20th Anniversary . . .

City Mouse Now Country Mouse
No. 15

As a life-long Washingtonian, it may be odd that I have an unusual association with the World Trade Center but I do. On this anniversary, I share a 20-year old memory with you.

I was working as the Computer Science Department Chair and high school teacher at St. Stephen's & St. Agnes School in 1993. I had joined SSSAS in 1990, the last year that the two schools were independent, and was asked to start the Computer Science Department, K-12, in early 1991. The next two years, with the merge of the schools, and the start-up of a whole new program at work, combined with two small growing girls at home, the days were very full. I loved this period of expansive creation.

I was asked to represent the school at the National Association of Independent Schools (NAIS) annual meeting which was being held in NYC that year. This was icing on the cake. While Greg traveled frequently for his work, I rarely had travel of my own. I was excited and eager to attend the large gathering of educators from around the country. I signed up for pre-conference workshops and mapped out all my sessions prior to boarding the Amtrak train.

In a conversation with my mother before my departure, I learned that my cousin Anthony was living in NYC and working on Wall Street. He was my Grandmother Daisy's grandson and I remembered him from a family dinner 10 years earlier. Anyway, she mentioned that he was having trouble meeting people and couldn't I have lunch or coffee with him while I was up at the meeting. Great--my FUN business trip was being squashed with a family obligation. OK; I promised I would call him.

So, I arrived early Wednesday morning for the pre-meeting workshops. I have no idea now what I attended but as an eager learner, I was delighted to be in a classroom again and NOT as the teacher. The annual meeting opened with a fabulous speaker (I don't remember this either) and I went from one session to the next  all day Thursday. But I still needed to call my cousin. So, that evening, after happy hour with colleagues, I made arrangements with Anthony to meet the next morning in the financial district.

I maneuvered the subway and arrived on Wall Street about 10 am on Friday morning. We didn't know each other well so there was lots of easy small talk to cover. The day had turned very cold and it was snowing as we walked down Wall St. I did not plan on wet, cold weather so I was freezing. "Would you like to go to the top of the World Trade Center?" he asked. He explained he had business associates in the building and there was an incredible view from the top floor.

"I'm not sure we're going to see much today," I said, shivering and looking toward the sky. "I'm afraid I didn't bring the right footwear and my feet are cold and wet. Why don't I buy you some lunch, we can warm up and continue our conversation?" He agreed and we found a little bistro nearby. It was a lovely lunch and as we were saying our goodbye's, I was really glad that Mom had asked me to meet again.

Once again, I found my way back to the subway and boarded the train headed to mid-town. The subway car was relatively empty so I was able to sit down for the ride. Just as the doors were closing, a man slipped in and fell onto the bench seat across from me. He was a young, athletic man who seemed rather out of sorts.

"Are you OK?" I asked. I can't help it. I talk to everyone--even in New York City.

"I don't know," he said. "I just don't know." He seemed upset and confused and he kept shaking his head. As I looked at him, I noticed he had on a white tailored shirt, navy pinstripe pants, and very expensive shoes. But no suit jacket or over coat. Huh?

"I don't know what just happened," he said. "They told us to leave immediately. We weren't allowed to get any of our things. I don't even have my keys. We just had to leave."

"Leave where? Do you need some money?" I was even thinking about giving him my scarf at that point. His comments explained why he didn't have on a coat in this cold weather.

"I work in the World Trade Center. The fire alarms went off and the next thing I know we're being herded to the stairwells and out of the building. I'm on the 93rd floor--it was a long climb down. When I got outside, the streets were crawling with firefighters, police, and emergency vehicles. Someone said there was a bomb in the parking garage."

Shit. My chest tightened. I could have been in the building at that time. I focused my attention back on the traveler.

"Where are you going now? What can I do to help you? Do you need some money?" I asked.

"I'm headed home. My building has a doorman and he'll let me in. The super will have another key. I just don't know. This is so weird. I'll figure it out once I get home," he said. He just kept shaking his head and rubbing his hands through his hair.

I rummaged through my purse and found a business card. I then checked my wallet and pulled out my last $5 bill.

"Here," I reached across the aisle and pressed the card and cash into his hand. "Take this. I never carry cash so it's not much but you may need it. I've given you my card, too. I'm so sorry that this happened but I'm glad you got out of the building safely."

"I don't even know if anyone was hurt," he said looking me directly in the eye. "I just left as soon as I could. I was scared."

"That's totally understandable. You were in a life-threatening situation. You followed the evacuation plan and fortunately, you're OK," I said, hoping this was comforting him. "There will be more clarity in coming days about this. You just need to focus on getting home, getting warm and having something to eat." (Ah, the Cathey answer to all problems!)

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you."

We sat in silence for a few stops as I could tell he was coming down from his adrenaline high. He focused his stare on the subway car floor and seemed to relax a little the further down the line we traveled. The engineer announced the next stop and he stood up.

"This is my stop," he said. I stood up, too. "Thanks again," he said as he reached out his hand to shake mine. We shook hands and I wished him well. And then he was gone.

I remembered this day again on September 11, 2001, and thought about my subway friend. I wondered if he was still working at the World Trade Center or if he'd left the city for the safety of the suburbs. I know I missed my opportunity to see the expansive view from the top of the towers and it's hard to believe that they have been gone now for more than a decade. But thanks to my cold, wet feet, I also avoided a very dangerous situation. And I am reminded that there are angels and messengers everywhere; we just have to look for them. So, keep your eye's peeled and your heart open . . .

Life's Ups and Downs

City Mouse Now Country Mouse
No. 14

The preacher started today's sermon with this:
     This is a story about a family who lived in rural West Virginia. (I got the impression that this was even farther out than Hedgesville!) There was a Mom, a Dad and a son. The parents realized when the son turned 13, that he had never been to the big city (maybe Washington, DC) and that they were going to take him.
     So, over the next several months, they saved their money for the trip. Once the funds were gathered, the parents told their son about the trip. Everyone was excited. The three dreamed of all the fun things they'd do and new things they'd see. Dad made reservations at a hotel and the son investigated the city's exhibits and events. The next weekend the family got into their car and headed to town.
      After several hours, they arrived at the hotel. Dad told Mom to stay in the car while the son and he went into to check-in. The clerk looked up their reservation and Dad filled out the paperwork. While they were standing waiting for the room keys, they both noticed some sliding doors at the rear of the lobby. A older woman was waiting next to the doors and when they opened, the she went inside and the doors closed. Several minutes later, the doors opened again and out walked a young, beautiful blond woman.
     "Aha!," Dad said loudly. "Son, go quickly and get your mom from the car!"
     The whole congregation laughed and the preacher launched into the meat of his sermon. Interestingly enough, the sermon was founded on the Beatitudes, a part of Jesus' sermon on the Mount. The Byrds made this part of scripture popular through their song, "Turn, Turn, Turn." Basically, there is a time or a season everything. He told another story about a man who, as a child, wished he was an adult. Once the man became an adult, he wished he was married--then had a family--then wished he had more time to himself--then his wife died--and so you may be able to imagine how this concludes. The main point of the message today is that we are to enjoy each and every season of our life.
     This message resonated with me today for several reasons. First, we have just celebrated my mother's 87th birthday. The picture of us was taken the day after her birthday on 1 /13/13. For my mother, this season of her life is slower and a little foggier than she'd like. Her short term memory has disappeared and most of our conversations are about five different topics, which get recycled over and over. When I can get her out of the cycle and talking about anything in the past (10 years ago or longer), I am amazed at how much "stuff" is still up there. She did so many things and traveled to so many places that her memory banks are rich with stories.
      For me, this season, this time in Hedgesville, has been an interesting one. I admit that I did not want to come here when we did in August. I loved our home in Dallas and we had (still have) some great friends there. Based on the lesson today, I know now that I came here to mourn--to mourn the loss of a dream. Mourning in Hedgesville--biding my time until I could find the next career opportunity was not what I had planned--or ever dreamed would happen to me. Honestly, what I found in Hedgesville was comfort. Not the big C comfort but the little one--comfort in being myself. I decided that getting out and helping whoever I could was going to be my mission. So I started tutoring and working with the BackPack program to feed kids. And every time I review the 7, 8, or 9 times table or I arrange a fruit, applesauce, pudding tower, I am comforted. I am grateful. I am humbled. I am happy.
    So, what season are you in? I am in the season of giving,of service and of community action. I may not be employed but I am working every day to make this little corner of the world a better place. It's great.
    Lastly, I have to tell you, the preacher today had a little Baptist (well maybe more than a little) in him. When he said "season," it really sounded like "seize-on" in a revival preacher kind of way, with the accent on the seize part. I wrote this on my program and chuckled to myself. After all, once you know what season you are in, you can then "seize on" all its opportunities.
     What are you doing? What are you waiting for? Get going!

The Cure for the Tryptophan Hangover

City Mouse Now Country Mouse
No. 13

It is now December and while we are speeding our way toward Christmas, I have spent the past week missing Thanksgiving. It is my favorite holiday (with Easter as my other favorite). Why? There are two things you're expected to do at Thanksgiving--be with your family and eat great food. Honestly, what's not to like about that? This year, we went to Chicago for Thanksgiving to visit Aaron's family for the holiday.

We arrived on Monday and planned to share our time with Aaron's dad, sister and her family and his mother. The big family meal was planned for Tuesday evening at his sister Angela's home, and it was the first of our Thanksgiving meals.

This meal was followed by two other "Thanksgivings" both on Thursday. The highlight of Thanksgiving day for me was our turkey trot with our niece, Aubrey and nephew, Hunter. Hunter has been running cross-country in school and so the "boys" the trot as a run while we girls did the trot as a walk. It was a beautiful, unseasonably warm, sunny day. We made our race hats so that everyone would know that we were a family. The hats made many of the other "trotters" smile and I have to admit that this exactly my plan. (Thank you, Marc Cathey!)

Of course, the other commercial part of Thanksgiving is Black Friday. When we arrived at Aaron's father's after the race, I was greeted with three pounds of newspaper advertisements. You would have thought my Christmas came early! Since we moved to West Virginia, Aaron has driven each Sunday morning to the mini-mart to buy a sleeve of donettes and a Washington Post. While I get to read through the ads each week, I'm not near enough to most of the stores to ever take advantage of any of the deals. But this was different. I was surrounded by stores in the Chicago suburbs! I could feel my shopping juices rising and the next thing I know I was making a list and checking it twice.

And we spent all day Friday shopping and shopping and shopping. And while you might read that phrase as buying, buying, buying, that was not the case. I did buy a few things--when you fly United, carrying on saves you $25--honestly, I just enjoyed being able to see everything in person that I'd seen in a printed ad. Sad but true. I admit I am a capitalist. We arrived home on Saturday night and for most of the next week I moped about living in the middle of nowhere and with limited access to retail therapy. Boo-hoo.

The self-indulgent pity party ended during my tutoring session with one of my middle school boys. After we worked on some science homework, we each talked about our Thanksgiving vacation. He was excited because his older brother came home from college. It was obvious that he missed him and the highlight of the weekend was the family Thanksgiving day football game. Snap! Slap! My focus was readjusted and I was poignantly reminded of why I so love Thanksgiving in the first place. I love my husband's family but I realize more than ever how much I miss and love my family.

I hope you had a great Thanksgiving--whether you ate and slept or ate and shopped or ate and played football. More than what you did on the day, I hope you spent it with those you love.

Save me, PLEASE!!!

City Mouse Now Country Mouse

No. 12

When Aaron and I moved to the cabin in August, we made a pledge to be penny-wise. In downsizing our living space and our overall lifestyle, we committed to saving money and living economically. In one of my moments of frugality, I decided that we did not need to spend the additional $17/month on the HD-DVR to accompany our monthly cable service. Oh, you misguided fool!
      About three weeks ago, after I had missed new episodes of Rizzoli & Isles and Bones while watching other first run shows, I had a melt down. I have so little "real" interaction with people everyday that having the opportunity to follow my shows has become really important to me. "We HAVE to get the DVR," I remembered saying to Aaron, in a more than whiny tone. He listened patiently and smiled politely. "Whatever you want, honey," was his response. He wasn't the one who was the hold-up on the DVR. After a few more whines, I resigned myself to the DVR expense. 
     I arrived at my local Comcast office with the old cable box in hand and full of excitement about the new DVR. Jacqui, my customer service rep, made several dozen clicks on her computer keyboard and then handed me my new DVR box. "Now remind me," I said. "What is the monthly charge for the DVR?"
     "There's a special $9.95 monthly deal," she said with a smile. 
      "Oh, how do I get that deal?" I said, trying not to sound too excited or too eager.
      "You already did," Jacqui said with a smile. I thanked her profusely and signed all the paperwork. I was out of the Comcast office in less than 10 minutes. So, even though I succumbed  to this additional luxury, I ended up saving a few pennies. Yahoo!
     I tell this story as I think about the next one since it gives a significant contrast to my West Virginia experience between being wise and being educated. At the end of September, I completed all the requirements to become a PASS Volunteer. This means I had to get a TB test and to attend a 2-hour training session on how to mentor PK-12 students. PASS stands for "Providing Academic and Self-Esteem  Support." When filling out my form, I volunteered to work with Middle and High School students. "God bless you," the coordinator said. "No one likes Middle schoolers," she added. "Well, I do," I added without hesitation. 
     As a PASS volunteer, we meet weekly with students to help them with their academics and also give them moral support to keep working at school even though it might not be easy. I have three Middle Schoolers and two High School boys. After so many years of working to integrate technology into schools and to help make the learning environment engaging and dynamic, I realized in the last four weeks that this doesn't mean a thing if the students you're trying to educate haven't had breakfast (or dinner the night before) or know who's taking care of them. It is poverty and parenting that are hindering so many students in low economic areas. 
     All of my students are at least three grades behind in math, reading, or both. None of the boys know all of their times tables and they struggle once they get to multiplying any numbers beyond the 6's or 7's. My 8th grade girl, who excels in math, can only read at a 3rd grade level. "What kind of books do you like to read?" I asked. "I don't know," she replied. "I don't read." [sigh.] After a few more minutes of conversation, I found that she liked movies about cheerleaders (Bring it On!) and Mean Girls. Argh! I wasn't sure I was going to be able to find a book that would keep her interest and one that she would be able to actually read herself might be difficult. Thanks to the dyslexic salesman at Books-a-Million, he pointed me in the right direction and was very sympathetic to my cause. (People love to tell me their personal stories.)  Believe it or not, there is chapter book series about cheerleaders that is written for 4-6th graders. I figured we could read it together and once she got hooked, she'd read it on her own. Reading, even if it includes tips on make-up and cheer acrobatics, is better than no reading at all.

    This is the first time I've ever worked with students who have poor math and reading skills. It is frustrating to think that they spend time in class trying to figure out what's going on and that they lack the basic skills necessary to keep up. I now understand why there are students that drop out. My one 9th grader is 16 and the other just turned 15. Most of their worksheets require regurgitation of facts and/or figures rather than doing anything that makes them think. I don't know if this is the typical work that mainstream students get but this is my impression so far. I quickly learned that this 30 minute time slot could be spend shooting the breeze, especially with my high school boys who like to act like they don’t have any class work or homework to do. That’s when I started bringing my “This is your Life” word problems to our sessions.

    One significant takeaway I learned at the STEM conference in Dallas this summer was that students do not know how to apply the math/science/tech skills they learn in school to real life problems. Well, Marcy's "This is your Life" word problems are designed to change all that. So far, we have investigated three different part-time jobs, one as a cashier at Burger King, one as a clerical worker in a dentist office and one as an after-school babysitter. Not only did we determine how much s/he would make at each job but we also talked about working conditions and personal preferences. The best job is the one that has the right salary AND working conditions for you. We also talked about buying and owning a car. While the vintage Mustang might be appealing, it’s MPG and annual insurance made it 50% more expensive than the slightly dinged up Cavalier. This week we are decorating the house and learning to determine the costs  of home improvements. One problem helps the students calculate how much paint one must buy if you want to cover all the walls with two coats of paint. It’s all practical stuff and it’s all applied mathematics. After the holidays I am hoping we are going to start doing some applied engineering by building a bird house or doll house as well as I will have them write their own resumes.

     I realize I've been procrastinating about my blog over the past month, and I think it has a lot to do with my concern about my kids. I want to fix things--to fix them--so that they can be successful but it isn't that simple or that easy to do. While I know that working with them 30 minutes once a week isn't going to change their reading and math skills overnight, I do know that during those 30 minutes they have my undivided attention and they are beginning to trust me as someone who is invested in their success. After all, that's why I started working in schools all those years ago--to make a difference in children's lives. What I'm learning is that they are making the difference in my life and helping me reconsider what is and isn't important about education.

Handicraft, Hand-Dipped and Hand in Hand

City Mouse Now Country Mouse
No. 11

My endless quest to be a "Master Craftswoman" has taken me to many an interesting place. Here's a brief history of my crafting:
* I've traveled to rural Pennsylvania with my friend Josephine to learn wood carving from a Pittsburgh sculpture artist. I also returned there two additional years to learn silver jewelry making and how to add color to silver pieces using tinted resin.
* I've traveled to Abiquiu, NM to three times--one for more jewelry making, once for pewtersmithing, and once for blacksmithing.
* I've traveled to Gatlinburg, TN to learn how to crochet silver, copper and fashion wire to make jewelry.
* I've traveled to Arlington, TX, several times to learn woodturning and how to make everything from a pen to a bowl to a goblet. So, what this means is I will got to great lengths to learn a new craft.
Here is a picture of me learning to bend wood for a Shaker box. Aaron and I went to a crafts festival in Boonsboro, MD, in early September and that's where we met Sam & Bob. Interestingly enough, they are brothers who together has a thriving business making Shaker boxes. After 10 or more minutes of conversation, I was ready to risk our jovial exchange with a risky question: would you be willing to teach me how to bend wood? My question was followed by a nervous laugh from the two but after a few more minutes of conversation, we figured out how I might learn their craft in a "non-threatening" and "no commitment" kind of way.

So, we agreed that I would attend their next craft show at the Mountain Heritage Arts & Crafts Festival near Harper's Ferry last weekend. The picture above is step one in the process. This is when you take the wet wood and bend it around the oval box form. Next, as you can see in the photo to the right, you add the copper tacks to keep the "fingers" and band in place. The last step (in bending) is to make the band for the lid. That picture is below. I bent wood for nearly three hours and by the end of it, I was starving; I guess all the bending and marking and nailing (repeat, repeat, repeat) helped me work up quite an appetite.

I thanked Bob and his wife for a great afternoon of crafting and we talked about when I could come to their workshop to learn to finish the boxes. We waved our good-byes and I wandered through the festival looking for the food tents.

After glancing at the festival program, I realized that I had very few healthy eating choices. Almost everything offered was fried with the exception of the pit roasted beef and the hand-dipped ice cream. I opted for the beef over the ice cream--probably a first for me--and sat down at a nearby picnic table. The beef as quite tasty, although messy, and I was content to eat and watch people go by. I was nearly half way through my sandwich when an older couple asked if they could join me. "Please--I'm happy to have company. Especially if you'll let me taste your ice cream."

They were carrying Styrofoam bowls heaping with ice cream. After they sat down, the gentleman leaned forward, extending his spoon to me. "Here you go," he said. "It's raspberry. I hope you like it."

"Oh," I said startled and embarrassed. "I was just kidding. It looks delicious."
"It's hand-dipped," the woman said. "I love hand-dipped ice cream." I agreed and we chatted about the weather for a few minutes.
"This is quite a crafts festival. The range and quality of work is exceptional," I said. "It's the first time I'm attended this show."
"Oh," the woman said, "I love this show. Gerry and I came last year but this is the first time that we are attending as husband and wife."
"So, you're newly weds," I said with a question in my voice. "Congratulations! That's great. How did you meet?"
"I met Annabelle in the seventh grade," Gerry said in between a large spoonful of ice cream.
"Seventh grade!" I said. "Wow!"
In my head, I was hearing: "Yikes! 7th grade!!" I did a quick flip through my memory rolodex of boys I knew in 7th grade. Double Yikes!

"That's right. It was our first year of high school," Annabelle said. "We both got married to other people and started dating after we lost our spouses . We were both married for almost 60 years. My husband died in 2004 and his wife in 2007."
"I am a lucky man," Gerry said proudly between mouthfuls of raspberry ice cream. I took a quick look at Annabelle; she was blushing. By this point, I was starting to question my food choice as he seemed to really be enjoying his afternoon treat.
"You must have married really young," I said to Annabelle.
"Yes, I did," said with a far away look in her eye. "And I never regretted it."
The three of us continued to chat about how they had courted for most of year before getting married in their Methodist church. The Gerry sold his two story house in Harper's Ferry and moved into Annabelle's rancher near Charles Town. "It's easier on the knees," he remarked.
"You finished your ice cream," Annabelle said smiling and poking Gerry in the arm. "You must have been hungry."
"We don't get hand-dipped ice cream everyday," he said, returning the smile to her. He then slid his hand into hers. She squeezed his hand and smiled again. Clearly, it was time for me to go; I had obviously already disappeared from their view.

Breaking and Entering . . .

City Mouse Now Country Mouse
No. 10

I have been looking forward to today for more than a week. As I have remarked, we are living in the boonies. While I am getting to know people every day (I had a great story I was going to tell for this installment), getting together with old friends and family trumps everything and anything new.

I had made arrangements to have brunch with Martha, long time and dear family friend of my parents who has been more like an Aunt to me. She offered to meet me in Shepherdstown, a mere 45 minutes from the cabin, and I had developed a schedule for the morning so that I could meet her on time. Well, as with so much of life, Plan A rapidly turned into Plan B.

My alarm went off at 8 am as set and I promptly got up, even though the house was chilly after the overnight cooling. I put on my "dog walking" clothes, got my Antarctica vest loaded with poop bags and my phone and I headed out the door. The dogs were excited and they took advantage of my eagerness to "get the business done." The morning air was fresh and the sun was twinkling through the leaves. I was excited and pleased with myself that everything was progressing as planned. That was until I got to the front door again, at the end of the walk, and realized that I did not have my keys in my pocket.

Bolix! I yelled out loud. Honestly, I could have cursed a blue streak but no one would hear me so I kept it simple. How was I going to get into the house--without my keys, without the spare keys that are supposed to stay at the association office but were on the microwave, and without Aaron's keys since he was in Michigan this weekend. Argh! I realized that I was going to have to break into my own house.

I made a quick walk around the house to size up which of the windows would be my best option. Given that I had both dogs on their leashes, I found a toppled tree that I could tie them to with the hope that they would be "good" while I figured out what to do. I had hoped that I could pry open the front window that would lead to the bathroom. No dice; this window as square and while I could get the screen off, I could not get the sliding glass window to budge.

This meant that my next option was the window by the fireplace. The catch with this option was that the window is 10 feet off the ground. Our ladder was on the deck, but I didn't realize that until 10 minutes after it was too late. But I"m getting ahead of myself. So, I wheeled the wheelbarrow underneath the window, steadying it so that it would not tip, and climbed in. It was way too short for me to reach the window. I was going to need something else taller to stand on.

There were chairs on the deck and the screen porch, neither of which would be easy to climb up to get and then I spied the deer feeder at the edge of the yard. The previous owners bought it and we had never used it. Until now--and I wasn't even using it properly! In sizing up my options, the feeder was 3 ft or so tall and my best, easiest option.. So, I dragged the canister across the yard and positioned it under the window.

At this point, I noticed that Zinc, our grey American Terrier/Pit Bull mix, was somehow running around the yard. Crap! I realized that he had chewed through his leash. Gwyn, our Lab/Boxer mix, was patiently waiting on her leash by the tree stump and wondering how Zinc was roaming free when she was not. Crap! I yelled again. I went over to check on Gwyn as she is the more likely of the two to actually run away. I found Zinc trying to chew her leash. Crap! I yelled even louder and I swatted him away. That was all I needed--two dogs running crazy while I was attempting to climb a precariously adapted ladder.

I needed to focus. I  placed the wheelbarrow in front of it so I could step up a foot or so before trying to climb on top of feeder. I did it but I was still considerably below my target. I managed to pry the screen off the window using tree branch and then was able to jerk the window open ( it has never latched well).

The moment of truth had come. I was going to have to hoist myself up and through the window. I imagined Gabby Douglas on the uneven bars, I took a deep breath and I leapt. OK, so I am no Olympic gymnast and I would score my attempt at 6.5--but I was hanging off the window at my waist. Partial success. I tried not to panic or chastise myself for not doing more weightlifting with my running/washing/drying routine. I just had to keep focused on getting into the house. So, I pulled myself forward and managed slither and flop onto the carpet. I made it! Success; I broke into my own house.

The rest of my morning went as planned: shower, makeup, dressing, walking the dogs (leaving the front door UNlocked) and heading off for brunch. Here's a picture of Martha and me at the Press Room in Shepherdstown. When I asked the waitress to take the photo, the woman at the table next to us asked if we were mother and daughter. "I wish," Martha quickly replied. I blushed, pleased. "She's my Aunt," I said. The woman persisted--a blood Aunt or just a friend? "Oh, she's my Aunt in Love," I replied. "And I am so lucky to have her." After all, I broke into my own house so I could get properly dressed.and get to brunch on time. It was TOTALLY worth it!

Fro-Yo: A Gateway Treat to Volunteering

City Mouse Now Country Mouse
No. 9

My brother Henry and his family moved to Chincoteague, VA, in February 1995. Over the past 17 years, the family has had to make a number of significant decisions. While we were raised Presbyterian, the island offered only three churches: Methodist, Baptist and Catholic. They joined the Methodist congregation. My sister-in-law Jodi taught elementary ed in the Fairfax County School system before she left the DC area; now she's teaching in Accomack County, and she has taught ESL (k-12) and PreKindergarten. When we visit them, everywhere we go, people greet Henry and Jodi by name. In fact, Henry is the unofficial Mayor of Chincoteague,,and Jodi regularly organizes funerals and other get-togethers. My brother instructs his annual interns about how to survive a small town: "If you get involved, you'll love living here; if you don't, you'll hate it here."

As I now find myself an even smaller community than Chincoteague, I have taken Henry's advice to hear. I recognized that now that the furniture is set and the everything things are set, it was time to reach out to my community. I did a quick Google search and discovered that the Middle School has a mentor/tutoring program that was desperate for adult help. "I can do that," I thought, and followed through with all the testing/training requirements. During our meeting, the Middle School coordinator Jen also told me briefly  about the Berkeley County Backpack Program.

Since we were both out most of the day, we decided to go out for dinner to catch up. As is our pattern, I like ice cream or fro-yo as a treat. So, after our dinner we strolled down to the local Sweet Frog to build our own frozen yogurt sundae. YUM! Who was there? The Backpack program ladies and they invited me to the weekly "bagging" that was slated for 9:30 am the following morning. How could I say No?! I now had an appointment on my rather empty calendar.

As I learned this morning, the Backpack Program feeds children who have "unreliable" food resources over the weekend days each week. In plain English, these are children who rely on the free and reduced breakfast/lunch program in the public schools as their primary means for food. So, I showed up at the Hedgesville Community Church at 9:30 am to meet a dozen other women who were staunch supporters of the program. By 11:45 am, we packed 257 bags of weekend meals for students (PreK through 12) that attend 16 different schools county-wide. What I also learned is that is that only a fraction of those that really need help are getting it. For example, of the 1,800 students that attend Hedgesville High School, nearly 600 of them are part of the free and reduced meal program. Of that number, only 55 are participating in the Backpack program. This means that there are a lot of hungry kids out there on non-school days.

Even as I packed bag after bag of Chef Boryardee and mac & cheese--knowing that these processed foods contain too much sodium and little to no fiber--I felt like we were doing a good thing for our local children. One of the main stipulations for the food contributions is that the child can prepare the meal on his/her own. That's a low bar when you're feeding 4 and 5 year olds. One positive: one of the local orchards donated fresh apples to go in the bags this week. Given that we are entering apple season in Berkeley County, I am glad to know that the student will have something fresh in their weekly bag.

So, I am now "in it," as Henry would say. Even if it pushes some of my ideas about healthy eating, I have to tell you it feels good. It feels like I am part of a community and for that, I am grateful.