tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11453578148102224422024-02-20T15:49:44.716-05:00They Told Me To WritePeople have always told me I should write. From teachers, to friends, to colleagues. I'm finally taking their advice!rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-59914805225321673062012-02-11T17:27:00.002-05:002012-02-11T17:33:11.392-05:00AftershockI wrote this several years ago and, while out with friends recently, was reminded of it. I searched my blog for it. I was sure I posed it. Apparently, I wasn't ready for a potential "aftershock". The good news is that although there are a few butterflies in my stomach as I prepare to share this post, I'm secure in who I am and ready for what's to come. Yes, I realize that very few people read my blog ... but it's still a risk anytime you put yourself out there.<br /><br />This is for all of you who may be living with "aftershocks". Hang in there, as they've been saying: it does get better.<br /><br />AFTERSHOCK<br /><br />The ground beneath your feet becomes unsteady. You feel your knees buckle. At first, your brain cannot register what is happening. You look around trying to understand, comprehend, make sense of it all. You continue to feel the violent vibrations through your entire body, your very soul. Is the whole world coming unglued or is it just your immediate surroundings? You’re so taken by surprise; it seems to last a lifetime. In actuality, it’s but mere seconds.<br /><br />To those you care about and love, this can be what it feels like when you “come out”; the moment when you finally, truly accept who you are and choose to say it out loud. The simple words of “I’m gay” can have the same devastating effects as an earthquake. For some, hard work and understanding can put the pieces back together. For others, the damage is permanent.<br /> <br />I’ve heard many coming out stories; I have my own. What isn’t discussed is how often you’ll have to come out. It really isn’t a one time thing. Granted, these other times aren’t as grandiose as the “big one”. They are more like aftershocks: not as big and powerful but still a potential for danger.<br /><br />I find myself having these aftershocks every time I’m with a new group who doesn’t know. I’m out in my life; I don’t try to hide my sexuality. I admit, I don’t walk up to people and say, “Hi, I’m Erika and I’m gay.” But I am proud of who I am. It’s taken me years to get here. Yet every time I have to come out again, I run the risk of confusion, rejection, or even violence.<br /><br />I long for the time when people can just be; when we are all accepted, respected, and valued for what we bring as individuals; when gone are the hesitations before an introduction, the anxious moments before the words escape your mouth, the awkward silence afterward. From what I’ve experienced I’m left with this; I must borrow the words of the great Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.: “I may not get there with you...” I can only hope that “... we as a people will get to the promised land.”rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-48430508925640413942012-01-25T19:37:00.003-05:002012-01-25T19:52:42.514-05:00You Just Never KnowWe walk trough life and we make connections with people. Sometimes they are brief ... no more than fleeting eye contact as you pass someone on the street. Other times you make a much deeper connection that you know will last a life time. Yet no matter the depth nor the length of that connection, you may never know the impact you have in that person's life.<br /><br />I was reminded of that recently. I only hope that I can make a difference in my students' lives. The reality is that I just don't know. But then ... out of nowhere ... I'm shown that I really did make a difference. That the impact I had was deep and lasting. That what I thought meant little, meant much, much more. <br /><br />Guess it really is true ... you just never know.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-52057025009296579022011-12-14T21:44:00.003-05:002011-12-14T22:11:38.732-05:00Miracle on 16th StreetLike many people, I listen to my iPod ... well, technically the iPod app on my iPhone, but you get the picture ... on my walk from the train to my school. It's about a 15 minute walk through Center City. I really enjoy it, despite the early hour in the morning (before 7am) and the lateness of the evening. I secure my headphones, pump up the volume, and begin the soundtrack.<br /><br />This morning, I wasn't quite myself. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I just wasn't "feeling it." As I began my journey down 16th street, a song came on that resonated with me. At first, there was something about the music that just felt right ... it somehow captured my mood. I really connected with it - so much so, that I replayed it. Then I listened to the words. And my "mood" suddenly had a voice. I was so connected, so completely in tune with this song, that I pressed the "loop" and listened to it continuously. <br /><br />Each time it played, I heard something different. In the beginning, I felt kind of sad ... the words describing my mood and giving it the words I couldn't. But, after hearing more and more each time, I began to feel validated, uplifted, inspired. It was beautiful.<br /><br />Just this alone is a small miracle to me. That music can fill you and connect with you on a level that goes beyond reason and understanding. Dare I call it "spiritual". Something, I'm happy to say happens with me quite often. But the even bigger miracle ... the true Miracle on 16th Street ... was that I had never heard that song before. I've been doing this walk - to and from work - since September. I've gone through my 600 plus songs a couple of times. But never this one. To add to the mystery, this song was named "Track 11". No name, no artist, no picture. <br /><br />Now, some may say that I just overlooked it other times - was walking on auto-pilot and just missed it. Or that I synced my iPhone with my computer and didn't realize I uploaded more songs. (I assure you neither of these things is the case.) I'm sure there are other, more rational explanations to be rendered.<br /><br />But for me, no matter the reason: whether I truly did hear it before and just didn't realize it or stopped my shuffle before I ever heard it (my son's counter) or whatever. To me, it's a miracle: the perfect song materialized at the perfect moment and touched my soul. <br /><br />Miracles really do happen everyday ... we just have to open our eyes - or, sometimes, our ears.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-63209026033775264012011-11-29T19:58:00.002-05:002011-11-29T20:17:14.311-05:00Beyond the LimitsJust when you want to remember something, your not-so-great-anymore memory fails you. At least, that's what happens to me :)<br /><br />I was searching J.R. Martinez on the Internet and stumbled onto his website. You might know him, he was this season's winner of Dancing with the Starts (yes, I'm a fan of the show). I wanted to know more about this inspirational, beautiful person.<br /><br />While I was on his site, I saw a quote ... he had "Inspired Quotes" listed throughout his site. This would be where my memory failed me. There was one that talked about trying to do more that you thought possible ... if you didn't try, how would you know what you could truly do?<br /><br />Now, that's not the exact quote. And, Mr. Martinez, if you happened to stumble upon this little blog, please accept my sincere apologies. I really did try to find the quote on his site. But you know how that goes: the quotes rotate and I still haven't gotten back to that one.<br /><br />At any rate ... I started thinking about that one. About pushing yourself to do more ... taking on more than you can handle ... going the extra mile ... giving 110% ... etc., etc. I've been feeling a bit of that lately with the move to my new teaching position. It's been great. But a little overwhelming at times. And I just didn't know of "pushing" yourself to do more was really the way to go.<br /><br />Then I read the quote. And I started thinking about it in another way. It's not that you have to give up everything in the pursue of one thing isolated thing. But, if you don't try to push past your comfort level, grow as a person and individual, challenge yourself, reach for the stars ... then, will you ever know the extend of your greatness?<br /><br />I have to thank Mr. Martinez. (I'd love to call him J.R. but the reality is that I don't know him well enough. And, I guess I'm just a little old-fashioned when it comes to things like this.) Thank you for being an inspiration. Thank you for challenging yourself and doing a little show called Dancing With the Stars. Thank you for your website. Thank you for living the type of life that made me want to know more about you. And, thank you for posting inspirational quotes that make people like me think.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-13129841974641183232011-10-29T13:30:00.002-04:002011-10-29T13:45:48.945-04:00Commit to Holding the DoorI was on my way home. A bit discouraged to be honest. Not overwhelming sad or ready to throw in the towel. But not really "feeling it" if you know what I mean. I guess you could say I was in a funk.<br /><br />Anyway, I was walking to the train. Had my headphones on as usual. Listening to music. Trying to put the day behind me. Perhaps some of you have been there. My music was up loud. I wasn't really looking at anything ... I think my head was down most of the time. Try as I may to forget, I was reliving my day: not any of the successes - and yes, there were quite a few. Just replaying over and over all the mistakes and mishaps. Where I went wrong. Things I could have done better. How I wasn't the teacher I wanted to be ... or, maybe even the teacher the kids needed me to be.<br /><br />At any rate, there I was, moving along, heading for the train, down the stairs to the familiar doors. <br /><br />But something rather unfamiliar happened. As I looked up, someone was holding the door for me. And I mean HOLDING THE DOOR. I wasn't really close. You know the gesture: you're practically on someone's heels and they push the door enough so it won't hit you in the face. No. This person was actually HOLDING the door. She had committed to making my life just a little easier by holding open the door for me. Even though she didn't have to.<br /><br />I kid you not when I say it changed my life in that moment. Suddenly, I had an epiphany. Things really weren't so bad. I could see the successes, the achievements, the things I had done right. In that moment, I realized that it was the little things that truly mattered. You know: Rome wasn't build in a day, the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, etc., etc. Only this time, I really believed it.<br /><br />In this one, small yet significant move, this total stranger ... who I'll probably never see again (and even if I did wouldn't know it) ... helped me see the light. Little things do make a BIG difference.<br /><br />So, I challenge you: commit to holding the door. You never know who you might inspire.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-14113987735751935982011-09-04T11:05:00.005-04:002011-10-02T19:45:38.483-04:00I Wanna Be Like Mike ... Well, sort ofNo. I'm not athletic. Not in the least little bit. But I can relate ... in a very small way ... with Michael Jordan. <br /><br />I wouldn't call myself a superstar - the elite of the elite like Michael was in his career. But I will say that in my teaching career, I was on top of my game. I was good at what I did and was cruising along at a nice altitude. Don't get me wrong, I still tried to find ways to improve. Was never totally satisfied with how I was doing. My motto: I was only as good a teacher as my lowest performing student. In other words, no matter how well I was doing, I knew there was so much more I still needed to do.<br /><br />Enter Mike. Three consecutive championships. World recognition. Iconic celebrity status. He had it all. So what did he do? He walked away from that game he so identified with and took up something completely different: baseball. He followed his heart and pursued his dream of becoming a baseball player. <br /><br />I too had a dream. And, due to circumstances beyond my control - beyond the control of many to be totally honest - I wasn't living it. I'm passionate about learning and creativity and education and children. I had a choice. I could stay where I was comfortable ... continuing cruising and being "on my game". Or I could take a risk. Step away from the familiar and pursue my passion.<br /><br />This is where Mike and I connect. My journey took me to unfamiliar territory. I'm still teaching - similar to Mike still being an athlete. But out of my comfort zone. There are moments when I feel confident and others where I feel lost. One minute I'm soaring high - the next I'm plummeting into the abyss. I've got it all together and I'm falling apart at the seams. And I'm so HAPPY. <br /><br />It took guts for Michael Jordan to put himself out there like he did. I'm not going to debate his motives; I'm simply admiring what he dared to do. And, now, I can say I followed in his footsteps just a bit.<br /><br />Things are going better now. And I'm growing in ways I would have never imagined. But, had I not stepped out on that leap of faith, if I hadn't been willing to fail, if I hadn't tried to "be like Mike", I may have never gotten to this point. I urge you to do push yourself, to dare to dream, to dare to grow. In essence: to be like Mike.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-75770076718333584732011-08-04T16:40:00.002-04:002011-08-04T17:03:36.434-04:00Enjoy Life's JourneyI've just come back from traveling to New Zealand. An amazing, mystical, beautiful, awe-inspiring place. But that's for another post.<br /><br />One of the incredible things that came out of visiting New Zealand was the people I met. One of which gave me the title to this post: Enjoy Life's Journey.<br /><br />How many of us do just that? Enjoy Life's Journey? How many of us even consider life as a "Journey"?<br /><br />I'm so happy I went on this trip. I'm so happy that I didn't let things get in the way. I'm happy I didn't worry about the time, or money, or if I should go. I'm happy I just accepted this wonderful opportunity to Enjoy Life's Journey.<br /><br />And, so, in honor of all those who I met during this trip who took this to heart, I'd like to mention just a few.<br /><br />-My friend's uncle ... the one who gave me the saying. He has what is called a "life style" property where he has a deer farm. He does this not for profit. Or to feed his family. He does it just because he enjoys it. <br /><br />-The man I met while trying to hike a glacier. Well ... he was successfully hiking. I was failing. Trying ... but failing nonetheless. He waited for me and kept me company for a while. In striking up a conversation, I found out that he had just gotten married. He and his wife decided to take a year off and travel ... while they could still enjoy it.<br /><br />-Our bus driver whose family decided to keep the Maori culture alive by creating a pre-European Maori village and sharing their culture with people like me. He kept us entertained by translating Kia Ora in about 60 different languages using a fairly good, if not stereo typical, accent for each. (You should have heard his "sufer-dude" American accent!) He also sang "The Wheels of the Bus" while driving round and round ... and round and round ... the roundabout.<br /><br />-My friend's father. Although his home had a totally spectacular view, he built an amazing, self-enclosed, mini rainforest. Just because.<br /><br />And there were more. So many, many more. I consider them all teachers. And I'm so thankful for the lessons they taught me.<br /><br />Now, I'm passing the lesson onto you. As said so simply and beautifully: Enjoy Life's Journey.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-45753272739186204362011-06-19T13:40:00.003-04:002011-06-19T13:53:42.813-04:00Attending Your Own FuneralOK, so the title's a little morbid. But hang in there ... I promise there's a point.<br /><br />This week, I officially say good-bye to the only school where I've ever taught. It's bittersweet. I'm excited about my new position in an incredible school. But, I'm sad to leave the students whom I've grown so attached, the Drama Club that I've created (and, quite frankly, am scared silly that it will not continue), and the friends I've made.<br /><br />Now getting to the title. Last week, I was blessed to attend my own funeral. By that I mean that I felt all the love, support, affection, and gratitude that's usually reserved for ... well ... one's funeral. Over the course of three days, I cried, laughed, reminisced, and celebrated with students, parents, and colleagues both privately and publicly. The amazing thing was that I didn't have to wait to receive it. Yes, technically I had to wait until I was <span style="font-style:italic;">leaving</span> before I got it. But at least I wasn't dead.<br /><br />But seriously. It was incredible. Words cannot properly describe it. I would imagine it's what winning the Superbowl is like in your last season having never won a Superbowl before. It's a gift I couldn't have imagined getting. One I will never, ever forget. I don't think they will every truly understand how much it meant to me. <br /><br />So, I encourage you all to attend your own funeral. And for others to give someone you really care about a fitting funeral ... now ... while they can enjoy it. I mean it. Don't wait. Don't wait until it's too late to show or tell someone how much they meant to you. Don't wait to say "I love you" or "I appreciate you" or "You've meant the world to me." Don't wait until their about to leave ... don't let it get to that point. <br /><br />Say it now. Say it boldly. Say it often. Say it from the heart. Most importantly ... say it.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-16865066492218216962011-04-16T17:53:00.003-04:002011-04-16T18:20:32.340-04:00It's only words ... or is it?"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me."<br /><br />I remember chanting that when I was young. I don't remember when I learned it or who taught it to me. But I suspect it was one of those life lessons what my Grandmother lovingly taught me to help cope with the uglier side of life.<br /><br />Recently, I heard a comment from someone that made me question this little mantra. I won't go into too many details. I truly don't think this person meant any harm. I'm not even sure she realized what she said. I don't for a minute think she reads my blog ... but you never know. And I'd rather air on the side of caution.<br /><br />The comment was made about a child, thrown out casually during a normal exchange with other children. And I thought it was the kind of comment that could be hurtful. Sadly, I didn't say anything. I just let it happen, only shaking my head after I left the scene.<br /><br />But as I was walking, shaking my head, it dawned on me. I heard the "sticks and stones" chant. And I realized that it really isn't the sticks and stones that do the most damage in life. How many of us can say we've been hurt by sticks and stones? How many of us can say that it has been objects coming at us that have hurt us? <br /><br />Now, I don't mean to say there isn't violence in the word and that people aren't physically harmed. I know this is true. It happens too often and it's horrifying. But even in these cases, aren't there often words involved too?<br /><br />My point is that words DO hurt. And they leave a bruise that no one can see. Sadly, they can sometimes hurt more and last longer than the outward bruises that come with the "sticks and stones".<br /><br />I guess what I'm saying is that we need to remember that what we say can, and often does, affect people. They're not <span style="font-style:italic;">just</span> words. They carry power and meaning with them.<br /><br />Yes, only we have the power to let others affect us with their words. But we also have the power to choose what we say. To uplift and inspire rather than tear down and destroy. <br /><br />I think part of why I'm writing this post is because I had a choice. I knew something was said that probably hurt a child. Unintentional though it may have been, still it was said. I stood there with the choice to try and counteract those words. Perhaps, even the power to combat them. Yet, I remained silent.<br /><br />If you take something from this post, take this: sticks and stones <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> words can hurt. And we have control over all of them.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-28963591900608939012011-03-13T12:04:00.002-04:002011-03-13T12:24:47.079-04:00The Mustard SeedSome of you may be familiar with the "mustard seed" story. You know, the one from the bible. Don't worry - this isn't going to be a sermon - you don't have to stop reading the blog. <br /><br />I've grown up hearing that story. Perhaps you have too. But I have to admit that I never really "got it". Faith the size of a mustard seed ... what is that?<br /><br />I always thought you needed to be so "together". And if you weren't ... well, then, I guess you didn't have enough faith. If you had doubts or were unsure. If you weren't doing your best or couldn't figure out what to do next. If you shook your head in defeat or sat sobbing not even sure why. You did these things because you didn't have what it took ... you didn't have enough faith. (I've done all these things and more, by the way.)<br /><br />I've admired so many people who have seemed to have this capacity to always see the bright side and hold on when everything around them is telling them to let go. Famous people and everyday folks alike. How did they do it? How did they manage to hang in there when I so often couldn't? What was I doing wrong? Why wasn't I as strong as they?<br /><br />It wasn't until recently ... very recently - like two weeks ago ... that I finally understood. <br /><br />I was having a bad day a work. We've all been there, right? A fellow teacher asked me what was wrong. She said she could see it all over my face. I told her I just didn't have it that day. I didn't have it in me to fix my face, to give a stiff upper lip, to pull it all together. I was just holding on. It was all I could do. And I felt like a failure. Here I was at work and I was letting what was bothering me show though like glass. What kind of person was I?<br /><br />But that's the secret ... that's the "mustard seed". No, I wasn't able to give it my all ... the full strength I usually have. But I <span style="font-style:italic;">was</span> holding on. I <span style="font-style:italic;">was</span> standing up. I <span style="font-style:italic;">was</span> at work, after all. And functioning at some capacity. I hadn't given up. It may not have been much. But it was a "mustard seed's" worth. And that was enough for that moment.<br /><br />Later that day, I got some news that pepped me up. My face got brighter ... I wasn't looking so down in the mouth. I was able to stand a bit straighter and be more of myself. That "mustard seed" had gotten me though.<br /><br />So, I now know. I finally understand. It's not that you have to have it <span style="font-style:italic;">all</span> always. Sometimes, you just need a "mustard seed's" worth.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-63538730687548951912011-02-06T16:47:00.003-05:002011-02-06T17:15:19.132-05:00Doorways to New BeginningsI have a thing about doors. I know ... strange ... doors. Why doors? I'm not sure when it began but I started noticing them. I mean really noticing them. How beautiful they were. Some simple in design and material used. Some intricate and ornate, complex in both design and scope. Believe it or not, I wanted to create a museum of doors. Really ... honest.<br /><br />My "door thing" revved into full gear on a trip to Russia. I went with a bunch of Special Education teachers with People to People. In addition to talking with our Russian counterparts in education, we, of course, saw the sites. Russia is an amazing place, rich in history and culture. Otherworldly, in a way that places we never imagined we would ever see can often be. Oh ... but their doors. <br /><br />I was fascinated, intrigued, captivated. I had to reach out and touch every door I saw. That became the running joke: There's Erika touching another door! I actually got reprimanded by a guard in one of the museums. Oops. Guess I wasn't supposed to touch that one.<br /><br />Somehow, reaching out and touching the doors helped me to connect to the history, the grandeur of it all. Someone took the time to consider the door - how it should look. They had a vision for this structure. And they knew that the door was the opening to it all. It would set the tone for how people would be received, how people would be embraced. Would they be intimidated, feel threatened? Would they understand that the occupants were formidable opponents? Or would they instantly sense an air of welcoming and friendship? Did they, as I did upon entering one of the oldest cathedrals, feel an instant divine reverence ... a hush as if they knew they were entering sacred ground?<br /><br />I guess at the heart of my obsession is the idea of what doors represent: they are the beginning, the gateway to possibilities, the openings to new worlds. All we have to do is reach out and open up.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-60833655621214248492011-01-18T20:37:00.002-05:002011-01-18T20:54:03.691-05:00Opening Up to PossibilitiesI pride myself in never asking my students to do something I wouldn't do myself. It's something I tell them all the time. And, I truly believed that I was practicing what I preached.<br /><br />Recently, I realize that I was doing my students a great injustice. Every day, I was asking them ... insisting really ... to do something that I was not demanding of myself. <br /><br />I stress how important it is for them to always, and I do mean ALWAYS, do their very best, never let anyone tell them what they can or cannot do, live up to their fullest potential, and never give their choices away. Sound advice. I would tolerate no less.<br /><br />Sadly, what I realize is that I have not been demanding the same of myself. Not really. <br /><br />I wasn't trying not too ... on the contrary - I thought I was. But what I've come to accept is that I'm simply not. I know I have more potential in me than I allow out, although I strive to do my best, I don't seek out the optimal situations to do it in, I let others define me and accept those definitions as my own. In short - I'm not practicing what i'm preaching.<br /><br />So as I begin this new year, I've brought a new focus into my life. It's not a "resolution" - I've never been big on those. They're just too easy to break. It's more of a focus on life. It's pretty simple but, if I can do it everyday, it will be extremely powerful.<br /><br />Open myself up to all possibilities ... each and every day ... one day at a time. <br /><br />That's it. But I know by doing this, really focusing on doing this every minute of every day, I will be more true to my students. And, more importantly, to myself.<br /><br />The cool thing is that not only do I have a new focus for the year, I have a new focus for my blog. Welcome to my journey. I hope you'll hang on for the ride. And, by the way, thank you for reading, following ... whatever it is you do. I so completely appreciate it and I never take it for granted.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-87537838323151989712010-12-15T20:53:00.002-05:002010-12-15T21:06:23.399-05:00Lady Liberty"Give me your tired, your poor,<br />Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,<br />The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.<br />Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,<br />I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"<br /><br />I've been thinking about this poem - well, this part of the larger poem, as I just learned. Sadly, I only knew the "Give me your tired, your poor ... " part. Until a very good friend of mine, a New Yorker, filled me in on "The wretched refuse of your teeming shore" section. Not until I looked it up before posting this blog did I know that there was even more. But I digress. <br /><br />The reason I've been thinking about this poem is related to what I do ... teach. More specifically, a Special Education teacher. I find that in my profession, I'm often serving the 20%. For those of you not in education the 20% is the compliment to the 80% you should reach for "mastery". Ideally, once you've hit 80% you can safely more on to other material. <br /><br />"But what about the other 20%," you ask? Well, that's where I come in. And this is where the poem began to ring true for me. The 20% is often the "tired, poor, huddled masses ... the wretched refuse". Now, no teacher would willingly admit to viewing any student like this ... but. These are the kids that often cause trouble, the ones who can't seem to follow the rules, those who threaten to pull the scores down.<br /><br />But for me, these are just kids. Beautiful, amazing, talented kids who, for one reason or another, may struggle in the more traditional sense of education. I see them for all the potential they possess and not as "the wretched refuse". If they aren't succeeding, it's not their fault. It's because I've failed them as their teacher. For it is my job to reach them, to find a way to help them succeed, to make the material relevant to their lives.<br /><br />So, in this small way, I connect with Lady Liberty. Thank you for giving me the torch to light my way.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-81442615719533329912010-11-25T11:11:00.003-05:002010-11-25T11:26:56.440-05:00Truly ThankfulIt's Thanksgiving. And I just finished watching "Eat, Pray, Love" with my mom and one of my sisters. Believe me, this is not a blog about the movie nor is it a plug. (Not that I didn't enjoy it.) But, without watching it and the comments that were made, I might not have this blog.<br /><br />During the movie, I commented on how it might be nice to live in Bali - the scenery during this portion of the movie was simply breathtaking. And the home where Julia Robert's character lived was ... well ... I can only describe it as a dream. I love to travel and haven't done it nearly enough. So, as I watched, I was thinking of all the places I'd like to add to my list. And how wonderful it must be to actually take time off - maybe a year as in the movie - to do it.<br /><br />My sister was kind enough to remind me, at that very moment, that this was not real. "You do know this is a movie," she prompted. Way to burst my bubble, sis.<br /><br />Of course I knew it was a movie. But there are spectacular places in the world that do exists and I would like to see them someday. Wonderful, breathtaking, life changing places that have to be seen to be experienced. And I want to experience them all.<br /><br />So, as I started thinking more and more about this, I realized some of the things that I'm thankful for. Most things I think about, and mention out loud, have to do with things outside myself. Well, this Thanksgiving, and on my blog, I'm thankful for things that are inside me.<br /><br />I'm thankful for my passionate spirit.<br />I'm thankful that I still wonder at all there is in life.<br />I'm thankful for my ability to imagine.<br />I'm thankful that I'm still curious.<br />I'm thankful that my heart and soul are big enough to love unconditionally.<br />I'm thankful that I can see a movie and consider the possibilities that it inspires.<br /><br />There's so much inside me ... and so much more to come. What better reason to be thankful.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-47950499307205721052010-08-17T11:02:00.002-04:002010-08-17T11:26:28.370-04:00I've Been Away A WhileSo, as you can see, I've been away for a while. I didn't mean to abandon my blog, or turn my back on my followers. By the way, thank you for following me. I now see that I have three followers - I don't know when I went from 2 to 3 but, seriously, Wow! - I am very excited and grateful. <br /><br />My "hiatus" was due to the concerns of a very important person in my life. This person ... who, yes, will remain nameless ... deals with another side of society than most of us do. She sees all that is ugly, sick, demented, hateful, maybe even evil in the human spirit. Because of this, her perspective on the Internet and social media is one of apprehension and caution. Because if this, I pulled back on my interaction. I no longer have a Twitter account and, therefore, do not tweet. (Sorry for any of you out there who use to follow me.) And I stopped blogging ... but I just didn't have the heart to take it down completely.<br /><br />I think the Internet and social media is like anything else in our society. It is not, in and of itself, evil - or good for that matter. It's an inanimate object. It is what people do with it that makes it something else. I hear so many negative things about texting, blogging, tweeting, Facebooking, etc'ing. These things are not the ills of society. They aren't making our kids social idiots. They're just "things". It's how our kids use them, or the extent to which they use them, that may impact their socialization.<br /><br />Think back to the telephone. No, I was not around when it was first invented. But I was fortunate enough to hear stories from my great-grandmother about when her family first go one. Imagine what it might have been like - this thing that would destroy the human ability to write letters, communicate effectively, drain people's brains through continuous use. I do remember my grandmother warning me about the "boob-tube". Yes, television ... another rotter of human minds. Trust me, I agree that too much TV viewing is unhealthy and I closely monitor my son's intake. But think of all that we are able to experience and learn through television. Where would I be without Sesame Street, School House Rock, the Discovery Channel? And don't get me started on email. I remember when a person would never, EVER send a resume via email. It was considered the epitome of unprofessionalism! And just think of where we are now. Email is a standard form of business communication and most employers actually <span style="font-style:italic;">prefer</span> a resume in electronic form.<br /><br />I guess what I am saying is that it really isn't technology or new inventions that ruin society. It's what we choose to do with them that makes or breaks it. So, I will take the advice I've been so lovingly given about the ills of the Internet and social media and I will be cautious and as careful as a person can. But, I will also continue to do what I love to do. Write. And I'll try my best to do it fairly regularly ... right here on my very own blog.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-62301063486276186082010-03-02T22:43:00.003-05:002010-03-02T22:45:26.900-05:00Memories of MerrikMy son asked me to list about 10 memories of his life. Something he needed for a school project. I had such a good time reliving precious moments that I couldn't resist posting them. I hope you will endulge me a bit.<br /><br /><br /><br />When I was pregnant with Merrik, he loved to kick! His favorite place was up underneath my ribs ... especially at night when I was sleeping.<br /><br />The first time I saw Merrik after his delivery was in the NICU. I was so worried about him and if we would be OK. The doctor told me this was just a precaution - he would be fine - but I wanted to see for myself. Boy ... did I ever see for myself! There he was, a whopping 8 pounds 12 ounces, laying flat on his back, sprawled out. Serving as bookends were two premature babies. I prayed those mothers didn’t come while I was there. I would have been so embarrassed!<br /><br />In the hospital, we had Merrik circumcised. A decision I didn’t take lightly. Again, I worried about my baby. Again, the doctor assured me that he would be OK. “This is a routine procedure,” she said. When they finally brought him back to my room, I was anxious to hold him in my arms. I reached out, took Merrik from the doctor, and saw the look on his face. He didn’t cry ... he didn’t make a sound. He just sat there, staring at me, with this angry look on his face like “you did this to me.” I spent the rest of the night saying I was sorry.<br /><br />As some people know (mother’s mostly, I assume) babies actually loose weight right after they are born. It’s perfectly normal and they quickly regain it soon after arriving home. Not my son. Merrik actually gained weight. It was only two ounces but when you’re expected to loose weight, it’ a pretty big deal. So big, in fact, that the nurses weighed him twice ... then told all the other nurses. <br /><br />One of my favorite sayings when Merrik was a toddler, “Up me, Mommy. Up me.” He would look up at me with his hands in the air, opening and closing his little fists. So cute.<br /><br />A terrifying memory: It was right after Merrik started sleeping in a toddler bed. He had outgrown his crib and was doing quite well in his “big boy bed”. One night, I was awoken to the most blood-curdling scream I have ever heard. I sat straight up trying to determine what that sound could have been. Then I heard it again. It was my child ... Merrik. Someone must be attacking him. Oh, no! Someone must of gotten into the house and is hurting my baby! I jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to his room. Merrik was on his back, eyes wide open, body stiff as a board, screaming. I grabbed him in my arms ... he must be in terrible pain. I called his name, tried to hold him close to me, rocked him. But nothing worked. His body remained rigid. His screams never subsided. My words of comfort did nothing. After what seemed like an eternity, as quickly and mysteriously as it had started, it stopped. And Merrik was fast asleep. I was later told that what Merrik experienced was called “night terrors”. The good news: Merrik would be fine. He would eventually grow out of it and remember nothing. The bad news: I would never EVER be the same again.<br /><br />When Merrik learned to ride a tricycle, I would take him around the block. He would peddle, pumping his little legs, laughing, having the time of his life. Along our journey, there was a garage that looked like a barn door. Each time we passed, Merrik would exclaim, “Look Mommy! A barn, a barn!” Each and every time. And I would act surprised, as if I hadn’t seen it before.<br /><br />A ritual. When Merrik went to daycare, he developed his own unique way of greeting me when I came to pick him up at the end of the day. When he saw me come through the door, he would jump up and charge at me full speed, jumping into an enormous hug. I loved it. Of course, until he kept getting bigger and heavier and still wanted to run at me full speed and jump into a hug.<br /><br />Merrik’s first year in school. The local paper decided to do an article on the “little school that could”. Amazingly, or not so amazingly for anyone who has actually met Merrik, among the entire student body, the reporter found a charming young lad and chose to interview him.<br /><br />Merrik was in an after school program at St. Barnabas. When I picked him up, he could be found playing games, running around, talking with other students or the adults (who, by the way, were totally enthralled with him and his conversations). One day during third grade, he was sitting with one of the teachers playing Connect Four. I started to say something but was met with a harsh “shhhhhhhh!” from onlookers. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Apparently, Merrik had been playing for almost an hour, continually beating the adult ... legitimately beating the adult. It was like he was in a trance; staring only at the game board. Placing in his pieces one-by-one. When he achieved victory, he uttered not a word. He simply pointed out his “four”, slid the lever to clear the board, and began again. <br /><br />A mother’s worse nightmare. We were out at a mall. Merrik was about 10 or 11. Old enough to linger behind, giving his all to appear like he wasn’t a with me. I hadn’t realized that the gap between us had grown so great until I was outside and heard a man calling ... screaming actually ... “Miss! Miss! Is this your son?” Oh, dear God. What did he do? (Sadly, although Merrik was not one to actually “do” anything in public to warrant this response, it was the one that came to mind.) “Yes, he is.” “Well, I just had to come out and tell you what a fine, young gentleman he is. He has such good manners - something you don’t see too often anymore. I’m telling you, he’ll get far in life. You should be proud.” And, indeed, I was.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-84598516170213970182010-02-28T17:06:00.002-05:002010-02-28T17:15:47.447-05:00To all the educators out thereMy principal emailed this to the staff. One of the best things she's ever sent. <br /><br /><br />WHAT DO TEACHERS MAKE?<br /><br />The dinner guests were sitting around the table discussing life.<br /><br />One man, a CEO, decided to explain the problem with education. He argued,<br />"What's a kid going to learn from someone who decided his best option in<br />life was to become a teacher?"<br /><br />To stress his point he said to another guest; "You're a teacher, Barbara .<br />Be honest. What do you make?"<br /><br />Barbara, who had a reputation for honesty and frankness replied, "You want<br />to know what I make? (She paused for a second, then began...)<br /><br />"Well, I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.<br />I make a C+ feel like the Congressional Medal of Honor winner.<br /><br />"I make kids sit through 40 minutes of class time when their parents can't<br />make them sit for 5 without an iPod, Game Cube or movie rental. <br /><br />"You want to know what I make? (She paused again and looked at each and <br />every person at the table) I make kids wonder. I make them question.<br /><br />"I make them apologize and mean it. I make them have respect and take <br />responsibility for their actions. <br /><br />"I teach them to write and then I make them write. <br />Keyboarding isn't everything.I make them read, read, read.<br />I make them show all their work in math. They use their God given brain, <br />not the man-made calculator.<br /><br />"I make my students from other countries learn everything they need to <br />know about English while preserving their unique cultural identity. <br /><br />"I make my classroom a place where all my students feel safe. <br />I make my students stand, placing their hand over their heart to say the <br />Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag, One Nation Under God, because we live in<br />the United States of America.<br /><br />"Finally, I make them understand that if they use the gifts they were given,<br />work hard, and follow their hearts, they can succeed in life."<br /><br />Barbara paused one last time and then continued.<br /><br />"Then, when people try to judge me by what I make, with me knowing money<br />isn't everything, I can hold my head up high and pay no attention because<br />they are ignorant.<br /><br />"You want to know what I make? I MAKE A DIFFERENCE. What do you make Mr. CEO?"<br /><br />His jaw dropped; he went silent.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-34287605437998228312010-02-12T09:45:00.002-05:002010-02-12T09:56:41.315-05:00High PraiseAs I've blogged before, I'm truly grateful for social media. It has helped me reconnect with old friends, stay in touch with current friends and family, and meet new people and organizations.<br /><br />Recently, I was "chatting" with my nephew on Facebook. (He's away for his first year of college - Facebook is a godsend.) Some how, the chat turned to the seasons. I told him how Fall was my favorite and a few reasons why: the spectacular, brilliant colors; the crisp air - cool enough for sweaters yet warm enough to leave the coat at home; the crunch of leaves under your feet; the light smell of burning wood as fireplaces are brought to life.<br /><br />In response, my wonderful, beautiful, artistic nephew replied, "Auntie, you should write a book; maybe a book of poetry." <br /><br />By far, this was some of the highest praise my writing has ever received. To think that a young, gifted, talent such as my nephew would be interested at all in me or my writing was pretty special. Yes ... he's my nephew. Yes ... he loves me. Yes ... he may be a bit biased. But ... still ... he didn't have to comment at all.<br /><br />Thank you, Junior, for caring enough to comment. This post if for you. My little way of saying "Thank You" and "Happy Birthday".<br /><br />Much love.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-81438530367613748002010-02-03T22:07:00.002-05:002010-02-03T22:27:28.006-05:00Oprah vs. OperaWell, I read my last post - after it was up, of course, and realized that I had spelled Oprah. Oprah, if you're out there and you just happened to stumble across my blog and just happened to be bored enough to read it, please accept my sincere apologies. " : )<br /><br />As you may have noticed, I am a bad speller. No ... really ... a horrible speller. I have been all of my life. I can remember being in 3rd grade and purposely mis-spelling a word I knew so that I could be out of the spelling bee before I was really embarrassed. Then, there was 5th grade when the only solace after a Friday spelling test was getting to hear my teacher read "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe". I let the world of Narnia take be away from the reality that I had failed a spelling test ... again. I think it was around middle school - maybe even high school - when I realized that I had spelled "tomorrow" wrong my whole life and no one seemed to tell me until then. <br /><br />My wonderful, loving grandmother, who raised me and was a special education teacher, would tell me to "look it up" when I asked her to help me spell a word. What! Look it up? Like in a dictionary? If any of you out there are non-spellers, you can appreciate the irony of this form of "help". For those of you who have the natural affinity for spelling and may not understand, let me help you. When you cannot spell a word, the absolute worse thing you can do is tell the person to go "look it up"! If I don't know how to SPELL the word, what makes you think I can LOOK UP the word! Again, I say "seriously". I was such a bad speller that I could be looking through the entire section of "T's" before finding "tomorrow". And don't get me started if the word started with a vowel!<br /><br />Thankfully, sometime during my college years, I discovered this wonderful thing called "spell check". It saved my spelling life. finally, there was something that could help me with my poor spelling. You see, I can read the word; I just can't spell it. During school, my reading level was always several grades ahead while my spelling was several grades below. Something my special educator grandmother recognized as probably a mild learning disability but never bothered to tell me until I was in my 20s.<br /><br />The good news is that my poor spelling never held me back. I finished high school, went onto college, and am now a teacher. Before teaching, I was even a secretary, believe it or not. I was able to overcome my "learning disability" or whatever it is. Thankfully, I had a supportive family who never, for one moment, made me think that I would be anything less but successful.<br /><br />Think about this the next time you encounter one of your students who just doesn't seem to get a concept, Yet again. After explaining it for the 5th time. Yes, this child could be the most annoying person who, if he would just pay attention, would be able to learn what you are teaching. Then again, she may be just like me. Intelligent, capable, curious, talented. Just a really lousy speller.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-71894139591055347352010-01-24T22:15:00.002-05:002010-01-24T22:29:52.756-05:00Passions of LifeI don't watch Opera regularly but I do like her "Things I Know That I Know". For me, one of the "Things That I Know That I Know" is that life is really not worth living if you don't have a passion. <br /><br />As you've probably figured out from reading my blog - if anyone besides my one follower is actually reading my blog! - is that I am a teacher. This is one of my passions in life. And I consider myself blessed to be able to have my passion as my career. However, I'm also blessed that teaching is only one of my many passions. Others include reading, writing, children, natural hair. The list goes on.<br /><br />The important thing for everyone is that you find the passion in your life. And we all have them and for those of you who think that you don't - think again. Remember being a little kids and becoming lost in something. Maybe it was playing trucks or dolls or riding your bike. But I'm sure it was SOMETHING. Think of what you would do, or want to do, even if you weren't being paid.<br /><br />That's the point. There is something in our lives that makes our hearts sing. Find that. Connect with that. Hold on to that. And if someone tries to tell you to grow up or that your passion is childish, pointless, ridiculous - ignore them. Pity them. Pray that they find their passion.<br /><br />Let it fill you. Let it hold you. Let it support you in the darkest times. Let it surround you in the best of times. Most of all, let it be you.<br /><br /><br />This post is dedicated to my one follower - Dan. One of the most caring and compassionate humans beings I've be privileged to know. I thank social networking for reintroducing me to this gentle soul.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-59808106790160520092009-12-27T10:20:00.008-05:002009-12-27T10:33:46.176-05:002 Little WordsIt's amazing the power of words. Never underestimate them. As a teacher, I have the power to build up or tear down - all with the power of my words. I hope fellow educators realize this. We all should realize the power our words have. <br /><br />Here is a journal entry from my time with the Writing Project:<br /><br /><br />This morning’s discussion with the jigsaw articles, especially “Helping African American Males Reach Their Potential” was so powerful. I don’t know if it was the topic or that we initiated the discussion rather than the facilitators or what but it was the most lively and interesting discussion all week!<br /><br />This is the type of environment I love and thrive in: passionate, heated, opinionated exchange of dialog. I, like the author, am so connected to the topic of African American male achievement. Not only do I teach African American males, I have two at home. Making sure they live up to their potential and achieve is a constant topic in our home. <br /><br />They are in a positive light: surrounded by examples of academic success; two parental figures in the home both with college degrees, middle class environment; exposure to a variety of elements conducive to the academic world including travel, music, theater; high expectations with the support to achieve them; positive adult support structure. And still we worry about them academically and their future. We fully realize that we may have to pay for High School to ensure they have the best learning experience to make them competitive for college. <br /><br />Then I think about my students who don’t have nearly as many resources as my children. As somone said during our discussion, I fight even harder for them.<br /><br />Which takes me to the idea of expectations. I’m still bothered by the idea of “at least”. They are only two little, one-syllable words, yet they speak volumes. To me, you lower anything you put them in front of. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">At least</span> you’re off the streets.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">At least</span> you’re not in jail.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">At least</span> you go to school.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">At least</span> you went to college.<br /><br />At least implies that there’s no more to do – or if you do achieve more it’s “gravy”. The expectation implied by at least is that you weren’t supposed to make it to where you are, the thing you put behind those two words. What power we yield with those two words. You have the power to knock someone down, to crush their dreams, to stifle their motivation. You’ve taken away what they are supposed to do or what you expect them to do. You are saying, “I expected you to do less so at least you are doing the minimal above that expectation.” <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">At least</span>; the minimal.<br /><br />I expected you to end up in the streets – <span style="font-style:italic;">at least</span> you're not.<br />I expected you to be in jail – <span style="font-style:italic;">at least</span> you’re not.<br />I expected you to drop out of school – <span style="font-style:italic;">at least</span> you did not.<br />I expected you to never make it to college – <span style="font-style:italic;">at least</span> you did that.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-7432372370062881902009-12-13T21:58:00.002-05:002009-12-13T22:00:45.578-05:00Reaction to "Girl"A great way to connect with a book ... for yourself or your students. Write a reaction to something you've read. I had to do this to a text called "Girl". In quotes is the portion I chose to write my reaction to.<br /><br />“… this is how to behave in the presence of men who don’t know you very well, and this way they won’t recognize immediately the slut I have warned you against becoming …”<br /><br /><br /><br />Mama, I don’t want to become a slut. I want to be a good girl. I really do. I’m trying so hard to do as you say. I want to obey you. I want you to be proud of me. But, mama, I also want to grow to love someone. I sometimes think about boys. I know I’m not supposed to, I know. But, mama, isn’t it OK to think about a boy, a nice boy mama, someone you would like. Because I do, sometimes I think about what it would be like to hold his hand or have him say I’m beautiful. Maybe even ask me to take a walk or go to a dance. Wouldn’t that be all right, mama? Wouldn’t it be OK if a nice boy asked me to go on a walk? If he came to you and papa and asked your permission first so you know he’s a good boy? If it happened that way, mama, then I wouldn’t be slut. Right? I would be a good girl, who was liked by a good boy, who asked a girl’s parents properly, right mama? Then, maybe, I could enjoy the walk and not feel guilty for liking a boy – and, maybe, not be the slut you warned me against becoming.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-21786475916030752342009-11-30T19:25:00.002-05:002009-11-30T19:28:59.500-05:00It's TimeA Vignette I wrote during a summer workshop with my local affiliate of the National Writing Project:<br /><br />It's Time<br /><br />She didn’t hear the door open. There was no sound. Only the quiet, rhythmic, synchronized breathing of the two who were once one. Truthfully, she didn’t want to hear the door, or disturb the silence, or have this moment end. As long as she stayed in this moment, as long as they were wrapped in the silent cocoon, she could forget – forget that it was time.<br /> <br />Her presence signaled that it was time. Her support, her anchor, Marlene. An expert in her chosen craft, she knew to keep her distance, knew that these last few moments were precious. And although it was time, she could spare them a few more memories.<br /> <br />There were no seconds, minutes, hours. There was only now and, soon, beyond. She chose to enjoy the now a bit longer. She had no idea how long they’d laid that way. She in the hospital bed, her head raised slightly. Snuggled against her lay her daughter; belly to belly, in an almost fetal position. She could feel every movement between them: her breathing, her tiny body moving ever so slightly up and down; the quick palpitations of her heart; the occasional twitch disturbing an otherwise motionless sleep. It was as if she were still in her womb relying on her body for her very survival. Not anymore. Not ever again. After the now her daughter would rely on others to sustain her life, the couple she had chosen herself for the adoption.<br /> <br />As if on command, her head turned. A single tear rolled down her cheek – she knew it was time. The perfect bubble ended, soon to be replaced with an almost unbearable pain. Pain, yes, but never regret. She had given her daughter the only gift she was capable of giving – life. And now she would give that gift to two who could not give it to themselves.<br /> <br />It was time. Time to say good-by. Time to weep. Time to feel the hurt. Time to let go of the now and begin beyond.rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1145357814810222442.post-82555198805997339222009-11-26T22:58:00.002-05:002009-11-26T23:09:38.396-05:00And so it begins ...So, as the title of my blog says, people have always told me I should write. The truth is that I've always loved to write. Yes, I was the geeky kid in school, college, and graduate school who was actually happy - relieved even - when they said the "test" would be essay. "Yes!" I cheered to the total dismay of my fellow classmates.<br /><br />When people began reading things that I had written, they would eventually say, "Wow! You should write!" OK ... exactly how was I going to accomplish this task. The only way I thought people "wrote" things was to write a book. And, come on, how was I going to actually write a book, not to mention get a publisher to want to publish it, and then find people (not related to me) who would pay money to read it!<br /><br />So I never thought I would write, at least beyond my own journals, etc. Then I saw that people blogged. I stumbled onto other people's blogs and really enjoyed reading what they posted. There was this world, totally unknown to me, where people were able to write.<br /><br />But, alas, how does one become a "blogger"? Truth be told: I wasn't even sure if that was the correct term. Again, I felt this was some mysterious, evasive process that I was on the outside looking in. <br /><br />As it turns out, ANYONE can blog! So, here I am, creating my very first blog. Wow! I feel so accomplished! The good news: I'm writing. Something I've always wanted to do. Another positive: I don't have to pay for this AND I didn't have to track anyone down to "publish" me. The not-so-good-news: I still haven't figured out exactly how one gets people to read or follow or join or whatever it is you do to get people to know you're out there! <br /><br />Nevertheless, here I am, writing, and enjoying myself. I hope that others "find" me and enjoy what I write as well. Until then, I'll have my own, personal celebration ... here's to writing!rozelialiveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15814841538065460457noreply@blogger.com0