Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

December 8, 2007

Today’s Announcement

Christmas is just around the corner and most of you have already started to think about Christmas gifts for this season.  Why not help out Storytime Tapestry with its ongoing commitment to provide you with free wonderful stories and poems daily by purchasing the publisher’s newest book for someone special on your holiday gift giving list this year.  Angels Watching Over Me can be published through lulu press in both hard copy and e-book.  Just click on the link:  Angels Watching Over Me

Important notice: Storytime Tapestry is a free e-zine, however 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.   You can make your donations to paypal at: winterose@videotron.ca, or if you would prefer to use the mail system contact the publisher at the same email address: winterose@videotron.ca

Today’s Stories

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The Changes Life Brings and the Lessons We Learn, Part III

Pina Martinella

When I first moved back to New York the summer of 1977 and after I had settled into the apartment I shared on 103 street, I was pretty much consumed by two things: finding a job and keeping it. My only prior work experience consisted of serving as a crafts/recreational counselor at two camps about two and a half hours North of NYC in the town where my parents lived. This was about three summers before I would return to NYC permanently after I graduated college in 1977.

            The first camp catered to New York City's wealthiest and most arrogant clients; doctors, lawyers, socialites and other bastions of the elite who were visiting over the summer to bask in the simplicity of country life or their versions thereof. I was to mind their bratty and obnoxious children, while their parents went off to lounge by the pool or do some day traveling or shopping. I quit that job after one kid's father came on to me, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and stroking his chest hairs while we chatted under an awning in the rain, his young daughter sitting beside him. The other job was at a day camp sponsored by the small town I lived in at the time. I actually enjoyed that experience once I was able to get the kids in line and let them know just who was the boss. Still, these experiences did not offer me much in the way of any business aptitude or experience and I was pretty "green" when it came to finding work. I had no particular skill sets to speak of, although I had a nice speaking voice and was friendly. To say I was nervous and anxious then truly is an understatement. I felt pretty much lost at sea.

            I hadn't moved into the apartment on 103 Street yet when I went on my first interview at one of New York's renowned ad agencies one hot August day. That day would later become the "Infamous Blackout" of the late 1970's that turned New York into the Wild West for a 12-hour period. The City had gone positively mad that night; looting was a rampant citywide free-for-all and driving a car turned into a dangerous adventure in a city now without lights. It was simply "every man for himself." At the time my female roommate and I were staying at a studio apartment in mid-town Manhattan that Morty, a family friend of mine offered me - free of charge - for a few weeks until I could find a place to live. She and I shared that cramped space and managed to survive without killing each other, which was no small feat, especially when the blackout arrived and we sat there in the dark without any air conditioning. If anyone knows New York in summer like I do, August is not the time to visit the City. The heat and humidity is so unbearable it smacks you in the face and renders you a wet, wilted version of yourself, devoid of any energy. In that environment, I lumbered off to my interview with my resume and portfolio in tow, hopeful that this would be the start of my career as an artist.

            The interview was held in mid-town Manhattan, at the ad agency another close family friend owned and operated. Neil and his family were people I knew since I was a baby, so I presumed he would give me my first start in life. Our families spent quite a bit of time together, sharing lively meals at each other's homes, visiting one another at our summer residences or attending our fathers' respective art gallery openings. Later, when I was 16, his eldest son and I dated for a while, our young love blossoming under our parents' loving eyes. I thought everything would come to pass as I planned, but I learned that isn't always the case in this life. Even family friends sometimes block our passageways or turn us away, even if their intentions are good.  How na?ve I was then, I think now.

            The interview went well at first but changed the moment Neil began to give me advice I didn't want to hear. He told me that I was quite talented and commented on my "wonderful drawing abilities", my "great sense of color and style", but he simply could not hire me because I was not a "trained" illustrator. He said most advertising agencies would only hire trained illustrators and that his firm simply couldn't invest in my "on the job" training. He advised me to return to school to receive appropriate training and added that if I did he might be able to hire me. "Might?"  I thought, hurt by his words and stunned by what I perceived to be his dismissal of me, a young woman he once said I was like a daughter. He advised me that I should return to his office once I had a new portfolio and wished me well. I thanked him for his time, hugged him goodbye, and promptly left his office, furious at what he had said. I proceeded to the first outdoor telephone I could find and called my father long distance, choking on my tears. I felt betrayed - by two men I loved: my father and Neil.

            Later in life, after I heard myself saying similar words to the students I befriended at work, I realized that Neil was trying to help me. Hindsight is always 20/20 when life experiences teach us what our parents can't. I've long since realized that I should have taken his advice, but I didn't, mostly out of fear and my apparent lack of desire to return to school. I wanted life to be easier for me and Neil made me realize that this was not the case. I wasn't sure who I was angrier at then: my father, for not preparing me for this, or Neil, whose words brought me down to earth and back to reality. In that moment my artistic dreams slowly fell away and I gave in to practical, more mundane lines of work.

            Shortly after the interview I had with Neil, my female friend and I found the place that we shared on 103 Street. After we moved in and were somewhat settled, I started my employment quest and "pounded the pavement" as most college graduates do. During the day I met with numerous employment agents who sent me on pre-arranged interviews at a wide variety of firms. Most of these employers were looking for a receptionist position that I rationalized was a good place to start given my skills. It wasn't what I wanted to do, but it was a beginning. It was a tiresome, exhausting task, but I was willing to go on any interview someone offered me, except if the job required me to work as a cashier, where money was exchanged. Math definitely was and is not my forte so I knew to avoid jobs that required that skill. All of the agents told me I was over qualified for most jobs, but I had no real professional work experience to speak of and knew I had to start at the bottom to work my way upwards.

            The first job I got was as a receptionist in a lighting firm on Lexington Avenue and 32 Street in Manhattan. My boss, a man named Mark, was a much older man in his early sixties who hired me on the spot because of my educational background and my apparent charm. I graduated from Sarah Lawrence College, a small private college in New York that was known for being somewhat avant-garde in its educational mission. Its students were often those considered intellectual odd balls and creative misfits in High School. At Sarah Lawrence, we fit together like veritable peas in a pod and felt accepted for the first time in our lives. We hoped that once we graduated we would become as famous as our predecessors: Carly Simon, Yoko Ono, Barbara Walters, Alice Walker and the actress Tovah Feldshuh, all of whom went on to achieve fame and fortune. When Mark heard that I graduated from Sarah Lawrence he was quite impressed and offered me my first job.

            I worked for Mark for a few months and it turned out to be quite an eye-opening experience for me. His office served as the first place where I would experience sexual harassment for the first time, before legal policies and procedures were established and women had a forum in which to complain. Older married men, including Mark's partner Bill, sexually harassed me almost every day I worked there, sometimes making lewd comments or trying to grope me in the file room. These men were old enough to have been my father and had daughters of their own, so I was surprised when they presumed their behavior was acceptable and expected me to comply. I never did, but I wondered how they would have felt if this happened to one of their own daughters.

            Mark was the most impossibly arrogant and egocentric man I had ever met then, but he could also be quite kind. Sometimes he was almost fatherly to me, once purchasing an awful orange polyester suit ensemble to help me dress more professionally. I never wore it, but I appreciated his efforts. Yet, he could also be cruel, and to such an extent all of us tip toed around him as if we were walking on eggshells, unsure of who we would meet the moment we walked into the office. He bellowed, screamed and cursed over the phone with such regularity I often wondered how he managed to run a successful and lucrative business. Sometimes his wrath was directed towards one of us, including me when I first started there and lost a call he had received one morning. In time I began to hone my office skills and was liked by his clients. I knew how to welcome them and make them feel comfortable in my presence, a skill I have honed over the years that has served me well. Then, I was learning to find my way in the business world, and I made some mistakes, but I was moving forward, sometimes slowly and fitfully, sometimes fast and furiously.

            I was eventually fired from that job because I didn't want to wash the coffee pot and the cups before I left to go home one night sick with a bad cold or flu. When I asked Mark if I could wash them the next morning, he became angry and screamed at me for being insolent. When I tearfully protested and explained my reasons, he fired me instantly, devoid of any concern towards me or my health at that time. I can still hear him berating me for this, as if my actions were akin to my stealing billions from his firm. I stood there crying hysterically then, angry at how he spoke to me for something so miniscule in scope his reaction seemed overdone and absurd. I left and told him to go to a place where the sun didn't shine, slamming the door behind me. While I was relieved not to have to work in this loony bin any longer, I was scared if I would find another job.  Fortunately, I found a job less than two weeks later, and  started working for the educational system I work for now.

            During that time, when I left my roommates, moved to Bretton Hall and started the new job, I struggled with my professional identity. I had virtually no knowledge of how to "Dress for Success", apply makeup or style my hair. I was a comfortable, "Earth Mother" sort, content in my jeans, work shirts and Frye boots, but now  I was aware that the uniform of my youth simply didn't "do" and I would have to change how I presented myself to the business world. Without my mother's guidance I had to figure this stuff out on my own and it was a struggle at times, especially since I really didn't know what was appropriate to wear on specific occasions. My father did the best he could to provide me with professional business guidance, but this was done from afar, over the telephone and in letters we wrote to one another. He lived two hours away from me then, mired in his own grief and loneliness over Mom's death, further preoccupied with serious health-related matters that would eventually take his life. Eventually my high school friend, Arlene, would come to my rescue and she shopped with me, pointing out clothing and colors that would fit my figure and coloring. In time her help enabled me to garner me the professional appearance I needed. To this day I am grateful to her for her sage advice and patience while I found my way in the clothing aisles of Macy's, my favorite department store. 

            My life then was far simpler and more adventurous than it is now, where bills, a mortgage and tremendous job-related responsibilities rest on my shoulders more than they did at that time. Then, it was far easier for me to have something of a social life and meet friends after work for dinner. After work, a group of us met downtown in Greenwich Village to have a drink at our favorite bar.  We called those nights "The Evening Soiree" and it became a weekly event to share our creative pursuits, dreams, daily lives and aspirations with one another over a glass of wine. We spoke of our hopes for a relationship, our dreams for the future and reminisced about college life, when it was easier to breathe and be free. Sometimes when we were especially adventurous and creative, we participated in New York's Halloween parade, an event still held in the village annually with hundreds of participants dressed in the craziest and most creative costumes I have ever seen. Those were wonderful times then, when youth offered us the ability to stay up late at night but wake up fresh the next morning, ready to resume our jobs with nary the slightest hint at fatigue. When I was not painting, weekends were spent with friends on a regular basis. We often went to museums to catch the latest exhibit, attended gallery openings, walked through Central Park's maze of meandering paths, shopped or went dancing, just as we did in college. Our lives were unencumbered then, and carefree.

            While I wasn't consumed with the desire to marry then, I did have my share of lovers who walked in and out of my life, as much as I did theirs. Some of these men are still worth remembering, but many are not, their faces smudged by the passage of time and fading memory. In hindsight, every man I knew at the time ultimately played a pivotal role in my life, their actions and behaviors playing themselves out in front of my eyes before I knew it.

To be continued....     

Pina Martinelli

Pina1101@aol.com

To be continued...

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Poetry Corner

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 December Glory

 Cynthia Groopman

December possesses a charming majestic glory,

As we exalt in the celebration of the Chanukah and Christmas story.

Faithful flock to synagogues and churches to rejoice and to pray,

Lights glow in windows at night and during the day.

Choirs sing hymns in a melodic tone,

We chat and enjoy ourselves extending greetings on the phone.

Although the days are short and the weather is cold,

Our hearts dance with warmth of glory,

Imparting cherished blessing of God's holy mirthful story.

For December's glory is like a springtime flower that regally and magnificently unfolds,

More precious than silver and gold.

Cynthia Groopman
cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net

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Early Sunsets

Cynthia Groopman

Early sunsets I do not adore,

Sunshine radiance in the evening, I crave and yearn for more.

Dark and dismal is the evening,

Cast feelings of fatigue and sleepiness over everything.

The sun is resting in a lazy way, as you know,

Oh, I truly miss the early evening caress and embrace of sunshine's warm tender golden glow.

Nature's eyes close as darkness descends everywhere,

Gone for awhile is brightness renewed charm and exquisite flare

.

But the winter months we must possess,

Time races by and in four months, will arrive sunshine's evening joy, and energetic zest.

Cynthia Groopman

cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net

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  God's Smile

Cynthia Groopman 

God's smile is majestic and radiant in its golden glow,

Kindling joy into our souls and inspiring us to spiritually rejoice and grow.

God's smile is like a budding flower,

Replete with glorious emotional power.

God's smile can be found in the sky so clear and dazzling blue,

Displaying compassionate deeds of loving kindness performed by me and by you.

God's smile is a tender love gently cradling a  broken sobbing heart,

Its compassionate warmth will forever linger and never will depart.

God's smile is hope and faith for a brighter sunshine tomorrow,

Embracing us with comfort, and drying our tears of sorrow.

So, when I may be feeling despair,

I know that God's smile is forever caressing my sky,

 Of life with answers to my heartfelt prayers.

 Cynthia Groopman

cynthia.Groopman@verizon.net

Readers Feedback

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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