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Storytime_Tapestry Archives Index
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| << September27, 2007 - September 27, 2007 - Special Treat - Bonnie Carriles |
September28, 2007 - September 28, 2007 - Special Treat - Bonnie Carriles >> |
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Storytime Tapestry Newsletter The newsletter devoted to
spreading love and cultural awareness around the world. Publishers Favourite Sites: Rosanne Catalano http://www.rosannecatalano.net/ Michael Smith http://subs.zinester.com/86758/ Barbara Weymouth penwormprayerwarriors-subscribe@yahoogroups.com Helen Dowd Dean Perchick I'd like to tell you about a new website that I discovered
and now love where all of your favorite authors can be heard on
video from your own computer! The website is Bookvideos.tv and is coming to
you from Simon & Schuster publishing. Check it out at: http://www.bookvideos.tv!
You won't be sorry you did. Today’s Announcement Happy
Birthday Jan Verhoeff: janverhoeff@yahoo.com
from your friends at Storytime Tapestry Donations are always needed to help with
the operating expenses of running the newsletter and to keep Storytime Tapestry
the quality newsletter you are so accustomed to. Please note that Storytime Tapestry is a
free newsletter to members and there will never be a cost for the newsletter.
Donations are purely voluntary and no member should ever feel guilty for not
making a donation at this time. Today’s Stories ~**~**~ A Very
Special August religious Celebration
Usually family,
friends, grandparents, and classmates are present to cheer and rejoice.
In my case, my students are senior citizens with whom I work, and the congregations
friends and brother were cheering me on. 40 years
ago in 1961, my brother had his right of passage, but girls were not encouraged
at that time. I yearned and yearned. I would picture myself clad in prayer shawl
praying and chanting the Holy Scripture in God’s language of sacred Hebrew. The
years dashed by so quickly and time just flew by. Wrapped up with work, and
then adjusting for blindness, and caring for my ill mom and dad suppressed the
spiritual dream for awhile.
By December
2000, I was counting the days and began my task of love. I listened to the
rabbi on tape and then read each Hebrew Braille word. That was really strange
to me, but everyday I would practice before going to work. I would get up an
hour earlier to do this practice. While practicing, I would picture myself
performing in front of all the people in August. On august
11, a beautiful sunny day, as all eyes were upon me, I began chanting from
Cynthia
Groopman ~**~**~
Jennifer Oliver When I was five years old, hearing aids were prescribed
for me. I was diagnosed with an incurable, sensori-neural hearing loss and soon
thereafter fitted with two hearing aids. My
grief-stricken parents signed up for group counseling sessions. And quit
when they discovered they were the only ones with a child who adapted well to
hearing aids. My mother
remembers quite profoundly the moment the ice cream man signaled his routine
presence on our street with tinkling music. I perked up and asked, "What's
that sound?" The
novelty of hearing new sounds, however, quickly wore out its welcome. My bulky,
flesh-colored hearing aids were simply mini-microphones picking up
every...single...obnoxious...sound. The scrape of a chair. High heels clicking
on linoleum. Someone snapping their gum. I cringed inwardly but never
complained. After all, no one else was whining about it either. Midway
through Kindergarten my teacher called my mother with breathless excitement. I
had finally spoken my first intelligible word. It looked like I would be
swimming with the general population after all. No deaf education for me. Feeling
like an elephant cowering under a pebble, I quietly began the lifelong dance of
sidestepping obstacles of which no one close to me, not even my parents, was
aware. Note-taking, before the invention of note-takers, became an occupational
hazard of the classroom. Not to mention that insurmountable challenge called
peer pressure. When I was
in second grade, my speech therapist mentioned that a girl my age was having
difficulty adjusting to hearing aids, embarrassed by this new permanent fixture
in her wardrobe. "Since
you don't seem to mind your hearing aids," my speech therapist remarked,
"could you perhaps have a talk with her?" Sure, I
said. That night
I scribbled down all the fun things about wearing hearing aids. Like pursing my
lips and cupping my ears at the same time. Feedback from my hearing aids made
it look like I was whistling. This nifty advantage often triggered giggly
requests from classmates to try on my hearing aids. Another trick was to flip
the switch when I needed to tune out anyone singing off-key behind me in
church. Ditto for the little sister who was my shadow during long, empty
Saturday afternoons. The
following week, while in speech therapy, I sat across from this girl, who
slouched glumly across the round table from me. Timidly, I read the first item
on my list out loud, then paused and glanced up. The grin
that spread across her face was like the sun drifting out from behind stubborn
rain clouds, spurring me onto the next item. Soon we were all giggling, the
therapist included. A
friendship between two shy souls was born. We swapped hearing aids sometimes
like girls swapping barbie dolls. The season
of our friendship though was cut short by the territory that comes with being
Army brats. It was inevitable, our separation. Nonetheless,
I traversed other relationships throughout my mainstreamed life with other
friends who, out of pure kindness, tried to relate to me by stuffing cotton
balls in their ears. When I was
21, I lost my hearing aids. For a
moment there, I panicked. Then a few tense days passed. Weeks sidled by. No one
noticed. Inevitably
my world began to narrow. But not by much. I was a skilled lip-reader. I was
practiced in the art of deception, relying on facial expressions and gestures,
if my native language had suddenly gone overseas. For the
first time in my life, I exhaled. That fact
alone precipitated a decision that would make my parents grumble without end. No more
hearing aids. And so for
the next 18 years, I managed just fine. One day, while planted in a meeting, my
eyes jumped from the face of one participant to another. Back and forth. And
still nothing registered. Words began to run together like watercolors.
Attempting to translate the exchange into meaningful English was becoming an
eye-numbing chore. I briefly
closed my eyes, frustration gnawing at me. I found that lately it was happening
with more frequency than I cared to admit. I swore I would schedule an
appointment with an audiologist. Soon. Several
months later, I gingerly stepped outside of the clinic, adjusting the volume on
my new hearing aids. Click...click...click.
There it
was again. The
annoying staccato of my heels on asphalt. Technology,
much to my disappointment, hadn't changed much in nearly 20 years. At least for
my kind of hearing loss, it hadn't. I sank
into the driver's seat of my Buick and just stared into space. And on that
muggy, summer morning, Eric crept into mind. In high
school, Eric was a slight, blonde boy in special ed. I didn't notice him much
until the day I got into my car at the end of a school day and turned the key
in the ignition. He leapt out in front of my car, yelling. Then he pressed his
cheek against the hood of my car, his eyes glazed with victory. Then it
hit me. I revved
my engine and gave him the thumbs-up signal. His grin
broadened as he returned my signal. Then he jumped to another car, soaking up
music of an idling engine. Blinking
back tears, I rejoiced silently with Eric as he experienced sound for the first
time. Just that day he had received new hearing aids. And for an instant there,
he reminded me of the little girl who heard the ice cream truck for the first
time. That night
after work I drove home, pulled up into the driveway, and as my car door swung
open, I was greeted by three boys, crowding around me with fistfuls of wild
flowers, grasses, and weeds. I was
completely taken aback by the onslaught of their voices through my new mini-microphones.
LOOK! WE
PICKED THESE JUST FOR YOU, MOMMY! HI, MOM! I
MISSED YOU! WILL YOU
KISS MY OWIE? I GOT
POO-POO! My family
was loud. Ah, but a
joyful noise it was indeed. Pamela Oliver ~**~**~ Readers Feedback
Carol, Storytime Tapestry Angels Angels on earth, they exist they are out there. Angels come in all ages, shapes and sizes,
civil status, and religion. Their nature
is love and their purpose is giving to the less fortunate of this world. Storytime Tapestry angels are no
exception. These angels are loyal
members who have contributed to the upkeep of Storytime Tapestry newsletter so
that Storytime Tapestry can continue come to your email Here is our Storytime
Tapestry Angels: Also, I would like to thank those of you who chose to
be a silent angel and gave an anonymous donation to keep Storytime
Tapestry up and running. Clara Westerfer, Mark Crider,
Rosanne Catalano, Paula Booher, Kay Seefeldt, Mariane Holbrook, Mary Ellen
Grisham, Louise Nomani, Sharon Bryant, Angela Walker, Hart and Helen Dowd,
Keith Ready, Ginger Morgenstern, Ellie Braun-Haley, Surinder Jandu, Bob Shaw,
Carol Meeks, Charlotte Hilliard, Maria Keller
Storytime Tapestry Newsletter The newsletter devoted to
spreading love and cultural awareness around the world. Publishers Favourite Sites: Rosanne Catalano http://www.rosannecatalano.net/ Michael Smith http://subs.zinester.com/86758/ Barbara Weymouth penwormprayerwarriors-subscribe@yahoogroups.com Helen Dowd Dean Perchick I'd like to tell you about a new website that I discovered
and now love where all of your favorite authors can be heard on
video from your own computer! The website is Bookvideos.tv and is coming to
you from Simon & Schuster publishing. Check it out at: http://www.bookvideos.tv!
You won't be sorry you did. Today’s Announcement Happy
Birthday Jan Verhoeff: janverhoeff@yahoo.com
from your friends at Storytime Tapestry Donations are always needed to help with
the operating expenses of running the newsletter and to keep Storytime Tapestry
the quality newsletter you are so accustomed to. Please note that Storytime Tapestry is a
free newsletter to members and there will never be a cost for the newsletter.
Donations are purely voluntary and no member should ever feel guilty for not
making a donation at this time. Today’s Stories ~**~**~ A Very
Special August religious Celebration
Usually family,
friends, grandparents, and classmates are present to cheer and rejoice.
In my case, my students are senior citizens with whom I work, and the congregations
friends and brother were cheering me on. 40 years
ago in 1961, my brother had his right of passage, but girls were not encouraged
at that time. I yearned and yearned. I would picture myself clad in prayer shawl
praying and chanting the Holy Scripture in God’s language of sacred Hebrew. The
years dashed by so quickly and time just flew by. Wrapped up with work, and
then adjusting for blindness, and caring for my ill mom and dad suppressed the
spiritual dream for awhile.
By December
2000, I was counting the days and began my task of love. I listened to the
rabbi on tape and then read each Hebrew Braille word. That was really strange
to me, but everyday I would practice before going to work. I would get up an
hour earlier to do this practice. While practicing, I would picture myself
performing in front of all the people in August. On august
11, a beautiful sunny day, as all eyes were upon me, I began chanting from
Cynthia
Groopman ~**~**~
Jennifer Oliver When I was five years old, hearing aids were prescribed
for me. I was diagnosed with an incurable, sensori-neural hearing loss and soon
thereafter fitted with two hearing aids. My
grief-stricken parents signed up for group counseling sessions. And quit
when they discovered they were the only ones with a child who adapted well to
hearing aids. My mother
remembers quite profoundly the moment the ice cream man signaled his routine
presence on our street with tinkling music. I perked up and asked, "What's
that sound?" The
novelty of hearing new sounds, however, quickly wore out its welcome. My bulky,
flesh-colored hearing aids were simply mini-microphones picking up
every...single...obnoxious...sound. The scrape of a chair. High heels clicking
on linoleum. Someone snapping their gum. I cringed inwardly but never
complained. After all, no one else was whining about it either. Midway
through Kindergarten my teacher called my mother with breathless excitement. I
had finally spoken my first intelligible word. It looked like I would be
swimming with the general population after all. No deaf education for me. Feeling
like an elephant cowering under a pebble, I quietly began the lifelong dance of
sidestepping obstacles of which no one close to me, not even my parents, was
aware. Note-taking, before the invention of note-takers, became an occupational
hazard of the classroom. Not to mention that insurmountable challenge called
peer pressure. When I was
in second grade, my speech therapist mentioned that a girl my age was having
difficulty adjusting to hearing aids, embarrassed by this new permanent fixture
in her wardrobe. "Since
you don't seem to mind your hearing aids," my speech therapist remarked,
"could you perhaps have a talk with her?" Sure, I
said. That night
I scribbled down all the fun things about wearing hearing aids. Like pursing my
lips and cupping my ears at the same time. Feedback from my hearing aids made
it look like I was whistling. This nifty advantage often triggered giggly
requests from classmates to try on my hearing aids. Another trick was to flip
the switch when I needed to tune out anyone singing off-key behind me in
church. Ditto for the little sister who was my shadow during long, empty
Saturday afternoons. The
following week, while in speech therapy, I sat across from this girl, who
slouched glumly across the round table from me. Timidly, I read the first item
on my list out loud, then paused and glanced up. The grin
that spread across her face was like the sun drifting out from behind stubborn
rain clouds, spurring me onto the next item. Soon we were all giggling, the
therapist included. A
friendship between two shy souls was born. We swapped hearing aids sometimes
like girls swapping barbie dolls. The season
of our friendship though was cut short by the territory that comes with being
Army brats. It was inevitable, our separation. Nonetheless,
I traversed other relationships throughout my mainstreamed life with other
friends who, out of pure kindness, tried to relate to me by stuffing cotton
balls in their ears. When I was
21, I lost my hearing aids. For a
moment there, I panicked. Then a few tense days passed. Weeks sidled by. No one
noticed. Inevitably
my world began to narrow. But not by much. I was a skilled lip-reader. I was
practiced in the art of deception, relying on facial expressions and gestures,
if my native language had suddenly gone overseas. For the
first time in my life, I exhaled. That fact
alone precipitated a decision that would make my parents grumble without end. No more
hearing aids. And so for
the next 18 years, I managed just fine. One day, while planted in a meeting, my
eyes jumped from the face of one participant to another. Back and forth. And
still nothing registered. Words began to run together like watercolors.
Attempting to translate the exchange into meaningful English was becoming an
eye-numbing chore. I briefly
closed my eyes, frustration gnawing at me. I found that lately it was happening
with more frequency than I cared to admit. I swore I would schedule an
appointment with an audiologist. Soon. Several
months later, I gingerly stepped outside of the clinic, adjusting the volume on
my new hearing aids. Click...click...click.
There it
was again. The
annoying staccato of my heels on asphalt. Technology,
much to my disappointment, hadn't changed much in nearly 20 years. At least for
my kind of hearing loss, it hadn't. I sank
into the driver's seat of my Buick and just stared into space. And on that
muggy, summer morning, Eric crept into mind. In high
school, Eric was a slight, blonde boy in special ed. I didn't notice him much
until the day I got into my car at the end of a school day and turned the key
in the ignition. He leapt out in front of my car, yelling. Then he pressed his
cheek against the hood of my car, his eyes glazed with victory. Then it
hit me. I revved
my engine and gave him the thumbs-up signal. His grin
broadened as he returned my signal. Then he jumped to another car, soaking up
music of an idling engine. Blinking
back tears, I rejoiced silently with Eric as he experienced sound for the first
time. Just that day he had received new hearing aids. And for an instant there,
he reminded me of the little girl who heard the ice cream truck for the first
time. That night
after work I drove home, pulled up into the driveway, and as my car door swung
open, I was greeted by three boys, crowding around me with fistfuls of wild
flowers, grasses, and weeds. I was
completely taken aback by the onslaught of their voices through my new mini-microphones.
LOOK! WE
PICKED THESE JUST FOR YOU, MOMMY! HI, MOM! I
MISSED YOU! WILL YOU
KISS MY OWIE? I GOT
POO-POO! My family
was loud. Ah, but a
joyful noise it was indeed. Pamela Oliver ~**~**~ Readers Feedback
Carol, Storytime Tapestry Angels Angels on earth, they exist they are out there. Angels come in all ages, shapes and sizes,
civil status, and religion. Their nature
is love and their purpose is giving to the less fortunate of this world. Storytime Tapestry angels are no
exception. These angels are loyal
members who have contributed to the upkeep of Storytime Tapestry newsletter so
that Storytime Tapestry can continue come to your email Here is our Storytime
Tapestry Angels: Also, I would like to thank those of you who chose to
be a silent angel and gave an anonymous donation to keep Storytime
Tapestry up and running. Clara Westerfer, Mark Crider,
Rosanne Catalano, Paula Booher, Kay Seefeldt, Mariane Holbrook, Mary Ellen
Grisham, Louise Nomani, Sharon Bryant, Angela Walker, Hart and Helen Dowd,
Keith Ready, Ginger Morgenstern, Ellie Braun-Haley, Surinder Jandu, Bob Shaw,
Carol Meeks, Charlotte Hilliard, Maria Keller
|
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| << September27, 2007 - September 27, 2007 - Special Treat - Bonnie Carriles |
September28, 2007 - September 28, 2007 - Special Treat - Bonnie Carriles >> |
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