Tuesday, June 10, 2008

VOL II., ISSUE II - SUMMER 2008

Greetings to one and all…and welcome to another edition of The Bridge! This issue is dedicated to Bridgewater BookFest – an exciting new event that will take place on Saturday, June 21, on the historic main street of Bridgewater. BookFest will feature dozens of authors, booksellers, libraries, speakers and more…all gathered together in a festive literary celebration. The festival will also feature a special Children’s Section with plenty of activities for the little readers in your family.

Bridgewater BookFest’s featured authors are Nancy Martin and Mark Levine. Nancy, a Pittsburgh native, is the author of the popular Blackbird Sisters Mystery Series. Mark is the author of The Fine Print of Self-Publishing and Saturn Return. Following his afternoon talk, Mark will be holding a reservation-only seminar on self-publishing. If you’ve written a book or always wanted to, you won’t want to miss out on this exciting opportunity. Sign up for the seminar on the website today at www.BridgewaterBookFest.com.

In this issue of The Bridge, we’ve compiled writings from some of the talented authors who will be appearing at Bridgewater BookFest. Make sure to stop down on Saturday, June 21, to meet these authors in person and purchase signed copies of their books.

For more information, visit: www.BridgewaterBookFest.com



Can We Raise Kind and Loving Children in the World as We Know It?
Sally Dubel

When my daughter was 19, we were invited to a high-risk high school, in Houston, Texas, to talk about the Loving Things Journal©. It was quite intimidating with guards at the door, an electronic screening device and monitors in each classroom. At first, the kids seemed a little suspicious, and as we were by no means experts, we were pretty nervous. We soon discovered that the majority of these children had never thought of doing something loving for themselves or others.

The school had decided to make our project a contest for the children, and they were to design their own Journals and write in them for one week. As the kids began opening up and talking about the loving things they had been doing, one young man described his home life to us. His Mom was raising four children by herself, while she worked two jobs. He was the oldest, attending school during the day, going home to help his younger siblings with homework, and prepare supper. When his Mom arrived home from her jobs, he would go to work for the evening.

After attending the first class with us, he told his brothers and sisters about the experiment and they all sat down and discussed what they could do for their Mom. They decided to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen before she arrived. He said they all had so much fun doing it, with everyone joining in to do something loving for his Mom. When she walked through the door, everyone was so excited at the look on her face, as she broke down crying for what they had done for her. As she kept thanking them, he suddenly realized how one small loving act could have so much joy and appreciation in it, and how good it made him feel.

Through this one small experiment, I have realized that not only can we raise kind and loving children; it may be something that is easily achievable, even in this seemingly chaotic and ever-increasing violent world. With the training the children receive by actively working with the Loving Things Journal© each day, these ideas become a lifelong habit.

Sally MacKenzie Dubel currently lives in Beaver, Pennsylvania. Mom to three loving children, a great marriage to one of the “good guys”, author, and one of the proud owners of Fairy Godmothers Enchanted Catering. The physical version of the Loving Things Journal© is available for 16.95, plus shipping and handling at www.lovingthingsjournal.com, or by calling 866-647-3687. You may also order a PDF version for only $9.95, and begin working with it immediately.


Excerpt from:
Emma McDougal and the Quest For Father Time
Matthew Cowden

It was dim and cold. The jail cells were cut into the walls of what seemed like caves in a great mountain. Eve and Morton were now inside Delirium, Grissel’s castle within this cavernous rock. Torches on sconces lit the way as their fires flickered from the draft that blew along the vast corridor.

Two pumas on chains growled at Eve and Morton as they were lead to their cells by the warlock’s house guards, which were nasty creatures dressed in chain mail armor and solid metallic helmets. Underneath this armor stood lizard-like creatures that walked upright and slithered their tongues. They were vile, and they were extremely strong warriors. They were Grissel’s prize warriors and protectors, the Malicians, and they now led two terrified children, restrained in chains, to their prison cells.

Clang! The iron door opened. Eve and Morton were thrown into their cell of rock and dirt, and nothing more. There were no windows or water, and the only light there crept between the iron bars of the door from the torches on the wall that were opposite of them. The door banged shut again, and the lizard soldiers hissed and laughed as they crept away into the shadows.

Eve cried as Morton held her tightly to his chest. “It’s going to be okay,” he said to her. “I promise I will get you out of here. Please trust me in that.”

Eve lifted her head and looked into Morton’s eyes. She wiped her tears and a mustered a bit of a smile. “I do trust you, Morton. I know you will get us out of here.”

(C) 2007 His Work Publishing

www.mattcowden.net
www.emmamcdougal.com



A Little Bit of Bridgewater History
Trudy Gray

In case you didn't know, Bridgewater, Beaver County, is not the only “Bridgewater” in these United States – not even in Pennsylvania. In fact, there is one in Bucks County and one in Susquehanna County. In addition, there are at least 17 other Bridgewaters in other states.

I did not know this myself until, back in 1996, I met British historian Rodger Evans of Somerset County, England. Evans came to visit Bridgewater, Pa., to give a lecture and present a slideshow about his hometown of Bridgwater (without an e), England.

Evans said that most if not all the Bridgewaters in the United States take their name from his hometown, which dates back 1200 years and features the world's largest illuminated night-time carnival, held in November. He explained that the emigrants who left England long ago were often undereducated agricultural workers, who started new towns in the New World, but sometimes misspelled their names. Evans started his research when he discovered that not much had been written about his hometown, and he worried that the town's history would be lost if somebody didn't record it.

At the time of his visit, Evans was trying to visit as many Bridgewaters as time permitted and planned to include the others on the next trip. He wrote a book about Bridgwater, England, titled Bridgwater – With and Without an e, which was published in 1994.



What Happens When you Always Say, “But I Might Need it Someday”?
Patty Kreamer

You get buried in stuff...that’s what happens. If this is why you keep so much stuff, it may make you feel better to know that you are not alone. Beliefs create your behavior. Ergo, if you always say, “But I Might Need It Someday”, you will begin to believe it and then you will keep everything because of it. Naturally, this excuse is going to hinder your success to simplicity.

If you keep something because you believe that you MIGHT need it someday, then ask yourself: “If ‘someday’ arrives and it’s not there, what will I do?” The answer usually is “I’ll go get another one” OR “I’ll make do without it.” Many of the items that you keep you don’t even know that you have. If you do know that you have them, you likely won’t know where they are among the clutter when you need them! Why bother keeping an item for someday if, when “someday” gets here, you’ll end up having to get a new one anyway? “But I might need it someday” is a common yet flimsy excuse for hanging on to things. Keeping too much stuff causes you unnecessary stress every time you look at the clutter while wishing it wasn’t there. And the real kicker is that when you go to use something that you’ve been saving, it’s probably too tattered to use and you will want a NEW one anyhow.

Solution: stop saying “BUT I MIGHT NEED IT SOMEDAY!”

Patty Kreamer, CPO® is a Certified Professional Organizer®, speaker, and President of Kreamer Connect, Inc. She is the author of ...But I Might Need It Someday, The Power of Simplicity and the soon to be released Clutter Rescue Course online program and workbook available at www.ByeByeClutter.com. You can reach Patty at patty@ByeByeClutter.com or 412-344-3252.



No Lies
Judith R. Robinson

The truth Tom Coleman knew was in bricks and dirt, the brick storefront building where he lived, and the weedy patch of dirt behind it.

Someone else grew up under a luminous sky, or by the sea, or breathing blossoms tossed by spring winds. Other children may have played under trees dappled gold with sunshine; Tom’s trees were telephone poles gouged with nails or stripped of bark by kids in the neighborhood.

In all extremes of weather, the freezing days of winter, or rain that seemed constant the rest of the time, Tom climbed a steep hill to a hundred year old school building that overlooked a belching steel mill.

The creatures his old maid teacher praised in rhyme and song did not dwell along Butler, his broken, pot-holed street. Tom never saw a dragon or a unicorn, except in a picture book. Animal friends were cats, bugs, mice, and worms; interesting, maybe, in a puddle after a downpour, but never magical. He grew up happy enough: eating soup out of cans, learning what to do about rust, the value of a dollar and how to fix his own car.

Just out of high school when his country called, Tom became a soldier, and found out about the hellhole called Korea; then husband to Mary, a foreman at USSteel’s open hearth in Rankin, Pa. He joined the Steelworker’s Union and voted Democratic all his life. After Jack Kennedy, who someone once said he resembled, was assassinated, he was often heard to say, nothing else would surprise him.

Someone he knew once told him about the human need for myths, but he rejected that. From the very start, the bad and the good about what a kid like Tom understood was the lack of soothing lies.



My Innocence
Amanda Morelli-Blanda

She's everything to me and barely two feet tall,

She's my innocence . . . what's left of it all.

Tiny little hands, rosy little cheeks,

A heavenly little spirit, going on twelve weeks.

Upon my softened heart has been left a lasting imprint

With a gentle little tiptoe and a tiny little footprint.

She looks into my eyes, gives me her precious smile,

Makes me understand why everything's worthwhile.

She's everything that's real . . . pure, honest and true.

Has me wrapped around her finger-- arms and ankles too!

Every moment, every minute,

Is priceless when she's in it.

Every second she's away leaves a feeling of dismay.

That's my little girl . . .

She's my heart, my soul . . . my world.

From the very first time I saw her

And every moment ever since,

My life has been forever changed

By the angel of innocence.



Embracing Adversity and Change
Nancy Stampahar

Change and adversity happen to all people. How we react and adapt to our challenging times; and more importantly, how we bounce back afterwards will determine our future. When we stay worried, confused and afraid of the unknowns for too long, we will remain paralyzed, complacent and accepting of the status quo. When we learn and apply effective coping techniques, we can bounce back stronger with greater hope.

Many of the circumstances you experience can be tough, but they almost always lead to opportunities for some form of greater growth. For example, my mother wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. This would have been wonderful for her if her circumstances had been better; however, they weren’t. She saw no choice but to improve her single-parent situation. She persevered in starting a long journey for herself and her two children, from welfare to earning her law degree. With each step of courage and determination, she reached another height of achievement. With each setback and achievement, she had more strength and hope.

When you embrace difficult times and tragedies, you can become more resilient, more empathic and eventually, more likely to be happy. Through your hurts and disappointments, you can discover the preciousness of life. You can stop taking people and life for granted. You can also discover the magic of living generously by sharing your compassion and hope. You can give your strength, wisdom and lessons learned to others so they too can get through their hard times. People will benefit tremendously from your kindness and compassion. The abundant cycle of people helping people continues.

Written by Nancy Stampahar the author of "peace love and lemonade: a recipe to make your life sweeter." Visit peaceloveandlemonade.com. 




Inside the Storm Sewer
Nathan Peluso

Inside the storm sewer, I peeped aloud at the passing footsteps. Voices too I heard, again, again and gone. These voices too began to fade, but suddenly I heard them return.

Through the grate I peered upward, chirping with all my dearest effort. The night had cooled and light was fading. When the footsteps neared and the careful eyes looked down upon me, I nearly cried with desperation, for they were not the first. But I knew, very well, that they may be the last.

Just two weeks ago I was borne, just two days ago I was imprisoned here. Against my will, though I have fought and struggled gravely. The floodwaters pushed my frail but fuzzy body with force greater than I could endure. They washed me through the dark tunnel, black with mud and fierce in fury.

Withstand the force, breathe, look up and breathe.

When the waters subsided I found my cell to be a two-by-two cement encasing. Above, the cast iron grate of which I now peered. Could I fly, were my wings not an infants, I could still not have fit between their narrow bars. At my feet, oiled water, but an island had formed about a tree branch and mud. The waters were polluted, I could not retreat up the tunnel behind for it was blocked. So I stood upon the island and at each passing sound, or even between them, I called out. I cried and called to my mother, and I could hear her calling me. But here, she could not save me. My hope was that of a miracle, that it, somehow, would set me free.

When they saw me I knew that things were bad. They looked and pulled that metal grate and shook their heads and thought many things. They thought of the terracotta pipe and how this had come to be. They thought, How long has he been here and without food? How long would still he be?

I was fuzzy and cute, I had the voice and chirp that gave me hope. I called out to them, jumped vigilantly and looked up with my desperate, shining eyes. Still, I realized that this was nature, that the coldness was near at hand, and imminent. And that I, as a common bird, was limited to its mighty bounds. But I was so young, with the world, the future, and the sun and clouds’ dream burning in my soul. All was such a shame and I still hadn’t even learnt to fly.

They couldn’t lift the grate. So they put in the stick, the long branch and flitted it about. Their thinking was that I would jump upon it and be pulled out through the grate. I knew that I could not fit though the space between these iron bars. Besides, this stick seemed threatening. So I dodged it, at times on, but fell quickly off again. Each time I was upon it, the guiding hands would pull up and you could feel their joy. But, my youthful legs and mind could not stay perched…to at least give for them, the opportunity, the hope

Then, they were gone.

When I thought it over, the metal bar hit the grate with fury! It wedged and hit the side and the grate budged. They had found it! Soon the grate lifted, and though they tried again with the stick to no avail, when the shovel came, and scooped me out of my concrete grave, I rejoiced!

Beside the tree I was placed, it was the tree in which I was born. The careful hands and helper did not know this. They also did not know that my mother awaited halfway across the yard. But I did know. And reluctantly, they left me here, fearing my immediate death by cat. Or they thought too of the sadness of me not being able to make it, somehow. So I moved, jumped, chirped, and jumped again. I looked over my shoulder and bid them adieu.

They left me here, but as they walked away, these figures with no wings, no feathers. As they walked through the graying night, they peered back. What they saw then, they could never believe. For they saw the miracle that had been given us all. My mother awaited in the yard and I jumped towards her, a chirp and a jump at a time. She would call to me, to lead me. I would respond and follow. That night she led me home, my family awaiting.

In the town along the river, through the grass and by the tree. I was given life and granted once more, the chance to fly.


[Haiku]

like grass through concrete
and rain soaked through the ceiling
nature's resilience

Bridget B.
the Famous Barista



Heartburn
Sloan Pellegrini

The heartburn wakes me in the night,
scorching my insides, making me nauseous.
I've ingested too much of something, or not enough medicine.

It's funny how life revolves around around
that balance the Daoists celebrate.
Too much of this is bad. A little of that is good.
Occasionally, rarely, you get it just right.

Sometimes, I receive a text message while talking on
the phone while reading an e-mail on my computer, and
my doorbell will ring.
Not once, maybe 7 to 10 times.
It's my twelve year old neighbor, Simaran.
He calls himself George. Simaran is just too much!
He is from an old country with too many people.

"Let's play," he says
"I'm too tired George," I tell him. "Maybe tomorrow."
"Liar!" he yells and walks away with his arms folded.

At night, the moonlight is so bright and pale.
It reflects off of the lake and into my windows.
I rise like the tide.
The water twinkles and begins to speak to me, but a
jet flies overhead stifling it's message.

Laying back down, I prop up my pillow so the burn wont
get me, won't damage my cells.
I want to heal, but the sun comes too soon.

At school, my Lebanese student tells me he misses his country.
"Beiruts been bombed again," he says, shaking his head.
He runs off to his next to do and returns a minute later, frantic.
He picks up his things apologetically.
"I'm forgeting Everything! I'm becoming an American!"



Broken Man
Michael Merck

Ringringringringringringringringringringringringringirngringring

broken, tired, desperate and busted
in God, we trusted

Ringringringringringringringringringringringringringringringring

the low lights in the carpet maze of green and red felt
the heavy head weighed with alcohol,
and the blackjack hand dealt

Ringringringringringringringringringringringringringringringring

Broken man stands in the only position
Broken man with pockets full of pity.
lets get drunk and make the worst decision
amidst the lost souls of Atlantic City.



Shadow People Workers
Nate Peluso

Shadow people workers
Don’t work with the people, know who they are people-
Friends that when you knew it all like kids, kids
Duck, duck, ducky, ducky, ducked back,
Under under, took it all in, to the
Gave to the
To, to, to, til the next phase
Walled, wall wall of the sanctuary wall, will
Spelled, inside outside
Spelled S.A.F.E.T.Y.
Why oh why is Y spelled, hiding
In the only place that grown-ups go go
Go to know it soundly,
Like kids that know it soundly
Like the colors, like the colors
Looking colors, so firm to the colors of the world… whirl, wa,
When, the super duper rainbow rainin’ high stars stayed at home, after
They, THEY, didn’t want to go to
Grow to… go to, where we see it this way now
To, where to, where to, see it to the outside inside
And know, and WE know
That we’re shadow people workers too,
Even maybe moreso