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- hello Teri Hyrkas
- Username: thyrkas
- In response to: "Who are you?" I am a reader who is in the process of learning the ins and outs of blogging, tweeting and face booking.
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thyrkas's latest answers
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- Read all about it!
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Do things really happen in threes?
So very, very many historic events occurred in the 1960's (when I was just becoming aware of the world in a national/global way) that it is hard to pick only three that have been significant.
The first was Vatican II, and all the change that happened in the Catholic Church due to what was called the Ecumenical Council. One Vatican II change that affected my family quite personally was that many religious orders of sisters were given the freedom to go visit their families at their homes. I had three aunts and two sisters in the convent at this time. Growing up, we were able to go visit them, but they could not come to our home until the 1960's, when they were given permission to leave their residence. It was a very exciting and happy day to have the Aunties come visit us, even if Mom was almost driven crazy by us kids making a mess of the house after she had spent so much time making it look especially inviting.
The second was the Viet Nam War, which was escalating as far as participation by the US in the 1960's. One of my older brothers, a Marine, made three tours of Viet Nam. He was in an outfit of misfits, called the Baa Baa Blacksheep. During his third tour, the helicopter he was in was shot down, and crashed in the jungle. He was badly injured, but was brought out successfully and sent to hospital for surgery on his jaw, which needed to be wired shut. He also was placed in a full length cast for a fractured leg. He did his final convalescence at our home, which made a lasting impression on us younger kids.
The third 1960's historical event that I recall was racial integration, which was a time of rioting, danger, courage and hope. It seemed that every night the news showed neighborhoods being destroyed, blacks being sprayed with fire hoses and demonstrations being held somewhere by some group or another. I recall thinking, "Won't there ever be a night when the news will be free of all this hate between races?" It was continuous turmoil in those years; not in Yemen or Libya, but right here in the USA.
These events, and many others, took place when I was between the ages of 8 years old and 18 years old.
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- What year did you say you graduated?
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Do you recognize anybody?
No, I cannot attend my high school reunion because I live 1200 miles away from my hometown. Also, my highschool was closed about five years after I graduated. It was closed in the 1970's when many Catholic schools were closing, both elementary and upper grades, due to lack of interest and money.
In light of those closings, I found it interesting that by 1980, home schooling was a healthy grassroots movement in the USA, and in the 1990's, home schooling was a well developed and established entity. In this new millenium, home schooling has its own recognized niche in the educational system. And as far as highschool reunions go, children who homeschool for 12 years have a reunion of sorts every time they visit their homes after they move away.
People who don't agree with the idea of home schooling often say that one reason not to do so is that there is very little socialization for home schooled students. But in reading the responses to today's Plinky prompt, it doesn't sound like very much positive socialization occurs in many highschools, anyway.
No I didn't home school our kids, but maybe home schooling has more going for it than I thought.
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- A Letter to Someone from High School
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I told you she was strict!
Dear Mrs. Rosemary Wagoner,
I had heard of your reputation as a strict and unforgiving teacher from my older sister and my classmates. They feared you, and knew you were tough, a hard grader, and had high expectations of all those who were in any of your classes. I had you for English in my junior year, and the rumors were all true; you deserved your reputation. One warning had been: "She won't accept any excuses for unfinished work. No crying or protestations of illness or fatigue will make her cut you any slack on assignments."
As an underclassman, when I was listening to the scuttlebutt in the lunchroom about all the teachers at Holy Angels Academy, one thing I didn't remember hearing about you - probably because fear had stuffed cotton balls in my ears - was what a fascinating teacher you were. I only learned this when I was finally seated in your classroom; second row, last seat on the right. You knew your subject, Shakespeare, backward and forward. Shakespeare, his time and work, seemed to occupy the present tense when you taught. You told us all kinds of little back stories and experiences regarding his poetry, his plays and his characters. King Lear and Macbeth came to be with us in your classroom, as well as King Henry, Falstaff, Shylock, Portia - on and on.
One day at the end of class you told us to get out a piece of paper and write Macbeth's soliloquy which starts "Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow". After we had completed it, we could leave the room, which meant getting out early. I had completely forgotten about the memorization assignment, and there is no way to fake Shakespeare, so after my shock wore off, I stood up and placed a blank piece of paper with my name on it on your big, brown desk, and turned to go. You picked up the paper, and then called me back to the desk. "There's nothing on here." you said, your ice-blue eyes looking straight through me. "I know," I said. "I forgot to do the assignment."
"That means a 'zero' for your paper, you realize." I said, yes, I knew that. You looked at me for a few seconds, then threw the paper in the waste basket, and said, "I let every student have one 'freebie'. This is yours." I stared at you in disbelief! You smiled at me and said, "Get going."
Thanks, Mrs. Wagoner, for the wonderful way that you taught us Shakespeare. And thank you for your act of grace toward me that day. You set high standards in your classroom, and you expected compliance from your students, but I think you showed me the embodiment of mercy that day, as in Portia's speech from "The Merchant of Venice”:
The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Yours sincerely,
Teri
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- What was I thinking?
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COLD!
Well, if being 18 yrs old is still considered being a kid, than this lesson learned qualifies as an answer for this Plinky prompt.
Growing up, our family didn’t have a car, so my brothers, sisters and I became speedy walkers and skilled public transportation users. Fortunately, Seattle, Washington's temperate weather makes both those modes of getting around easy and comfortable throughout the year. When I moved to Minneapolis, MN, I became accustomed to, and eventually dependent on, cars for transportation - partly because of their convenience, but also because they afford protection from the extremes of the weather in the Midwest - and there-in lies a story.
Since I was familiar with using city buses in Seattle, I didn’t have much trouble learning the bus routes around Mpls. I was glad that I was able to find employment at a downtown hospital almost immediately after I moved, and soon found the buses that I would use to get to and from work. I knew the vagaries of bus schedules, the changes that came with evening hours, holidays and weekends, and was familiar with how to make transfers and the like. But I didn’t understand the challenges that weather could bring to bus travel, and my first winter riding the bus in the Twin Cities was a major life-lesson.
In Seattle, winter boots and gloves are a fashion statement; they are meant to look good, but aren’t necessarily meant to serve any practical purpose. So, on the first below-zero morning of my life, as I stood alone at the bus stop in downtown Mpls waiting to make my last transfer on the way to work, I was dressed for winter according to Seattle rather than Mpls standards. I was already cold when I exited the bus I rode for the first half of my trip to the hospital; the second bus was 15 minutes late when it finally pulled up. I was blue with cold by that time, and more than ready to climb aboard the bus when it pulled up. But when the door opened, the driver looked at me and said, “I am sorry, Miss. I cannot fit any more riders on this bus. You will have to wait for the next one.” Then the door closed and the bus drove on. I was flabbergasted! And I was freezing. I knew it would be at least another 15 minutes before the next bus came by. Could I – could ANYONE – possibly stand out on this windy, icy street for almost an hour and not be frozen stiff? As miserable as it was, I had no choice but to wait for the next bus to arrive. By the time I got to work I was 45 minutes late, numb with cold and wondering what frostbite looked like. I knew I had experienced my first “Minnesota Cold” winter day. In addition, I knew that when I got my next paycheck I was going to buy articles of clothing that were designed to keep bodies warm and well covered when out of doors in winter. So much for fashion! I wanted protective equipment to deal with the elements from then on. LESSON LEARNED! , and never forgotten to this day – true story.
Edit
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- Did you say free breakfast?
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It will stick to your ribs
Going to go to the institutional appliances store to buy a very large electric pot for cooking oatmeal, a continuos-rotating bread toaster, and a fifty cup coffee maker. Then, stop at the grocery store for the food (bulk oatmeal, cofee, whole wheat bread and some jams, milk and butter)needed to set up a little breakfast table for the finanacially challenged folks in our community.
Life has got to look a little better when you have something warm to eat at the start of the day, right?
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