Graduation Flashback: Then and Now

As I watched the college students march proudly in procession into the stadium, I nostalgically remembered the excitement of that day in my life years ago at my undergrad college graduation from the University of Illinois in Urbana.

I never imagined that one day I would be watching my students' graduation. I sat in the front row ceremoniously attired in my cap, gown and hood to support the commencement ritual for the new grads.

Scanning their faces, I could see the pride and the relief that they had made it to the prize. I watched them accept their diplomas while their families and friends whistled and applauded as their names were called.

As they came down the stairs, some shouted out; one did a cartwheel, and another did a victory dance.

As I reminisced, I remembered that sunny day when I stood beaming in my cap and gown, clutching that hard earned diploma in front of the University's Assembly Hall. I was on top of the world.

I remembered the look on my face preserved in the photo my parents kept on display for years. I was glowing, filled with hopes, dreams and goals for a bright future.

A college degree was my ticket to a new life, better than my parents had, to live the American dream...the first college grad in our family, let alone the only female.

My four years of study prepared me to be an English teacher K-12. I believed that was the life ahead of me.

Graduating from college is what my mother had encouraged me to do after her own education was cut short by a depression that required her to quit school as an 8th grade honors student and work in the local factory to help her family put food on the table. My father managed to graduate high school which was typical for his generation.

I could relate to the students who pursued a degree while working fulltime, raising families and going to school at night. I appreciated their struggles and determination.

It had not been easy for me either. If it hadn't been for three scholarships and working three jobs, I could not afford to pay for my education. There were no other funds available at the time.

Looking back at that day when the world was my oyster, I thought I knew where the journey would take me: marriage, children, a teaching career and a comfortable life in a small town in the Midwest.

I had a master plan and a script to follow. I was all set.

Little did I know, how differently my life would go. I had college credits and a degree but little life experience for what was to come.

Years later after my divorce, I moved East to pursue a corporate communications and marketing career and even became a vice president of a high-tech start-up as my career advanced.

I raised my children as a single parent, then married and divorced again, and ultimately returned to teaching after many years in the business world. Along the way I earned my MA from the University of Richmond.

That was not the plan the day I stood proudly clenching my diploma ready to take on the world, or so I thought.

Where will the journey take the new grads? The one thing I can tell them is that it will be an adventure they cannot imagine and wouldn't want to miss.


Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010-2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

mortar board 1 photo by renata jun

What I Learned from a Cockroach

Like most people, I find cockroaches disgusting and repulsive, but one cockroach taught me a lesson just at the time I needed it.

I'm afraid of bugs...always have been. I remember them knocking and buzzing at the screen as I tried to sleep on a hot "unairconditioned" night in Chicago when I was a young girl. 

It was the mid '90s on a sultry afternoon in New Orleans. I just left our company's partner conference. I was in turmoil about whether to leave the company that was faltering; it was just a matter of time before it would go belly up. Layoffs were underway, and the high-tech giant was floundering.

I was burned out; and as the workers left, the rest of us shouldered more of the load. I had reached a fork in the road--stay or go before the end. I was offered a corporate position, but it was really too late for a turnaround. If I left, I had no idea what I would do next. I felt "stuck" by my responsibilities and could not see a way out.

On the way back to the hotel, I discovered an art glass studio where students were shaping lava-like, molten glass into beautiful, decorative vases and bowls.

I love art glass, so I couldn't pass up the chance to watch the amazing process of golden, liquid glass being fired. It was an old warehouse with a tall, arched glass skylight, a dramatic rooftop for the fiery ovens below where the glass was given its final form.

Suddenly a storm blew in, the sky blackened, and lightening streaked above the skylight putting nature's fireworks on display, a theatrical production of fire and rain clashing as the glass was creatively brought to life by the glassblowers.  It was a dramatic moment of blazing fire, pounding water and lashing wind.

A deluge struck the building and we were caught on foot in a flash flood. The street quickly filled up with rushing water. We took off our shoes, rolled up our slacks, and waded into thigh-high murky water, feeling the pavement under our feet, but unable to see what was beneath the quickening current.

We sought higher ground and saw an historic townhome nearby with a dozen steps up to its landing.  We climbed as quickly as we could to safety as the water continued to rise.

We were not the only ones seeking dry ground. Below us, we watched a giant roach instinctivelyly inch its way up each concrete step to avoid being swept away.

Once again I felt that familiar revulsion, but I was stuck in place.

As I observed the roach work its way to safety, I became fascinated by its behavior. It knew what to do and how to survive.

I realized in the storm that the roach moved forward to live. That was the sign I needed.

I, too, had to move on and flee the corporate storm that was destroying my spirit and future.

I still am squeamish when I see a cockroach but am grateful for the lesson it taught me that day when I needed to escape the murky turmoil around me and regain my footing on solid ground.

Sometimes life lessons come from the last place we would look for them.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

power of nature by nespresso
steps1 by vasantdave

A Perfect Day in Tuscany

Every now and then, I experience a perfect day...where everything seems just right. I had such a glorious day last fall in the magical city of Lucca, northern Tuscany, Italy.

Lucca dates back to 180 BC as a Roman colony.

Today it is a charming, hillside town fortified with double thick, massive red-brick walls built from 1504-1645 that provided centuries of protection and defense to its citizens from invaders who sought the wealth of the thriving silk merchant families.

Lucca managed to keep the marauders at bay and then had the good fortune to be protected and ruled by Elisa, Napoleon's sister, so its beauty was enhanced and its history preserved.

Even now there are portals with massive gates for entering the town where pedestrians, mopeds and small cars wind their way around shops, cafes, open markets, piazzas, and gelato stands in the gentle bustle of the town.

The wall, wide enough to be a two lane road, towers above the city as a 3-mile park circling Lucca and  offering views of the medieval look-out towers and exquisitely landscaped gardens of the villas it rings and embraces. Outside the wall at ground level lies the newer city and the surrounding countryside abundant with vineyards of olives and grapes.

On top of  the wall, families stroll with their children, lovers walk hand-in-hand, cyclists stop for a picnic lunch, and runners jog under the shade trees.

My perfect Lucca day started with a stop at a small grocer's inside the walled community where Gina, my traveling companion and guide from http://villavita.net/, and I selected the ingredients for a fresh sandwich plus fruit and cheese for our bike ride and picnic atop the wall.

Next we rented our bikes at the foot of the wall and began our climb onto the multi-story high walls and ramparts to enjoy the ambiance and the magnificent vista on our bike ride.

The weather was just right, sunny, comfortable and clear, so we could see for miles. A garden show and exhibit hugged the wall's banks where local flowers and plants were artfully displayed to the pleasure of passersby.

We could have been in Central Park with people leisurely enjoying the day on the promenade along the tree-lined wall. Midway we paused at a grassy spot to eat our delicious lunch of prosciutto, tomatoes, pecorino (sheep-milk cheese) and fresh, juicy peaches.

Gina shared a legendary story of the great jazz musician Stan Getz being incarcerated in Lucca for a month for smoking pot. The locals sat outside the jail and listened to him play from his cell every night as if they were at a concert.

After our relaxing ride, we entered Lucca through one of its portals and stopped at a famous cafe where Puccini and other creative artists of his day sipped their coffee.

We wandered through the city's narrow lanes, still intact in their ancient Roman street plan, to the piazza where a bronze of Puccini, legs crossed, sits and looks out at the square. We watched children climb on top of his lap while adoring parents took their photos with the composer.

The shops nearby displayed the latest fashions of stylized, supple leather and haute couture from Milan and Rome's finest designers.

For dinner we ate at a small cafe that was recommended by Elizabeth Gilbert in her book, Eat, Pray, Love; like her, we had the risotto with wild mushrooms and a fine red wine.

The most magical part of the day was yet to come. We went to the cathedral, where Puccini was once the organist, to hear aspiring opera students, accompanied by a grand piano, sing Puccini's famous arias.

A small audience, seated in folding chairs, listened in rapt appreciation. The night was balmy and the music enchanting. Some of us were moved to tears.

It was the perfect ending to a perfect day in Tuscany. Bellissimo!

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010-2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://villavita.net//

Autumn in Lucca by Jscarreiro
Pusseggiata delle Mura by Tango 7174
toscana2 photo by Gabriella Pataky

Romancing the Stone: Reunited with Michelangelo's "David"

Returning to Florence, Italy, meant seeing Michelangelo's David again.

I remembered the impact he had on me at 25 and wondered how he would affect me this time, some 40 years later.

I had kept him close to my heart since our first encounter.

I've always had a special place for David in my fantasy world of men I adore and admire, a celebrity crush on a man of stone, whose magnificence seems so alive and present as if he could turn at any moment to his throng of admirers like a rock star facing his fans.

Would David still inspire me with his beauty and grace after all these years? Would the proud, yet gentle young man, toned and muscular, fit for Goliath, still stir me with his restrained power and reflective, protective gaze?

Though many years have passed, I still am captivated and charmed by his elegance and beauty. He remains a prince preserved in marble as if the Gods had frozen him for us to behold, a monument to eternal youth and strength that exudes courage and confidence.

I no longer have a schoolgirl crush. Instead my wiser eyes perceive "a peaceful warrior," with immortalized energy, ready to do whatever is required of him.

In my mid 20's, it was love at first sight; in my mid 60's, I am totally smitten by his gentle, powerful figure and adore him all the more.

Next time I see him, I will place a "love is eternal padlock" (L'amore è eterno dei lucchetti) on a Ponte Vecchio bridge rail to symbolize my commitment to an Italian Idol who will never change, who is perfect just the way he is.

Till we meet again. Ciao.

L'amore è eterno finchè dura photo by Veronica

http://villavita.net/

Sweet Ride: Discovering a New World

At 10 I inherited  an oversized boy’s bike from my cousin.  It was officially my first bike since we couldn’t afford the popular Schwinns of the day.

It made me happy to have my own "wheels." I cleaned and painted the secondhand bike red and even added a silver thunderbolt to the fender to make it look fast and ready to roll.

Once it was "restored" and no longer looked like a dust catcher from someone’s basement, I took it for a test drive.

The first step was to find a place to mount the boy’s bike since I wasn’t tall enough to reach over the frame without starting from a stoop. Then I had to manage to stay upright and balanced.

After many falls and scraped knees, I wobbly made my way over the streets and sidewalks of our immigrant Chicago neighborhood in the ‘50s.

I was curious about what was outside the safety of the few blocks I already knew. I decided to risk a ride beyond the boundaries of my Greek, Irish, Polish and Swedish neighborhood. There was a bigger world out there; and my bike, like a trusty steed, would take me there.

So I headed for the nearest stoop, straddled my bike, and set off for my first trip across neighborhood borders into foreign territory with other nationalities on Chicago's South Side.

I was breaking the rules by leaving my neighborhood, but I couldn’t resist the adventure.

As I rode, I heard new languages and saw different ethnic faces.

Even so, the lifestyles seemed familiar to my neighborhood with open market tables covered with fresh breads, fish, and produce, many displayed just outside of family-owned shops housed under their apartments.

Some of the food and the odors were unfamiliar.Other sidewalk tables held clothing and trinkets for sale.

I didn’t feel comfortable getting off my bike just yet.  After all, these were strangers I was told not to go near.

When I returned home, I didn't dare tell anyone of my explorations just a few blocks away. I kept my travels a secret so I could return to discover more about the new territory.

As time passed, I grew bolder and got off my bike to taste and touch the foods and wares of the other immigrants' lives.

Thanks to my secondhand bike, I got to discover a new world and its inhabitants in Chicago's immigrant melting pot of the '50s.

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2009-2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

I "Heart" Blogging:)

Ninety blog followers and counting on Blogger; 51 followers on Facebook's Networked Blogs:)

Every time a new follower appears, I experience a childlike excitement.

It's like opening a gift whenever a new face shows up, and it's inspiring to dialogue with those who leave comments.

Who has come by? from where? We are now connected through my stories and comments and their thoughts and reflections on what I've shared.

It's been a year and a half since I set up my blog. At the time, I had no idea where the blog journey would lead me.

It’s been an amazing ride so far. I have shared stories from my youth with my children that were new to them. Followers I will never meet have commented on my blog from Greece, Australia, NYC, Indiana, Canada and elsewhere.
 
At local events people tell me they have shared my blog with their friends and relatives, and each time I am thrilled and grateful.

Blogging expands my world in delightful ways. I'm often surprised that the writing speaks to such a diverse group of men and women, ages and beliefs.

I always wanted to write a memoir to share my life experiences and the wisdom from them, but a book seemed so daunting. Blogging moves me one step closer to that dream.

A new world has opened with readers from all walks of life. My blog was featured on blogher.com twice and is ranked on the three Top 50 lists on Facebook’s Networked Blogs. http://apps.facebook.com/blognetworks/searchpage.php?tag=personal+stories.  And there are more followers on other blog sites, such as blogcatalog.com.

Each follower is part of my blogging life, and it makes me smile when they show up or share their thoughts.

But the most important discovery from blogging is the joy I feel every time I write.

My creative process springs from ideas that emerge in the car, the bathtub, anywhere, to finding images to enhance and complete the story, and finally to publishing it. I feel euphoric when I see it published and more so when someone "likes" it.

For me, blogging is the ultimate way to connect and share with those I know and many I will only meet in the virtual world. It gives me a natural "high"every single time. I am following my bliss.

Heart by pitabox987
Diversity 6 by bsk

Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010-2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Doing "Nothing" is "Something"

Don't feel like “doing” today…want to relax this morning after teaching my college class for four hours last night.

Slept in…looked at the clock…and rolled over. Permission to self to take the day off.

List of things to do can wait till tomorrow. Instead, sip coffee in my pjs on the front porch and write while the birds sing and the soft breeze and checkered sunlight caress my neck ever so gently. Enjoying a sunny day in Phoenix.

Ah, the luxury of musing, reflecting without deadlines, appointments and obligations for the day.

Simple and delightful and so different from my former self, the Type A, overly responsible, overachieving Super Woman who tried and at times did do it all…single mother, professional career woman, wife, hostess, etc. Exhausting.

No more. I have officially retired my Super Woman cape, and I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it.

My “self” has earned and deserves time without the requirements of work and responsibilities that compete for my time with me.

Putting me first is a relatively new experience after years of doing just the opposite for bosses, family and friends. It’s very liberating and peaceful to not have “to do” anything. I never had that choice or so I believed.

How lovely to finally know what it’s like to be free and not have to answer to anyone but me, a heady thought indeed. Just floating for now…see where the current takes me. During my life, the raft has taken me over the “falls” (divorces, moves, layoffs), and I’m still here.

The fears and worries of those times no longer have power over me. I realize now I did learn survival skills on my life journey, but the angst isn’t worth it.

Is my glass full or empty?

Both, I think: Full from my life’s experiences with some wisdom from my life's challenges and Empty of the cares and struggles of the past with space available now for what comes next.

Doing nothing for a day is good for something:)

 Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2010-11 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Alarm clock photo by Zvone Lavric