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Arimidex, Feminism, Fiftieth Birthday, Health Activist Writer's Challenge 2013, Language of Cancer, Marge Piercy, Mother Daughter Relationship, Poetry, Tamoxifen
vintage me . . . I’m still here
On the first day or the last day of every school year, I force my daughter to pose for a photograph. It’s just one of those non-negotiable traditional things that comes around but once a year. All I ask is that she smile while holding a sign declaring the grade level ahead of or behind her. She used to love it, but now she doesn’t and tries to avoid me in the rush of getting ready in the morning or in the throes of “really important” homework in the evening. The latter doesn’t fly on the last day of school, but I wouldn’t put it past my darling girl to…
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Bullying, Health Activist Writer's Challenge 2013, Memoir, Memoir, Memory, Regrets, Seamus Heaney, Themes of childhood, Toxic Workplaces, Workplace Bullying, Workplace Mobbing
when a bully takes it back
NOTE: I am very happy in my current workplace, surrounded by smart people with whom I laugh and think and learn something new every day. Having escaped a very different environment, I write the following for anyone crushed by workplace bullying. ****************** The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it. ~ Albert Enstein If you have ever been targeted by a workplace bully, especially the kind with significant power or longevity in the organization, your best and only recourse may well have been to leave the situation. The dysfunction fueled by a…
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Art, Billy Collins, Health Activist Writer's Challenge 2013, Memoir, Memoir, Mother Daughter Relationship, Ordinary Things, Poetry, Writers
impressions of speed
VELOCITY by billy collins © Sophie Jones In the club car that morning I had my notebook open on my lap and my pen uncapped, looking every inch the writer right down to the little writer’s frown on my face, but there was nothing to write about except life and death and the low warning sound of the train whistle. I did not want to write about the scenery that was flashing past, cows spread over a pasture, hay rolled up meticulously — things you see once and will never see again. But I kept my pen moving by drawing over and over again the face of a motorcyclist in…
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9/11, Belfast, Boston Marathon 2013, Damian Gorman, Facebook, Health Activist Writer's Challenge 2013, Memoir, Northern Ireland, Poetry, Seamus Heaney, Seamus Heaney, Seamus Heaney, Soundtracks of our Lives, television, The Troubles, The Troubles
boston . . . without warning
Until September 11th, I had taken for granted the sense of security I felt as a woman who had traded in Northern Ireland for America. Foolishly, I had too quickly dropped my guard, almost forgetting anything can happen. I grew complacent and smug, confident that – unlike her mother – my American daughter would never have to look twice at an unattended shopping bag that had been simply forgotten by someone in a hurry, or that she would never find herself standing stock still with her arms over her head to be searched before proceeding through airport security, or wonder while poring over international headlines, how a complete stranger could hate…
