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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
In this riveting book, Chelley Roy tells the story of her mother’s secret identity as the underworld crime boss “Lady D.” Readers will follow Lady D from her early years as a suburban teenager through her death at the hands of an organized crime syndicate. Unlike Lady D, we have the privilege of seeing the outcome as her daughter takes her mother’s murder investigation into her own hands and becomes involved in one of the biggest trials of the century.The author’s life story may be extraordinary, but many will see themselves in her account of her mother’s life as a crime boss, her untimely death, and her family’s troubled relationships. We see the thinness of the line between mundane suburban life and the criminal underworld in the struggles of Lady D’s unwed teenage daughter and the tactics employed by her family to survive in the time when D.C. was known as the nation’s Murder Capitol at the height of the drug epidemic. Today, Chelley Roy – Lady D’s Daughter – is an entrepreneur, the CEO and founder of the lifestyle coaching brand Get Tea Waisted, and a proud wife, mother, and grandmother. She seeks to provide her family with the safety and security she didn’t always have growing up, and to share her story with others who may feel alone in their struggles.
About The Author
Chelley Roy is an author who lives in the United States with her husband, son, and granddaughter. She grew up in the nation’s capital of Washington DC, where she went on to complete her education with a Business Degree in Computer Information Systems from Strayer University. Chelley defied the odds, and proved everyone wrong, by overcoming various different traumas, abuse, and many major setbacks. Through these tragedies, she found her passion by helping to inspire, motivate and uplift women through one on one coaching and guidance. She’s also a successful Multiprenuer of brands such as real estate investor, fitness coach, and wardrobe stylist.
It’s 1973. Our nation is torn apart by the Vietnam War, and the massacre of unarmed students at Kent State. The Vice President has resigned for bribery and tax evasion. The President is being investigated for engaging in criminal activity.
At twenty-three, David Reed has become embittered by political strife and corruption. Disenchanted with his future, he wants out. Along with new friends, Rusty and Susie, David leaves everything he knows to cross the United States with little more than his bicycle and a camera.
The trio gets more than they bargain for, with menacing animals, extreme weather, and astonishing encounters.
Uphill and Into the Wind recounts an odyssey that spans 5420 miles on bicycles. It chronicles the sudden and surprising glories of nature, the raw beauty of the land, and the majesty of the mountains. But that is just the start. Through it all, the three are changed forever, in ways they did not expect, by their long journey into the unknown.
Excerpt
In a few days I’m going to begin riding a bicycle across the continent. Having been a stonemason for the last two years, I’ve finished my last day of work, and drive down the rural, two-lane road in my vintage 1950 Studebaker, windows open to the faint stirrings of early spring greens. Blasting Steely Dan’s “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” from my AM radio, I’m singing along, excited to begin a new chapter of my life.
As I walk into our grand bachelor apartment, known for its legendary parties, my roommates Henry and Kevin ask if I have plans for the evening. When I ask why, they announce that they are throwing our bike trippin’ threesome—Rusty, Susie, and me—a bon voyage party.
Kevin is my best friend; we’ve been together since kindergarten. He’s short and stocky like me, but with dirty-blonde hair, a booming laugh, and parents who are “lace-curtain” Irish.
I grew up next door to Henry, the most upbeat guy I know; his freckled face is set in a permanent grin. Henry takes karate and teaches me the horse stance, great for strengthening a bicyclist’s quad muscles.
Our dearest friends attend the party and shower us with encouragement. These are our blood brothers and soul sisters we’re leaving, to set out into the great unknown, terra incognita, on an asphalt ribbon of highway. We feast on lasagna, and drink Anchor Steam beer.
Henry gathers everyone in the living room, raises a frosted mug and shouts over the hubbub. “A toast to Susie, Rusty, and David. May you have clear skies and easy climbs. And take all the love in this room with you.”
The room erupts. “Here, here!”
Kevin chimes in with an Irish toast. “May the wind be always at your back.”
“It won’t be,” quips Toby from the crowd. “You’re heading west.”
Laughter.
“Then may the road NOT rise up to meet you,” replies Kevin.
More laughter.
Susie looks sidelong at me and whispers, “I hope I’ll do okay.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say.
I turn to Kevin and Henry. “I’ll miss you guys—and the apartment. We’ve had it great here.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of the place ’til you get back,” says Henry, beaming.
“Whenever that is,” snorts Kevin.
The morning of April sixteenth, still just spring, is mostly cloudy and chilly. We circle around in the street, testing the balance of our hauling loads. This is going to take some getting used to, like driving a semi after you’re used to a VW bug. Still, we set off about eleven a.m. after a group photo in front of my apartment, whooping excited cries and waving goodbye to our friends. I feel a great sense of adventure heading west, from East Orange through Orange and West Orange, from the haze and smog of the inner city to suburbia where the air is fresh and clear.
Our first climb, aptly named First Mountain, is steep and just over a mile long. Halfway up, I stop to find Susie, she’s way down at the bottom, walking her bike up the grade, only three miles into the trip.
About the Author
David Reed has spent a lifetime studying the natural world, from his youth in the woods, his University training, his apprenticeship as a stonemason, and his travels on a bicycle, to his career as an award-winning landscape architect.
A career highlight includes re-designing four major gardens in San Diego’s jewel, Balboa Park.
A visual storyteller, David has guest lectured at the San Diego Museum of Art, Rutgers University, Kansas State University, The New School of Architecture, and other venues. His professional work has been published in Sunset Magazine, Garden Design Magazine, and Building Stone Magazine.
Uphill and Into the Wind is David’s debut memoir. But his work has been published in A Year in Ink, the San Diego Writers, Ink Anthology and awarded at the Southern California Writers Conference.
David believes that life is “out there,” in the forest, and on the land, not inside the box.
He currently resides in San Diego with his wife and family.
