Category: Memoir

Memoir, Self-Help – Ripples From the Edge of Life

Memoir, Self-Help – Ripples From the Edge of Life

Memoir, Self-Help

Publisher: SilverWood Books

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

If you were given just two weeks to live how would you feel? What would you
do? How do you prepare for the end? Who would you tell and how? It was this
terrible position Roland Chesters found himself in in the late summer of
2006. He knew he was seriously ill but had no idea that he had both HIV and
AIDS. Luckily Roland did not die. Expert medical help and his own
determination not to give in saw him through. His life though, had changed
for ever.

‘Ripples from the Edge of Life’ is Roland’s account of a life changing
diagnosis and the impact it had not only on him but on those close to him.
More than a memoir, Roland’s story is not unique; ripples spread outwards
and this empowering collection gives voice to 14 others who have survived
similar traumatic diagnoses. This book contains wisdom, hope humour and
inspiration in equal measures. Is an essential read for anyone facing a life
changing condition and for those who support and care for them.

 

Praise for Ripples from the Edge of Life:

“Roland captures his powerful, personal story, and the stories of those
who stood alongside him on the way in a book that engages and inspires in
equal measure.” Grant Sugden, Chief Executive, Waverley Care

“Ripples” is an absorbing and moving testament to real lives lived, and a
tribute to lives lost, in a particular time and place in the story of HIV.
The chapters are filled with eloquent voices that tell us how it is to
live with HIV and these are voices that deserve to be heard.” Siobhán
Lanigan, CEO, The Food Chain

“If this book does nothing else but to assist in breaking down the stigma
of a Positive diagnosis then it will have performed a powerful task.”
Tremaine Cornish, Trustee, National Long Term Survivors’ Group

“’Ripples’ gives a unique insight into the emotional roller coaster of a
HIV diagnosis and its life-long impact. Reading the personal experiences
was haunting. Definitely one of my top recommended reads.” -Steph Mallas,
CEO. George House Trust

“These honest life-changing stories are prime examples of the true faces
of HIV. They will touch your heart and enrage your mind.” Ian Howley, CEO,
GMFA

 

 

About the Author

Roland Chesters was born in the north of England to an English father and
French mother and has lived most of his life in London. He graduated from
the Royal Holloway College with a degree in Modern Languages and after a
variety of jobs joined the Foreign and Commonwealth Office as a
language-testing specialist. Following a diagnosis of HIV and AIDS in 2006,
he became a campaigner for disability rights. He is now a self-employed
Disability Development Consultant and and was a finalist in the 2019
National Diversity Awards as a Role Model for Disability.

Roland lives with his partner, Richard, in London and enjoys opera,
classical music, theatre and fashion (his favourite item of clothing being a
bright red corduroy suit). He fights boredom and normality with gusto, and
says he is at his best when he’s made a positive impact on someone else’s
life.

‘Ripples from the Edge of Life’ is Roland’s first (and only according to
him) book.

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Facebook

Instagram

Promo Link

Purchase Links

Amazon USA

Barnes & Noble USA

Indie Bound USA

Amazon Canada

Indigo Canada

Australia

Free worldwide shipping (two sources)

Book Depository

Wordery

 

EXCERPT

Friday September 1, 2016

I stared out of the carriage window as the 17.53pm from Waterloo rattled towards Surbiton, the grimy sprawl of south London rapidly giving way to the leafier parts of Surrey. I could almost set my watch to the time we passed certain landmarks; shops, offices, houses, stations, parks. It was all so familiar; so horribly, boringly familiar and I felt drained and exhausted with it all.

Thank goodness, then, that from tomorrow I had a two-week holiday in the Italian Lakes to look forward to. I knew that by the time I arrived home Richard, my partner, would have packed the bags, printed the tickets and unearthed the passports. All I had to do was turn up, which was just as well because I was capable of little else.

For months and months I’d felt unwell. Nausea, poor balance and coordination, loss of control over arm and leg movements, tetchiness, extreme exhaustion and incoherent speech were all part of my daily life. I’d had test after test, and scan after scan, with no clear diagnosis of what was wrong with me. Whatever it might be, it was tearing my body and mind apart – but what was it? No-one seemed to know. I just had to get on with it.

One of these appointments had been on the previous day, at the Kingston Hospital with a respiratory consultant, relating to a worrying series of nodules found on my lungs during a heart scan. Richard came with me and I introduced him as my partner. The specialist quickly disabused me of the idea that I might have lung cancer. I’d never been a smoker and it was thought, even before an MRI scan, that they were benign. As it turned out, they were chickenpox scars from childhood, so at least cancer could be ruled out as a diagnosis for my on-going problems.

The doctor was a sympathetic man and recognised that we were a same-sex couple. He listened carefully as I described my symptoms. “It’s a puzzle,” he said, “and by your notes I can see that you’ve been tested for all sorts of things. Do you mind if I ask if you’ve ever been tested for HIV?” Momentarily I was taken aback. “No,” I said, “I’ve never been tested for that. I’ve never felt it necessary, to be honest.”

This was true. I’d never been what you might described as a ‘scene’ gay man, preferring an evening at the opera to a sweaty night in a club pumping out electro disco. I was openly gay, but I never wore it as a badge. My sexuality didn’t define me; it was just part of who I was, and it still is. I’d been single for some years before entering into two long-term monogamous relationships, one with Graham and the other with Richard that, by then, had lasted a decade. Richard and I volunteered for the Food Chain, delivering meals to isolated people with HIV, so I knew the impact it had on lives and the devastation it could cause. But I didn’t for a minute think that I was THAT closely associated with the disease.

“So would you be interested in taking a test?” the doctor asked.

“I’m not sure it’s going to prove anything,” I said, “but I’ve been tested for everything else and I still don’t know what the problem is. So let’s do the test. Test me for anything.”

So he did. It was such a simple matter that it hardly bears description here. Blood was taken, sent off somewhere, and that was it. During the course of the test I mentioned that Richard and I had booked a fortnight’s holiday to the Italian Lakes beginning on Saturday. Picking up the results of the HIV test the following day was just another inconvenience in what was likely to be a busy Friday packing and preparing for Italy, so I told the specialist I’d collect them after the holiday.

The following day I crawled into work following the usual uncomfortable game of sardines on the Surbiton to Waterloo train. ‘Only one day to go,’ I kept telling myself, ‘only one more day to go.’ By the end of the day it was all over and I made my weary way home looking forward to two weeks’ break by the water and with the most stunning views of the surrounding mountains. If this didn’t sort me out, or at least give me some temporary respite, I didn’t know what would. Little did I know that Richard had already received the phone call that would explode a bomb in both our lives.

I arrived home to find my mother and brother being attended to by Richard. My mother adored Richard and because she lived close by she would frequently call on us, particularly if we were going away. We chatted, and once they finished their coffees they made moves to go, wishing us a good holiday.

After the front door had clicked to I went into the bedroom, expecting to find everything I needed for the holiday ready and waiting. Except this time, there were no clothes on the bed to pack, and no suitcase in which to pack them. I went into the living room, where Richard was sitting in silence.

“Erm, don’t you think we ought to start packing?” I said. “If we leave it any longer we’ll end up in a panic.”

In response, Richard beckoned me to the sofa and pointed to the seat next to him. Puzzled, I sat down. Then he hugged me and started to cry. I was shocked. He’s a big, strong man, physically and mentally, and not given to floods of tears. What on earth was going on?

“What is it?” I asked. “What’s happened? Is it serious? Is it bad news from home?”

Richard’s family are thousands of miles away, in Barbados. But he shook his head. It wasn’t them.

“It’s us,” He sobbed. “We aren’t going away, Roland. We can’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Why? Why can’t we?”

“The specialist rang. The one who did the test yesterday. He wanted your office number, because…

“Because what!?”

“Because he said that we can’t go away. The test result came back. Roland, you’re positive. HIV+. You’re really ill. We can’t go to Italy. If we do…. you won’t come home alive. It’s that bad. I’m so, so sorry……”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Historical Middle East Biographies – Lines in the Sand

Historical Middle East Biographies – Lines in the Sand

 

Historical Middle East Biographies / Memoir

 

Date Published: September 16, 2020

Publisher: MindStir Media

Lines in the Sand: An American Soldier’s Personal Journey in Iraq

For F. Scott Service, a five-minute phone call one peaceful morning was all it took. Faced with the terrible dichotomy of his moral opposition to war and an innate sense of duty, little did he realize that when he was called for deployment in Iraq that his would be the journey of a lifetime. A tour of duty destined to change him forever.

Witnessing the violence of a country ravaged by chaos and facing the disintegration of his life back home, his sojourn in Iraq forced him to fight a new battle, a battle within himself. What had once been a noble intention became a desperate struggle to salvage what was left of his humanity, an excursion into the darkest recesses of the human mind that ultimately led him to question everything he had come to believe.

Pushed to the edge, only then would he discover what lay within.

An artfully lyrical epistolary composition and transcribed from his handwritten journals, Lines in the Sand is a powerful exercise in self-exploration amid heart-wrenching loss and anguish.

Editorial Reviews

“Impeccably written, relentlessly engaging, so intimate it hurts, Service’s extraordinary tale is where the reader wants and needs to be.” – Readers’ Favorite

“F. Scott Service is a gifted writer. His words are eloquent, with powerful expressions. A remarkable story of tragedy to triumph.” – Readers’ Favorite

“This book is one that is incredibly hard to put down, and readers may, in fact, find themselves obsessively reading the story from the start through to the finish, all in one sitting. I highly recommend this book and this author.” – Readers’ Favorite

“… eloquent and beautifully moving… ” – Pacific Book Review


About the Author

I live in New England with a talented social worker (who also happens to be my EIC) and Jerome… a trouble maker unless he’s purring for an evening snack.

Having earned a Bachelor of Science in Professional/Technical Communication and a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing, I have had experience with editing, journalism, desktop publishing, videography, and am a full-time author.

I enjoy gardening and cooking with an emphasis on ethnic foods including Indian, Thai, Russian, Czechoslovakian, Hungarian, Chinese, Spanish, Middle Eastern (especially Algerian, Iraqi, and Egyptian), Mexican, and Italian. My next venture in culinary delight will be with Caribbean food.

Being an avid explorer, I’ve spent time in all but two states in America and am always on the lookout for someplace new (I just never thought it would be Iraq and Kuwait as my first international travel destinations). On my list of new places are Pitcairn Island, Easter Island, Stonehenge, Leap Castle in Ireland, the Hobbit village in New Zealand, Hunyad Castle in Romania, and the Mayan ruins in the Yucatan Peninsula.

Other interests of mine include horror literature and memoir, a long-standing fascination with UFO, paranormal, and occult phenomena as well as playing guitar, backpacking, and bike riding

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

LinkedIn

Goodreads

Purchase Link

Amazon

B&N

Abe Books

Bookshop

Memoir – The Sound of Her Voice

Memoir – The Sound of Her Voice

 

Memoir

 

Published: November 2020

Publisher: Adelaide Books

THE SOUND OF HER VOICE is Sara’s exploration of what it was like to live in an unfeeling world as a child, the healing in writing, what her three homes are to her, how marriage healed her, and, ultimately, how she came to understand and forgive how her mother could, in her way, give her away. Sara sprinkles her book with haikus that go to the heart of such a journey. She has written her book for all who need to find that voice within them in order to heal.


About the Author

Sara Gelbard is a woman of three homes – Israel, New York, and Punta del Este in Uruguay. This may be because she never had a home. She was born on one of the first Israeli kibbutzim in Western Galil near the Lebanon border, of Polish parents who escaped the tremendous horror of Europe. They escaped, but their families did not, and consequently, their commitment to the kibbutz was ideological, necessary, and fueled by a broken heart. Her book, THE SOUND OF HER VOICE, sensitively explores her coming to terms with the emotional loneliness of her upbringing and how she repaired that wound to create a life full of love, work and beauty. Today, she is a townhouse real estate broker in NYC helping others find their homes.

Contact Links

Publisher’s Website

LinkedIn

Promo Link

Purchase Links

Amazon

B&N

Kobo

iBooks

Smashwords

Adelaide Books

Jewish Book Council

Booktopia

Indigo

The Last Tourist by Nowick Gray – Excerpt

The Last Tourist by Nowick Gray – Excerpt

Travel, Memoir

Date Published December 2020

Publisher: Cougar WebWorks

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

Midlife crisis, his life’s dreams at an early end, it was time to bust out
and see the world.

Nowick Gray sets out with backpack and drum to find out what he’s been
missing. Tropical warmth, better health, inner peace… He scours Asia and the
Pacific, Europe and Latin America for that perfect beach, a new tribe, a
winter home. Will ayahuasca heal his woes, or an ayurvedic cleanse? Beset by
desperate touts on an abandoned Bali shore, he knows he’s a dying breed: the
last tourist.

With this fourth book in the My Country series, Nowick’s travels extend
across the globe, caught in fresh prose reminiscent of Chatwin, Grant, Iyer,
Matthiessen, Gilbert, Theroux. His creative nonfiction “shows the reader all
the ways in which one can perceive, digest, and make sense of the world.”
With “language that is superb: detailed yet economical; vivid and
appealing,” The Last Tourist invites you to join an intrepid traveler “in
the midst of the action as if walking alongside.”

 

 

About the Author

Nowick Gray makes his home on Salt Spring Island, BC, where he writes
fiction and creative nonfiction. A frequent contributor to The New Agora
online magazine, Nowick also works as a freelance copyeditor. When not
engaged with words, he enjoys hiking, kayaking, and playing African drums.
In winter months, if not seeking unspoiled tropical locations, he settles
for cozy hibernation at home.

 

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Facebook

LinkedIn

Promo Link

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

EXCERPT

Part I – Paradise Lost and Found

Tourists don’t know where they’ve been. Travelers don’t know where they’re going.

— Paul Theroux, The Happy Isles of Oceania

Hawai’i: Gateway to the Tropics

Return to Paradise (1998)

Fourteen-year-old Nashira and I are en route to Hawaii; our first trip outside of continental North America. The most trying part of the journey is already behind us. It’s winter in the British Columbia mountains, and the Castlegar airport was socked in, so our initial flight was canceled. The airline offered to bus us instead, but by a roundabout route that would have arrived too late for our early-morning flight from Vancouver to Kauai. So we piled back into our pickup truck at four o’clock, with a twelve-hour window to complete what normally is an eight-hour trip to the coast. We would need that cushion, encountering snow in all three passes.

Nashira took it all like a trooper. We lifted our spirits with stops every hour and a half: more gas, a stretch, snacks, new music tapes to keep us rolling. But it was a grueling trip, with slippery pavement and poor visibility: faint clues of tracks on the snowy highway ahead, with only glimpses of a center or side line here or there; heavy clumps icing the windshield wipers; a pair of red lights to follow when I was lucky.

Manning Park in silence was a snowy, treacherous dream, forcing me to be calm, relaxed, attentive. I followed the lights of one car most of the way through, coasting in soft communion behind it, pacing my distance, breathing, sweating lightly, coming finally to a peaceful revelation of being home again, truly at home, on the road. In that breathing space of acceptance expanding suddenly to all of my world, wherever I now would move, my center would come with me, a home mobile and live and adaptable to any contingency. Facing death on every curve, with every passing truck a whisper away, I knew that in that calmness and steady awareness is the power to protect, to guide, to hold the life force in sacred responsibility.

Snow turned to rain as we approached the coast, but there were more challenges to come. In Abbotsford the wind buffeted the truck and it was hard to hold it steady on the road. Through the outlying areas of Vancouver, hazard lights were flashing with this or that minor disaster everywhere: a tree across the left lane of the Trans-Canada Highway that we almost hit, blinded by the warning lights; an overturned vehicle at a dead-end crossroads where I took a wrong turn to the airport near Langley; a taped-off area of several blocks in Vancouver; another tree blocking both lanes of the Trans-Canada eastbound; another blinding repair light; whole sections of the city darkened with a power outage (affecting 200,000 people, we heard later). The plane even now, two and a half hours after takeoff, is rocking through 200 km/hr winds.

 

Memoir – Always Yours, Bee

Memoir – Always Yours, Bee

 

 

Memoir

Date Published: 3/2/21

Publisher: FinnStar Publishing

“There’s a guy. He was hit by a truck.”

On a rainy November day, Mia Hayes’ husband left for work on his Vespa. Normally, she would have driven him, but Mia was waiting on a phone call with an editor and didn’t have time.

She never saw that caring, loving version of her husband again.

The fallout from his accident–Mia’s guilt and her husband’s PTSD, memory loss, and depression–consumed their lives over the next five years as her laid-back husband changed into an angry man with few memories of their past. Desperate to hold her fragile family together, Mia ignored her own unraveling and plunged into bipolar depression.

As she searched for answers to unanswerable questions, Mia moved her family from San Francisco to Paris, France before landing in a leafy Washington, D.C. suburb where she tried to find a fresh start only to become embroiled in a scandal of her own making.

Through ups and downs, mental illness and bad decisions, Mia struggled with what it means to be a good wife and mother, whether saving her marriage was worth the pain, and understanding that healing is a personal journey.

Always Yours, Bee is a heartbreaking yet triumphant and brave look at a woman, a marriage, and a family falling apart and coming out stronger. Told with clarity and introspection, it captures the terror of losing the person closest to you—yourself.

Excerpt

 

Prologue

 

November 2004

Lemonade light filtered through the fog, casting a warm, golden tone across us as we watched Ryan run down the empty beach, a kite string clenched in his tiny fist.

November usually brought rain to San Francisco, but this particular day was clear, and we wanted to take advantage of the sun—even if it was chilly and damp out. Surfers bobbed off the coast, waiting for their ride, and gulls skittered along the shoreline. Later, after we ate our picnic lunch, we planned on exploring the tide pools.

James snapped a picture of Leo and me snuggled into a fleecy blanket. I waved him over to us, and he settled into the sand, his jean-clad leg touching mine. He tossed his arm over my shoulder and hugged me close.

This is nice,” he said. Ryan had stopped running to inspect something on the beach, and Leo crawled off my lap into the sand. “But this is more fun.” James turned and tried to tickle me through my layers of bulky clothes.

We laughed and smiled and were so very happy.

That’s how I want to remember us.

Golden.

About the Author


Mia is a notorious eavesdropper who lives in Northern Virginia, outside Washington DC, with her husband, sons, two cats, and Harlow the Cavapoo.

She drinks too much green tea, loves traveling, and has mastered the art of procrastination cleaning.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Goodreads

Instagram: @miahayesauthor

Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

Google Play

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Memoir – In Society’s Web

Memoir – In Society’s Web

 

 

Memoir

Published: January 2020

Publisher: Page Publishing

This is a narrative of an exceptionally inspiring, thought provoking, and true account of one man’s life altering journey into the abyss of captivity in the Illinois penal system. As he encounters the harsh reality of incarceration and the constant confrontations with both guard and inmate, he comes to his realization that the environment of prison and the ghetto are not dissimilar at all. As he is shuffled from one institution to another because his pride refuses to succumb to the status-quo, he surmises both are the same. Through memories of a dismal and brutal upbringing, he exposes the similarities between life behind bars and life in poverty, and this equation becomes the basis for his reasoning that there is an invisible web, society’s web, and escape was impossible because he never knew of its existence. Using this awakening and his sense of logic as instruments, he tries to come to terms with his current predicament, but the mandated choice of submission or defiance intervene and push him further into the vortex until he finds himself in Stateville Penitentiary, at the time, the worst maximum security penitentiary in America.

 

 

Excerpt

Lightning flashed among the thick dark clouds. The thunder boomed and shook the earth. Dense rain, obscuring sight and soaking all in its path, fell, but not even God’s wrath would stop the guards from chaining his children.

In front of the green bus, we stood in the yard by the asphalt path. The bus with bars at each window, that rode a “silent screaming” man away from home, where there was an atmosphere of tranquility, togetherness, and love, and brought him into an unlit world of suffering, where hatred was epidemic, and apocalypse, a myth. Three officers in raincoats shivered outside the open doors of the bus and called out names and shackled prisoners. Twenty five of us were being shipped to Vandalia.

Through the cold, heavy, pouring rain, I realized I had been caged seven weeks. During my stay in the cell, the seconds oozed like molasses. Time cheated me, by slowing down to a crawl. The minutes, hours, days, and weeks followed one another like the meals in this dungeon: with no change.

I knew how the lion, king of the jungle, felt when he was taken from his kingdom and placed in a cage by strange creatures. The king was no longer a king but simply an exhibition in a zoo. And as the days passed, he wondered when these unfeeling creatures would take him back to his land and set him free. And every day he would awake with hope in his heart. Every time the caretaker would stop by his cage, the lion stared at him with big, sad, unblinking eyes, wondering if today was that day. And when the caretaker walked away, his heart dropped, and the lion would go lie in a corner and wait patiently for tomorrow. The pain he felt during those moments only those limited by bars understand. But the king never begged for freedom, and he was too proud to whine.

Edwin Cruz, A-83385!” a guard shouted.

I leisurely walked toward the officers. Somehow, the cold rain splashing on my face that fell from the sky reminded me of freedom because it came from heaven. A sacred world where there is no boundary and chains do not exist.

Come on, man! It’s raining out here! We ain’t got all fuckin’ day!”

Laughter burst from behind me, but I was not intimidated. My feet kept their pace.

They shackled my ankles and then my wrists. I raised my head and let the drops fall directly on my face, but even that did not bring back the soothing feeling of freedom that the manacles had melted like ice.

About the Author

Edwin Cruz was born the seventh child of thirteen on the far south side of the city of Chicago in Illinois. His parents migrated from Puerto Rico to Chicago in search of a brighter tomorrow, and Edwin’s education was earned in the Chicago public school system. He learned of his interest in writing soon after his release from prison. It was during this time that he journeyed into the field of higher education to not only learn the mechanics of writing, but also to practice the art and gain valuable critique from those considered experts in the field. Here is where he met his mentor Dr. Phil Brown, who not only helped him fine-tune his writing skill, but also urged him to continue his studies at the graduate level. After graduate school, he began his career as an instructor of English in higher education and passionately practiced his second love: teaching. He relocated to Hammond, Indiana but that stay did not last long. Edwin moved back to the city of Chicago where he continues to teach today and share his philosophy with students to always pursue an ambition because according to him, a person without a goal is no longer living: only existing.

Contact Links

Website

Promo Link

Purchase Links

Amazon

B&N

Kobo

iBooks

Google Play

IndieBound

Memoir – Meet the Principal

Memoir – Meet the Principal

 

My Journey Beyond the Curriculum

 

Memoir, Education

Publisher: Alt Publishing

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Almost all of us have experience with school, either as a student, a parent or maybe as a teacher. But few have the experience in school as a principal. Meet the Principal: My Journey Beyond the Curriculum is a collection of stories from the life of a principal. All principals have stories like these. Some are funny, some are sad, some may surprise you and some may touch your heart. When you put them together hopefully you will have experienced what happens in a school beyond the curriculum.

Read an Excerpt

“It was the day before students would arrive for the beginning of school and classroom assignments had already been posted in the windows of the lobby. I slowly drove back to school after purchasing several items for my new office and, after getting out of my car, looked out at the expansive lawn and huge sycamore trees, admiring Baxter’s serene setting. The walkway to the double door entrance was inviting with flowers some of the teachers and I had freshly planted last week. Doing that gardening project together had been a great way to become better acquainted.

What a whirlwind this last month had been getting to this point!

And now school was set to begin tomorrow. I looked forward to the challenge facing me with nervous excitement. Thousands of questions still raced through my mind as I walked toward the entrance. Was I prepared for this job? I had never been a vice principal, so didn’t have much experience preparing me for principalship. I was about to find out in the morning when all 720 students would arrive.

I took a deep breath and as I approached the large glass doors of the lobby I could see several people inside. I recognized Don, Leann, the Assistant Superintendent of Business, Wayne, and Tim. Standing with them were 4 unfamiliar men dressed in suits.

Don greeted me. “Welcome to Robinson, Jane. Your school is contaminated with asbestos and classes can’t begin here tomorrow.”

I stared at him. His serious expression told me he was not kidding. I felt a tightness in my chest. Everyone was staring at me. I took a deep breath to maintain my composure. This was no time for feelings to take over. My head was swimming with questions. Did I hear him correctly? What does this mean? What do we do if we can’t open school tomorrow? How do we notify parents? etc, etc, etc…

What was probably 4 seconds seemed like an eternity. Don put his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go into your office where we can talk.”

As the nine of us squeezed around my tiny conference table, Don introduced everyone.

This is Wayne Spencer and Justin Blackman from the Department of Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA), and Jared Broadman and Martin Espinosa from Parmen, a local engineering firm. We’ve been walking through the classrooms to see what the situation is and how it can be rectified.”

I was trying to process what this meant. Workers had just finished re-roofing the school. Rusty had alerted me that the force of nailing had caused asbestos particles from the ceilings to filter down into some classrooms. I knew asbestos could be an issue but they had cleaned everything up and I thought the problem had been resolved.

Don continued, “We’ve brought these gentlemen in to look at the ceilings and let us know if the classrooms are safe for students. Apparently they’re not and they need to be fixed, so school can’t begin until the ceilings are repaired.”

I sat quietly and listened as the group discussed what to do with the students and teachers. Don asked if there were empty classrooms at other schools. Could the students arrive at Baxter and then be bused to different schools? Tim listed the various empty classrooms throughout the district, some at elementary schools, some at middle schools and some at the high school. “Yes, that would work,” he said. “We have enough classrooms to house all students and their teachers.”

You have got to be kidding, I thought. My teachers have spent hours preparing for school starting tomorrow, all of their teaching supplies are in their classrooms, and they can’t get into them because of the asbestos. You can’t spread them out all over the city, with no materials and no support. What about the buses, how would they transport our students all over town?

I fought back frustration as I tried to keep calm while expressing these concerns to the group. I felt vulnerable. All these people sitting around the table were experts in their fields with years of experience, and here I was, a brand new principal on the job for less than three weeks. “

 

 

About the Author

Jane Blomstrand is a retired educator. She has held many different positions in education including Classroom Teacher, Literacy Specialist, Elementary School Principal and Director of a Teacher Credentialing Program. She currently coaches new administrators. Jane and her husband live in Northern California.

Contact Links

Website

GoodReads

Promo Link

Purchase Links

Amazon

B&N

IndieBound