitor, a female orator and a female victor.  It’s the kind of book that you dip into, read a page or two and then put it down for a few days.  Or, if you’re not into words, you might put it down forever. It’s a part of my summer reading!

      Frankly, I do love words.  When I was in Grade Three in John S. Read School, my grandmother sent me money for my birthday.  Did I ask for a doll?  No.  A board game?  No.  A puff-sleeved pink dress?  No.  I asked for a dictionary.  My mom and I set off for Lit Brothers department store in downtown Camden where they had a book section on the first floor..  I came home with a hardback Webster’s Illustrated Dictionary for Children and spent many happy hours with it curled on our maroon mohair (I think) sofa in North Camden.

      It’s a little sad, though, that it’s hot in here.  I got my hair cut today and the cute ‘do is melting.  But, I can get out The Unexpected Evolution of Language and forget about the heat.  Then, I’ll wash my hands and face and get a drink of water from the bathroom!

Written by Marguerite Ferra who made up the word complainatrix!

 

 

 

Tomorrow we’ll get a new air-conditioner.   

 

Writing with others gives confidence….