Miss Wentz

I teach French at a high school and at a university. I love teaching French. I love the language and the culture, but French didn’t have a real significance for me until I met a certain lady in the fall of 1974.

My parents had moved the family from the metropolitan area of Baltimore County to the rural farmlands of Carroll County. I was not at all pleased. We were living in the sticks! I could no longer walk to my friends’ houses. I had no freedom to come and go as I pleased. The house my parents purchased was miles from any civilization.

That fall, I began school as a freshman at Westminster High. Since I had taken French I in the eighth grade, I was placed in a French II class. I was the only freshman in the class because in Carroll County foreign language classes were not offered until high school. So, the first day of class, I hesitantly entered the classroom of Miss Rachel Wentz. Little did I know that day that this woman would have a tremendous impact on my life.

Rachel Wentz loved French, the language, the culture, the people. She loved everything about France, and it was evident the moment she opened her mouth. Her classroom was one of the best places in the world! We sang in French, we spoke in French, we read in French. Sometimes we would even discuss politics…in French! It was an amazing place to be.

I continued studying French through my senior year. I was one of three students in French V my last year of high school. That fall, Miss Wentz announced that she was organizing a trip to France for her students. She passed out papers about the trip, and for the rest of the day going to France was the only thing I could think about.

That afternoon, I rushed home to deliver the trip paper to my parents. I begged and pleaded to be able to go to France. My father took the paper and said that he would have to think about it. I prayed and prayed and was about to offer burnt offerings when one evening my parents came into my room and told me that they had decided that the trip to France would be my graduation present! I was going to France! And not only was I going to France, but my chaperone would be none other than my amazing French teacher!

That spring at graduation, I was given the foreign language department award for outstanding achievement in French. The award was presented to me by the department chairperson, Mrs. Reifsnider, who said to me “I never had you as a student, but Miss Wentz said you were wonderful!” And I thought Miss Wentz was pretty wonderful, too!

That summer, I spent ten days in Europe with Miss Wentz. She spoke French with every person she encountered on the street. She encouraged us to use our French, and when the group that I was spending my free afternoon with in Paris got lost, I did use my French! It was an amazing trip, one I knew that I would remember for the rest of my life.

I went on to college and majored in French because I got good grades. My original intent was to go to law school. But things happen and life changes. I think of Miss Wentz almost every day when I’m teaching. I sometimes ask myself what she might have done in certain situations.

Great teachers affect us tremendously. I am grateful for those whose classrooms I was able to share.

This post appeared in my column "The Empty Nest" on June 5, 2011 in the Frederick News Post.

Mrs. Hook

I thought this month that I would reflect on teachers who influenced me during my formative years. Today I would like to introduce you to my second grade teacher, Mrs. Hook.

It was a terribly difficult time for me. I was away from the home I loved and I was struggling with relationships. Yes, the second grade at Berkshire Elementary School was a difficult period in my life.

I remember sitting in the classroom and wishing that I could be at home, playing with my Mommy and my little sister and brother. They were able to do fun things while I was stuck suffering at school. A sick tummy often greeted me in the morning as I was anxious about having to go to that horrid place.

I was having a rough time with a certain Robin Horn. She simply would not say that I was her best friend. It was so important for me to have a best friend, and I thought Robin was the perfect one. She had the nerve, however, to tell me that she had other friends that she was considering for the title of Best. When I cried at recess about this, Mrs. Hook, my second grade teacher, hugged me and told me that it was possible for someone to have several very good friends, and that she knew that Robin and I were very good friends. She made me smile.

And Mrs Hook loved to read! Each afternoon after lunch time and recess, we would all gather on the rug near her rocking chair and she would read to us. I have to admit that this did make all of the stress and anxiety about going to school worth it. Mrs. Hook read us some of the most wonderful books. Mr. Popper’s Penguins, The Adventures of Pippi Longstocking and my absolute favorite, Charlotte’s Web.

I would sit on the carpet with all of the other children in my class, and we would listen to her read about Wilbur and Charlotte and their friendship. Mrs. Hook would change her voice for all of the characters. It was such fun to hear her read the part of Templeton the Rat. We would giggle and laugh when she read his lines.

Mrs. Hook brought all of those characters to life in that classroom. She mesmerized us with those books. I began to admire her for all of her energy and enthusiasm when it came to reading and literature. Her love of books inspired her to lead her students on wonderful journeys.

My teacher must have seen the light in my eyes as she read aloud to us. She must have felt my longing to play those characters. That fall, I learned that I had been chosen to play the lead in the school’s annual Christmas play, Mother Goose’s Christmas. Yes, I was to be Mother Goose! A second-grader in the lead! I was to find out later that it was Mrs. Hook who recommended me for the role. She saw that sparkle in my eye and heard it in my voice when I read out loud in class. She told the play’s director that I was a natural!

There was a fifth grader who was cast in the role of Santa Claus. He was somewhat threatening as he had been in the school Christmas play his entire elementary school career. He was loaded with experience and enjoyed sharing with me how terrifying it would be to be on the stage in front of all our schoolmates!

After the school performance, Mrs. Hook found me backstage. She gave me a big hug and told me how proud she was of me. My classmates were thrilled to have a “star” in their midst.

I managed to somehow make it through the second grade and go on to bigger and better things, but it was teachers like Mrs. Hook who made school worth all the hassles. She truly loved her job and the students she taught. I love books and reading, and occasionally being in a show, to this day.

Teachers have a tremendous impact on our lives, whether we realize in the classroom or if it takes forty-some years. The delayed realization makes it difficult to say thank you. But Mrs. Hook, if you’re out there somewhere, please know that your efforts were much appreciated, and I learned so much about life in the second grade!

Sunday Mornings and Church

Early on in our marriage, my husband and I started going to church every Sunday. It was a tradition that we continued once our children were born. Recently as I was preparing a column about rules and raising children, I asked my son if there were particular rules that he remembered growing up. “Church on Sunday mornings,” he said almost immediately.

Now early on in their lives, church on Sunday mornings was not a difficult thing for my children. In fact, I think they even looked forward to it. Sunday School was obviously the best part of going to church. They were able to play and color and spend time with friends. The church service, on the other hand, was a bit tough.

I remember packing cookies and crayons with paper and even small toys into my purse each Sunday morning. Anything to keep them occupied, especially my son, during the sermon. When my husband was away on a trip, and the three of us headed off to church without him, I had a particular concern. I would often sing with the choir, and having the kids sit by themselves until the anthem was over was a continual worry for me. Tiffany would sit and play or color, but Timmy would often take self-guided tours of the sanctuary—and he typically waited to begin his tour until the choir had begun to sing.

One particular Sunday morning, Timmy decided to explore the altar during the anthem. He even ventured behind the curtains just beyond the altar. I could hear the snickers of the members of the congregation above the morning music, and I grew sick. I prayed that the choir director would up the tempo of the music just a bit so that we would finish more quickly. Finally, when the music had ended, I tried to sneak out of the choir loft without being noticed. I hunched over and practically crawled behind the altar to retrieve my child. I was probably at least a dozen different shades of red as I carried him back to the pew where Tiffany was quietly seated.

But we stuck with our rule. Church every Sunday morning. That is until the kids reached high school. Then we sort of lost our stamina. Waking up two teenagers on a Sunday morning (usually the only morning of the week that they could sleep in) became increasingly difficult. We bargained and agreed on an every other week schedule. They loved youth group and activities like that, anything at the church that didn’t involve an early wake-up call was acceptable, but Sunday morning services were another thing!

I remember listening at one point to an expert on child rearing, and he said to be careful in choosing your battles with rules. Sometimes it was acceptable to bend and at other times it wasn’t. As I got older, and my kids did, too, I realized that this was one of the battles on rules that would be flexible. The flexibility made the entire family much happier and Sunday mornings much more peaceful!

Money in the Jar

Recently I was talking with a friend about raising children and we inevitably discussed the Tiger Mom book and how some Chinese mothers parent. The discussion prompted me to think about some of the rules that my husband and I had implemented in the house when our children were growing up.

My dear son had an issue with using foul language. I think it began when we saw one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movies. Within the first five minutes of the film, one of the turtles said, “damn!” My son thought that was pretty awesome and he started saying the word at any opportunity. If I couldn’t find something at the grocery store, or if I dropped something, my son would mimic his turtle hero.

Over the years he picked up other choice words from various sources, and controlling his language became a concern for my husband and me. I had read about reinforcing behavior by removing privileges. So we tried that. We took away video games, outings with friends and other things that we thought our son treasured. Nothing seemed to work.

At about the age of five, my son began to realize the importance of money, and he soon grew to love money! Especially if it was his. Since we had already tried removing other things from his daily routine and they didn’t work, we decided to hit him in the pocket when his language was inappropriate.

Fees were set for various words. A particularly bad word would cost twenty-five cents. Something less offensive might cost a dime. We found an old jar and made the jar the bank for all fines collected. At collection time, my son would hold tightly to his precious coins before he finally released them into the jar. It was painful for him to bid farewell to those friends.

Even my daughter was in on the sentencing. They would be in the playroom playing and I would hear her say, “Timmy, that’s ten cents to the jar!” She would then come to inform me of the fine so as to insure its collection.

Now the real kicker was that he would never reunite with those precious coins that he released so reluctantly into the jar. At the end of each year, we would tally the amount of fines paid. It was then my son’s decision as to which charity the money would be donated. Since the tally date was usually around Christmas, he often opted for Christmas Cash for Kids or the Food Bank. His fines always went to a worthy cause.

The jar stayed in the house, prominently displayed, until my son reached high school. The total amount collected each year began to dwindle. One year, we didn’t even total the fines, we just let them run into the next year. Eventually my son learned his lesson, that is until he went off to a military school where he picked up a sailor’s mouth!

Emergency Service Volunteers

In honor of National Volunteer Week, April 10-16, I thought I would share some of my wonderful experiences with volunteerism.

Last February, I had the opportunity to meet some folks who volunteer with the Brunswick Volunteer Ambulance Association. It wasn’t an opportunity that I had planned. It happened quite by chance.

Since my husband was away on a trip, my dog and I decided to have a pizza party! We do this frequently. We called the local pizza joint and ordered a medium pepperoni pizza. The feast of pizza occurred while I was watching the television news reports. Belle ate her pizza out of her bowl on the floor, and I had mine as I sat on the sofa. It was a grand time.

About forty-five minutes after we had had our dinner, I began to feel a tightness in my chest. It was something that I had never experienced before. I also noticed that might heart rate seemed to be a bit more rapid than normal. Because I was concerned, I decided to open the back door and get some fresh air. I walked around the house for about ten minutes trying to calm myself down and get things back to normal.

When my discomfort continued for more than fifteen minutes, I decided I would call 911 just to chat. I thought the operator would tell me that I was just imagining things and that I would be fine in a few moments. I was quite surprised when she asked me to go to the front door and unlock the storm door. “The ambulance is on its way,” she said. I assured her that it would just be a matter of time before I felt better, but she stayed on the line with me until I could see the ambulance at the corner of the street.

The EMT’s came very calmly into the house and greeted me and Miss Belle. She was quite happy to have company. They took my blood pressure and pulse and watched my breathing. We discussed heart attack symptoms and the tightness in my chest, which had not eased up. All my vital signs appeared to be normal. One of the EMT’s asked if it might be indigestion. I had never had indigestion before. She asked if there might be Mylanta or Tums in the house. I told her that since indigestion had never been a problem that I didn’t keep those things around.

“Baking soda,” she said. “Do you have baking soda?” I showed her to the kitchen and she mixed some baking soda with some water and told me to drink it all. We returned to the living room where the other volunteer ambulance members were. I sat on the sofa and then let out an enormous belch. To say that I was embarrassed would be an understatement. “How does the tightness feel now?” she asked. I belched one more time and was delighted to tell her that it was gone.

That’s when the real feelings of foolishness kicked in. I had these wonderful, caring people in my living room because I had indigestion and didn’t know it! They all assured me that it had been wise to call and that situations like that are precisely why they are on duty. “We prefer these types of calls,” one of the EMTs said.

I know that that night I was very grateful that Brunswick was blessed with such a dedicated group of volunteers. People who are willing to give their time and efforts to provide a service for the community. Be sure to thank the volunteers near your home this month. They truly are lifesavers!

Goodbye my dear friend

Today my Cody went off to that big range in the sky. I will miss him terribly. He was a good friend.

Cody was a carrot fiend. He loved carrots! Of course, he never turned down apples, though. They were just as good to my big guy as those carrots. Cody would sniff your pockets when you went down to the barn, expecting a treat. He could spy the treat bag from a distance and was waiting at the gate to greet you if you were carrying that bag.

Cody was also a big lug. When we went riding in the back field, he'd try to head off to the barn when he got tired and thought the ride was over. Not much for work, he liked to just graze in his field.

Cody was a champion, too! We got at least one white ribbon (4th place, and a few pinks (5th) in our career of competition. I always felt badly if we placed though. It meant taking a ribbon from a nine or ten year old little girl and her horse!

Cody was in the newspaper once, picture and all. We used him as the horse for Don Quixote when the Fredericktowne Players did "Man of La Mancha."

Cody's best buddy was Sebastian. They lived together for several years before they even came to our place. And they were here together grazing in the field for some twelve or thirteen years. Sebby died in August of 2007. Cody took his death rather hard, and so in the spring of 2008, we brought Cocoa to the house to be Cody's new buddy.

In the spring of 2010, Cody was diagnosed with Cushings disease. He lost a tremendous amount of weight during the winter of 2009-2010. So he went on a daily treatment of pergolide. I was never able to put the weight back on him. He hated the weight grower the vet put him on. I would mix it in with his sweet feed, and he somehow manged to get all the sweet feed out and leave the stuff that he didn't like!

I spent sixteen years with that horse, and he leaves me with a hole in my heart. A good friend he was. Rest in peace my buddy.

Hospital Volunteers

In honor of National Volunteer Week, April 10-16, I thought I would share some of my wonderful experiences with volunteerism.

I have been a volunteer with the Frederick Memorial Hospital Auxiliary for almost fifteen years. Each time that I work my volunteer shift, I am continually amazed by the dedication and service of the hundreds of green vest wearers that assist our community. Volunteers greet patients and guests, assist families, sell cards and flowers in the gift shop, raise needed funds for hospital purchases, and are just generally very busy people.

One of those volunteers, whose energy supply I believe is limitless, is Wendy Brundage. I first met Wendy back in 2003 when I agreed to serve as co-chairperson for the Auxiliary’s annual Snow Ball. Wendy was full of new and creative ideas. She ventured to use new vendors and found different and interesting ways to increase the revenue from the event. The following year, when it was my turn to chair the ball, I tried to fill the shoes she left behind, but I had neither the creativity nor the energy to adequately fit the bill.

Wendy went on to serve as President for the Auxiliary. She carried that same energy and innovation with her to the organization’s leadership position. One of the things that never failed to impress me with Wendy’s work was how her family took up the charge and served right along side her. Daughter Katie chaired one of the Snow Ball committees and was mom’s right hand assistance. Even Wendy’s mother was on hand to offer assistance in any capacity that she could. John, Wendy’s husband, was even part of the act. Wendy recruited everyone in her household as well as those in the neighborhood.

An element of volunteerism that often goes unnoticed is the families of volunteers. Whether they are active volunteers themselves or not, they become helpers in the cause. Many people give countless hours of service to our community but are only enabled to do so because of the support that they get at home. I know that even my poor husband has been recruited to help with mailings and running errands. His assistance is something for which I am eternally grateful.

Our community is filled with people who are more than willing to give of their time and of themselves to make the area where we live a better place. The next time you enter Frederick Memorial Hospital, look for a green vest. They’re everywhere. And with that green vest, I am sure that you will find a smiling face that accompanies it. If you are not already a volunteer in our area, consider joining the forces. It is not only rewarding, but you get to meet some amazing folks!