On Safari- Day One

On Safari

South Africa

Day One

Tuesday, July 3, 2001

I woke up to the sound of chirping birds and assumed it had to be near day break.  Since I had no watch, I called to the lobby for the time. It wasn’t even 2AM and as I was later to discover, daybreak in the winter in Africa doesn’t come until 9:00 AM.  This darkness was disorienting to me.

There were 19 other travel companions with me from all over the world: France, Italy, Austria, Australia, and Denmark.  The language barriers might be a problem but we seem to be getting around it.  Most people speak some level of English and everyone speaks charades.

We boarded a beat-up truck, our primary mode of transportation for the next three weeks. We drove for 5 hours to a beach resort which was deserted because it is now winter.  We were going to pitch our tents right on the dunes but Matt, our guide, reconsidered this idea considering the strong winds. We moved further inland.

As we unloaded the truck, it became evident to me that not everyone stayed within their 25-pound limitation on luggage.  The Europeans were better equipped for this adventure. I spent the day obsessing on what I didn’t being with me which could have given me some comfort.  I need to spend more time thinking about what I did bring to comfort me because all I have is all I brought with me.

We went to a bird sanctuary which was closed due to the rough weather.  We saw reed coramants and cape garnets but not much more. I walked the streets near the campground and found all new songbirds I was not able to identify then but I am going to make a bigger effort to look for them tomorrow.

After the bird sanctuary, the group scattered and I found a bath tub with hot, hot water in the latrine.  While the others sought sanction from the cold and the wind in their tents, I soaked in this hot tub.

As we approached the dinner hour, our tents had to be outfitted with traps to protect us from the rain and the wind.  My corner spot by the fireplace is not so inviting right now. I liked the idea of being near the fire pit.  I am taking the brunt of the wind and we aren’t even using the pit.

We put up a canopy to protect us while we eat.  Lucas, our cook, lit a propane stove which adds a very slight element of coziness.   He was boiling two open flamed pots of water when all the sudden, a quick gust of wind blows down the entire canopy on us; we are trapped inside.  What could have been a disaster quickly turns into a moment of teamwork, everyone rapidly worked to secure the canopy.  Just as we are finished, someone announces that a tent had fallen.

“I think it is the American’s tent,” he announced in his strong German accent.

Of course, it was mine. Several people come to my rescue; the woman from Denmark suggests I move my tent.  I convey this idea to Lucas.  He responds to me.  I don’t know what he says but it is obvious to me that my tent is not going to be moved at this point.  The Danish woman and I just laugh. The wind eventually died down. Although I think it will rain through the night.  So, I anticipate a chilly, unpleasant night.

Tomorrow Matt will take us to a store to buy what we need.  I am told we may camp in an area that gets to freezing temperatures so I am going to buy more bulk, more layers.  The 25-pound limit can go to hell. I am freezing.

Cutting Off Her Fingers

Cutting Off Her Fingers
Stroudsburg High School
Stroudsburg, PA
1991


OMG, this was an awful day.  For days, I was nauseated by the thought that one of our 9th graders cut off three of her fingers in shop class. This was a nightmare.

I was an assistant principal at the time.  When the accident happened, I was out of the building.  When I got back to school, I went to my office and found the shop teacher sitting in the dark.  He was ashen and trembling. He saw me and started to speak to me but he was barely audible.  He mumbled and I couldn't understand a word he said.  But I understood that something terrible had just happened.

"Tell me again.  What happened?" I asked him.

"I don't know how it happened.  I was right there.  I just urned away for a second, just a second and then she screamed. I couldn't believe it.  I've never had an accident in my class. And now she lost her fingers. I picked up three of them."

I wanted to throw up.

"When did this happen?"

"The ambulance just left about 5 minutes ago.  They rushed her out of here.  She's at the hospital. Oh my God.  I can't believe this.  I've never had an accident in my class.  And now, this little girl.  Oh my God. Oh my God."  He rocked a little bit to comfort himself as he spoke.

"Let's go", I told  him.  "Come on". I pick up my car keys.

"Where?" he wants to know.

"The hospital.  Let's go.  I'll take you there."

"Oh, thank you. thank you so much.  Yea, let's go to the hospital."

And so we do.  We go right to the Emergency Room and find that a doctor has already seen her and her grandmother told us they were preparing for immediate surgery.  We ask if we can see her. And we are given permission to slip in to the room for a few seconds.

The teacher went first and I stood behind him.  Ruth was resting on a stretcher.  She had been crying and he started to cry.  He caressed her cheek and told her how very sorry he was. "Please forgive me", he asked. She cried and apologized to him.

"I'm sorry Mr. Weitzman.  I took the safety latch off.  You told us we always had to keep the latch on and I just took it off for a second. My piece of wood got stuck.  I'm sorry," she told him. Her voice was so sad and so sincere.

An orderly came and got her and swished her off to surgery. The doctor was able to sew her fingers back on.  But they never worked with any dexterity.  Mostly they were just there.

It was an awful moment but their moment of asking forgiveness of each other was one of the most beautiful moments in my life.

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Goosebumps

Goosebumps
A Scary Read
Philadelphia, PA
1994


My 4 year old nephew insisted I read Goosebumps to him all the time.  He never liked to have his parents read to him because "they don't weed with X-spresh-shin." So I had to read many, many of these books to him over a two year period.

One Saturday, I am at his house and he invites two friends over to listen to me read to them.  I sat on the chair and they sat on the floor, leaning on my leg and sitting on my feet. They sat in an upright position the whole time.  I read about 15 chapters and I was getting hoarse and dry.  I suggested I end for the day and promised to read more tomorrow.  But they would have none of that idea.  They were hooked and wanted to know what was going to happen next.

My brother-in-law who was sitting on the couch, chimed in and volunteered to read to them a little bit.  The neighborhood boys cheered but William rolled his eyes.  Bill proceeded to read in a monotone and a speed that didn't interest any of them.  After four chapters, Bill called it quits and handed the book over to his wife.  She read about six more chapters and she, too, lost interest. I jumped back in and finished up the last ten chapters.  The boys clapped and ran off to play.

A few hours later, my brother-in law asked me, "Tell me something, how did the professor stuff all that evidence in the test-tube?  Do yo think that virus would really fit in there?"

"What?" my sister asked.

"In the book today, the professor had the virus.  But how did he get the virus?  Really, what does a virus look like? And why didn't the kids caught the virus."

What followed was a 30 minute discussion on the book.  Each of us lost bits of information and had bits of information due to our switching on and off of reading responsibilities.  So we sat pensively in the living room and rehashed the story until everything made sense to us.

"Huh, that was a pretty clever story," my brother-in law concluded. We agreed and I read more of these books to William until he learned to read. He loved his new independence and I missed these moments of awe and imagination.

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Joan Baez

Joan Baez

Academy of Music

Philadelphia, PA

October 9, 2016

I grew up listening to Joan Baez and her protest songs.  As I listened to her albums, she filled me with her passion of fighting injustices, government, wars, racism, poverty, and gender discrimination.  She talked of injustices around the world. She encouraged peace, love and happiness. So when I acquired tickets to see her recently, I could hardly wait to hear her take on this year's Presidential Election. I went to hear her at the Academy of Music on October 9, just a month before the election.  She didn't make any political statement. She didn't mention the election. She didn't encourage anyone to vote. Her silence on the election was deafening.

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Sewer Rat

Sewer Rat

Philadelphia, PA

Summer, 1966

I think the kid was only 12 or 13 when this happened.  He was a year older than me. He lived a few blocks away from us.  He was friends with my brother.

 He was playing near a sewer opening with other kids when he slipped and fell right in to the sewer.  He quickly vanished out of sight.  The other kids screamed and ran and got help.  The police showed up, an ambulance showed up and so did lots of news reporters.

Kevin, the kid, could not be found. He had been swept away in all that dirty water, down the dark, underground tunnel system.  The whole city went in to panic mode and a few hours later, the kid was found.  He was several miles away from home.  He wasn’t hurt.  He may have been knocked unconscious for a little bit because he could not articulate what happened once he feel in.  But thereafter, everyone referred to him as Sewer Rat.

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Sister Gertrude Marie, RSM

 Sister Gertrude Marie, RSM

 My Junior High School Principal

 Merion Mercy Academy

 Merion, PA

 1967- 1970

I remember her as being very old, maybe 65 years old. I know she lived to be 94 and so she was not as old as I thought she was back then. But I viewed her as a mean, old bitch. She was tall and stood with a formidable presence. When she entered the room, we jumped up and stood in respect. She was in charge. She knew it. We know it and we did as we were told.

She had a human side to her which she showed from time to time, just enough to lure our affection towards her. But we all knew, even if these moments, not to mess with her.

One time our English teacher, Mrs. Zappacosta gave us a test on a day that we were having an assembly and a mass. That meant our class time was cut in half but the test wasn’t. And so, we all failed miserably. Rather than speak to us, Mrs. Zappacosta gave the test to Sister Gertrude Marie who was furious with our results.

The next day Gert charged into class and handed out the test to us, one by one, announcing our dreadful scores and shaming us publicly. We were humiliated but too frightened to defend ourselves.

 “You do not earn grades like that in this school,” she told us, “in this school, we are serious about our academics. if you continue to fail like this, you may as well just go to public school. I will not come back and do this again. Do I make myself clear!”

 We nodded in shame and fear and Mrs. Zappacosta smugly started a lesson for the day.

Thirty years later I attended a reunion at the high school. There was Sister Gertrude Marie. She was now in her 90s. She was no longer a tall woman. She stooped over and had to look up at to see us. She was nearly bald and wore round eye glasses that made her look like a bug. Her mind was still sharp and she remembered us. She wanted to hear of our successes and so we brag about our careers and families and accomplishments.

“Well I have something to brag about to you,” she told us, “I have been a member of AA for 15 years. I’m very proud of.”

That announcement stunned me and I pretended I didn’t quite hear it right. When we got back to the table, all of us admitted we were stunned. “When was she an alcoholic? Did you think she ever come to school drunk? Did the other nuns had to cover up for her? Did anybody have any suspicions? Do you think that other teachers were alcoholics? Do you think that’s why she was so stern? Did we drove her to drink?  Is that why she left?”

This news put a damper on the evening. While I never liked most of my teachers, I held them to a certain, higher standard. I never saw them as human beings who could be so flawed.

 Of course, I called my older sister immediately to share my gossip. My sister loved Gert.

 “Maybe you heard her wrong,” she said defensively. “Maybe she said she was a member of AAA.”

 “Kathy, nobody brags about being a member of AAA. She said she was a member of AA”.

 Kathy agreed and then began to offer some excuses as to why this nun slipped into alcoholism.

“You know she is French and they drink a lot of wine. Maybe she just drank wine and wasn’t an alcoholic but just joined before it got away from her. I know my classmates’ families often give the nuns a lot of wine. Maybe it just got away from her a little bit. I don’t think she was a full-blown alcoholic. Do you?” she asked hoping for me to say I agree.

I don’t know how severe Sister Gertrude Marie’s drinking problem was. But I do know that her announcement was just one more moment in time that showed me life isn’t always what it seems.

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