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‘This Paris’ in StepAway Magazine

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It thrills me to share with you my first official creative byline, a milestone despite my fifteen years as a professional print journalist.

My friend Nancy and I were reviewing markets in September when we discovered StepAway, an online literary journal honoring flâneur style poetry. I submitted what I call “my Paris poem,” which captures a walk through multi-cultural, post-colonial influenced Paris. The poem comes from my return to Paris, fifteen years after I first met her.

We had both changed.

I see Paris as a bewitching, urine-stained whore and the details in the poem are real. They had put us in our room before housekeeping cleaned it. They did have 85 pink and brown stairs. We were sandwiched between Gare de Nord and Gare de l’Est.

The man in dreadlocks really existed. And my tears were also real.

I will find myself in Paris again Jan. 8, on my way to East Africa (Djibouti and Somalia). It’s a common stop-over for me now, but in 2010 I wasn’t sure I would ever see Paris again.

When I submitted the poem in late September, I didn’t know what would happen November 13. I think my poem speaks to inclusion, and if I wrote it now perhaps Paris herself would cry and the man in dreads would soothe her. 

The editor’s note in StepAway offers a great sentiment and lead in to my poem:

StepAway Letter From Editor

And my poem itself:

This Paris in StepAway

Some of my Paris photos:

Angel’s Paris photos

Holiday Upheaval

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

The events of the last few months have rendered my life unrecognizable, even to me.I have a suspicion that 2016 may come together in ways I never imagined or be the year that leaves me bankrupt, homeless and destitute in more ways than one.

So far I’m leaning toward and working for the former, but the worrier in me can’t help but fear the latter.

Between my broken ankle and the medical bills I incurred (who knew physical therapy was THAT expensive?) and the fact that I paid for graduate school, car repairs and a euphonium on my American Express, I was forced to ponder refinancing the house. The appraiser comes Sunday, but, again, I’m nervous because the appraisers are never generous in my experience. Last time I did this, they wanted to loan me exactly what I need now. So we’ll see. This new mortgage would shorten the length of our current loan, pay off the car and the American Express AND not add to the cost of our monthly payments.

With this and winter and travel looming, I have decided to defer enrollment at West Chester until next semester. I won’t have to commute in the snow. I can get my finances in order and proceed responsibly and not worry about classes interfering with my travel schedule.

Speaking of travel: January 7 I leave for France; I believe it’s January 8 I leave for Djibouti and January 12 I arrive in Mogadishu. Plus a trip to Lebanon may be in the works for spring.

I’m also working on some book reviews in some World War II era memoirs for Hippocampus.

Now the good news…

My poem “This Paris” has been accepted by StepAway magazine. I don’t consider myself a poet, so it’s a tad funny that I’ve placed a poem.

I believe I got an A in my grad school history class and my professor would like to see me continue some of my work, specifically on the Horn of Africa. That’s the topic, not that she wants me to go far, far away.

Publication and acceptance

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I got an email earlier this week that I was accepted into West Chester’s MA program in history.

Today I received an email with information on how to get temporary access to the article on poverty inDjibouti I co-authored with Annette Varcoe for the Sage Encyclopedia on World Poverty, volume 2.

And my husband and I are finally going to see the new James Bond movie Monday.

This post is short, but full of fun news.

A Lesson from EZ Pass

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I spend too much of my life stressing over details in my life that really don’t require that much thought. Thanks to EZ Pass and my American Express this might be changing. 
I started grad school as a whim. Not something normal people do, but I’ve never done anything in the ordinary fashion. The tuition went on my American Express (no interest until August 2016), along with my prepay heating oil bill for the winter.

When I first started driving to West Chester every week, I gathered a stack of singles and fives to keep in my console in the car. Toll money. There are two fairly equally ways to travel the turnpike to West Chester. One involves Route 22 and straight down, the other uses Route 78 and the back roads to hook up with the turnpike in Quakertown.

The back road method eliminates a dollar or so in tolls.

And I’m cheap.

I ordered an EZ Pass and I noticed something when it came. I didn’t care so much about that extra buck. I usually drive to West Chester on the cheaper way, but on the way home I never feel like weaving around in the dark. So I don’t.

And I refuse to stress over saving or spending a dollar. 

I’ve noticed on my EZ Pass bill that it really doesn’t force my account to recharge any sooner than if I stick to my stingy back way.

Maybe I’m mellowing in my old age.

I freaked out the first time I used the EZ Pass. What if it didn’t work? I made my husband use the ticket and EZ Pass lane just to be sure.

And that stack of $30 in small bills in my car? It’s down to $5. Most of it reallocated to the child’s lunch money. 

But it took a month before I was willing to touch it.

State Parks Weekend with the Liberty Bell Wanderers

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

I have had a great month in October. My boot is off. I had a fantastic ortho who released me from his care on Wednesday (Thanks, Dr. Sacco.) I also have a team of physical therapists who have taught me so much in the four short weeks we’ve been together. (And I will probably have my final session with them on Monday.)

This weekend my family and I joined the Liberty Bell Wanderers in Willow Grove where we will visit four state parks. Today we walked 10 miles on trails and more around town.

We arrived at the hotel where most of the group was staying at 8 a.m. We were on the road fairly early for our first stop: a 10K walk through Fort Washington State Park. By about mile 4.5 my ankle had that mild soreness, but we came upon a playground so the swings, monkey bars and, no lie, FOUR WAY SEE-SAW soon made me forget a twinge of discomfort.

Oh! And we saw hawks swirling around at the Hawk Observation Deck.

Lunch was at Feliz Cantina. There we experienced a true culinary miracle: gaucamole with candied pecans, bacon and blue cheese. And I tried fish tacos. And I liked them!

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We went back to the hotel where we moved from (my friend and fellow walker) Gayle’s room to our room. She’s staying with us tonight. After a very brief respite, we headed out to Tyler State Park which reminded me of our local park, Jacobsburg.

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We only attempted a 5K, and to keep child happy we let her take photos of people’s dogs. I’ll have to do a count and perhaps a gallery of her dog photos.

Once again we found ourselves at the Hampton Inn in Willow Grove where child immediately hopped in the shower. I had brought cake pops from Starbucks, microwave popcorn and board games in my suitcase. Gayle and I went out for beverages (found a 7-eleven a half mile away) and somehow ended up with a pizza. On foot.

We had pizza, cake and chocolate milk and played Ticket to Ride (the board game). Child crawled in bed without a fight at 7:45.

Anticipating adieu to the boot

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Today, I head to my orthopedic specialist for an evaluation of my ankle. I have no pain. I have taken a few steps without my boot here and there to test the foot. I now shower standing on my foot. I have mastered getting in and out of the boot. I have even modified my weight training routine so I can lift in the boot.  

But nothing beats the anticipation of thinking I might be free of my boot today. 

First though, I have to survive a trip to the dentist. This never used to be an issue, the dentist. I have good strong teeth. Four and a half years ago I had a fall, and my top teeth smashed my bottom teeth. Or vice versa. So, frequently, every trip to the dentist reveals new damage that the impact has caused over time. Cracks in my teeth enamel, which, thanks to high fluoride toothpaste are “healing.” You won’t find my in the fluoride hating camp any time soon because I have x-rays that show how my damaged teeth have improved. 

Health scares like the teeth, the boot, and the other crazy things that have happened to be in the last five years serve as a great reminder— warning I am about to embark into cliché land here—of making sure you live your life the way you want to live it. I reflect a lot during these injuries. And I really do believe that fatalists have a point: Whatever will happen is going to happen, we can’t stop it. That’s not to say you don’t have to move yourself to the place you need to be. That merely means that whatever you fear or expect usually doesn’t happen where or how you think it will.

Like the ankle.

I broke it walking near my house. I wanted a salad and there’s a restaurant a little more than a mile a way that has the biggest salads I have every seen. Earlier that day I had moved all the furniture out of my living room by myself. I went to the gym for a fitness orientation and body fat evaluation where I learned my body fat was 21.8% and I was in excellent condition. And the woman who performed the evaluation for me helped me set new weight increments and design a new routine for my winter goals. And I came home and broke my ankle.

  
I didn’t do it roller skating (which I did the week before). Roller skating certainly provides a challenge for my legs and their unwillingness to cooperate with my brain thanks to cerebral palsy. I did three laps around the skating rink. I also didn’t break my ankle at the trampoline park where I celebrated my 40th birthday a couple months prior. My friend got stuck in the foam pit though, that was funny. But no one broke anything.

I broke my ankle walking. 

I have traveled to, among other places, Tunisia, Yemen, Djibouti, and Russia. And I seriously hope to visit Somalia. Soon. 

Because I broke my ankle trying to procure a salad. I mean, really, do you think the idea of pirates scares me? I work retail. The idea of some lunatic opening fire in the front end of our store strikes me as a more likely event than the prospect of a kidnapping.

  

New Beginnings: Grad School & Life in a ‘Boot’

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

I’ve always believed that life has a way of keeping people in balance. Some people lament that life can never be easy, or that whenever things are going well it means something must go wrong.

I believe that if you act too smug or confident, the universe will smack you.

My part-time job is in retail, working in the café for a certain retailer associated with the colors red and khaki. I have worked for them for five years. It’s the perfect job when you’re working your way through school and/or trying to raise a family and be an active part of your child’s life. And the discount and other perks rock.

That’s detail one in my current tale. Detail two relates to fitness and health. I have cerebral palsy. I’m not getting any younger. When I broke my hand last winter, I lost all strength on my right side. This scared me. I gained something ridiculous like 15 pounds. This didn’t upset me until I could no longer fit my thighs in my pants.

And finally three: I start grad school today, at West Chester University, a 90-minute drive from my home.

These items set the stage for Monday. On Monday, I was preparing for a crazy week. Work 3-8:30 Wednesday, cash office and café at work Thursday 7-3:30, then rush to a class that starts at 5:50, get home about ten, and work noon to 8:30 in the café Friday. Husband works overtime all weekend. I have a picnic and 10k hike through the woods Saturday and a potential road trip to walk on Sunday.

Then this happened:

  
This is what happened Monday.

I moved all the furniture out of the living room, scrubbed the floors and put everything back. I went to the gym for a fitness orientation. They had to keep “upping” my weights because they underestimated me– good feeling! I have a body fat percentage of 21.8 which puts me in the excellent category for the 35-39 age range. 

I came home, and in an effort to get my daughter to move more, suggested the family walk to dinner. I was hungry for a salad and didn’t have fresh greens here.

3/4 of a mile from home, I tripped and twisted my ankle. My husband went home for the car. My daughter kept me company. We took photos of my wounds.

  
We drove to the restaurant. It was closed on Mondays. So we went to the Chinese buffet. After heading to the restroom to wash the blood off my hands and arms, I gathered my food and headed to the table.

When we went to leave, my foot hurt worse but only when I moved my foot a certain way. We went to Patient First.

Turns out I had a closed lateral fracture of the malleolous. Or a broken angle. Imagine a horizontal crack across the bottom of my fibula in the front of my leg. 

  
The next day, I visited my primary care physician for painkillers after the pain kept me up most of the night. Then I went to the Ortho yesterday.

He said with my reputation for clumsiness, a boot would be better than a cast because if I fall in a cast, my ankle would be fine but I’d break a knee or screw up my whole leg. So, boot it is.

  
But I can’t drive.

I had emailed my West Chester professor, and she said I could come late to class tonight. My husband has said that he’ll drive me but there’s no way he can leave work early. 

I returned to work today, in cash office, but can’t do my café duties with a broken foot. They may find me another work center if the store is busy enough… But it’s alarming to go from about 55 hours in the current pay period to ten. I am so grateful for my cash office shifts. 

So wish me luck. At school and with the ankle. 

Oops! I think I start grad school next week

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

  
As a former journalist, I have a passion for research, current events and packaging information. 

When I earned my second bachelors degree, I did it to show my daughter the value of education. I wanted to start grad school, but I didn’t know how feasible that would be with a job, a child, a household and several volunteer commitments. So I committed to a new undergraduate career instead. Cheaper & faster than grad school. A way to test the water. A way to increase my academic credentials to better match my professional experience.

But I do really want my Ph.D. I applied to a prestigious program last year and did not get in. The whole process taught me a lot and when I reviewed it this winter I talked more in depth with my former advisers.

Here’s the thing about advisers: you have to consider their advice within a framework of who they think you will be. I’ve discovered that my former professors have visions for me that don’t necessarily match my goals. Frankly, some of their plans are quite flattering and sometimes overwhelming.

One adviser had suggested the MA program in history at West Chester University. At first I didn’t take him seriously because they don’t have a Ph.D. program.

They sent me an email, coincidentally, advertising a grad school open house. Here’s the kicker… If you attended, they waived your application fee. 

 And then I reviewed their faculty. I noted at least five professors whose interests intersect with mine. The program was flexible, part-time or full-time, affordable and has some scholarship/graduate assistantship available.

At the same time, I was trying to contact another prestigious school about taking a class in their African studies department this fall. They had a professor who might have an interest in East Africa that might suit me.

It took two weeks to get an email that told me to call them or come to one of their “walk-in” events. The email merely asked if the class I wanted to take could be enrolled in as a non-matriculated student. 

Frustrated by the prestigious school, I emailed West Chester. I received a delightful response the next day that encouraged me to contact anyone in the department. I also got an email from the person who would be hosting for the history department at the open house.

And then the open house happened. Wednesday August 12. The graduate coordinator was enthusiastic and portrayed the strengths and weaknesses of her department. She thought I might like a class they were offering this fall, suggesting the professor would be a good fit, and indeed it was one of the people who intrigued me originally.

I came home. Thought. Chatted with friends. Worked. On Monday I entered my name into the system as a potential non-degree student in the history graduate department.

Monday night I received a student number. I also received an invitation to the history meet-and-greet today. I declined. It’s a 90-minute drive one way.

Tuesday morning I initiated my account and went into the registration system to see what I needed to do to gain approval for the class.

Nothing. Just click. So I did.

Turns out classes start next week.

I have gone from floundering to enrolled in a graduate level class in less than a week. Provided this works out, and I suppose paying tuition is the main next step, I will go from undecided about my next step to sitting in class in less than two weeks.

What have I done? Grad school sneaked up and bit me! Gulp.

Gettysburg, Day 2

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

We all slept longer than we expected to after our first day in Gettysburg. So much I wanted to do, yet we couldn’t even arrive at breakfast until close to 8:30. Luckily, our hotel was less than a half a mile from the start point of Gettysburg Walk #2 (hosted by the York White Rose Wanderers). My plan was this: continental breakfast at the hotel, 5k battlefield/monument trail, water and snack break, then the 5k town trail, have lunch in town, head to the confederate trail and do one of the 5k out-and-back trails before heading home.  
The continental breakfast at the hotel featured plenty of bread, oatmeal, cereal, orange juice and coffee as expected but did not have any pitchers of water. So we left breakfast, in my opinion, not hydrated enough. 

   
 We set out for the walk, and before even going a mile we were sidetracked by the various monuments, Pickett’s Charge and of course, the Pennsylvania monument which we had to climb. 

  
  
This boulder came from the school yard in Massachusetts where the soldier who died has went to school.

  
The walk wound through some wooded areas and down to the visitors center, where we gulped our weight in water at the fountains.

  
We also learned about the gear the Union soldiers carried, like the half tent, and how the guns worked.

   
 Somehow, we managed to make the 5k into 5 miles by the time we made it to the hotel. It was 11 a.m. and check out was noon. The family begged for a dip in the pool. I gave them a half hour to swim while I repacked the bags that were dumped out to find the already packed bathing suits. I also uploaded my photos and had a snack. Everyone dressed again, we checked out, and we drove to the National Cemetery parking area for the town trail. 

At the Rupp Center we learned about spinning wool and the differences between wool and cotton fibers.

  
We had a great time perusing shops, had lunch at The Pub which we had missed the day before. Amazing burgers. Mine had blue cheese and chocolate chips. Yes, you read that correctly, blue cheese and chocolate chips. Which was funny because on Wednesday I had a funky burger at Twin Rivers Brewing Company that had peanut butter and bacon. Both blew my mind.

   
 We had reached about 4 miles at this point, and we backtracked to visit the malt shop. I have a weakness for a good malted milkshake. And this was very worth it. 

  
We had already surpassed 9 miles for the day by the time we reached the car. My daughter was stuffed with too much burger and milkshake. We drove out to the confederate trails. More unbelievably pretty monuments. Some so lifelike they were eerie. We trudged out of the car, all very tired at this point, and did our best to complete the 5k trail that left from the amphitheater. 

We all came home exhausted. Good news is that my daughter finished her AVA 10 event book. Husband is the only one left who hasn’t reached that milestone.

  
The moral of the story: You need three days in Gettysburg, not two.