Author: Heidi A. Campbell

Teaching high school English and Journalism has certainly shaped who I am. I like to think it keeps me relevant- hip to what's what. A few years ago, I traded in my small classroom for the largest classroom in the school and became a high school media specialist. I LOVE THIS JOB! I was born and raised in Maine, and I never miss a summer on Birch Island, a beautiful place on Casco Bay between Harpswell and Brunswick. I moved south and got my B.A. in English from Oglethorpe University in '94. Several years later, I returned to the world of academia with a stint at UGA, where I received my M.Ed. A few years ago I went back and got my EdS in Instructional Technology from University of West Georgia. I have a great family. I love comfortable shoes, good books, poetry, traveling, music, cooking, and antiques. I rent space at a local antique shop, a perfect outlet for my passion for old treasures! I enjoy my local book club, I sponsor my school's New Student club, Readers' Rally, and Creative Writing Clubs. I spent years as a Feature Writer for "Our Town" magazine, I recently published a study guide and teacher's guide to accompany Rennie Curran's book "Free Agent", and I freelance as copy editor for a local doctor's office. My experiences and interests bring me into contact with an amazing variety of people and places. Sometimes, these people and places inspire, sometimes they enrage, and sometimes they change who I am. I love every minute. This blog is for those times when, in the words of Cat Stevens, "I can't keep it in... can't hide it and I can't lock it away..."

London, Bath & Stonehenge: Day 3

Today we hopped on our proper coach bus to travel 85 miles southwest in the direction of  Winchester- perhaps best known as Jane Austen’s burial place.  Along the way we saw pockets of sheep- but not a dent in the 33 million sheep in the country. We also came mighty close to the home of Peter Gabriel, who took up residence in a box. I mean in Box. 

We arrived at Stonehenge on Salisbury plains while our American families back home were still in REM sleep.

We were given an audio tour of the henges, with options for details about the lintels, the Druids, and the history and mystery of these giant trilithons … The tour was self paced and piped through devices that look like the initial cell phones of the late 1980s. After the tour, we were able to visit a gift shop, which was not there when I visited 30 years ago!


Next we headed to Bath. “Bangers and mash! Be sure to get some of that while you’re here!” Exclaimed the tour guide Barry Bennet… A cheeky British fellow who loved to roll his r’s. I sought out anything BUT bangers and mash, and found a mouthwatering Brie and cranberry panini that I won’t soon forget!


This same cheeky tour guide entertained us with lots of great little vignettes of British culture and history on the way… One of the more memorable was the fact that “since the beginning of time” all people in England were given milk each day at 10:30am. “But then,” he said,  “one person came along and decided to pull those milks- it was Margaret Thatcher- milk snatcher!” Not sure how many heard these little morsels- many were, as Barry Bennet liked to say, “in the land of nod.”

Barry also pointed out the residence of Jane Austin’s family in Bath- #4. They lived in Bath until poor Jane contracted tuberculosis and had to return to Winchester.


Bath was a satisfying side trip. We wandered the streets looking at the detail of the buildings. Barry Bennet told us that women of long ago days who lived in Bath “weren’t expected to walk anywhere. They were placed in sedan chairs and carried everywhere! Look to the left-  there’s one!” Ummm… No thank you!

The architecture in Bath is beyond impressive. The details are stunning. The Bath Abbey was particularly inspiring, with carved angels climbing up Jacob’s ladder on both sides of the building’s facade.

The Roman Bath tour was slightly disappointing. It was a mad house and while the self guided audio tour was informative, the tour now focused on only the main public bath and “museum” exhibits of the rest. When I was here as a kid, I seem to remember seeing some of the private baths as well as hearing more of the gory details of how they flushed the waste down trenches, etc. Oh well- it was still fascinating to revisit this ancient bath house of the Romans.

We took the bus back 2 1/2 hours to London’s Jugged Hare pub where we had a traditional British meal of fish and chips and green peas. After dinner, we hopped a train, minding the gap of course, and then got to ride on the top floor of a red London city bus back to the hotel!


Tomorrow will be an early day- wake up call is slated for 5am. We will be taking the Eurostar over to PARIS!! 

Je ne peux pas attendre pour manger une crepe a paris!!!!

-Heidi

London: Day Two

I lit the morning on fire- literally! The breakfast buffet was phenomenal  at the hotel- fruits, eggs, a host of meats for the carnivores, breads, cereals, croissants…


So. I filled my plate with watermelon, eggs, and a croissant. I wandered to the toaster and popped my croissant on the conveyor belt. As I gazed at it with my “no coffee yet” haze, I happened to look over and see a sign…
 Oh. The meaning of that sign began to materialize in my mind nearly the exact second that I saw the croissant catch on fire. Orange and blue flames responded with immediate feedback to this foreigner who was far too tall to make it under the burners. I jabbed my knife in, in a feeble attempt to put out the fire. The blaze refused to relinquish its grip on my croissant. The smoke pouring from the toaster gave away my struggle. The breakfast bar attendant raced over. Without a single shard of humor, she pointed angrily at the sign and asked if I could read. 
I was at a loss for words, so I apologized profusely, while still attempting to grab hold of the flaming croissant. She grabbed a giant pair of tosngs and fished it out. She left me to gather my plate and respond to 30 kids who were chuckling at me. 

I glanced at the croissant table, now clearly understanding why the table was on the opposite side of the room from the toaster. A male attendant was there, staring at me with his arms crossed. I immediately felt like Oliver Twist… “Please, sir, can I have some more??”

I didn’t toast the second one, and told my students, “please learn from my mistakes!” 

After breakfast we hopped on another “proper charter bus” and headed back to London for another epic tour. Our first stop was Buckingham palace- home of 90 year old queen Elizabeth. The queen was not at home, and we knew this because her designated flag wasn’t not flying. The traditional guards were there to look after the royal house.


Our next stop was the breathtaking Westminster Abbey. Oh, how I have spoken of this place over my decades of teaching British lit. I just stared in utter awe at this massive structure of ornate beauty- built in 1066 to be England’s coronation church. I was so hoping to see Poet’s Corner, where  rest of all my favorites- Chaucer, Blake, Dickens, Austen, Eliot, etc- but the line made this something for my next trip over! 


From the abbey, we wandered over to the statue of Churchill. He was one sour looking chap- but what a wit! Our tour guide shared some memorable blips about his dialogue with Elizabeth Braddock:

 Elizabeth Braddock: Mr. Churchill, you are drunk.

Churchill: And you madam, are ugly. As for my condition, it will pass by the morning. You, however, will still be ugly.


Harry Potter fans were enthralled by the next part of the adventure, which took us past the city of London School from the film- also the school that the actor Daniel Radcliffe attended.


 We then crossed the famous Millenium Foot Bridge- also in the revered Rowling flicks. Before we hit the bridge, our tour guide made a point of telling us that people mash their chewing gum into the bridge, and local artists create art out of it. Naturally, my mind envisioned intricate designs made from the chewing gum.  I managed to snap a few photos to showcase the local gum artistry…

 The view was spectacular from the bridge- and I was particularly ecstatic when I realized that we were nearing the Globe Theater! Although the original Globe burned to the ground when the special effects of a cannon went ary- it was rebuilt in painstaking detail and continues to serve London with great helpings of Shakespearian plays. 

We walked back across the bridge, and straight into St Paul’s cathedral. As we approached this landmark, I recalled all the times I’ve read Blake’s  Holy Thursday to my students- asked them to visualize his  “flowers of London” marching in. The original church burned in the fire of London, but Chrostopher Wren  rebuilt it to be the symbol of Protestant England. 


The final stop on the tour was the Tower of London.  Here we wandered and learned the history of this place that is almost 1000 years old. 


We dined at a fun Asian noodle restaurant, where we are with chop sticks. These noodles were delicious when sprinkled with a healthy helping of soy sauce. 


Dinner ended and we took a train to see Wicked. That was absolutely spell bounding!  Will write more about it in tomorrow’s blog.

I have to call this one a day. Morning comes early!

-Heodi

London: Day One

What a day. I don’t think I could ever tire of hearing the local color of the Brits. As soon as we hit the Tube (Londond’s subway), I listened to the soft voice over the speaker, “please mind the gap,” she said… So deliciously proper. And of course my ears perked up when I looked at the Picadilly line on which we were traveling… A line that lead to Covent Garden… A place I’ve taken my students each year- to see Eliza Doolittle- a place where a cockney flower girl might find an honest tuppence…


We left the tube and set off on foot. Our first stop was Trafalgar Square. It was packed with tourists who were there to appreciate (Horatio) Nelson’s column, guarded by four giant lion statues made of solid brass. The square is a gathering place commemorating the Battle of Trafalgar. And from the top of the stairs, visitors can see “Big Ben and Parlaiment, kids”! There were some fantastic street entertainers out today- but probably my favorite was Floating Yoda.


While there, we were able to experience our first public toilets. They made me recall my old college Econ professor who repeatedly chirped about  “no free lunch “. In order to use the potty, you had to play 20 pence. Put the coin in and go through the turnstile. 


Next we went on to Picadilly Circus. Here we were given a bit of free time, so I wandered and snapped some interesting “Londonesque” photos… I do believe this “loyalist” loved his job…


Next, we went to Leicester  Square, home of the Odeon Theater- the Brit’s version of the red carpet- movie premiere hotspot. 


We ended up at a local restaurant where all 30 of us got traditional English meat pies and mash. Wow. Sounded like a double negative to a vegetarian who hates potatoes!  Fortunately, they had a veggie pie for me… And didn’t seem too bothered when I excused myself from “the mash”. The pitcher of water left on each table was room temperature- ice is clearly a hot commodity in London. Ha!


After dinner we headed back to the Hilton Croydon hotel, via, according to Devon-native tour guide Simon, a “proper coach bus.”  Along the way, before I snuck in a power nap, we saw a few more landmarks-Big Ben and the Thames river among them.


The day was amazing. I’m still pinching myself to ensure that I am not in the midst of some post-school year dream. People are  noticeably polite here… Always saying,  “oh, so sorry” when they bump you, holding doors, etc.

I’m off to bed now, but can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings! I know it includes a meal of Asian noodles, a city tour of more London highlights, and a ticket to see Wicked!

Wow!

-Heidi

MY “open” letter to Target…

Dear Target Decision Makers,

This letter is not akin to those you’ve recently received. I am not writing to condemn you. I am not writing to declare that you’ve lost my business. I am not writing to tell you that I am staging a boycott of your stores. On the contrary, I am writing to thank you.

I find it nearly impossible to put in to words the disappointment, the utter bewilderment I feel when I read the criticism that is flooding the media about your recent decision to allow “transgender team members and guests to use the restroom or fitting room facility that corresponds with their gender identity.”  I have read the protesters’ “open” letters, and I have become well-versed in two things from these reads: our country is inundated with discrimination and our communities are exploding with false judgement.  These “open” letters damn the honest and punish the innocent.

Thank you, Target, for standing up to the mass discrimination against transgender individuals. These individuals are being painted by your cruel protesters as miscreants of the worst kind: sexual predators. These transgender individuals have committed no crimes, yet they are being condemned as threatening, perverted, and dangerous. Thank you for realizing that these human beings are not criminals; they are law-abiding, honest, decent people just trying to figure out how to maneuver through this complicated world.

Thank you, Target, for standing up to the mass discrimination against transgender individuals. As a high school teacher, I have the opportunity and good fortune to work with transgender teenagers. These kids are struggling to find acceptance in a world that judges them with Draconian force. These kids want to have the same opportunities that other kids have- regardless of their gender identity. They are taunted, they are bullied, and they often feel completely alone. Thank you for being their advocate, their role model.

Thank you, Target, for standing up to the mass discrimination against transgender individuals. Thank you for realizing that it is a bathroom- a place to relieve bladders-and thus not destined to become some sort of  den of iniquity. Transgender people simply seek bladder relief just like every other human.

You said,”Everyone deserves to feel like they belong.” I can’t believe how many in our world disagree with this very simple, important statement. Thank you, Target, for your fair and positive treatment of your employees and customers. Thank you for refusing to cave to the masses who preach hatred. Thank you for paving the way for an end to discrimination. Thank you for standing up for a group of human beings who are being criminalized for choosing a gender that better fits them.

If you need me, look for me in the Target nearest my house. I’ll be there. And I’ll stop by the bathroom if I need to go.

Sincerely,

Heidi Campbell

 

 

Extinction on the dumpster horizon

“Sorry. No recycling today- no kids showed up.” That’s the email I read from the Environmental Club adviser just before I left school today. Those eight words alarmed me, and I’ve been mulling it over ever since. When this happens, the only way to truly clear it from my temporal lobe is to “write it out.”

These environmentally concerned students work tirelessly to spread the importance of recycling. They come in after school, on their own time and volition, and provide the service of recycling for the entire campus. Now, these kids are wearing down. The people in my building need to beware: we are in dire straits. These “green” kids are on the verge of giving up.

No one is showing up to the recycling club. And it is no wonder. It is truly a thankless job. These kids bundle up all of the paper in boxes around the building, load up their carts, and haul the bales out to the recycling dumpster. They then have to schlep these piles and piles of paper into the receptacle, which is physically exhausting. For many students, sadly, recycling bins are synonymous with trash cans, making the papers within lined with food residue, old chewing gum, or perhaps even a booger or two. The volunteers still sort through this swill, with nothing but the “reduce, reuse, recycle” mantra humming under their breath.

This is not a pleasant job. These volunteers don’t get paid, and they  get little to no recognition. Their only motivation is in the hope that they are making the world a better place. But this hope, this ideal, is waning. With every bottle filled with backwash, and every paper bin filled with snotty tissues, their motivation dwindles. Who can blame them?

People have come to rely on these volunteers. In fact, in a previous school, I’ve seen folks become enraged when no one came to collect their unwanted paper. If the kids don’t show up to empty the bins, the bins topple or the recycling simply stops.

What happens when the recycling volunteers become extinct? Will we all come around to the idea of lugging boxes of unwanted paper to the dumpsters? Will we sort through the bottle recycling bins to sort the recyclable from the trash?

That email said this to me: we need to thank these kids. We need to appreciate them for their thankless work. We need to do our part to make sure that our bins are “volunteer ready.”

Who’s with me??

Life without drive-thru windows may just be Nirvana.

It is nearly New Year’s Resolution season, and, if I may put it in baseball terms, my resolution is on deck. This year, I’m straying from the typical resolutions. There will be no weight loss, no organizing, no watching my language. My resolution will be unique and long overdue. 2016 is the year I quit the convenience of drive-thru windows. These windows have had more than three strikes in my life, and they are OUT. I resolve to go in or go home.

I can’t remember the last time I went through a drive-thru and left with peace and harmony in my soul.  There is always something that bludgeons peace… a missing burrito, a spilled soup, or a botched “special order”. There are, of late, quite a few gripes that have gotten my proverbial goat, but the top offenders have so jaded my spirit that I must purge them before they permanently corrupt my ability to chill.

Here are the top 3 reasons I am giving up drive-thru convenience for 2016:

  1. They often use improper bag sizes for packing the order. Perhaps the boss issues a challenge for the employees: if you can fit that massive order into that teeny bag, you get a free hot fudge sundae. I get the bag. The bag bulges; it cannot close. I place the bag on the seat. The bagged contents shift with discomfort, and the items on top shiver. The bag stands tall, like a tower of blocks- one wrong move and it topples. And it always topples. Even in the most seemingly secure stance, it topples. And, on the rare occasions that it doesn’t flop, the bag reaches its limit and rips. I may practice a BYOB (bring your own bag) routine for future visits to the tiny-bag mecca.
  2. 95% of the time, my order has a mistake. Something is missing. Even the times when I’ve counted items to make sure it matches the receipt, there is a mistake. There’s beef in the vegetarian burrito, there’s no side salad- instead I find some sort of raisin carrot atrocity- or there is mayo on the plain burger.  I am on to these mistakes, and have since tried to quickly check the contents. The window worker at one establishment recently quipped, “We can’t be waiting for you to check the order, ma’am. Please pull forward.” Oy.
  3. “Please pull forward.” They push me into the dreaded “pull ahead” spot nearly every time. This occurs even when there is no one behind me…This spot requires that I wait an eternity for someone to rush out, hand off the bag, and dart back in. They rush back because they know. They know the order is wrong. This happened last week. They left out a a side salad. At this point, I’m forced to drive back through the window lane because I’m likely in my pajama pants.  As TomPetty aptly croons, “…and the waiting, is the hardest part…”

I look forward to peace and harmony in 2016! I will purge these oxymoronic drive-thru windows from my life.  Designed for convenience, they are plagued with torment. I will enter these establishments on two feet, armed with my own bags, and be ready to ensure accuracy. I shall enjoy the non-cooking nights of 2016 with my joie de vivre intact.

A letter to a misguided judge…

Dear Mr. Utah Judge,

Sometimes I am, admittedly, naive. I have always associated “justice” with my personal definition of a “judge”. I have defined a “judge” as a thoughtful academic, an individual who upholds the constitution of our great country- one who seeks to make decisions based on fairness and humanity. The decision you made last week, to remove a foster child from the care of a married lesbian couple, was not only unfair and inhumane, it was a slap directed to the faces of our Supreme Court justices who, like most honorable Americans, embrace marriage equality for same-sex couples.

Apparently, however,  you’ve had an epiphany. After the media backlash, you have rescinded your decision. You have allowed the couple to keep the child, with the understanding, as reported by CNN,  that there would be “further hearings”. You have temporarily appeased the masses, but these “future hearings” reek of suspicious motives…

Again, my naive mind wonders if it could be possible that you have truly changed your mind, and realized the error of your ways? Maybe you’ve had a sincere change of heart? As a believer in rehabilitation, I do believe everyone can change and make themselves better humans. In fact, if I were a judge, I would send you to my own sort of rehabilitation facility. I would order you get to know one of a million same-sex couples who are raising loving families. I can suggest a handful in my small world who would reshape your misguided prejudice.

These “two-mom” or “two-dad” families ARE traditional, Mr. Utah Judge. They love their children. They pray with their children. They go to sporting events and activities and cheer on their children. They provide kisses for booboos, hugs for tears, and consequences for misbehavior. They worry, they smile, and they live for their children. Their kids go to school and they come home and tell their two moms or two dads about the day’s activities. There is nothing untraditional about the way that these families raise their kids. They are human beings, and great parents.

You made your initial decision without knowing these two mothers. You, a judge who makes life and death decisions every day, threw away your impartiality in favor of discrimination. The implications of this sort of reckless disregard for the law is alarming.

But you corrected your error, Mr. Utah Judge, and for that, I am grateful. My internal optimism for humanity is willing to believe in you, cautiously of course. I am willing to take your backpedaling as a sign that you’ve come to your proverbial senses.  Thank you for that. Thank you for accepting the oath of your position which understands that “all men are created equal” in our country.

You have taken a step in the right direction. I encourage you to follow the laws, and refrain from allowing your own personal prejudices to corrupt your societal decisions. I hope that you will think of the best needs of the children in our communities, children who are loved and cared for by same-sex parents.

Stay on track, Mr. Utah Judge. Please help me, and others,  restore our faith in the judicial system of the United States. Discrimination is an unwelcome intruder in our courtrooms.

Sincerely,

Heidi Campbell

A modest proposal for a digital world…

Each day, at any given moment across American High Schools, students sneak a text on their cellular devices. They hide their phones in pockets, under their thighs, inside their bras, and along the tops of their book bags. I am a teacher, and, as entertaining as I like to think I am in my classroom, I cannot compete with the allure of these devices. I have spent hours pondering the possible ways to thwart the sneaky methods of in-class texting, and I have finally hit pay dirt!  I have the foolproof solution to the problem of cell phones; I just need medical backing and an educational referendum.

My plan will allow teachers of cellphone-aged children to ensure that cell phones are “up” at a glance. By “up”, I mean that cell phones, under my simple plan, will find a natural resting spot on the tops of the heads of students. Indeed, a teacher will be able to look out to her attentive pupils and see them sitting upright, eager to learn, their cell phones resting comfortably atop their craniums.

Now, my eventual plan does require the reshaping of the human skull, and it must begin with the current newborns. We must mold the very skulls of infants, when they are most pliable. Doctors can easily create this “mold” using any available rectangular block. Actually, a small book would be best, since no one reads them anymore- it would be a great way to use up these antiquated dust collectors. Using the book, the doctor, who would certainly be adequately trained, would only need to press for a matter of minutes, and the indention would be set. Parents would then take the book with them, upon leaving the hospital with their new babes, and continue “book press therapy” throughout the child’s first year, to ensure that the bones set correctly. Parents will undoubtedly pack these books away with other sentimental baby items- first cups, bibs, and locks of hair.

Once a child hits the age of 7,  which I render the age at which most children will have their first cell phones, his or her skull indention would be mature enough to house a phone. It will be imperative that students sit still while resting their cell phones on their indented heads, so as not to wiggle and have the cell phones fall to the floor. Obviously, this would be distracting and costly to families. The necessity of stillness in elementary schools, so not to “tip” the cell phones,  will do away with the need for classes that require movement, which will, in turn, save money in district budgets.

For the kids who are too old for the infantile head reshaping, schools will need to provide each student with my patent-pending “Cell Phone Cap”, which shall be worn by all students, every day. This cap will be fashioned after a painter’s cap and made from the cheapest burlap, so as not to infringe on local budgets or anger governors who try their best to adequately pay teachers. The caps will have a Velcro belt system at the top, so students may easily secure their cell phones. These caps can be made in China for under $2.00 each, which will only be necessary until the book-pressed infants matriculate into the schools; upon which time manufacturing of the hats may cease.

Any educator will agree that this cell phone plan is truly the only solution to the digital disease inflicting our schools. It will ensure that students pay attention to their teachers, rather than their devices.  They will sit still, face forward, and be completely engaged. I’ve already spoken to a doctor who is excited about it, especially considering there is little to no pain involved. I have a more detailed proposal ready to present at the next area board meeting.  I hope that my caps will be in every school before the 2016 class graduates.

-HC

Corded window blinds kill. Please read and share.

October is “Window Covering Safety Month”. Most people would never know this, because they have no personal connection to the dangers of corded blinds. I didn’t either, until I learned what happened to a high school friend’s son.  In January of 2010, during naptime, Andrea’s son Daniel, who was three years old, strangled in the cords of the window blinds in his bedroom. Reading her story, following her heartache, and seeing photos of this beautiful boy who lost his life has moved me to share her story whenever I can, in hopes of preventing this tragedy for other families.

On  April 16, 2015, journalist Rick Schmitt wrote an in-depth article for fairwarning.org titled “Years of Talking, Kids Still Dying”. He wrote, “According to data compiled by the CPSC, at least 332 children, most of them under the age of two, have been fatally strangled by window cords over the last 30 years.  Another 165 have been injured, including some who suffered permanent brain damage or quadriplegia requiring lifelong care and therapy, according to the nonprofit group Parents for Window Blind Safety.”

To say the stories of these devastated families are heartbreaking doesn’t even scratch the proverbial surface. These families, like most of us, had no idea that a silent killer lurked in the rooms of their innocent babies.  They didn’t realize that these cords can kill in less than one minute. In one article I read, a mom left her 5 and 3 year old children playing in the playroom just long enough to make a bag of microwave popcorn. When she returned, her three year old was dead: strangled with blind cords.

The more I’ve read, the more enraged I become at the big-time window blind companies who are turning a blind eye to the research they are fully aware of. Schmitt’s article discusses the fact that these companies make a fortune selling corded blinds. He writes, “Corded blinds account for an estimated 75% of the industry’s roughly $2 billion in annual U.S. sales.”

Schmitt’s article really pinpoints the issue with the companies who manufacture the blinds when he cites an attorney:

 “They are not going cordless because they want to protect their profit margins,” said James Onder, a St. Louis lawyer who has filed, and settled, more than 50 lawsuits against the industry in 23 states related to children killed or injured by window blinds. “The industry has made a conscious decision that it is cheaper to pay off a lawsuit than it is to save human lives” by eliminating corded blinds, he said. – See more at: http://www.fairwarning.org/2015/04/as-window-blind-cords-strangle-toddlers-reforms-are-left-dangling/#sthash.L0D5hjm0.dpuf

A few years ago, I became a follower of the Facebook page titled “Parents for Window Blind Safety”, a non-profit organization who not only educates consumers, but they also fight for safer industry standards and support families who have lost children to corded blinds. They advocate companies, (Ikea most recently) who have opted to ban sales of corded blinds in their stores. This group raises awareness, supports education, and works to support the removal of corded blinds from store shelves. Parents Magazine, Consumer Reports, Fox News, CNN, The Today Show, The Chicago Tribune, The New York Times, USA TODAY and many other newspapers have advocated this organization, and helped to spread the important message of the dangers of corded blinds.

While I don’t have young children now, I have many friends who do. Hopefully one day, I will have grandchildren. We must all work together to ensure the future safety of our children. I have shared the danger of these corded blinds with friends, and will continue to share. I remember another chilling thought that I heard from someone, perhaps it was my friend Andrea, Daniel’s mom; the danger may be at a friend’s house, a friend whose family is unaware of the dangers.  The only way to ensure that these corded blinds do not take the lives of any more children is to raise awareness.

My heart truly grieves for the 332 children who have been strangled by corded blinds. None of these families knew the dangers. I certainly didn’t. I am horrified to recall that we had these cords in our kids’ bedrooms when they were little- in fact their cribs were near the windows.  This tragedy could occur in any house that hangs corded blinds. And, as every case indicates, it happens fast and silently.

Please spread the word. Take down corded blinds, and ensure that any house your child visits does the same. Be a life saver.

-HC

Kids need magic…

“Yeah, do you believe in magic?
Yeah, believe in the magic of a young girl’s soul
Believe in the magic of rock and roll
Believe in the magic that can set you free
Oh, talkin’ ’bout magic…” -The Lovin’ Spoonful, 1965

I was thinking about magic the other day, after listening to a bothersome mother denounce the “magical” customs of Christmas as “lies she refused to tell her children.”  This really rattled the inner lobes of my brain. After all, my fondest memories of being a kid involved magical things, like flying reindeer, wishing on dandelions, Mork from Ork, Disney World, and the Yellow Brick Road.  Thinking about these morsels of magic made me think of times spent hanging out in the most magical car. It made me think that what kids really need, in this modern world, is less reality and more magic.

I grew up in Topsham, a small town in Maine. Many weekends in the late 1970s, my aunt Nancy whirled into our driveway,  in her amazing blue American Motor’s car. It had to be a one-of a kind, with its two orange stripes running down the sides, and the Levi jeans seats stitched with “bullet shell” buttons.  I loved that car, and I cherished weekends when she picked me up to go out for adventures. I’d climb into the back and give those denim seats a good bounce.

Before we left the driveway, I’d flop my body over the front seat, where Nancy had a little wooden Buddha glued to the dash. She told me if I rubbed his belly I’d have good luck. I rubbed it, each swirl of my tiny finger anticipating the good fortune that was sure to ensue. When I threw myself back on the rear seat, a silver sparkle always caught my eye. Looking down, under the floor mat in the back seat, I found a pocket full of coins.”Boy, that guy works fast,” I allegedly told my aunt the first time I rubbed the belly and discovered the treasures. In those magic car years, I scooped up a good collection of quarters, nickels, and dimes.

nancys old car

It was magic, and I believed it. When I learned that my aunt planted those coins there, it didn’t shatter me, and I didn’t condemn her as a liar. I just grew up and had fond memories of magical times.

When my own kids were little, the magic car was long gone, but Aunt Nancy still found ways to share the twinkle and anticipation of magic with them. The kids spent summers running along the coastal Maine rocks on Birch Island, a magical summer retreat in itself. They found beautiful, shiny rocks in blues, purples, and reds. They shrieked in glee to find these jewels, contriving spectacular stories to explain how they came to wash up on the shore. They never knew that Aunt Nancy, the magic maker, sprinkled those gems in the nooks and crannies while the tide was out.

Those who create magic are not liars, and to condemn magic is a travesty. Magic gives children hope and excitement and elation. Some of the best books I read as a kid were filled with magic– Where the Wild Things Are, Alice in Wonderland, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Puff the Magic Dragon, Taran the Wanderer, and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, just to name a few. Magic was spectacular to me!

Kids are forced to grow up and face realities at alarmingly young ages. Why not let them believe in magic wands and wishing on stars? Why not preserve their innocence as long as we can?  Why take away the opportunity for wonder and imagination?

Do you believe in magic?  I do…

-HC