Opal Reflections
Perspectives through Prose, Poetry and Photography
An Engineer’s Journal: Orientation Day, 1963
Journal Entry: September 18, 1963
Today’s assembly was nerve-racking. I got through the bookstore successfully, managing to get every book on the list, the K&E slide rule, drafting instruments and seven college-lined notebooks. My biggest problem (or so I thought walking over to the auditorium) was carrying the heavy book-bag. I was wrong.
The Dean’s voice soared over the feedback that screeched from the speakers:
“Look to your right and left. Three freshman – two of you will not graduate.”
He concluded on a high note, wished us success and reminded us how fortunate we were to have been chosen in such a competitive environment! As the Dean left the podium, my new classmates grabbed their gear and poured out of the auditorium, en masse. I opted to wait, while trying to fade into the background. But it was not to be, as the cute boy next to me asked:
“What are you doing here?”
Startled, at first, I replied: “I want to be an engineer!”
“You’re taking a guy’s place – a guy who really wants to be an engineer. You’ll get married, have babies and your degree will be wasted, while a deserving guy was robbed of the opportunity.“
His words stung and I turned purple with embarrassment. I got out of there as quickly as I could feeling many eyes on me. Had he been right? I am qualified; I have great grades, killed the college boards and though Stevens rejected my application (girls not allowed), Newark College of Engineering welcomed me. I have a NJ State Scholarship, making college affordable for Mom and Dad. They are so proud of me – the first in our family to go to college! I deserve to be here, as much as he does!
This morning, I was excited, anticipating joining nine other young women (and 516 ‘freshmen’) for Orientation. Now, I am upset and questioning myself. His words may be a barometer of what lies ahead. Tonight, alone in the dark, I feel isolated and uncertain. But I can’t let that define me. I resolve to fight harder, get better grades and develop a thick skin, to prove to others that I can do it! I just hope that boy is not in any of my classes.
“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.”~ L. P. Hartley: The Go-Between (1953)
This post is part of an ongoing series: “An Engineer’s Journal”.
Though I did not write this journal contemporaneously, my memory of that day and so many others is vivid. With wisdom gleaned from adversity and maturity, I look back on my undergraduate experiences, and realize with dismay, that in 1963 I blamed myself for not being what everyone else expected, rather than recognizing the ignorance and bigotry in others.
The Secret Cave
“Keep your fingers out of there!”
“But it’s awesome” ‘ silently wishing he could crawl inside to explore the sea-cave.
“Scary creatures may be lurking – creatures you won’t able to spy with your little eye.”
He waited until she had trudged ahead along the shoreline, distracted by the continual onrush of wave-lets.
He closed his eyes, made a wish and reached in.
Suddenly, magically, he was atop his perch on the rocky ledge inside the cavernous castle, ready to defend against dragons and demons. This is where he wanted to be!
He’d think about going ‘home’… later.
Written for Velvet Verbosity, 100-word challenge, applying the prompt “peephole”. It conjured up visions of hidden recesses into which a little boy might delve to explore the reaches of his imagination.
‘Stats’ of Time
⚾️⚾️⚾️
The first time I saw him, nine years ago, he slid in the sure grasp of the nurse, as she penned his ‘stats’ on the blue score card.
I blinked.
He slid home.
‘Stats’: One hit, one run.
⚾️⚾️⚾️
This week’s a Trifecta a Challenge, asks for a 33-word completion of the following snippet:
The first time I saw. . .Here’s the catch: all 33 words must be one syllable each.
Photo Friday; Climate: “Blanket of Snow”
Like the cozy hand-knit afghan that, after having been set aside during warmer months, now blankets our shivering selves; Nature’s blanket of snow returns – predictably, beautifully, and comfortingly.
Blanket of Snow
Lucid Moments
Soaring upward, morning flight illusions,
Aircraft rising higher with the sun,
As if to Synchronize combined ascents,
The booming blast aloft has now begun.Embracing eagle-nest perspective,
As earbuds softly smother shrieks and sighs,
Shard-like sounds, soliloquy intrusions,
Pushing ambient antics all aside.Seizing solitude, A long-sought chance to think ,
This glimpse above the ether clears my mind,
Infinity integrally woven,
Mind maps swirl and twisting paths unwind.I’ve always been an awesome fan of sunrise,
Subconscious searches for an answered clue,
They each in snowflake-like uniqueness,
Cast pastel shades and burning, intense hues.God’s greatness on display, his brush-tip dipping,
Strewn to broadly cast ‘cross land and sea,
A glimm’ring, golden, awesome tint of tincture,
His palette speaks, we listen; some may see.
His Magic Touch
The 33-word piece that follows, is a parody of Rudolph’s rondo, and a true story, relating my confusion over my tree lights. I had deliberately switched off the lights of our beautifully trimmed Christmas tree, and was on my way up to bed, when I realized that, inexplicably, the lights were ON. As I set about to deduce the cause (i.e. a short in the string of lights, premature onset of senility, etc.), I saw a very guilty doggie staring back at me. “What? It wasn’t me!” “But I knew better: In his enthusiasm to reach a low-hanging candy cane, he had “found” our magic golden ball…a touch-activated device, by which the tree lights are powered on and off. “It’s his favorite trick now!
Bandit the cold-nosed Cavie,
Had a very skillful snout,
Touching the gold ball (light switch),
Christmas lights would soon go out.
Bandit, the cold-nosed Cavie:
“Sit! Stay! Now…turn lights ON! “
Winter’s Reach
As temperatures dip, I reluctantly embrace the seasonal cycle of gathering and sorting my summer apparel, to stow away for the winter. Yellow walking shorts are replaced with warm, fleece leggings, cotton tank tops make way for hand-knit pullovers, and sexy sandals are supplanted by snow shoes, and water resistant footwear.
The choice is difficult, as I methodically create piles, carefully segregating what must be put away from what can stay in my winter closet. Old habits die hard, and I attempt to lessen the impact by silently extolling the virtue of seasonal changes, until I face up to the reality that there is an ever-widening, undeniable gap between the sweltering days of summer and the fast-encroaching winter.
As I drown in self pity, my faithful Cavalier King Charles Spaniel cleverly takes solace and comfort by seizing one warm boot, and dragging into the bedroom and yanking it up onto the unmade bed. Clearly he is not suffering as he’s positioned his treasure snugly beneath him
I, on the other hand, am frustrated, in my frantic search for the missing boot. After a few minutes, I suspect his misdeed and begin my search anew, checking all of his favorite stash bins. But he is hiding in plain sight atop my unmade bed. However, his impish behavior will be his undoing: He knows he’s been found out and stares back at me plaintively, with his large brown eyes.
But I am a firm and fair master. This infamy cannot go unpunished. I retrieve my ultimate weapon for such transgressions and I shoot…photo after photo, until his guilty innocence is captured for posterity. Winter cannot reach the special warmth that this moment captures!
Written for the Sunday Whirl and Photo Friday (Winter’s Reach).
Fiery
This was written in response to Photo Friday: Frail (This week’s Challenge: ‘Fiery’.
http://www.photofriday.com/challenge.php?id=1347)
and
In response to the weekend Trifextra, which asks that the writer use the same form of a word of her choosing, three times, in a thirty-three word post. The word I selected was ‘Fiery’
Birds of a Feather
Written in response to Trifecta challenge: Companion:3
a : one that is closely connected with something similar
b : one employed to live with and serve another
– See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.qzKsNCHe.dpuf
Sanity Quest
She knew it was pointless to use whiskey to wash away the pain of the razor-sharp words, spewing from his mouth; but she was totally alone, attempting to unlock and isolate the truth. Struggling and gasping, she clung desperately to each breath, as if each were her last.
She was lost amid the murky marsh of silky slime; swept under, aswirl in the eddy of this putrid puddle. 
Still, she was alone in the darkness, until a nearly Imperceptible tiny shard of light broke through, filling the vacuum created by the shrinking silhouette of his lanky frame, disappearing into nothingness, as he strode away from her.
Befuddled no more, bathed now in life-sustaining light, She knew she’d won her race for sanity.
This was inspired by:
The Sunday Whirl, a challenge that puts forth a Group of unconnected words, and ask that the writer pull them together into a cohesive piece.
And by the quote/ prompt from “Write at the Edge”:
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
Martin Luther King, Jr.
Photo Friday: In The Wild
Silent Offerings
This piece was written for Week 33 of the Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge: write a story – Flash Fiction – of around 100-200 words based on the photo below:
(http://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2013/11/10/sunday-photo-fiction-november-10th-2013/)
Each day, he’d bring a new bit of wood, piece of metal, or scrap of fabric. He rarely spoke, but behind his shell of silence she detected a healthy curiosity. An obvious intrusion into his private world, could have had the opposite effect of chasing him more deeply into himself; so unobtrusively gaining his trust, she teased his curiosity. Resisting the impulse to pull him in, instead she waited for him to find his way to her.
Today, he brought a pencil. Remarkably, he’d found one that was exactly right, matching the mast they’d added last week. His blue eyes sparkled with pride, as he watched her carefully dab a spot of glue at the base and set the foremast. Patiently they waited, as the glue set and pencil morphed, becoming an integral part of the schooner. Sticks, strings and pre-fab sail assemblies were delicately affixed. Magically, the hours flew by, as the crafters completed their masterpiece.
Silent strangers had become trusted co-conspirators, imagining fantastic adventures and escapes to faraway, mystical lands.
She couldn’t see his smile and he couldn’t see her tears of joy; as he climbed upon her knee, casually resting his head against Grandma’s shoulder.
Lighthouse in the Mist, Cape May, NJ
Bandit
Festive View from the Pub, Peddler’s Village – Lahaska, PA.
Home Sweet Home
Opal Reflections 