This morning was the mother of all bad days...got a late start after three hours' sleep. I stayed up most of the night making comps for the 2 Illustrator logo projects due today. I had 1 1/2 hours of tutoring yesterday. The most valuable thing I learned was how to back up and erase my mistakes.

Anyway, I was more than an hour late for Algebra, and I was too embarrassed (and felt it was disrespectful in the least) to show up, so I went to the Computer Lab and tried to decipher Illustrator. After about an hour of unsuccessful work, I remembered that the Library had a new resource - online tutoring. So I went down to the Library and signed into the system. It was a real comedy of errors - it took forever to load; the sound was missing, no captions, etc. But with assistance, I was on my way. It made some of the basics clearer. I worked on the tutoring for about an hour. Then I decided that I would clear my head by getting a a cup of coffee and a change of scenery. I sat in the lobby of Liberty Place for a half-hour before coming early to my Digit Typography.

Here I sit, next to a young woman who reminded me that we had Portfolio class together. She said, "Oh, you were that great writer!". I thanked her for the compliment but remarked ruefully that I wished it translated over into a grasp of software. I have always loved the computer, but at this point it seems like my enemy. Maybe I should fast-forward mentally three years and see myself graduating with a meaningful position in Philly.

Well, class is about to begin in a few minutes. Here's hoping the rest of the day proves better than the start.

It's Wednesday. The rain has been coming down like a curtain of water. Now that I've gotten it together and am sitting here in my next new class, Digital Manipulation, I am excited - and scared.

It's taken me two (!) semesters to get the old brain circuits up and running. I think of last quarter as a disaster. It's not that my grades were so terrible, but it's that I got poorer grades than I should have on subjects that I already know. Why? Perfectionism. I wanted to have the best work and took so long with the idea and planning that I ended up with no work. Especially in my Computer Science class. 90s and 100s on tests; 100 on a term paper, but C on the final grade. I didn't get my projects in on time because I thought I had more time than I had; I didn't allow myself time to work the kinks out; I let distractions at home keep me from doing the leg work.

Well, not this quarter. I have decided that I am going to smarten up. I saw where there is now going to be a Non-Traditional Students Support Group, which is just what I need. I think I'll drop in and see what's up. I especially need help with time management. And it will be nice to do something with my contemporaries. Although my fellow students made no difference wth me, I felt like a grandmother in class with young people to whom Martin Luther King was a figure in history.

I'm very thankful to my family for their support. They say they are proud of me and want me to continue. I wan to succeed so much, but I need to turn off the negative tapes in my head that say I can't do this because of my age, etc.

And, secondly, my dear son may be attending AIPH in October, and I can't let him show up the old lady, now can I?

I'm now at the end of my second quarter at A.I.P.H. I can't believe it. Last quarter was a do-over for two of my classes - Computer Science and Beginning Algebra. Computer Science was a breeze (90s in all of my testing but I failed miserably when it came to the homework - couldn't get the projects done because of my poor time management skills. Plus, I was overly ambitious. I had these high-flown ideas but no way to carry them out. The dullest, most self-centered ("My project is about the most important person in my world - ME!") got things done competently. I've learned a great deal about myself, and I am going to do my best to put those lessons into practice in my third quarter.

1. Don't procrastinate. No homework doesn't mean no work. Study and make sure I know the software. Practice using it. If I can, study with other students. The younger ones are so far ahead of me in their familiarity with different software packages.

2. Don't ruminate. You couldn't have gone to school any earlier, so get over myself and get it done.

3. Find a schedule and don't let extraneous things interfere ("Mom, I just got something on my mind and I have to talk to you". 2 hours later, my concentration is blown, my time is gone, and so is my sleep.).

4. Prioritize what has to be done as soon as I get it. Put it on a large calendar and check it daily.

5. Review my course requirements at least once a week.

6. Do it neatly and on time. Keep smudges off my work.

7. Stop comparing myself to other people. Sometimes you CAN teach an old dog new tricks.

8. I don't have to apologize for going to school.


This quarter I have four classes: Art History, College Math, Image Manipulation, and Digital Typography. I want to look over the syllabus before class so I can be prepared.

Riding back on SEPTA today, I had the chance to do some recreational reading and thinking. Octavia Butler is one of my favorite writers. Although she was known for being the sole female African-American Sci-Fi author, two of her essays struck a chord in me today - "Positive Obsession" and "Furor Scribendi". In both essays she describes the forces that led to her choosing writing as a career. Her "gift", as some would put it, wasn't nurtured by her environment. During her youth, African-Americans, particularly females, were not seen as capable of writing good fiction, let alone science fiction. Octavia was encouraged to get a "real" job, and if she were to insist on being a writer, she should only do it as a hobby. Young black people of her generation were always encouraged to avoid arty, creative professions, which were seen as unreliable. Eating regularly is more attractive than starving in a garret. So, while working in a variety of emotionally unsatifying and intellectually sterile jobs (factory work, clerical jobs), she wrote at night and after work. But neither the lack of positive feedback in rejection letters, nor the fact that no one seemed to value her writing enough to buy it stopped her. I guess that would be the true mark of a writer - that you just HAVE to do it regardless of what other people think.

I write, too. In fits and starts. There were times when I was at home full-time with the children that I filled notebooks with stories. I had my medical transcription work that I did from 9 p.m. until 1 a.m. I went to bed for a few hours, arose, typed another few hours, got my older son off to school, finished just in time for the pickup by the messenger. On days that I finished early (around 5 a.m.). I would turn off the computer, get a hot cup of coffee and look out of my bedroom window and watch the sun come up at dawn while filling my notebooks with thoughts and ideas until the younger two children woke up for the day.

What did I write about? Being a stay-at-home Mom. The frustrations of finding just the right material to spark an "aha" moment in my children's minds. Managing on very little income. My internal struggles to reconcile my several identities (mother, wife, JW, writer, seeker of knowledge). My childhood.

Some days the words seemed to flow from my mind down into the pencil. At other times, there were no words that seemed to capture my emotions. There were times when I used the writing to save my sanity when my emotional pressures needed an outlet and therapy was out of the question for financial reasons. And then, sometimes I just wrote because I love the beauty of words for themselves and for the pictures they create.

As my children grew, the demands of caring for their needs crowded out my writing, and it was put aside for a long while. I missed it but I thought of it as a luxury I couldn't afford. Writing both served as an outlet but also as a distraction. It made me examine portions of my life and questions about life that I felt were too painful to look at for very long if I wanted to get through the day.

Now the children are all grown, if not yet totally independent. There is now more time to revisit my old stories. All three of the children are story-tellers. My daughter has many, many stories - some of them as long as 65 pages. I used to help her write them down, but she got tired of waiting on me and now she works on them alone on her own computer. My younger son dictates his stories to me. He has a truly rich imagination and is probably the best "writer" of us all. He has written a saga called, "The Worlds" with five different planets, each with their own stories that are interrelated. If he was not dyslexic and dependent on others to write them down, I'm sure that they would overflow his computer. I have learned how to use the Windows Movie-Maker this quarter, and over the next vacation I plan to show him how to make movies of his stories. I'd like to help him free himself from the print and find ways to express himself without being held down by his LD. My older son as well wrote some very imaginative SciFi. I have them saved to disk and read them from time to time. We did collaborate together on one story. I miss having his mind to spark with.

I hope to get the basement cleared up a bit while home on vacation so that I can set up the extra computer. I'd like to use that one to diddle around with art projects and old stories. I used to make up stories and characters to teach the children concepts; my hope is that I can find a way to do that to inspire LD kids and adults to look for the gifts in their unique minds, instead of dwelling on their challenges.

DeeDee gave her first talk on the Ministry School tonight at the Kingdom Hall. For some people this is a step towards spiritual adulthood. For DeeDee, it was an ordeal. She hemmed and hawed and said she wanted to change her mind and give it up; theshe put on her clothes and more makeup than she usually wears, but she looked good. DeeDee and her friend practiced her little five-minute presentation on why Christians should be proud to be Christians until I could recite it myself, but when the time came for her to do it, she was a natural. Usually a new school student gets applause before they speak, but DeeDee warned the brother not to mention it until she was finished. Then she got thunderous applause. By the time we got home, DeeDee was bragging about how cute she was and how everyone thought she seemed like it wasn't her first time. DeeDee never does things by half-measures. Time will tell where this leads. She has been a bit down because the community college has been closed for a few days due to a teacher's strike. It's hard for her to sit quiet. In the meantime, she heard from the program she has enrolled in to become a CNA. The training starts in May, and she says that she feels that now she will become "somebody". I reminded her that she already is someone of value, but having a paycheck and a title means a lot to her, just as it does to most people.

DJ is likewise making changes. After a stormy week of illness and conflict with DeeDee, he came down with pneumonia and had to be admitted to the hospital. The stress of being ill also caused his arm to dislocate, and he was too fragile for us to take the hospital by car, so we had to call an ambulance. Being that it was Saturday night, it was crowded and he had to lay on a stretcher in the hallway, but fortunately not for too many hours. The pneumonia gave him diarrhea, vomiting, a high fever of 102 and stomach pains. He was one very sick young man but he was stoic about his pain. They weren't able to admit him until 4 a.m. Sunday morning, where he passed out and slept well into the afternoon. He was dehydrated. We let the elders know, and they immediately visited him that Sunday. They told us yesterday that they went to encourage him, but he cheered them up very much. He has such an appreciation for his congregation responsibilities and wants to be an active member of Larchwood Congregation. They said, "You have a fine son.". This week our children made us proud.

DJ was discharged on Monday afternoon with antibiotics to take for the rest of the week. He was glad to be home in his room among his things. If we can get him to rest some, he will probably be ready to return to work next Tuesday. Sometimes he looks so frail that you wonder how he does the things that he does but you see the spirit burning in his eyes. I pray that that spirit will sustain him and he will not burn out.

In Portfolio today, I had to read my personal mission statement to the class. Karen (the teacher)assigned this as a way for us to clarify to ourselves our goals and to work on having poise when speaking to the public. She said that by the time we finish at the Art Institute we will have had a lot of practice explaining our thoughts and ideas. I don't believe I ever will be comfortable doing it, which is why field service continues to be an ordeal for me.


But, without further ado, here is the text of my remarks:

What do I wish to accomplish and contribute as a student at the Art Institute of Philadelphia? Balance and moderation in all things, both in my occupation and in my life.

As a graphic artist, the barest minimal goal for me would be competency with all software, hardware, and procedures required, so that I would have the necessary foundation to become an artist in the truest sense - a creator of what is beautiful, useful, original, and inspiring.

As a human being, I believe that I owe the Creator and those who have come before me a tremendous debt for the life I have been given. And, despite hardships, I have been given much in the way of intelligence, education, and upbringing. According to Luke 12:48, "...Indeed, everyone to whom much has been given, much will be demanded."
(NWT, 1994 edition). Both of my parents are college-educated individuals who raised themselves from environments of disadvantage. My father used the G.I. Bill to attend engineering school, and then Columbia University. My mother took the traditional route of becoming a homemaker, although she too was trained as an elementary school teacher at a historically black college in the South.


What do I want to be as a person - what kind of character, strengths, and qualities do I wish to develop? At age 50, the person you see is pretty much what I am. And yet, I would be the first to admit there is room for much improvement. I tend to be very reserved and shy. I am definitely more comfortable with books and ideas than with people. Food is my friend, and I have a love affair with chocolate. I live inside of my head most of the time; and it's pretty interesting, so from time to time I have to be reminded that there is a world outside as well. Most people who know me say that I am a kind person, honest, bright, and somewhat naive. I guess I would want to be known as a person of integrity; the kind of person who would never compromise her values but still can be compassionate and reasonable. I am never going to be the life of the party, but I'm okay with that. There's room in this world for introspective people, too.

At the end of my education here at the Art Institute, I will be more assertive in dealing with individuals. I don't quite have the hang of it yet - I tend to swing between passivity and a meltdown after a long period of feeling abused. Again, as I said at the beginning of my mission statement, balance nad moderation is what I am aiming for.

My second goal is to work on eliminating some of the mental fog I develop when confronted with something challenging. I know it's partly a defense mechanism, combined with the family ADD.

What are my strengths? My love for my Good, my faith, and my family. For them, no effort or sacrifice is too great. Both parents provided us with religious education; I decided after much reflection to become one of Jehovah's Witnesses. What I have learned in the past 35 years since my baptism has satisfied my need for answers about life's purpose, and so I remain. I am not the Christian I would like to be, but in some ways, I am better than I was because I have gradually learned wisdom - often the hard way.

My other strength is my intelligence (about which I have mixed feelings); it is a gift I hope to use well here at the Art Institute. I am well-read and I have a facility with words which allows me to express my thoughts well. My failing is that sometimes it is too easy for me to be merely facile.

I have a wonderful husband, to whom I have been married for 22 years. He doesn't always understand me, but he hangs in there anyway. When I graduate, it will be due in large measure to him. He supports my being here by taking over much of the meals and the housework; and he gives me carfare and a shoulder to cry on when I've misplaced yet another book or paper. He drives me to the bus stop when I'm running late and keeps me supplied with coffee so I can quiet my jumpy brain when I work. No one knows the best and the worst of me as he does.

My children are also a strength as well as a trial, but always my pride and joy. I would like to leave them financially secure, but I believe that if I leave them prepared to face the world with a strong moral grounding and the tools to make their own way in the world, that would be an even greater inheritance. My husband and I have tried to carry on these traditions with our three children - home-educating them for part or all of their childhood, so that they will be able to face life's challenges in a positive way.

Lastly, my greatest strength is spiritual relationship with Jehovah God. He has never left me, although at times I haven't always been as constant. So, as part of my personal mission statement, I would like to say that I intend to increase the quality and the quantity of my spiritual commitment. I want to more fully apply Biblical principles in my personality, especially at times when it is the most difficult or least advantageous to do so.

"Balance in all things" - that is my goal. In the autumn of my years, I want to sip time and gulp life. Or - to take a leaf from Andrew Marvell:

"Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness up into one ball.
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

11-20-06: I'm feeling encouraged today by the way drawing class went. I'm discovering that even though there is such a thing as "talent" or "genius" in the way of art, if you are properly instructed, a hard-working "average" person can go a long way. Notwithstanding my poor midterm showing this past quarter in Computer Science, I truly love computers and everything associated with them.

We had a live model for drawing today - a female. She gradually (by either happenstance or design)led us up to feeling comfortable drawing her in the nude. First, she did a pose or two in her robe only with bare feet. Then after the morning break, she dispensed with the robe but posed in a seated position. Later on, she then kneeled, stood with her back to us, and then full-frontal view. After a while, I did not notice her lack of clothing but saw her as an object to be drawn carefully and with shading for areas of shadow. (Is it possible that this is the way that most evil gets introduced to the mind?) Ms. Gold never introduced her to the class, nor did she touch her except to demonstrate how she wished her to pose.

I expected juvenile behavior from the males in class (as they were in the majority), with tittering, crouch-grabbing, or snickering. However, they seemed to remember their manners and seemed more stunned. The model was very profession and did not appear to notice the class but stared at some far-away spot, or perhaps was pondering her fee for the morning. She brought an electric heater and juices for her breaks, which were frequent. Ms. Gold explained that holding a pose for 15 or 20 minutes without movement was extremely tiring. It's my understanding that models do not earn a great deal of money posing for art classes, but as a student, certainly every dollar helps. Besides the money, a part of me wonders if there is a certain pride in having physical beauty; and displaying one's self in this way is a socially (if not morally) acceptable way to gain some positive feedback. Viewing the model dispassionately, she was quite attractive in a classical way - a sweet, delicate face, pale skin, red hair, and a well-formed body.

It is not something I would ever consider, even in my younger, shaplier state. And now, if I did, the sensation it would produce in my peers would probably be nausea and pity. As a doctor said once, "Most people just look better with their clothes on.".

Back to my current level of drawing skill..It has improved, even to my jaundiced eye. Ms. Gold helped me yesterday by explaining how the body conforms to certain standard proportions. For example, the average person is 7 heads tall, is about the same width from fingertip to fingertip as they are in height, and the hand is usually two times the length of the longest finger. Once again, creation demonstrates the "Intelligent Design" used by the Creator in forming Man. He truly exists. For a few minutes, I found myself marvelling with appreciation of the quality Jehovah God invests in everything He does.

Anyway, with Ms. Gold's suggestions, I began to see a definite improvement in what was on the paper in comparison to the actual model. I am learning to produce a reasonable facsimile of the Surrealist paintings I have been researching for our final quarter project. Perhaps it's only a matter of application, or just maybe a little bit of the artistic talent present in my brother and older son is also present in me.

Today has been a day both of joy and of sadness. Today, our son made the decision to accept a permanent job as a manager at the Academy of Natural Sciences instead of waiting on an uncertain appointment for education at Hiram Andrews Training Center in Johnstown for vocational training.

My younger son Darius (D.J.) has fought a courageous battle for the majority of his life with two different challenges: He has both severe dyslexia as well as a genetic disease called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. To explain it briefly, it is a glitch in the gene responsible for the proper formation of connective tissue in the body, which holds everything together (joints, muscles, bone,ligaments, etc.). When it misfires, strange things happen. People with Ehlers-Danlos (EDS) have spontaneous dislocations of their arms or legs. They may have very stretchy skin (remember the Rubber Man of the circus). People with EDS may be able to hyperextend their joints (double-jointedness)or twist their bodies in very flexible ways. But mainly, EDS is painful and difficult for doctors to diagnose. There isn't really a blood test that pinpoints it; its more a matter of doing a very thorough genetic history and examination. It does tend to occur in tall, thin people but not always. A famous person who was believed to have had EDS was the violinist Niccolo Paganini, who was known for doing incredible fingerings on his instrument because of his hyperflexible joints.

D.J. suffered a long time with pain and exhaustion. He couldn't stand much heat or cold. Getting upset made it flare up in what he calls "spikes" - painful, electric-like shock sensations all over his body. Sometimes his arms would suddenly dislocate with a loud pop that could be heard by others in the room. But the hardest trial D.J. had to face was that his own parents didn't always believe he was ill, especially after they were told by a counselor that it was a ploy for attention. There were times when we (especially me) were impatient with him after having to sit with him for hours and nothing seemed to help the pain, the dislocations, and the paralysis that seemed to come out of nowhere and last for as long as a day or two. It took over three years and a fortuitous break (My sister also was going through some medical issues and received the diagnosis of E.D.S. shortly before D.J. at Johns Hopkins. The similarity in symptoms led us to a geneticist)before we got a real diagnosis.

This marked the end of the beginning, as he is still on his way to getting some control over his disease.

The severity of dyslexia, despite much academic intervention, is such that he is for all practical purposes, "word-blind". Yet, with both challenges, our son has set goals and met them.

Originally a volunteer at the Academy as part of his homeschooling education, his qualities earned him more and more responsibility, until he was offered a job as a part-time manager after graduation. Now he has decided that in order to achieve another goal, that of being a volunteer minister of Jehovah's Witnesses, he would forego leaving the area in order to build relationships within his congregation and the local community. It wasn't a decision he made lightly, because the schooling would have provided him more skills in dealing with his disabilities. However, he has waited nearly a year to enroll in the school, and he wants to get on with his life. The next stop - getting his own place.

We have lost our little boy, but we have gained a young man.

This has been a real arts weekend for me. First, I took my girlfriend Shelly with me to New York on the trip sponsored by the Black Students Union (That in itself was a tale, but I digress.). The destination was the Museum of the City of New York, and the exhibit was “Black Style”. I always knew our people had style but it was nice to see my opinion validated.

Anyway, Shelly and I rarely have the time to sit and chew the fat, being that she is the mother of five and I am the mother of two still at home. Shelly is a very hands-on mother, choosing her children’s schools, monitoring their homework and behavior, studying the Bible with them, etc…. So, this past Saturday was a chance for us to be just “two wild and crazy” girls in the Big City. We really got our talk on. I think we learned so much about each other that we didn’t know before and just reaffirmed our friendship. I felt very honored that she is my friend, as odd as I am.

It was a very pleasant bus ride with classmates and guests, none of whom I knew, but all were friendly. Many of them were in the Fashion Design curriculum. In about two hours, we arrived at the museum and lined up for the tour. The exhibit began at about the beginning of the 20th century. There were many talented known and unknown individuals who took the raw materials they had and made something uniquely personal about their garments. Milliners, dress designers, entertainers, and everyday folk in the hood - all had something to contribute to American culture and style. There was a display of the old-style “Negro” cotillions of the 50s and 60s, where young well-brought-up African-American girls were introduced to society. This tradition still existed when I was a teenager. Unfortunately, I did not participate in the local cotillion for personal reasons.

Personal items of clothing were loaned to the museum, including a gown worn by Beyonce Knowles, designed by her mother; clothing by P. Diddy (“Sean John”), outfits by Run DMC, Eve, etc… The clothing on display were alarmed and roped off so that they would not be torn or damaged by oils from the hands of visitors.

There was also other displays about the history of New York in the 40s and 50s - famous people like Rocky Graziano, Gloria Vanderbilt, and Danny Kaye, as well as some unusual people like tank swimmers (akin to Weeki-Wachee) in a nightclub, and a fire-eater. We skipped the middle two floors (Broadway and theater arts) but went on to the fifth floor, where several rooms were removed from the John Rockefeller, Sr. mansion and reconstructed down to the wallpaper. Very lavish and over-decorated on nearly every surface. After the museum, we took the subway to Canal Street, where Shelly haggled and bargained with the best. We came away with two Pashmina stoles and jewelry to appease our teenage daughters (who think that we don’t know how to dress). Then back up to 42nd Street to window-shop and eat.

After that, we decided to find our way back to the museum and the bus since it gets dark early. The day passes Shelly suggested came in handy, as we had quite a wait for the return bus. It gave us an opportunity to reboard a city bus, travel a few blocks away, and have coffee at Starbucks before returning to the bus for home. On the way home, two movies were shown - “The Devil Wore Prada”, which we both liked. “Littleman” with the Wayan brothers I thought was rather silly and kind of vulgar - just the kind of stuff that would appeal to younger people.

We rolled back into Philadelphia about an hour later than anticipated, but overall it was a great day and a wonderful trip. Although the exhibit was fascinating, the best part of the trip was being together.

On the following day, another girlfriend and I went to the Black Art Show (October Gallery) at the Liacouras Center. But that tale is for another day.

The single worst thing for me about going back to school is time management. With A.D.D., keeping all the balls up in the air is possible only for a few minutes at a time. Yesterday was a prime example:

I ran out of time to go over all of the homework assignments for Computer Science. Some were half done. One was done during class. However, I did read over all of my lecture notes and the "Little Mac" book, thinking that this would help me with the mid-term. HAH! I thought, "I've been using the PC for a dog's age. Surely most things would be familiar, so I can wing it.". Did pretty well on the essays (I hope, anyway. Section 2 of the test where you had to reproduce a document, I breezed through, until - I had to find and add a picture. Finding the picture was no problem; it was getting it inserted so that it was lying UNDER the text and not outside of the boundaries. (to be continued)

Food and I have always had a love-hate relationship. When I feel sad, it soothes the ache. When I'm happy, it makes the good times even better. On a cold, raining day, a bowl of soup can fill up the cold places like a hug from a friend. The hate comes when you realize that long after the pleasure has gone, the food remains - on hips and chest and backside.

We have this relationship, food and I. Over the years, I may win the occasional skirmish, sometimes even a battle or two. But food plays for keeps. There is one food I just cannot resist, try though I may. Chocolate! Only the Creator could pack so much wonderfulness in one small bean.

As long I don't see it or smell it, I can resist. But let the aroma of a chocolate brownie fresh from the oven reach my nose, and I get a craving that just has to be satisfied. Being at AIPH doesn't help much - I'm just too close to my favorite place - Barnes and Noble - that serves my favorite guilty pleasure - double chocolate cheesecake. Thursdays are the worst for me.

Why? Because Thursday is the last day of classes; and after a long week packed with two part-time jobs, hurried studying, and missed sleep, I'm ready to surrender. On Thursday afternoon, my craving for chocolate is more seductive than a Barry White ballad.

"You know you want me, baby. I'm just around the corner, waiting for you. Be good to yourself. You worked hard all week."..I say to myself, "But,the kids are waiting. I got things to do.". Then that cheesecake purrs, "Just a few moments for yourself. The kids are fine. They won't mind if you have a cup of coffee and slice of DOUBLE CHOCOLATE CHEESECAKE". Suddenly in my mind's eye, there appears a glistening slice of rich chocolate cake. Chilled from the case, beads of moisture sparkle on curls of chococate. My tongue waters, almost tasting the dense cocoa filling and the whipped cream garnish.

Enough! I can't take this. I rush around the corner and up the escalator to the second floor of Barnes and Noble. The guy behind the counter has a knowing smile. He's seen my kind before. "Will it be the usual?". I slide my eyes away. "Yes. You know the drill. Just give me a coffee regular and the double chocolate cheesecake.".

I take my loaded tray over to a table and sit down to indulge in my weekly guilty pleasure - coffee, chocolate, and books. Ahhhhhh. My oasis in a stress-filled world. Thursdays were never so sweet.

What makes my life worth living? What inspires me to dream?

Well, there are two main things that give shape and meaning to my life - my family (and by that I mean my family of creation (husband and kids)and my family of origin - parents and siblings)and my faith.


First of all, my husband Sonny is the love of my life. I knew he was the one for me when I could envision us growing old together - two creaky, white-haired old people sitting in rocking chairs on our porch. Now that the kids are grown, that time isn't too far away, but hopefully there is enough time for us to do some of the things we've (well at least one of us) dreamed about - seeing where he grew up in California, going to England to walk the moors where the Brontes lived, going on the road with his music...

My younger sister Elaine, the one who changed from an accountant to an art teacher, also has a dream that I share - visiting Prince Edward Island after graduation. We both have a passion for Anne Shirley of Green Gables.

Our children think we are too old to dream, but to borrow from the Bard, "We are such stuff as dreams are made on.".

And second but more importantly, my faith in my God, Jehovah, and His promise in the Bible (Revelation 21:3,4) of a new and better world inspires me to want to be there. No pain, no suffering, and no death. I'll have forever to learn as much as I want for as long as I want. Art and music, great literature, and great minds. A healthy body with a healthy mind. Then, every day will be a joy to be alive and not to just to be gotten through like it is so often now.

These things, then are my inspiration. It is my humble prayer that they come to pass.

Today happened to be a pretty good day. Fundamentals of Drawing was rather exciting today. We had a substitute because our usual instructor was absent due to illness. We've been practicing perspective by drawing blocks, tables, and circles for the past three weeks. I definitely have improved from where I was at the start, but it's hard to be excited drawing things that are somewhat abstracted from the "real world".

However, today, the substitute began by introducing himself and showing us some of his professional work in the comic book field. We then went on to the assignment (draperies and folds). That was different and not too hard. After the break, he first demonstrated portrature by drawing a pretty young member of our class. Then we were to take turns drawing the picture of the person next to us; and they would draw us in turn. The kindest thing I can say is that it was obvious this was an elementary drawing class, but we were all game.

Class ended at 11:30 a.m. I checked several drawing books out of the library to help me with perspective and life drawing, then bought a sketch pad from the dollar store.

Took the #31 home, cooked breakfast for D.J. and I and then dozed for two hours. It was a damping kind of day, so I put on turkey drumsticks to boil for dinner. When Sonny got in, he was pretty happy. Those drumsticks took a while; must of been an old turkey. But they made a nice meal with the broth thickened for gravy and yellow rice. Food, another one of God's gifts and pleasures in life. Now, if I can just stay awake and get some homework done.

I thought that it was time to introduce the most significant people in my life - my family.

First of all, is my charming husband Sonny. We've been married for over 22 years, and we are as comfortable together as a pair of bedroom slippers. It's not too romantic a description of our relationship, but we have been through so much together, I can't imagine being with anyone else. While we share a lot of interests in common, what really drew him to me is that he is such a kind, compassionate person. I didn't think so at first. Back then, he was a foine dresser in his double-breasted tailored suits, Bally shoes, and the little dip in his walk he had. Nobody could tell me he wasn't sweet on himself. After all, he played a mean jazz guitar and sang like George Benson.

But since we were both busy - me married and caring for a new baby; and him a volunteer worker at Watchtower Farm in Walkill, we really took little notice of each other.

Seasons passed, and so did my marriage. My son and I were now living alone in our apartment, going to community college, and getting adjusted to our new life. By this time, Sonny had a jazz group on weekends, and I was invited to play my clarinet along with them. It gave me a chance to see him up close - all of his fine qualities, especially the kindness I already mentioned. You see, I was the only group member who couldn't play by ear, so I had to play the songs ahead of time, note for note, and transcribe them. And I couldn't do solos off our compositions for that reason. About all I could manage was a little trill or to play my part an octave higher. I must have been rather tone-deaf as well, because on all of the recordings of our music, I'm consistently sharp. All the same, everyone in the group patiently waited for me to get my music together.

(to be continued)....

I didn't want to do it, but I dropped two courses. With the schedule I currently have (2 part-time jobs, children with special needs, a husband, and health problems), it should have been a no-brainer. But, not me. I'm Mrs. Perfectionist. I have this weird notion that dropping a course is like being a failure. Fortunately, two people got to me and gave me the figurative "slap upside the head" that I needed - my sister and a staff member from the Art Institute.

First, the staff member bluntly reminded me that I'm not a teenager any more, and to listen to my body. I have been listening but I'm really trying not to. My joints squeal like a haunted house, especially after sitting through several hours of class. And my senior moments are coming thick and fast. Misinterpreting what people say to me, getting paranoid. My son and I had quite a dust-up last week, after I told him what to do and then reprimanded him for doing it. He finally said in exasperation, "You don't know what you want from me, do you?".

Then, I boo-hooed to my sister about how I can't do this, and I bit off more than I could chew,....on and on. Finally, she interrupted me and said, "Yeah, Ann. This is the second week right? You're going to feel like you're going crazy, but it will pass. You can't do everything all at one time. Why do you think it took me five years to finish my Bachelor's degree. Give yourself a break.".

So, I dropped the 2 most stressful classes and rearranged my schedule so that there was one free day (Friday) to do homework, sleep a little later, housework, and go to the library if I want to. One day has only one class, Portfolio, after which I can go to work for a half-day at my better-paying job. Weekends are more for taking care of my family, homework, and my other job doing typing at home.

Almost from the time I made the decision to drop the classes, I could feel a sense of relief. My shoulders relaxed. I smiled more and hugged my kids. "Evilene" once again was beaten back to the corner, waiting for her next opportunity to emerge.

When I went to my drawing class the next Monday, I was of the mind to ask the instructor for a tutor. But when she sat down in my seat and showed me step by step what she wanted me to do, I did it almost perfectly. Wow!. What made the difference? I think I was really awake now. The instructor said, "Ann, that's 100% better. In just five minutes, what a difference.". Before that my blocks drawn in perpective were looking kind of seasick. Seeing that it was possible for me to draw what she asked gave me such a boost in confidence.

I have a way to go on getting enough sleep, but my at-home job forced the issue by taking work away from me. I actually got to watch a television program the other night, and it was great!
The trick is for me to remember two things:

1. Build my schooling around my life, and not my life around my school (from the staff member).
2. I don't have to prove anything to anyone; I'm okay just as I am (a VERY LONG story).

But most importantly, I am a servant of God first.

The later Wednesday class gives me an opportunity to have breakfast with my son before I leave. We take turns cooking (He cooked this morning), and then we had morning worship (reading a daily scripture and having a discussion, and then prayer). I really missed having this time with him. He is growing up into a fine young man, and pretty soon now he will be going away to a training school for people with handicaps. He's twice gifted (LD/Gifted).

Now I am actually starting to enjoy class the way I always dreamed about all those years when I wanted to go back to school.

I have been crying every morning this week.

It feels like a knot in my stomach that grows until it comes up in a wave. I think I have it under control, when all of a sudden it pushes up and out through my eyes. All it takes is for someone to remark on how tired I look. Or ask if I'm feeling well. My husband said with concern this morning, "Your face looks swollen, baby? Don't you think you ought to stay home this morning?". My face isn't all that is swollen. I've been retaining fluid, and my pants won't fit right. I still have no hips, but plenty of thighs. They go up and down with my water pill.

My old friend, Arthur Itis, sits on the corner of my bed and watches me struggle to get up to a standing position. He's the one responsible for the snap, crackle, pop I make in the mornings. In addition, it feels like I have a squirrel squeezing his way between my ribs under the left side of my brassiere. During the day, I feel its tiny claws dig like hot needles up and down my arm and around my armpit and left breast. I keep the squirrel at bay with Tylenol, coffee, and hot showers.

This is life - after the Change.

I've been listening in to my fellow students. They have the energy to burn the candle at both ends. Party until 1. Do homework until 4, then show up in class full of wisecracks at 8. Opening my textbooks at the end of a long day makes me vomitous, so I can only work a few minutes at a time. I long for my quiet mornings, a cup of coffee, and typing to the sound of classical music.

This morning, my husband offered to drive me to the trolley. I got in the car, reached for my seatbelt, and then erupted in a gush of emotion without warning. Great gulping,liquidy sobs that continued on and on for several minutes. He waited helplessly, patting me on the shoulders until it subsided. After the storm, he started the car and drove slowly down Chestnut Street until I got control of myself. He let me off near a coffee shop and SEPTA. More collected, I kissed him goodbye. How blessed I am to have my very own knight, ready to slay fierce dragons for me.

A few minutes later, the hot coffee courses its way through my system. That and a kiss give me the boost to catch the El and face the day.

My unsettled state of mind has been spilling over into my at-home work as a contract transcriptionist. Medical transcription can be very interesting work. It requires a strong grasp of grammar and medical terminology. I've learned a lot about medicine and doctors. But balancing my job with school and sleep hasn't been easy. Four hours of sleep per night has been the norm of late. For several nights, I have awakened at the keyboard with my fingers moving to the dictation and gibberish on the page. My immediate supervisor e-mailed me about not keeping up, and she is NOT a happy camper. It seems I sent her files she didn't ask for and omitted some she needed. Since I am assigned to one of their major accounts, it has caused a bit of agita between the doctors and the agency. I managed to clean up my mess, but I may not get much work for a while. She's certainly within her rights, but it hurts with the bills.

I have seen the elephant. Some of my classes will have to go.

I overestimated my ability to start from where I left off in my education 25 years ago. Then, I had only one child, a small apartment, and hopes of making a new life for myself after divorce. Days were long but they were fulfilling, and my sleep was sound.

Now, "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak". I forgot how early classes begin, or how much homework one teacher can expect. I forgot how heavy college texts can be. Inside my head (which is where I live most of the time), I have the stamina of the long-distance runner. Like Superman, I can leap tall buildings with a single bound. My house is well-arranged, and so are my clothes. Graceful as a gazelle, I glide down the street, stunning in anything I wear. "Who is that elegant woman?", people ask as I pass.

Then I wake up.

In reality, I am a tired, overweight 50 year old housewife. On a good day, while my clothes are always clean, they are often not matched. Whatever I find on top of the laundry basket that fits will do. My weight has steadily crept up over the years due to eating dinners while I type after the children have gone to bed. I've grown into two people just by sitting still. Over time, my standards of what is stylish have dropped from feminine and becoming to clean, roomy, and free of crumbs. After all, I'm a mom - no need to be fancy. My cat Emily loves my lap - it's ample and good for a snuggle. My family says I look just like a mother is supposed to, and as long as I'm available for hugs and a listening ear, they don't mind. "More to love", says my husband.

For the past 15 years, my house has been the center of my world. From here I have educated my children, earned money to pay the mortgage, and reached out to others through my computer. I've used my home as a base from which to venture when necessity demanded. But I have also come to realize that the time has come to leave my "safe place" and rejoin the world. Our fledglings are ready to leave; and if ever the time was right for making a change to a new life, it is now.

Dear Karen (and whoever else is interested):

Here is my online journal.

I tried several weeks ago to make a blog and was going to call it, "MADD At Any Age", but the logistics of trying to set it up defeated me. This site seems much easier. Thank you. As you continue to read my journal, I think you will discover why the previous title is VERY appropriate.

Now, on to the assignment:

Why College? Why are you here?

I might add, why are you trying this for the second time, 25 years later?

Well....

I'm a packrat for knowledge. I've been reading since the age of two, gathering up bits of information and stuffing them into the nooks and crannies of my mind and I haven't stopped yet. Not for marriage, or children, lack of money, or lack of support. I have a thirst to know.

A late bloomer, I didn't seek higher education until I was in my mid-20's. Health problems dictated I find new skills. Once (and again) an office worker, a circulatory problem forced me to earn my living without using my hands. I ended up at a local community college studying social work. It started as a challenge but before long, it lit a fire within me that never went out - the opportunity to spark off other curious minds. Asking questions and seeing the routine and ordinary in a new and different way. Unfortunately, I had to leave college after 2 1/2 years in order to support myself and my young son as a newly divorced woman. I was very despondent about it, but I made a vow to myself that if the opportunity ever came again, I would go back and finish.

The 3 other reasons (briefly):

1. Again, health. This time arthritis combined with the original complaint is threatening to end my ability to continue as a medical transcriptionist (my present job).

2. The example of a younger sister, who left a career as an accountant and later, a financial aid officer at a university in Virginia to become an art teacher. She made it seem possible and not foolish to take a chance to follow a dream.

3. For all those who said I couldn't.

Most of all, I want to prove to myself that I can do this, even though I had to wait until I was 50 to do it.

While in college, I want to achieve the skills to make beautiful art and websites. I want to create software that will help learning disabled people to acquire knowledge by using their gifts, not their deficits.

I feel that college is significant to my life because it is something that I have that is truly my own, and not related to being someone's wife or mother.

From my college I expect assistance and encouragement to make the most of this opportunity; suggestions, direction, and if necessary, kindly but firm counsel to get over myself.

My college expects me to sign up, pay up, show up, and step up.

How did I feel on entering my first class in college? Old.

When I left my family, I felt like I was playing hooky. I was excited and giddy, so much so that I struck up a conversation with another older well-dressed lady waiting at the bus stop to tell her that I was returning to school. She congratulated me and then told me about her own return to college to get her Bachelor's degree at the age of 40.

How did I feel when I received my first syllabus outlining the content of a course? "Wow, all of this in one quarter?".

How did I feel leaving home today? Like going to school on the first day! I live at home with a grown-up son and daughter, as well as a patient and long-suffering husband, who has grown accustomed to my many piles of "stuff" over the last 14 years of schooling. I promised him to clear the stuff out in June, only to add more piles from AIPH. He knows not to touch my piles - it's how I find things.