Turkish Tuesday (Türkçesi salı günü): Sihirli Annem (s1e8) #LanguageLearning for Orphans?

  Last week, we saw asked, in ep7, about Turkish Tuesday (Türkçesi salı günü): Sihirli Annem (s1e7) #LanguageLearning for Empathy Instead of Assumptions?

This week, we see bölüm/episode 8:  Finally, Çilek arrives!!   ( I love her Harry Potter’s 1st night at Hogwarts moment, at 45:14 in the video…)

  (her name literally means strawberry, for her hair…)

The summary comes from a fellow blogger (Birgit)’s point of view.

:

During the night Betüs loses her baby.

At the same time, a little fairy girl tries to get into Dudu’s and Eda’s castle. She is pretty but naughty and magics uncomfortable clothes on poor Taci the dog/Eda’s and Betüs’s father.

The girl seems unable to speak and she cannot write either. They can neither find out who she is nor where she came from.

When Dudu and Eda hear about the baby, they rush to Betüs to comfort her. They don’t even think about breaking her and Sadik up but use their magic to cheer Betüs up.

When you were small, this was your favorite thing to make you feel better.

Dudu and Eda tell Betüs about the little naughty fairy that came to their castle, and Betüs wants to meet her. In they meantime they learned via fairy alarm that an orphan is missing. They are sure that it is the little girl.

The otherwise mute girl can talk to Betüs, but to nobody else. She had been mistreated by her stepfather and he had put a spell on her that she could only speak to one person. She chose Betüs. Everybody is feeling pity, first for Betüs and her lost baby, and now for the little orphan, even fun-loving Eda and cynical Dudu, who even gets tears in her eyes.

But, Ms. Perihan, can’t you undo that magic?

Alas, the spell can only be undone by the one who cast it.

Betüs wants the little girl, Cilek, to live with her until she found her family. She asks Sadik and the kids, if they agree, which they do when they hear that Cilek is an orphan. When Betüs brings her home, the children are finding things to give her as presents from their own toys.

As soon as Betüs is a bit better, Dudu reverts to searching for magic to break up her marriage with Sadik. She is not glad when she hears that Betüs and Sadik want to adopt Cilek. If she breaks up the marriage, she will get the little girl back to the castle. Eda on the other hand would love Cilec to live with them.

The family meets at the café to ask Cilek if she would like them to be her family.

We want to be your family!

So, do you accept?

If she agrees they would celebrate, then and there. Of course she wants it.

–

     Many, many thanks to Birgit, of the Stella, oh, Stella blog, for all of the of the English content, today.

…

So my question, Thinking Readers, is about child abuse.  Clearly, the parents were both guilty, one of direct abuse, and the other of neglect, which brings tears of rage to my eyes each time I watch it, during this episode.  This strong-willed and resourceful child was able to find help, but many do not.  So, my Thinking Empathetic Readers, how can we make this world a place in which children are not abused by their guardians?

–

        Hopefully, the empathy that studying languages builds, and a little more good example via story, will help all of us learn to be more open to the needs, feelings, and happiness of others.

Next week will be blm/ep. 9: Turkish Tuesday (Türkçesi salı günü): Sihirli Annem (s1e9) #LanguageLearning for Changing Domestic Violence to Empathy? ,

…

Hoşça kalın!

Shira

*****************

Click here to read, if you like:

B5, Hakan:Muhafiz/The Protector, Sihirli Annem, Lupin, or La Casa De Papel/Money Heist Reviews,

Holistic College Algebra & GED/HiSET Night School Lesson Plans,

           or My Nonfiction  & Historical Fiction Serial Writing

Thoughtful Readers, please consider reading and sharing, or even writing a guest blog post here, about #ProjectDoBetter.  Phase I aims to build empathy for public goods (libraries, transit, healthcare, and education) via language study and story, among other tools.

Shira Destinie A.  Jones, MPhil

Shira Destinie Jones’ work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Update: Invisible Children vulnerable to invisible debts: Action Items to help

Update from Project Do Better (Phase I, Financial Self-defense…): 

1.   Identity theft precautions, 
2.  Validation of a debt to ensure that it was actually contracted by the person being pursued by the collector

(many people receive bills for debts they don’t owe, ignore them, and then end up wrongfully sued and even hit with default judgments because they didn’t reply to the court summons, or demand that the collector validate the debt).

Orphans like Çilek deserve protection, especially if they cannot do magic to protect themselves!

(from free book Invisible Children, KARA:)

“In your Child Protection System is there a volunteer program from a local law school that assigns a volunteer attorney to an abused child? I’ve met some well- meaning and bright attorneys who genuinely care for their clients this way. If not, are there adequate public legal representation for abandoned children?”

Kids who grow up ‘invisible,’ especially those without stable and functional families who protect and give them middle class cultural capital, like dinner table discussion of financial laws and mutual funds, are especially vulnerable to predatory lenders and debt collectors.

Until there are enough pro bono lawyers giving free legal and financial clinics, the rest of us can help in these ways:

1.)  ask local community colleges to offer free legal and financial clinics on your state’s statutes of limitations, contract and debt related laws, and consumer protection laws.

2.)  ask your law-makers to prohibit law suits on expired (aka Time Barred) debts.

3.)   ask your law-makers to lower the Statutes of Limitations on verbal and written contracts, which are often how kids unknowingly get into debt and end up in collections.

4.)  Write your own story (or novel) showing a world where kids get the protection they need, in multiple ways…

Please share your ideas for increasing Legal and Financial Literacy and opportunity for ALL of us!

This post is dedicated to my Great Great grandparents Wayne Anthony, murdered for succeeding, and his wife Maude Eleanor West Manzilla, who never gave up her legal suit to clear his name of the suicide charge by the life insurance company, and worked valiantly to keep her family together. Their descendants continue their work.

Quotes for a related post came from a recent ProPublica article co-published with The New Yorker.

Let’s #EndPoverty, and #EndHomelessness,  starting by improving these four parts of our good #PublicDomainInfrastructure 4:
1. #libraries,
2. #ProBono legal aid and Education,
3. #UniversalHealthCare, and
4. good #publictransport
Read, Write, Ranked Choice Voting and Housing for ALL!!!!, Walk !

#PublicDomainInfrastructure #StopSmoking for CCOVID-19
ShiraDest

originally posted in September, 12020 HE

Shira

*****************

Click here to read, if you like:

B5, Hakan: Muhafiz/The Protector, Sihirli Annem, Lupin, or La Casa de Papel/Money Heist Reviews

Holistic College Algebra & GED/High School Lesson Plans,

           or Long Range Nonfiction, or Historical Fiction Writing

Thoughtful Readers, please consider reading about #ProjectDoBetter.

Shira Destinie A. Jones, MPhil, MAT, BSCS

Shira

Shira Destinie Jones’ work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

How a missed trash can led to Formation Tortue, but learning languages may help…

This is a slightly edited re-posting, to finish the theme of how childhood trauma informs and affects our adult lives, that has been going this past few weeks of Some Tours being Worth Marching, and then Some Beatings being Worth Taking, after Floating on the ceiling as Punishment for hitting your elders in the Jaw, and learning that I Shouldn’t Exist?

—

Why did that paper ball flying over my head make me dive for the floor?

Shortly after I turned 51 years of age, a young coworker launched a simple balled up bit of paper at the trash can in front of me. It missed. What I saw was not a mere bit of paper becoming litter, however. Out of the corner of my eye, something came flying at me from behind. I reacted instinctively: by ducking. Since this was not the normally appropriate behavior for a 51 year old woman in an office environment, you can well imagine my embarrassment. My coworker apologized profusely: the poor thing had simply missed a trash can with a tiny bit of paper. What he saw was a reaction out of a Roman Turtle formation . I also apologized profusely, but the damage was already done. For the rest of the day, coworkers eyed me suspiciously and slowly walked over to place their trash in the bin. The awkwardness was palpable, and I was grateful when some of my Mexican coworkers began talking and joking in Spanish, drawing attention away from the incident.

As I sat on my afternoon break with a cup of hot water, I suddenly recalled a time I haven’t thought of in over 40 years. Another object was flying over my head from behind me, but it was not a simple bit of paper.

It was a belt buckle.

Pandemonium had broken loose as an old man bellowed his wrath, and swung his belt. I was the only person in the room not running away. For some reason, I could see the old man, the belt, and the other kids in the room. All looked either furious or frightened. But it all seemed to be happening somewhere else, with me simply frozen in place. The sounds were there, but muted as if in an old fashioned film.

It suddenly hit me that this event was from a time that I had worked very hard to forget. I’d been 9 years old, in the house overnight of a babysitter who was rather negligent. I told my mother, yet she did nothing. So, I forgot. But I never knew why objects flying over my head made me panic; until today.

Spanish, in particular Mexican Spanish, has always been my favorite language to switch into when I need to move my thoughts out of English. As a child, I’d always wished that I had magical powers to allow me to fight, or that I had a fairy sister to defend me, but the reality was that I was thrown back upon my own resources, so hiding or being ready to run usually seemed to be my best option. Hiding from my own thoughts was fairly easily accomplished, even in my dreams at times, by singing or thinking in Spanish.

It turned out that I could not hide from myself indefinitely. Things we’d rather not remember have a way of springing up, in the end. As I began to get therapy for events from my childhood it turned out that hiding and forgetting was not an effective way of dealing with those events. I had to relive them, again. This was probably more frustrating for my therapists than it even was for me, as I was told again and again that pushing away the memories would only make my #C-PTSD worse. But the focus on just being functional made it easy to ignore, once I was back in a job where I could pour my time and attention into something complex. (This 13-26 week cap that Medicaid puts on the number of sessions is yet another reason that we need full #UniversalHealthCare for everyone. Complex cases of many illnesses require long-term therapy that, when covered, will make for a healthier work force and population, not just the functional-to-panic-back-to-functionality roller coaster that kills so much time and so many people, in the end…)

The final straw arrived when the regional economy took a dive, sending myself and the vast majority of people I knew out of work. Some went to California, and I went overseas for work. In a new country and environment, stress flared up, and so did my panic anxiety. But this time I had to talk to a therapist in a language I was only just beginning to learn. As it turned out, I was finally able to access a good bit of the emotional content, while remaining present and able to stem the tide of anxiety during each session. As we began to unpack more of the childhood memories I’d been avoiding, being forced to express myself in a language I was still learning appeared to keep me emotionally distanced enough to prevent being pulled completely into the pain of the original event. When I came back to the USA, I found in California that having a Mexican therapist allowed us to switch from my native English, which was required to access the full emotion of the memory, into Spanish. So when she needed to lower the intensity level of the session, but keep me in the memory, she would switch into Spanish, distancing me just enough from the experience to process it. Who would have thought that #learning a #language could help in this case? But, it did.

So, what would Astérix do? He’d ask the Druid Panoramix, who would say: Il faut #ArreterdeFumer tout de suite !!

originally posted in  April, 12020 HE

Action Prompts:

1.) Share your thoughts on how this story may encourage empathy-building cooperation, and might help, or hinder, inclusive thinking.

2.) Write a story, post or tweet that uses those thoughts.

*****************

Click here to read, if you like:

B5, La Casa De Papel/Money Heist, & Lupin & Hakan: Muhafiz/The Protector Reviews

Holistic High School Lessons,

           or My Long Range Nonfiction, & Historical Fiction Writing

Thoughtful Readers, if you are on Twitter, please consider following   #Project Do Better  on Twitter.

Shira

Shira Destinie Jones’ work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Narrative Nonfiction: Some Beatings are Worth Taking, Brolly Lady, aka Standing in the Gap…

      …  Memories of a “Brolly Lady” …

—

     There it was again.  I knew that sound.

“Oy, they’re having a fight down there!”

     That was what Mona thought.  I knew better.  That was an old sound, from a lifetime ago.  One I thought I’d finally escaped.   I should have known better.

     I looked out the window, counting five men holding smart phones up toward the screams.  Then my feet moved of their own accord.  It was only from hearing a muffled shout as the door slammed behind me that I knew I’d left the flat.  The rain had just ended, and the pavement was still wet.  My feet pulled me to the source of that sound.  Not the shouting, not the screaming, but the one I remembered so deeply that it still hid under the table with my inner child.  The sound of a head hitting a wall.

     There it was again, but this time, I could see them.  Both of them.  The woman’s head sounded like a watermelon when she slammed against the wall, sliding down those slimy bricks to finish crumpled on the filthy paving stones.  Her eyes were open wide, looking stunned and frightened, as a giant advanced on her from the ten or fifteen feet from where he’d launched her.  My stomach churned as the pain of that impact coursed through my own body, as if I had been the one tossed like a sack of rice into that wall.

     Looking at the giant, I wanted to flee, abandon this woman to her fate.  But my feet had a will of their own, carrying me right into the one spot where I didn’t want to be:  about 5 steps between each of them.

     I realized that I’d carried an old umbrella with me out the door.  At least those Kung Fu lessons had had one result: they kept me from rushing in where angels feared to tread entirely unarmed.  Then again, my next thought was that this flimsy brolly was more like a liability against that big drunk guy.  I took a second of comfort in hoping that as a foreign PhD student, at least the NHS would cover my hospital stay if I didn’t manage to duck fast enough.

“Move!”

     I flinched as the sound wave from the giant’s lips struck me.  It felt just like the impact of furniture breaking against the wall that night.  When the giant stepped closer to me, my feet moved me back the same step, but my body refused to budge.  That brolly, I now realized, was balanced in my left hand behind me, just like a short staff.  My stomach had turned into a solid ball, no longer churning.  As I saw him look at me, the giant’s eyes suddenly grew wider.  If he hits me, it is going to hurt.  But then why did he seem to be afraid of me?

“Move!”

“No.”

     Who said that?  Oh, wait, that was my voice.  So why did the giant look confused?

“Thank you.”

     I risked a glance backward.  That sobbing voice had come from behind me, as the woman I was foolishly blocking wept, her tears mingling with the rain on the wall as she’d stared up at me.

Focusing on the giant as I’d learned to do in so many sparring classes, I drew a deep breath, preparing.  But the giant stood frozen himself, staring at me with some odd drunken mixture of contempt and fear.  Both were clearly written in his face, as well as the frustration of being denied another chance to strike the woman on the ground behind me.  What was he waiting for?

“You prick.”

     He was treating me like a man?  He really must be drunk.   Then I realized that I’d dropped into an automatic fighting stance.  He wasn’t that drunk, then.

“Ok, but you should be ashamed of yourself.”

     As those words tore themselves from my throat, I began to tremble so violently that I thought I’d begin crying like the woman at my back.  The giant looked so confused that I could practically see the gears turning in his drink-addled mind.  Then, a tall woman stepped between us, her back to me, placing a hand flat upon the center of the giant’s chest.   I found myself letting out the breath I’d not known I was holding, and heard movement behind me.

     I turned to see the two young bar girls helping the woman, finally, up off of the pavement, and taking her inside the pub.  As I looked back at the giant, he had backed away, the tall woman’s arm guiding him to the curb.

     I stood straight, now in tears myself from the relief, and from the shock.  I was still four years old, still hiding under the table, while furniture still shattered, as my mother screamed in the other room.  But this time, I had not stayed hidden under the table.

     This time, I had come out to help.

     Lost in these thoughts, I turned down the bar girl’s offer of a drink.  As Mona came over, saying something I couldn’t hear, I wondered where she had been during all of this.  Recalling her nights of coming home drunk, I realized that she had been standing there, 20 feet away, the entire time.  Now I could see her in my mind’s eye, standing off to the side, just watching.  As the five men and two bar girls had stood by and just watched.  

   All standing idly by while…   And all but the young bar girls were bigger than me.  Including my lover, who had let me stand alone.

     Then, I resolved to get her out of my life.  

Because some lovers aren’t worth keeping.

—

I look forward to your thoughts.

Shira

Action Prompts:

1.) Share your thoughts on how this anecdote may encourage finding ways to prevent domestic violence, how to deal with or prevent C-PTSD, and how to build inclusive thinking.

2.) Write a story, post or tweet that uses those thoughts.

Fellow Thinkers, have you got ideas on learning, especially multiple #LanguageLearning, on-going education and empathy-building, to #EndPoverty, #EndHomelessness,  #EndMoneyBail & achieve freedom for All HumanKind? 

 

*****************

Click here to read, if you like:

B5, Hakan: Muhafiz/The Protector, Sihirli Annem, Lupin, or La Casa de Papel/Money Heist Reviews

Holistic College Algebra & GED/High School Lesson Plans,

           or Long Range Nonfiction, or Historical Fiction Writing

Thoughtful Readers, please consider reading about #ProjectDoBetter.

Shira Destinie A. Jones, MPhil, MAT, BSCS

Shira

Shira Destinie Jones’ work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

His Jaw

 

 

What had I just done?  It was as if I was awakening from a bad dream, but the bad dream was still there, looking at me in what seemed to be stunned silence.  I was still more stunned.

 

-I guess you really were mad.

 

As the look on his face began to change, the full implications of what I’d just done began to dawn on me.  My stomach churned with the knowledge that there would be hell to pay for that punch, even if he had been teaching me to throw them, just like that.  Telling me how soft I was, how I needed to learn to fight, not let the kids at school walk all over me.

 

He’d taught me to block, and to throw a punch, demanding that I learn to be harsh, not to care if I knocked someone down, not to care how that person might get hurt.

 

Then, after a phone call from a boy, he’d demanded to know who it was, what the boy had wanted.  When I told him that I’d had to push off the boy’s attempt to kiss me, he’d asked me something, moving closer.  My grandmother was out of the house, out shopping.  I felt that warning pain in my gut, and I had tried to move away.  This man, my step grandfather, was my guardian, but not my kin, not safe.  I wasn’t fast enough.

 

He put out a hand, then the other, pulled me toward him, pressing his lips against mine.  I had twisted and blocked, just like he’d taught me, then backed away, shaking in my disgust, and he had laughed, saying I couldn’t be angry.  Just like my mother had laughed, after she’d told me not to tell, so long ago.  Then, it came out of no where.

 

He had been teaching me, and taunting me.

 

-Hit harder, don’t be such a sissy.

 

Teaching me to throw a decent punch, then a block, and then another punch.  He’d taught me how to throw a good punch, for a girl.  A hard punch, alright.

 

 

But at his shoulder, not his jaw.

 

 

 

–

 

Action Prompts:  

1.) How can we protect kids from adults, especially those in their own families?

2.)  Do you think that Project Do Better’s Phase IV (described in chapters 5 and 10 of the book) might help?

 

Dear Readers, ideas on learning, especially multiple #LanguageLearning, on-going education and empathy-building, to #EndPoverty, #EndHomelessness,  #EndMoneyBail & achieve freedom for All HumanKind? 

*****************

Click here to read, if you like:

B5, La Casa De Papel/Money Heist, & Lupin & Hakan: Muhafiz/The Protector Reviews

Holistic High School Lessons,

           or Long Range Plans, & Historical Fiction Serial Stories

Thoughtful Readers, if you are on Twitter, please consider following   #Project Do Better  on Twitter.

Shira

Shira Destinie Jones’ work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

 

Bad Fairy, Good Fairy?

This is not working as I’d hoped, but does explain why we need more visions of a kinder world:

“

-May the pain you cause my fe rebound thrice or more unto thee, and may you understand why, just before you die.

A malicious laughter tinkled across the canyon, startling Ametis out of a focus that suddenly became embarrasing.  Wheeling around with a sharp curve of a wing, the source of the cackle now revealed itself.  Perhaps taking the form of a peregrine falcon, rather than a starling, would be a good idea right now?  A short pip called the other starlings into formation around Ametis, who was grateful that they had accepted the call of a non-physical.  Ametis, armed with support, heard the laughter became a cough.

-Ahem.  Calling down mortal curses now, are we, good little fairy?

-Protecting my human, you stain on our kind.  And do not refer to me with that term, or I may have to forget myself.

A swirl of dust on the canyon floor began to kick up, just at the source of the sound below.  The air was a better place to call upon Fate, but it was not as safe as being grounded.

-I am no stain, you hypocrite.  I merely encourage the expression of their instincts.

-Encourage the inflicting of pain, you mean.

-That is merely a side effect, and even a beneficial one, over time.  Where would these humans be, without their motivation?

-Not killing each other, for starters, perhaps?  Besides, you have no interest in their well-being, only in watching them suffer.

-Suffer, not suffer, there is no difference.  They will all suffer at some time, and they will all die, having suffered, in any case.  Nothing changes them.

The dust devil on the canyon below became a sand storm, but then an image arose, painted in the ether around Ametis.  Her fe was moving into this plane, again.  The human paid by her fe’s cord-carrier had again put the fe into that place where she was afraid.  If Ametis had had a physical body, that human would have paid dearly, but as it was, all Ametis could do was feel her fe’s fear, pain, and shame.  Feel what her fe was feeling, and promise that this other human, older, stronger, and less fragile, but still mortal, would one day pay for what he was doing to her fe, a mere child of 6.

The sand storm in the canyon below closed in on a small cave.

On that day, the pain will be one, and its name will be one.  And none shall mourn them.  This human, and those who encouraged his evil acts, will understand, and they will regret.

The sand storm finally engulfed the cave, sweeping away all within it.

-Ok, I apologize!  You are…

All of them will regret.  Starting with this one.       “

 

Action Items:  

1.) Search for two different sources to learn about your local foster system’s funding,

2.) Please tell us where your information comes from, and how you know that the sources you found are reliable,

3.) Write a book, story, blog post or tweet that uses your findings, and then, please tell us about it! If you write a book, once it is published please consider donating a copy to your local public library.

Dear Readers, ideas on learning, especially multiple #LanguageLearning, on-going education and empathy-building, to #EndPoverty, #EndHomelessness,  #EndMoneyBail & achieve freedom for All HumanKind? 

Support our key #PublicDomainInfrastructure  &  for heavens sake: please #StopSmoking for CCOVID-19 (or even for good!)!:
1. #PublicLibraries,
2. #ProBono legal aid and Education,
3. #UniversalHealthCare, and
4. good #publictransport
Read, Write -one can add Stayed on Freedom’s Call via this GoodReads button:  ,

Vote, Teach and Learn (PDF Lesson Plans Offline)

and

my Babylon 5 review posts, if you like Science Fiction,

and

a proposed Vision on Wondering Wednesdays: for a kinder world…

   

Shira Destinie A. Jones, MPhil

our year 2021 CE =  12021 HE

(Day 1 … Day 5)

Stayed on Freedom’s Call
(free copies at: https://archive.org/details/StayedOnF…)
includes two ‘imagination-rich’ walking tours, with songs, of Washington, DC. New interviews and research are woven into stories of old struggles shared by both the Jewish and African-American communities in the capital city.

Shared histories are explored from a new perspective of cultural parallels and parallel institution-building which brought the two communities together culturally and historically.

Please leave a review, if you can, on the GoodReads page.

Shira Destinie Jones by ShiraDest is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Floating (& not in a good way…)

This is what happens when I allow myself to recall my childhood:

“

         I was floating on the ceiling, again.  I didn’t know how, but I felt sure that this was not the first time I’d been up, above, before.  In the quiet, in the calm.  The racket of shouting was gone, and so was the smell of anger, and fear.

 

Back up against the corner of that doorway, I’d seen the hand that reached down for me, the one that had hauled me up the last two steps as I had wearily climbed the stair case, wondering what I had done, or more likely, my step-sib had done, to provoke this latest round of rage.  I had realized that somehow, in some unthinking way, my question had managed to escape my guard, sliding through my teeth like the rattling of the wind in the windows, like the rattling of my jaw now, as it took yet another blow.  That weariness merely grew heavier.  Finally, I thought, finally, maybe I will be able to rest.  If Dad takes me to the hospital, like he said he would if this happened, if I was in a bloody mess, maybe I could just stay there, and rest.

 

Then, I saw the railing.  I noticed it because I knew that I had never seen it from quite that angle before.  We were studying angles in geometry, and I’d started to enjoy it, when I could get into the library, alone, unbothered by anyone else.  The pictures stuck with me, those beautiful lines, joined together, at different angles.  Not like this one, where the wood had long since lost its polish, and it wasn’t even quite joined at the right angle to fit the walk around the hallway.  But it was quiet, up here.  No yelling, no feeling every slap to my face, the hard wood of the door jamb pressing into my back.  No smell of hatred in front of me, and smoke from the other room.  It was peaceful, up here.  Nothing to feel, nothing to see, but the back of a head, and my head, moving back and forth in that odd way, giving with each slap of that large hand, while the other held my body up against the doorway.  None of that seemed real, below, as I floated up above it all.

 

 

“…pitch you down the stairs.”

 

Pitch?  What does that mean?  Throw, right?  Down the stairs.  Wait, what stairs?  I looked, really looked, as if opening my eyes for the first time in weeks, and then I got it.

 

The vice grip that was holding me up by the back of my neck, even though I was down on my knees, or was it one knee, I couldn’t tell, from the pressure on my back, pushed my head down.  In sudden and live color, there was the carpet, of the landing below.  Not the hall, not the railing, a floor, way below.  The landing of the stairs, with every single step between me and that landing below.  And the pressure of that huge heavy hand, pushing me toward it, into the void.  But just then, the void seemed to beckon.

 

“If I go, I’m going to take you with me.”

 

Would I ever dare to say that out loud?  Maybe it would be the last thing I’d ever say, if I said it out loud.

 

 

“

 

 

Action Items:  

1.) Share two different sources to learn about your local library system’s funding,

2.) Please tell us where your information comes from, and how you know that the sources you found are reliable,

3.) Write a book, story, blog post or tweet that uses them.

4.)  Do you think that Project Do Better’s Phase IV (described in chapters 5 and 10 of the book) might help?

*****************

Click here to read, if you like:

B5, La Casa De Papel/Money Heist, & Lupin & Hakan: Muhafiz/The Protector Reviews

Holistic High School Lessons,

           or Long Range Plans, & Historical Fiction Serial Stories

Thoughtful Readers, if you are on Twitter, please consider following   #Project Do Better  on Twitter.

Shira

Shira Destinie Jones’ work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Smoking: a public health Menace and a private Inferno

One year later, it still holds true: (and has been updated again, in 12022 HE…)

In an earlier blog article related to this global pandemic, the #coronavirus, also known as covid-19, I pointed out that allowing accurate news coverage of public health information is vital for public safety. This point is illustrated by season 2, episode 13 of Spanish Public Television series El Ministerio del Tiempo. But what is not mentioned in the episode is the danger posed by smokers to those who are either ill or recovering from a virus, particularly one like the current malady, which attacks the lungs, much like SARS. For anyone who has allergies, asthma, any sort of lung-based or respiratory illness, or even merely a common cold, cigar or cigarette smoke, or even marijuana for those who are also sensitive to it, creates further breathing difficulty, hampering recovery. Thus, a public health problem is aggravated by smoking anywhere within at least a 20 ft. But that does not take into account the other side of smoking: the personal side.

For many individuals, suffering from anything from emphysema to asthma, the hazards of smoking, both first and second-hand, are clear. But there is another side, which is not as often seen. For survivors of long term very early childhood abuse, cigarette or marijuana smoke can often trigger unwanted memories, flight/flight/freeze reactions, or even panic attacks. And to confuse the matter further, the very survivors may not even realize the source or the connection between smoke and their anxiety or panic reactions.

One survivor of very early and long-lasting childhood abuse explained it this way, when asked why the mere smell of cigarette smoke could make anyone panic:

“As long as I can remember, I have always flinched, or had the urge to run and hide (which we now call the fight, flight, or panic response), at the slightest smells of cigarette or marijuana smoke. As I sat in a place where there was strictly prohibited smoking, having been reassuring by a manager on the property that someone would find the source of the cigarette smoke right way, I relaxed for a moment and closed my eyes.

I suddenly found myself a 4-year old back in a place I never want to live again in a dark room sitting on the floor, hoping that the person with the cigarette would keep walking past the door. As the door opens can I come back to a memory of being asked for forgiveness many years later. Reasons for never given, but in my gut, I knew immediately.

What my gut knew, when I was in my late 20s, took me until I was 51 years old to come up to my conscious mind. It happened at 3 in the morning on a day when I finally feel reassured by someone that I would be protected. Not from the cigarette smoke, but from the person carrying the cigarette.”

So, please, for the good of those suffering with the novel Coronavirus, and also for the good of those suffering with buried memories triggered by smoke, please help all of us to be healthy, and stop smoking.

 

***************** 

Click here to read, if you like:

Babylon 5, Hakan: Muhafiz/The Protector, Lupin, or La Casa de Papel (aka Money Heist) Reviews

Holistic High School Lessons,

           or Long Term Nonfiction & Historical Fiction Writing

Shira

Shira Destinie Jones’ work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

(free: https://archive.org/details/StayedOnF…)

Free copies are available at https://archive.org/details/StayedOnF…

Thoughtful Thursdays, Fruit trees, and libraries for kids

Today is January 28th, but starting last night on the 27th, the Birthday of the trees, aka Tu BiShvat began, on the Hebrew calendar.  This day celebrates all fruit-bearing trees, inclusively, just as our society must become more fully inclusive for all of us.  Especially public libraries: they need to be safer places, where kids can study quietly, sit in safety, and find the help they need, not just for homework, but for life, in peace and acceptance.

Children, especially abused children, need to be included even more intentionally, as so many fruits are included in the celebration of today’s Jewish holiday, for are we not all trees? 

(or, in the words of a certain film: “… we are all fruits.”)

–

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone: my review

Upon reading again, I see that she uses the omniscient story-tellers voice more than I thought, in the first book, to excellent effect.

I find it amazing that Rowling managed to include child neglect, child abuse or bullying, ptsd and drugs all in one book, without coming off as preachy, and even giving it a happy ending. Then, managing to get kids to read it!

I only hope that my WIP can accomplish half as much, one day.

–

So, it turns out that the sort of fruit that we bear may well depend on the sort of soil in which we were planted, and the kind of water we received when young, yet each year, we can bear new fruit, even be transplanted into new soil…

Action Items:

1.) Search for two different sources related to library funding and whether social workers are also stationed in public library branches in your area.

2.) Share them with us in the comments, here, please.

3.) Share your thoughts on how a calendar based on the Holocene Epoch might help, or hinder, inclusive thinking,

4.) Write a book, blog post or tweet that uses an alternate calendar, tells a good story, and makes a difference. I’m working on that through my historical fantasy #WiP, #WhoByFireIWill. If you write a book, once published, please consider donating to your local public library.

Dear Readers, ideas on learning, especially multiple #LanguageLearning, on-going education and empathy-building, to #EndPoverty, #EndHomelessness,  #EndMoneyBail & achieve freedom for All HumanKind? 

Support our key #PublicDomainInfrastructure  & #StopSmoking for CCOVID-19:
1. #PublicLibraries,
2. #ProBono legal aid and Education,
3. #UniversalHealthCare, and
4. good #publictransport
Read, Write -one can add Stayed on Freedom’s Call via this GR button:

, Vote (pref. using RankedChoiceVoting), Teach and Learn (Lesson Plans)!

 

Yassas,   γεια σας!    Salût !  Nos vemos!  Görüşürüz!     ! שָׁלוֹם

ShiraDest

December, 2020 CE = December 12020 HE

(The previous lesson 52/67 published since this post, and the most recent lesson 53/67…)

Shira Destinie Jones by ShiraDest is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Moody Mondays, Adulting Ed., and What YOU can do to protect children and help Save the World (in about 30-45 years…)

Here is what part of the Four Freedoms movement (now Project Do Better) this post fills: educating yourself as an Adult to help protect future adults, as part of the responsibility for democracy and safety.

–

KARA ‘s “Call to Action
Look for reports or studies on how much your community spends on early childhood programs. Gain an understanding of the economic arguments for educating and saving children. Watch for budget cuts and let your representatives know that saving money by cutting early childhood programs is a false savings as well as unethical legislative stewardship. Educate the people in your immediate circle of influence about the value of early childhood programs.”

Founder Mike Tikkannen’s book Invisible Children (The American cycle of abuse and its cost)

Please buy or download it (free or make a donation), read it, review it and Share It.

ShiraDest
7 November, 12015 HE

–

 

Action Prompts:

1.) Consider sharing some ideas you may have on how our society can solve homelessness and child abuse, starting right now,

2.) Write a story, post or tweet that uses those sources and your thoughts.

   Thoughtful Readers, ideas on learning, especially multiple #LanguageLearning, on-going education and empathy-building, to #EndPoverty, #EndHomelessness,  #EndMoneyBail & achieve freedom for All HumanKind?

Support our key #PublicDomainInfrastructure  & #StopSmoking at LEAST for CCOVID-19:
1. #PublicLibraries,
2. #ProBono legal aid and Education,
3. #UniversalHealthCare, and
4. good #publictransport

Read, Write

-we can learn from the past Stayed on Freedom’s Call for free,

                by Teaching and Learning (Lesson Plans offline) in the present, to

                                We can  Do Better: a Vision of a Better World to create a kinder future

 

( 5 month GED lesson 18 of 67 plans),

   and  Babylon 5 review posts, from a Minbari Ranger’s perspective: story inspires problem solving, and historical fiction stories also encourage learning…

Toward Peace,

Shira Destinie A. Jones, MPhil, MAT, BSCS

Shira

the year, 2021 CE = year 12021 HE

Stayed on Freedom’s Call
(free: https://archive.org/details/StayedOnF…)
includes two ‘imagination-rich’ walking tours, with songs, of Washington, DC. New interviews and research are woven into stories of old struggles shared by both the Jewish and African-American communities in the capital city.

Shared histories are explored from a new perspective of cultural parallels and parallel institution-building which brought the two communities together culturally and historically.

Please leave a review, if you can, on the GoodReads page, and please do let us know here that you’ve reviewed it there!  🙂

Shira Destinie Jones’ work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.