Michael's Poem About Spring

Spring

Those small, little pebbles

That burst into

Magnificent colors.

The leaves that had turned a sad brown,

are now turned into a bright, dazzling, green.

The birds sing their

Beautiful song.

So Spring destroys

The dreary Winter, and

Autumn that destroys

Everything beautiful instead.

Michael L. E. Synnott

Some Mental Ramblings about Fifty Years of Living History

At fifty-seven, I have the blessing of half a century of witnessing history.  As a mother, I like to think about what life was like when I was the age my children are now.  My son Michael is ten years old and goes to fifth grade.  When I was in fifth grade, Lyndon Johnson was president.  The Verazzano Narrows Bridge, Shea Stadium and The Mets were brand new.  The Beatles had been one of the first performers to give a concert in the new stadium.  We had a black and white TV we used to watch four channels. National Educational Television had not re-branded themselves as the Public Broadcasting Service.  If I wanted to watch a silly children's show, I watched Soupy Sales who was like Sponge Bob and Adam Sandler rolled into one zany guy.  I listened to my transistor radio to hear Cousin Brucie and Big Dan Ingram.  The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Herman's Hermits, and The Rolling Stones were the bands popular at the time.  If I liked something I heard, I could buy a 45 rpm record or a 33 1/3 rpm record album. 

Computers, microwave ovens, Mr. Coffee, Touchtone phones, mobile phones,  calculators, remote controls, copy machines, fax machines, none of those were consumer ready.  We had a milk man deliver dairy products.  We had to walk to school due to a bus strike.  There was no such thing as middle school.  The Viet Nam War was in the middle stages.  We had not landed on the moon.  And yet, we had so many more modern conveniences than our parents and grandparents.

When I did homework, if I wanted it copied, I had to use carbon paper as I wrote it.  If I wanted instant photography, I had to get an expensive Polaroid instant camera with expensive cartridges and smelly developer.  If I wanted to communicate with my friends, I really dialed them up on the telephone.  If I was away from my house, I had to use a dime in the pay phone.  If my friends were far away, I had to write letters and mail them at a mailbox or the post office.  If I called them it would be an expensive long distance call.  Mary Poppins was a new movie.  My parents were younger than I am now.  All my uncles and aunts were alive and middle aged. 

Charles DeGalle was president of France.  Generalissimo Francisco Franco was dictator of Spain.  Nikita Krushchev was in charge of the Soviet Union.  I think Thailand was Siam.  Many countries were becoming independent of European imperial powers.  It made stamp collecting fun trying to keep track of the new countries.  I will be revising this article periodically as I remember things.

Back to Brooklyn

Brooklyn, New York is one of my ancestral homelands.  My dad was born and raised there. My mom was raised there and Manhattan.  My brother was born there and raised there for his first few years.  I have had limited experience with the place until recently.  I took a new job that will take me to Brooklyn for a few months while training for my new job. 

Brooklyn is unmistakenly urban.  It is exciting.  However, it does not have unrelenting sensory overload like Manhattan.  I like the little plazas, the multi-cultural gatherings, the little shops, the bistros, the pockets of art, the pockets of social services, the pockets of commerce.  I like the trains.   

Enough years had lapsed since my last solo metropolis trips that I had accumulated tons of unnecessary apprehension.  My husband typed up step-by-step instructions to prevent any major self-imposed mishaps.  For example: "1) At Hicksville Station, go to the blue or gray machines, not the red machines and buy a round trip off peak/peak ticket to Atlantic Terminal. 2) Get off at Jamaica and cross the platform to the Atlantic Terminal train... etc."

In spite of these detailed instructions, I managed to buy a ticket to Jamaica.  Panicking, I asked the conductor of the Atlantic train if I could buy a ticket to the Atlantic Terminal on the train.  "Yeah, but it's much pricier than at the machine."  So I believed him and missed the train looking for a machine.  I asked the ticket booth staff member and she said, "Buy an upgrade on the train. It only costs a couple of bucks."  This is what I learned from that oopsy:  IF YOU ASK THE WRONG QUESTION, YOU GET THE WRONG ANSWER.

Having missed the train, I missed lunch.  My first interview occurred in a hunger induced fog.  Yet, somehow they liked me and asked me back.  My first experience in this world of mostly grown ups took me on an adventure into what is mundane for some, but new to me.

The mid-afternoon train arrived at Borough Hall packed with people.  I crawled over a sleeping hippy dude to my seat between a sleeping guy in a tee shirt and a suited man tapping on his laptop.  I texted my friend Linda, "I'm on the testosterone express. I'm surrounded by men."  Linda replied, "Be careful.  Don't talk to strangers."  " Don't worry. The men are all sleeping."  These men sure like to sprawl when they sleep.

The next trip in, I discovered a cafeteria full of relaxed police officers. It was the cafeteria of  National Grid just after Hurricane Irene.  I never felt safer.  If police officers are relaxed, it's usually a good sign.  After lunch, I stopped in a toy and book store.  This was a mistake, it made me an hour late for getting home to my adoring family.  However, they liked the books I bought.

There are few things more humbling than being outsmarted by an intellectually disabled child (often & daily).

Parents for Whom We Long

Parents for whom we long cannot be found in spouses, lovers, friends or even in our moms and dads. They live in our mind.

Inclusion

Joe and I watched Queen Elizabeth's tour of Ireland.  We were most impressed with the inclusion of people with disabilities, especially Down Syndrome.  There was a university student with Down Syndrome right there in the reception line chatting with the Queen of England!  How often have you seen someone with Down Syndrome treated like a respectable person in America?
I have decided to add a new project to my personal goals.  I want to do an analysis to see if it costs more or less to educate disabled children within a general school district.  I live in a village with a reputation for excellent education.  My two more typical children are getting a good education as far as I can see.  However, my son with Down Syndrome has to ride a bus to a far away school district which has a special classroom for children with D.S.  We had to research it. We had to fight for it.  It took three years.  He is finally getting a good education, but at the cost of missing out on being part of his own community.  I have a hunch that if you tallied up the cost of hiring special educators who understand including children with D.S. versus the cost of paying another school district big bucks, you would find that inclusion makes economic and social sense.

Mother Daughter Precious Moment

The morning started out with Thomas crying at 4:00 a.m.  Then, a couple of hours later, I could not find Michael's dress shirt for his concert and I could not find Katherine's tights for her concert.  We were a little frazzled.  However, Michael went off to his 8:20 rehearsal dressed appropriately.  Thomas rested on the recliner after I called his school and bus company to inform them of his absence.

Katherine seemed unusually mellow all morning except when Thomas woke her up so early.  We walked to the bus stop.  Katherine danced her bus stop dance.  She felt quite free since all the fourth grade boys had already left for orchestra which left her alone with me. 

"I like being me," Katherine said. 

"I'm glad," I responded.  "I must be doing something right."

"You are," she replied.

Want Ads

In 1976,when I graduated from college,"Help Wanted" section of newspaper was huge. Now it takes up few columns.  Even then it was tough for a recent graduate to land a job.  I was very lucky.  Two months after graduation, I walked into a radio station, in Saratoga Springs, up the road from where I lived and asked if there were any openings.  The secretary said no but the program director said yes.  I worked for minimum wage which was around $2.00 per hour.  There were no benefits at all.  However, I was a professional radio announcer and copywriter.  Later, they added more responsibilities but no more pay.
How did I get the job?  I had volunteered as a radio announcer, newscaster and publicity director at my college radio station.  Not only that, I had majored in English.  They needed someone to write commercials.  I stayed there about ten months until a friend told me about an opening at an NPR station in Schenectady.  They hired someone else who lasted a few weeks.  I was her replacement.  About a year after that, my boss took me to lunch to meet his friend who was general manager at a radio station in DeKalb, Illinois.   A year or so later there was an opening there listed in the NPR newsletter for an operations director.  I applied and got the job.  

After freezing my tail off in DeKalb, I saw an opening for a job in Houston.  The general manager there was someone I met at a public radio conference a previous year.  I applied for the job and got it.
 
My recommendations: 1) go to networking events like conferences in your industry and strike up conversations, 2) join the appropriate organizations and read their newsletters, 3) do a good job where you are now whether you are a volunteer or a student or in a job.

Letting Go

For some of us mothers, the hardest thing is knowing when to back off.  How much failure is useful and how much is harmful?  It is especially difficult when the child has a disability.  The easiest thing is to just step in and take care of everything.  Unfortunately, that is the wrong answer.  It harms the child and it wears down the mother.  I pray for the wisdom to know when to let go and the strength to follow through.  Fly little ones, fly!

Naps On Laps

Naps on Laps (Copyright 2010 Barbara Entman Synnott)

(I wrote this when my children were very young.)

naps on laps

cats in hats

gentle words

set you on track

lots of love

kisses and hugs

mommy’s way

a useful art

keeps alive

your mind and heart.

I, Of The Storm

I, Of the Storm

A black storm whirled

 through my shut window

swallowing me whole and

silencing my words.

It carried me everywhere

within its tempest stomach.

Something within

awakened to free me

as I followed the sunrise

looking through all panes

illumined by the bittersweet

light of morning

greeted by the festive

harmonies of dawn;

welcomed into the cool wet sunrise day.

(I wrote this circa 1974 after having recurrent dreams about storms.)

Copyright 2011 Barbara Entman Synnott all rights reserved

Introduction to My Autobiography

I imagine that, except for a few friends, most people would say, "Why should I read about you?  Who the heck are you?  You're not famous.  You're not rich.  What can you do for me?"  Those are good questions.

I am writing this book because I want to help misunderstood people get understood.  In the past, many people told me that my poetry and essays helped them cope with their own demons.  Some people will read my story to find out how I manage raising three highly spirited children.  I hope that the story of my emerging from the ashes of a difficult childhood will inspire somebody to persevere in his/her climb out of the abyss. Perhaps the mystical elements of my story will make some people laugh at me.  Perhaps there are other mystics out there who will feel less alone after reading my story. 

If all goes well, the reviews will say something like, "I laughed and I cried.  Read this book."

Being an old mother

Choosing to become a mother for the first time when most women are approaching empty nests seems insane. Unlike most younger mothers, I don't have my parents around to help.  As many 50+ persons, I have an assortment of health issues, like osteoarthritis, that can make caring for children difficult. However, it was a wise decision for me. 

As a post-menopausal mother, I don't have the debilitating periods I used to get from my teen years through my thirties. Now, I have the wisdom that comes from surviving decades of my bad judgements. Unlike my younger self, I haven't the least desire to seek out excitement. Now, my children provide me with all the excitement I can stand.

The biggest factor is the saddest one:  my own mother died before I became a mother myself.  I loved my mother and miss her, but she had the misfortune of extreme immaturity, anxiety and depression.  Even at a distance of a thousand miles, she occupied my mind and drained my energy.  Friends used to say, "Talk about something else, we're sick of you talking about your problems with your mother."  It's amazing I was able to have a career and a life apart from her.

Autobiography

When writing a memoir, a blog, anything autobiographical, the author walks a tightrope of decisions.  What stories to include?  Will this offend or embarass someone?  Just because I am a quasi-public person does not give me the right to force my family out of their protected environments.  My public writing as a single woman was raw and open for my audience to peruse.  Now, as a married woman with children, everything changes.  My attitudes and my experiences have become more conservative (not politically). 

I hope that when I am finished with my memoirs, they will enlighten while entertaining.  I want my readers to emerge with optimism and inspiration. 

Now all I have to do is fit in the writing with raising my children, cleaning the house,  and taking care of my health. Wish me luck.  Free babysitting and house cleaning by trustworthy individuals would be appreciated.  (Well, I can dream, can't I?)

Snow photo

Snow is like children, beautiful and fun when you have no immediate plans.
Barbara Synnott

Photo of Synnott Trio April 2011

At the neighborhood park.

My Trio on Wheels

Thoughts on Facebook

Some people may say that Facebook is a waste of time or some kind of evil privacy destroyer.  However, I am grateful for the invention for several reasons:  1) It reconnected me to friends I had been wanting to find after losing touch for many years, 2) It serves as a means of communication when email and telephone are not available to me, 3) I don't like speaking on the phone at all, 4) I love sharing my photos of my children with my friends and relatives, 5) I love finding out what's going on with my friends and relatives, 6) it is a great publicity tool once I decide I need it.