Three feet tall when we moved in,
The Red Maple grew, so did
Our boys, three sons in all
a family made us whole,
with tennis rackets, books, computers,
rock and roll in stereophonic sound.

The Grass was mowed,
House filled with aroma
Of cherries baked into pies,
and watermelon soup
the guys cooked up one morning,
following an exotic recipe.

A breath,
the boys grew
A breath
They learned things,
A Breath
they went away to school
and left us with puzzles,
shelves full of books,
textbooks, comic books,
baseball bats, hats,
balls, rolling, spilling, filling,
nearly splitting our home.

And yet our home felt empty now,
And only the pictures on the walls
Echoed melodies of laughter…

Three feet tall when we moved in,
The Red Maple grew.
Its branches shaded our roof
and kept us cool.

Than one day, we packed,
went away, and left behind
our Red Maple tree,
its branches spread against the sky,
splash of red leaves on the lawn
for people we don’t know.

Assignment # 2

Reiss duPlessis

Open a new window,
Open a new door,
Travel a new highway,
That's never been tried before;
Before you find you're a dull fellow,
Punching the same clock,
Walking the same tight rope
As everyone on the block.
The fellow you ought to be is three dimensional,
Soaking up life down to your toes,
Whenever they say you're slightly unconventional,
Just put your thumb up to your nose.
And show 'em how to dance to a new rhythm,
Whistle a new song,
Toast with a new vintage,
The fizz doesn't fizz too long.
There's only one way to make the bubbles stay,
Simply travel a new high way,
Dance to a new rhythm,
Open a new window ev'ry day!

Mame
by: Jerry Herman

The day I’ve dreaded most has arrived. It’s my first day at the Firestone office.

My life, thus far, in The Human Resources Department of the State of California, has been more fun than I ever thought a Civil Service job, or any job, could be. My friends and family were surprised that I had given up the life of the hippie, the folk singer, the beach bum and the accomplished goof-off, to don a three piece suit and work in a government office, but here I was, a tie around my neck, my hair and beard acceptably trimmed, providing job placement services to welfare recipients who were mandated, if able, to find employment. My title... Employment Program Representative, One. Me, the ultimate flake of the western world’s worker bees, finding “suitable employment” for other people! No one was as surprised as I. This, however, was fun, a challenge and, in no time, I was the star placement interviewer in our, by Department standards, tiny office. I was a star, not thriving on the applause we enjoyed on stage, but I was a star... a star placement interviewer. This was hard work, There was never a dull moment. It required creativity, people skills and brought exhilarating moments of success, frustrating moments of failure and a regular paycheck. I was hooked.

We, in our little Utopia, were aware of the giant... the full functioning office, the nightmare that was the Firestone Office. We wanted no part of it. We were perfectly happy in our little storefront office, doing our own thing. We were a family in which all the members did well. Indeed, we did very well. Our statistics were better than the giant’s. They were better than most of the large, full functioning offices. We were good. We knew it and we took pride in our success. The State usually sees and rewards success. They closed our office and cast us to the far corners of the state. We, depressed, betrayed and unhappy, awaited our new assignments. No one wanted to go to the giant. It was frightening, impersonal and was in a rough area. The stories we heard brought dread and, even, fear. I decided, maybe it was time to let the hair grow back, pack it in and go back to the loving arms of my former life. Who needs this grief?

The look on Neal’s face told me all I needed to know when he called me into his office to get my new assignment. I was going to Firestone!

“I know you don’t want to go. I understand how you feel, but don’t make any rash decisions. Do me a favor, do the Department a favor, do yourself a favor, give it a try. If you find you are really miserable, I’ll see what I can do to pull you into to my new office, but they feel you are what the placement unit in that office needs and they want you there. Try to be flattered by it all. Give it a try.” This was Neal at his most eloquent. He had been given his orders and he was doing his job. “Trust me, it will be OK. You have a great career ahead in the Department.” Neal had been a fair, honest and supportive manager. He had set the tone in our little office that made it great. Neal was a good guy.

I avoided the barber shop in the weeks before my report date to Firestone. I had to be ready.

I am early, ready for whatever happens. A deep breath, push the combination numbers that open the employees entrance. Open the door. Smile the best Hollywood smile. Walk into the Firestone Office.

Fast Forward:

A couple of very short years later, as I stood in the large lunch room looking at the most food I had ever seen in one place in my entire life, fighting back the tears, as, one by one, the staff members of the Firestone Office, my loving Department family, lined up to say good bye and wish me well in my new assignment as Placement Supervisor, One in the Santa Monica Office.

4:20AM shines from the clock on the dresser. I am awoken by the welcomed but still unwelcome pain that wrenches my belly. How long has this been going on? I am tired. I am not ready for this tonight. The pain subsides but returns every 7 minutes.
He is consistent and determined.
Another 7 minutes.
My skin is taut like vacuum packed plastic.
Another 7 minutes.
One. Two. Three. Four. You are not supposed to remember the pain, but why do I know it did not hurt so much the last time?
Just 5 minutes pass. Time is closing in and I call my husband on the phone.
“It’s time. Come home now.” My little girl lay in her bed beside me. She is in deep and peaceful sleep. The angels keep her company; distract her sweetly with dreams.
I raise myself out of bed and make my way down the hall but stop.
Another 5 minutes already? It’s here again. I squat to relieve the pressure. I just want to explode. I want to pull my hair out and scream. But the hallway echoes silence.
I am still in control of my emotions.
I will not feign hysteria like TV.
I crawl into my Mom and Dad’s bed like a child. It is safe and I sink in.
“Mom.”
“Yes Cherrie.” No surprise in her voice with my early morning visit.
“It’s happening now. Matt is coming back. Can you take…?”
Like the hands that move on a clock, he is precise. He is on a schedule. I remind myself to breathe. Breathe out. Relax. It will pass.
“Mom, can you take care of Monica now?”
“Of course.”
Can I handle 12 more hours of this? I’m not sure. I’ve told myself no painkillers, but right now, I am tempted. Thank goodness, I’m not at the hospital yet. I might actually let them pump me up with drugs. I think of the length of that shiny epidural needle and cringe. I’d rather die than be stuck with that awful thing. Remember, women have been doing this for millions of years and I want to do this the natural way. No drugs and no intervention if I can help it.
I am stalling, laying beside my Mom, waiting for my husband to walk through the front door.
It’s always about the waiting. There is no escape. Patience, Patience, Patience.
Still only 5 minutes. Breathe deep. I release a low grumble from the depths of my womb. It is comforting. My father is startled. My mother remains still, and she’s the light sleeper.
My memory becomes blurred and I lose track of time.
I find myself in my husband’s arms, my knees on the floor and back in my old bedroom.
This time it hurts like hell.
I cannot breath. I cannot grumble. I cannot count or be relax or get comfortable. I am lifting myself off the ground with my arms wrapped around his neck. Matt is solid and safe. He bears my weight against himself.
“Cher, you ok?”
“It wasn’t like this before.” Will it ever end? Of course it will. This is not forever.
The pain returns and it is the greatest my body has ever experienced at one time.
I cannot let go of his neck. Oh, I love this man. We can do this again, together. Suddenly, I burst like fireworks on the Fourth. The pads on the floor are wet. I can finally relax. Rubbing my belly I make a request to him, “Peanut, give Mommy a little break.” He is obedient already.
My mind begins to rush through the checklist.
Get to the hospital. Get out of my jammies. Grab the bags. Jump in the shower and rinse off. Wear loose clothes. I need to get to the hospital. Monica is still asleep. I need to get dressed and go. She will be ok.
Down the hall again, but this time to the bathroom.
The warm water is soothing. I want to stay under it forever.
“Cherrie, it’s time to go.”
It’s Mom walking in with a sense of urgency. I already ruined her carpet.
“I don’t want to go yet. Just 5 more minutes.”
“No, right now.”
Down the hall again to get dressed and then leave.
I am on the floor, hanging on Matt’s neck, with my Mom trying to dress me like a child.
“I’m not ready yet,” as I fling the panties off my feet.
I just need to rest, on my hands and knees.
Is this really happening here?
Calmly from my mother’s lips, “I see his head. Call 911.”
There are instructions, questions answered and actions that lead to, “Bring me some towels.”
“What’s going on here? Cher, are you having a baby now?”
“Yes,” I answer sheepishly to my younger brother. I am embarrassed to be found on my hand and knees, but it’s not really the time to care.
A gush of amniotic fluid, “like catching a wet football,” my Mom retells.
He is fresh and new, arriving on his own terms and in his own way.

ETHEL

The door bell rang. Mother was still dressing, I ran to the door. “Yes?” I said as I opened the door. A sinister looking women, dressed all in brown: brown hat, brown suit, brown purse, and brown shoes. I knew that my father didn’t like my mother to dress in brown, he said it was a dead color. Now I had this brown specter in front of me at my door. I was suddenly frighteneand mad, why did I answer the door?

“I want to talk to your mother! I’m from animal control. We’ve had reports that you are molesting the pigeons.”

“I am not!” I said defiantly. “I brought Ethel with me when we moved here. I turned her lose to be with the other pigeons, her cage was too small. She comes to visit me every day at the living room window. We talk while--I give her corn and bird seed--then she flies back with her friends. She never brings friends. She always comes alone.”

I slammed the door and went back to the window. I looked out at the steely gray ocean, the day was over cast and the sand wasn’t shimmering as it did on sunny afternoons. The pigeons were playing three stories below. Mother was laughing as she entered the living room, “You really shouldn’t talk to adults that way.”

Rehabilitation

Joyce could only remember doing a few things: glancing at the radio alarm clock with the numbers 2:37 glowing eerily in the darkened room, scrambling for her slippers, trying to walk and then feeling her right leg collapse like a falling cake. But that was over a month ago – ancient history – as she now sat in her wheel chair in the solarium on the third floor of the Samuel J. Nathanson Rehabilitation Center, watching her son, Andy, approach. Andy was smiling, but Joyce felt the smile was forced and she noticed that his face was looking pudgier and his eyes more tired than usual.