I am pleased to feature Annelore Chapin as our Saturdays with Seniors guest blogger today. Born and raised in post-war Germany, Annelore met her American husband Roy there and left for the U.S. at age 20. The couple settled in Chicago for their retirement, and Annelore has been a writer in the Me, Myself & I memoir-writing class for years. Sharon Kramer generously volunteered to lead that class after I was put on furlough last year, and when Sharon asked writers to “Find a Photograph and Describe It,” Annelore came back with this tender essay

by Annelore Chapin

Two fresh young faces smiling from ear to ear straight into the camera. They belong to two second-graders sharing a school-bench made from wood. They are front-row occupants looking out from the photograph, so close I am tempted to touch them. These two girls are sitting at a small desk built for two, their legs covered by the attached table. You see their arms with both elbows resting on that table, the right arm on top of an open book, index finger pointing to a line as if to remember the spot they left while reading.

The girls look statuesque, both in equal positions, one arm across the other. Not only are their smiles identical, so are their clothes. There is no doubt that these dresses had been knitted by my mother. A solid-colored bodice or vest gave room to colorful designs on the emerging sleeves. They are woolen, warm sweater dresses, so the photo must have been taken in winter.

The two girls are my cousin Elfriede and myself. I had had an operation earlier that year on a so-called Lazy Eye and was wearing glasses. I am surprised that I was wearing them while the picture was taken, as I was embarrassed to be seen with them on. Both girls are missing a front tooth, and my round face shows too much forehead beneath bangs cut too short — as well as crooked.

The photo also shows the two girls sitting in the row behind us. Those two girls seem more relaxed and somehow older. I remember their names: Annemarie and Roswita.

What touches me deeply when looking at these two young faces is the innocence, the wonder, the curiosity. They were looking at a life not yet lived, time not yet spent, and dreams not yet realized. When one is seven years old, much has been learned and much more is to come.

I cannot help catching a little spark of the miracle of life every time I look at that photo.

On this date last year, Illinois Governor Pritzker ordered all bars and restaurants closed as of March 17 until …  March 30. On March 17, I walked across the street to our polling place and voted in the Illinois primary.

Needlefest!

Then I went home to get back to work, when working from home was still kind of novel. About 2 p.m. I started feeling a little off—it felt like the beginning of a cold. At around 4:00 p.m. I was struck by the worst case of the chills I’ve ever had. They were positively convulsive and I could not get warm.

This wasn’t a cold.

Badness ensued. After passing out walking out of the bedroom to get a banana, I hit my head hard enough to be unconscious for what Beth described as maybe 30 seconds. On March 26 I entered the hospital—I was there for a week followed by three days of confinement in my room at a City of Chicago COVID quarantine hotel. I was deemed safe to go home on April 4.

All the details, outlined in an earlier post, kind of rolled back into my consciousness last week. That’s the bad news. The good news was the trigger: Beth and I went to the United Center vaccination site last Wednesday and got our first shots.

We were a little trepidatious: Going to a big gathering place seemed shaky. And our appointments were on the first full day of operation. The previous day was a sort of soft launch, and there were reports of long waits and confusion. We were prepared for the worst.

We needn’t have worried. We took a cab, got out, followed clear signs to a giant tent. Lots of people, but all masked and distanced. National Guard members everywhere, answering questions, helping people to their next processing station.

And a palpable sense of gratitude, relief, and of yes, joy. It was inoculation Woodstock. After months of being apart and understanding ourselves as a threat to others and threatened by others, people were together, and glad of it.

At our first stop a young Guard member took our tickets, scanned them, asked us a bunch of health questions, and then paused to ask me, “Are you planning on getting pregnant?”

“That’s always the icebreaker for nervous people,” he said.

We had a laugh. Beth had brought Luna, and he commented on how good she was. “I miss my Cocker Spaniel back home,” he said.

I asked where home was.

“Indianapolis, so not all that far.”

When Beth thanked him for doing what he was doing, he said, “When I raised my right hand and took the oath, I signed up for this—whether it’s here or overseas.” He gave us clear instructions about the next step, We said goodbye and checked in at another table.

We were directed to a distanced line. There were rows of distance, tables. Behind each was a uniformed, masked Guardsman (or woman) and a bunch of hypodermic needles and other supplies.

I thought about where I was just about a year before. I looked around and took it all in. I didn’t have a dry eye the rest of the time.

Beth got the first opening and had her shot in no time. I followed and barely felt a thing. We thanked our injector and moved on to a space where we would wait fifteen minutes to make sure we didn’t have a reaction.

The eavesdropping was great. Person after person profusely, sincerely thanking the Guard and the volunteers and staff. One of the Guards responded to a woman who thanked him by saying, “You don’t need to thank us, we’re having a ball!” People were happy! And they were together! At an event!

OK, it wasn’t exactly Lollapalooza (thank goodness), but it very much was a performance.

A really good one. I give it five stars.

With many of the seniors in my Zoom memoir-writing classes away on Spring Break now,so I am pleased to have 14-year-old Anja Herrman as a guest blogger today. I got to know Anja very well when she was nine years old and learning at home during a casting program (casts on both legs from her hips down to her ankles). She was schooled at home for two months back then, and I was her at-home writing tutor. Many of her completed assignments were published as guest posts here on our Safe & Sound blog, and you can read this post from 2016 to learn how and why she had all her posts back then published under the pen name DJ Mermaid. A disability activist, Dj Mermaid is in high school now and goes by her real name.

by Anja Herrman

Marie Curie. Madeline Albright. Rosa Parks. Michelle Obama. Just a few of the role models I’ve looked up to in my fourteen years of life, all for different reasons: their perseverance, courage, bravery and strength, to name a few. As a young girl, I had these women to emulate and to champion.

There’s just one problem. While these women are all incredible in their own right and this is not to be dismissed, none of them openly identify as disabled. Growing up, whenever I looked for role models to help guide me along in my journey from childhood to adolescence, I never felt like I had people who “got me.” None of them understood the deep nuances of my life, so the “guidance” they provided for other pre-teens never rung true for me. These women existed, I just couldn’t find them, even though I spent a long time searching.

What to do? Well, if I couldn’t find any role models, I told myself, then I’ll be a role model, both for me, but most importantly, those who come after me. I was nine when I made this resolution, and over the past half decade (wow, I’m old!) I’ve been working on this promise to myself: to be a good role model and make the world more accessible and equal for people with disabilities. I want to forge a path that, if I’m lucky, others may choose to follow.

One such opportunity arose almost exactly a year ago (curse you, COVID, for drying up all of my speaking opportunities!) when I was asked to be a keynote speaker at an International Women’s Day event in Chicago. The speech was supposed to focus on advocacy and the disability community. Okay, piece of cake, I thought. The catch? The speech also had to be tailored to the business community. Which, in hindsight, makes sense, since it was hosted at an advertising firm.

But here’s the thing: I had absolutely no idea how to do that. Hence, for the very first time in my life as a writer, I found myself in a battle against every writer’s worst nightmare: writer’s block. Intense pressure doesn’t help, but what would you expect from a girl who compares herself to a lauded Secretary of State, a First Lady who is the literal definition of an icon, a famed scientist and a civil rights pioneer?

So, to conquer the writer’s block, I went back to basics and wrote a speech explaining what right I had to be speaking up on that stage. Using what I’ve learned from my life as a disabled adolescent fighting for equality, I crafted what I thought was a good speech and then I moved on to something else. I put the speech on the back burner, letting it simmer in my subconscious like a soup. Instead, I worried about other tasks: mainly the French test coming up in a few days.

Pro Tip: Another surefire way to get writer’s block is by over-critiquing. Critiquing beyond the point of being constructive stifles ideas.

The event drew nearer. So near that before I knew it I was sitting in the passenger seat of our car putting my mascara on while my mom was driving, and my brother was playing some sort of game on his phone, probably Minecraft…is that even a thing anymore?

Looking back, it’s a miracle I didn’t poke my eye out with a mascara wand while going over my speech one last time.

We got out of the car, raced up to the event space and, thankfully, I had a half an hour before I had to speak. So begins all the pre-event tests like checking the ramp to make sure I don’t tip before I have to speak (can you think of anything more embarrassing?) and introducing myself to all the other speakers and wishing them luck.

Before I know it, it’s showtime!

All the way through my speech, I imagine a little tiny me, with her pigtails and AFO’s sitting in the audience, biting her lip with anticipation. I look out, and notice that tiny Anja is laughing at the funny parts, and solemn at the serious parts, which means everything is landing exactly as I wanted it to back when I was sitting at home in my ratty pajama top writing the speech.

I conclude the speech. Over the roar of applause, I look into my younger self’s eyes, and see that she’s proud of me, and I know that I’ve succeeded in my quest, to be the role model that I needed.
And, guiding another person down the path to their own definition of success, well, that feels pretty great too.

An earlier version of this post was originally published on the Easterseals National blog.

Over the years, many writers in the memoir classes I lead have self-published their work. Until now, only three had found independent publishers:

• Hanna Bratman’s collection What’s In My Head was published by Blue Marlin Publications in 2011
• Anna Perlberg’s The House in Prague was published by Golden Alley Press in 2016
• Regan Burke’s long-awaited memoir In That Number was published by Tortoise Books in 2020

And now there are four: Sharon Kramer’s book Time for Bubbe was published by Golden Alley Press! Many of you know Sharon from my mentioning her in Saturdays with Seniors blog posts here. She was a writer in the Me, Myself & I memoir-writing class I was leading before COVID, and generously volunteered to lead it via Zoom after I was put on furlough.

A few years ago I assigned “Write About a Grandparent” as a prompt to that class. Sharon came back with a story written in the voice of her grandson talking about visiting her mother (his great-grand-Bubbe). We all loved the piece and thought that, with a little revision, it’d make a great children’s book.

So Sharon got to work. She revised and reworked, sent the story to publishers, Golden Alley Press took it on, a Yiddish glossary and Bubbe’s recipe was added, illustrator Michael Sayre added his special touch, and voila! Sharon’s masterpiece, Time for Bubbe is available. I’ll say goodbye here and leave you with more about Time for Bubbe from the Golden Alley Press web site.

“Don’t worry, Bubbe, I have all the time in the world.”
—Boychik

All the time in the world.

That’s what this 6-year-old boychick and his great-bubbe have for each other.

Join their adventures in Bubbe’s hi-rise city apartment as they nosh, play, reminisce, cook – and learn a bit of Yiddish along the way.

Snuggle up and share this story with anyone you have all the time in the world for!

Includes bonus Glossary of Yiddish Words and Bubbe’s Recipe for the Best Noodle Kugel Ever

Age range: 4 – 8
Grade level: K-3
32 pages, full color
From the author’s bio:

Sharon’s grandmother came to the United States from Russia in 1888, when she was 12 years old. She read Yiddish books and newspapers. She went to Yiddish plays. When she grew up and married, her grandmother had seven children – including Sharon’s mother. They spoke Yiddish at home but spoke English when they were outside and at school.

When Sharon was a young girl, her grandmother lived with the family. She and Sharon’s mother spoke Yiddish to each other, so Sharon learned to understand many of the Yiddish words they used.

The grand-bubbe in the story is Sharon’s mother. The boy in the story is Sharon’s grandson. He knows a few Yiddish words and Sharon thinks he is a real mensch.

Editorial Reviews for Time for Bubbe:

“This book is about the special connection between grandparents and grandchildren. A young boy’s weekly visits to his Bubbe’s hi-rise apartment are filled with imagination and traditions…He loves babysitting Bubbe and she loves babysitting him…[The story] will inspire conversations about being great babysitters for children’s own grandparents.”
—Marilee Amodt, M.Ed., retired curriculum resource teacher, elementary teacher and media specialist

“Time for Bubbe is so much fun to read! The six-year-old narrator’s description of weekly visits with his great-grandmother are both honest and playful. What a joy to go along for the ride, whether it’s pressing every button on the elevator…or turning Bubbe’s walker into a train. What will they do next?

These weekly visits are special to this mischievous and playful pair, and you can’t help but wonder: is the 96-year-old taking care of the six-year-old? Or is the six-year-old taking care of the 96-year-old? Time for Bubbe’s sweet ending provides the answer: every week, they are taking care of each other.”
—Beth Finke, Author of Writing Out Loud: What a Blind Teacher Learned from Leading a Memoir Class for Seniors

“When her six-year-old great-grandson visits his Bubbe in her high-rise apartment building each week, they create countless adventures together….an authentic portrait of the great-grandson and Bubbe’s sweet convincing relationship…The pastel illustrations are the background for their delightful loving bond. [The] glossary of Yiddish words and Bubbe’s recipe for kugel…make the book both joyful and interactive…for folks of all ages.”
—Janie Friedman Isackson, retired educator, DePaul University, Chicago

“…a wonderful book showing the relationship between a six-year-old boy and his great-grandmother. Bubbe entertains [him] with scarves from her drawer, pots and pans from her kitchen, and treats from the party room. They both enjoy making noodle kugel together…The book starts with Bubbe having all the time in the world. It ends with her great-grandson having all the time in the world. What a great way to connect the two generations with love and respect for each other.”
—Nancy Koehler, retired 3rd grade teacher, Skokie, IL

“…Bubbe and the boy have vivid imaginations…crisp dialogue moves the story along at a good pace…drawings vividly show their close relationship. The sprinkling of Yiddish, such as “L-chaim” when they make a toast with apple cider, passes along a bit of Jewish culture to the kinder…highly recommended to parents, grandparents and teachers of first graders, who can share their own cultural heritage and relationships…”
—Leslie H. Laila Kramer, ESL Professor Emeritus at City College of San Francisco

Conventional wisdom isn’t always wise, according to The Atlantic.

I have a friend who grew up on Long Island whose mother lived in a nursing home in New York. Lived, as in past tense. She died of COVID last year.

Now, she lived a very, very long life—she made it to 99 (she would’ve been 100 last week). Still, my friend was suspicious, skeptical, and angry with Andrew Cuomo. He wondered if perhaps COVID didn’t have to end his mother’s life.

The disease is so diabolical. When I got it about a year ago, I didn’t know who/where for sure I got it from, and just as important who I might have spread it to. But we do know now that Cuomo’s policy of moving COVID patients to nursing homes to make room in hospitals wasn’t such a good idea. And we know, from efforts to suppress counts by his staff, that they knew it wasn’t a good idea a long while ago.

Combined with the other stuff that’s floating around about him, I basically see in Cuomo much of what I despised about what’s-his-name. (Though, that’s nearly infinite.) It’s only right to call him out. I must confess, in real time, I was suspicious of his fireside chat deals. Look, we weren’t getting it from the President, and governors had to be the calming influences. But he (like Giuliani post 9/11) just seemed to like the limelight a little too much.

I hope he resigns.

Apart from that, it’s time to take stock of the past year in terms of different responses, if only to narrow down the practices that seemed effective. And doing that requires an open mind. As in, what if some states that opened more things earlier fared better than predicted? What did those states do? Might come in handy someday, but let’s hope not in a long time.

Take Florida, for example. Those shots of crowded beaches were sensational, but, they were outdoors, misleading, and, it’s not the whole story. I found this Wall Street Journal opinion piece terribly interesting. Partisanship being what it is these days, the author frames it as who gets the last laugh: Governor DiSantis of Florida or Cuomo of New York? (I’d rather not laugh with either, but you get the point.)

That part’s a little petty but the numbers quoted do not lie. (It’s behind a paywall, so sorry if you don’t subscribe, but here are some highlights from the piece titled “Vindication for DiSantis”:

The Sunshine State appears to have weathered the pandemic better than others like New York and California, which stayed locked down harder and longer.

Mortality data bear out this conclusion. The Covid death risk increases enormously with each decade of age. More than 80% of Covid deaths in the U.S. have occurred among seniors over 65. They make up a larger share of Florida’s population than any other state except Maine. Based on demographics, Florida’s per-capita Covid death rate would be expected to be one of the highest in the country.

Nope. Florida’s death rate is in the middle of the pack and only slightly higher than in California, which has a much younger population. Florida’s death rate among seniors is about 20% lower than California’s and 50% lower than New York’s, based on Centers for Disease Control and Prevention data.

That was partly because Florida took a targeted approach early on to protecting the elderly:

The (DiSantis) administration halted outside visitations to nursing homes and bolstered their stockpile of personal protective equipment. Florida’s government also set up 23 Covid-dedicated nursing centers for elderly patients discharged from hospitals. Nursing-home residents who tested positive and couldn’t be isolated in their facilities were sent to these Covid-only wards.

Later surges led to new lockdowns in states like California and New York, but Florida didn’t lock back down:

The fall and winter lockdowns don’t appear to have made any difference in the virus spread. Between Nov. 1 and Feb. 28, there were 5.8 new cases per 100 people in New York, 6.4 in California, and only 5 in Florida, where businesses could stay open at full capacity. But the economic impact of the lockdowns has been enormous.

Employment declined by 4.6% in Florida in 2020, compared with 8% in California and 10.4% in New York. Leisure and hospitality jobs fell 15% in Florida, vs. 30% in California and 39% in New York.

Now, the author cherry picks a little: There are states that did do lockdowns doing better than Florida. But it’s worth looking closely at what has worked in any state.

You can disagree, and you can review the data yourself and perhaps conclude otherwise, but Florida has made measured, and yes, data-driven tradeoffs. (Unlike Texas.)

If we find ourselves faced with circumstances like this again, we’ll need all the effectiveness we can get, no matter what we think about who or where the ideas come from.