New York
Christmas is a distant memory. It has been over a month since I have recorded my thoughts, learnings to this blog. But I have been drilling down for oil, focused on keeping on task.
January has a frigid stranglehold on New York. And yet, I cannot remember a January that I have found so interesting. Since November, I have been poking down a lot of rabbit holes as I discern what work I want to do with this decade of my life. My skill sets have always deepened in two broad areas: communications and, I suppose, social justice ( although I think that might be a little lofty for just trying to do the right thing with folks who are marginalized!). So, whether I was teaching nursing, conceiving and executing program materials with my communications company--those were the areas that make up the map of my work life.
In the process of running down possibilities to use these skills, I've had a chance to see just some of the people and projects that are helping people in New York City--from the YMCA of Greater New York with its 14+ branches to the incredible Hartford Foundation at NYU that offers practicing nurses accessible tools in their busy lives to deal with our aging population. There are lots of people making organizational change.
And new beginnings seem to be everywhere on a more micro level. Last Monday, I stood at the end of the 25 meter pool, getting ready to begin my 50 laps when a 30 something woman with a black two piece suit stretched to accomodate a very big belly. I smiled at her and said: "You look so beautiful!"
"Do you really think so?" she asked, smiling back.
"When is the baby due?"
"Two days ago."
We talked for little bit about this, her first baby, her excitement and the unknown.
"I guess this is the beginning of worrying about this child for the rest of my life," she said, her brow wrinkling as she spoke.
Talking to her, I felt that invisible bond that mothers seems to have. We talked a little about my babies and my vivid memories of those last days before their births back in the distant 60s and 70s. The first time I felt each of them move, their first gasp, their first day home.
Wednesday, I read my son, Ben's blog ( BenjaminWagner.com ) and read his account of the 20 week ultrasound for the new baby that he and Abbi are expecting in June. He wrote about the thrill, the awe of seeing this new life forming before his eyes. He wrote about the mix of angst and absolute joy. It moved me to tears.
Thursday, I visited a senior center on the Upper West Side that is open 6 days a week from 8 until 5pm. The director grew up in the neighborhood 40+ years ago and attended Booker T Washington middle school that is now behind the center. Mickey multitasked between talking to me, answering her phone, and waving center members into her office for a chat in rapid Spanish. But the best part was the feel of the place. This neighborhood houses naturally aging, generally poor population of many Latinos who, without this place to create community, might be isolated in their apartment-- without knowing what services are available to them--health screenings, legal help, transportation.
In many ways, this winter seems to be offering me a mini course in miracles.
M.C
And new beginnings seem to be everywhere on a more micro level. Last Monday, I stood at the end of the 25 meter pool, getting ready to begin my 50 laps when a 30 something woman with a black two piece suit stretched to accomodate a very big belly. I smiled at her and said: "You look so beautiful!"
"Do you really think so?" she asked, smiling back.
"When is the baby due?"
"Two days ago."
We talked for little bit about this, her first baby, her excitement and the unknown.
"I guess this is the beginning of worrying about this child for the rest of my life," she said, her brow wrinkling as she spoke.
Talking to her, I felt that invisible bond that mothers seems to have. We talked a little about my babies and my vivid memories of those last days before their births back in the distant 60s and 70s. The first time I felt each of them move, their first gasp, their first day home.
Wednesday, I read my son, Ben's blog ( BenjaminWagner.com ) and read his account of the 20 week ultrasound for the new baby that he and Abbi are expecting in June. He wrote about the thrill, the awe of seeing this new life forming before his eyes. He wrote about the mix of angst and absolute joy. It moved me to tears.
Thursday, I visited a senior center on the Upper West Side that is open 6 days a week from 8 until 5pm. The director grew up in the neighborhood 40+ years ago and attended Booker T Washington middle school that is now behind the center. Mickey multitasked between talking to me, answering her phone, and waving center members into her office for a chat in rapid Spanish. But the best part was the feel of the place. This neighborhood houses naturally aging, generally poor population of many Latinos who, without this place to create community, might be isolated in their apartment-- without knowing what services are available to them--health screenings, legal help, transportation.
In many ways, this winter seems to be offering me a mini course in miracles.
M.C
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