Xianna Michaels's Blog, page 9

Mommy’s Lap – A Poem

From time to time I’ll share a poem I’ve written for children, often from the child’s point of view.

I wrote this poem after watching a very young child bravely try to adjust to the new baby who had recently joined the family.

 

Mommy’s Lap

 

I love my baby brother, Ben;

I really, really do.

It’s just that I remember when

My Mommy held me, too.

 

When Ben was in her tummy still,

I’d curl up on her lap.

We’d cuddle close and read until

We took a comfy nap.

 

I love my brother, Ben, you see;

I really, really do.

I just wish Mommy’s lap could be

Big enough for two!

 

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On Discovering I Could Draw

Whenever I give workshops to elementary school students – usually on art, calligraphy, and poetry or some combination thereof, I always share with them my work-in progress. I will read to them and show them illustrated pages and they will be enthralled and always ask the question. “How long did it take you?”

I consider the answer to that question very important for children, especially, to hear and so I answer very carefully and honestly. When the book in question has been Mindel and the Misfit Dragons, I tell them I have been writing poems and stories since the second grade. (And, since I am probably the age of most of their grandparents, they know this is a very long time!) In other words, I tell them, I have been learning how to write this book for most of my life. The actual writing of Mindel took about two years. Then I tell them it took close to four years to do the calligraphy and artwork, during which time I studied under a master calligrapher, DeAnn Singh of Designing Letters. I worked at the calligraphy for hours every day. They are astonished at the time it took.

Then onto drawing. I am surprised and saddened at how many elementary school children already claim, “I can’t draw.” I say to them: “You don’t know that. I was over 40 before I realized I could draw.” Then I tell them my story: I’ve basically always been a writer and sometime in my forties I read a book called The Power of Your Other Hand by Lucia Capacchione, Ph. D.* She talks about using your non-dominant hand (in my case the left) to write or doodle as a way to access the creative right brain. So if you are stumped for the next line of poetry or paragraph in a story, try your left hand. Amazingly, it worked for me, but I found writing with my left laborious. The doodling, however, was liberating. I doodled with my left hand while I was writing, while I was on the phone, while I was in faculty meetings. Not only did my doodling help me think of the next line of poetry or story idea, but something else happened.

My doodles turned into grass and hills and then trees. Then there were rabbits behind the trees and meadows full of flowers and sheep. Then somehow my left hand was drawing castles and knights and farmers pulling plows. Everything was crooked and whimsical and I never quite knew what my pen would do, but the drawings were recognizable. People started asking me if I was illustrating my poems. Eventually I started saying “yes.”

Then my right hand grew courageous and began taking over when I needed straight lines, such as for castle walls, or very precise detailed work, such as for dragon scales. I like to say that my left hand taught my right how to draw and now they collaborate, depending on the task at hand.

I emphasize for the children how many years it’s been, how much I love it and how much practice I still do. I want them to understand that there aren’t just a chosen few who can do artistic/creative things. They can do it too, if they have a love for it, determination and dedication. Then we begin in class writing poems and illustrating them.

(The Power of Your Other Hand by Lucia Capacchione, Ph. D. is now available in a revised 2001 edition from New Page Books/Career Press. Learn more about her books and workshops here.)

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Girls – A Poem

From time to time I’ll share a poem I’ve written for children, often from the child’s point of view.

I wrote this poem for a workshop I did for a class of third grade girls. I wanted to make them smile – and teach them iambic tetrameter!

 

Girls

Melissa schemes and Katie plays

And Mindy dreams away the days.

Emma reads and Lizzie writes;

Corrine keeps peach and Cindy fights.

Elaine is brave and Ruth’s afraid –

It takes all kinds to make third grade.

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Really, Really – A Poem

From time to time I’ll share a poem I’ve written for children, often from the child’s point of view.

I remember the day I wrote this poem. I can still hear the clever little guy pleading with his mom: He didn’t feel well, but it’s wasn’t the medicine kind of sick. All he needed was a popsicle. The poem kind of wrote itself.

 

Really, Really

I really don’t have fever, Mom;

I promise I’m not sick.

No medicine! A popsicle

Would really do the trick.

 

I really don’t have homework, Mom;

Well, just a little bit.

But I left all my books in school,

So please don’t have a fit.

 

I really have this project, Mom;

I can’t clean up today.

And when it’s done I know you’ll say

That children need to play.

 

I’m really glad that you’re my Mom;

You’ll forgive me what I did,

‘Cuz Nana says you broke things, too,

When you were just a kid!

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THE TRIP: Our Annual Summer Road Trip with the Grandchildren

Every summer my husband, Michael, and I are blessed and delighted to take a road trip with our grandchildren. Just us and the grands – no middle generation allowed.

We started when the oldest was five and her brother two. We drove forty-five minutes and stayed for two nights at The Grand Californian Hotel overlooking Downtown Disney. We had bunkbeds awaiting us at naptime and a kiddie pool for the heat of the day. “It’s A Small World” was a great favorite. So was “Winnie the Pooh,” which we were allowed to ride over and over after 9pm. Our granddaughter A loved the princesses and her brother J worshipped Buzz Lightyear and was petrified of the Tiki Room.

The trip was such a hit that we did it again the next year. By then we instituted The Souvenir System. This has two parts. One is that souvenir buying begins on the very first day. We discovered that their loot for the day provides endless fascination in the hotel room at night when the adults are near collapse. The second part is the budget. Very young children don’t understand money, but they can understand concepts like:

“You can get these two princess dolls or just this one.”

“If you buy all three of these superhero figures today, you won’t be able to buy anything tomorrow.”

The one that’s most difficult to get across, but that we keep working on is:

“That piece of plastic is going to break in about three minutes. Let’s find something else.”

The Souvenir System grew as the kids grew and we added more to our troop. But the basic principle stays the same, and it’s led to great pleasure and some interesting teaching moments. A has acquired a great collection of figurines – one each year to commemorate THE TRIP. S has been into decorative boxes. Now we’ve got four girls with us, and jewelry is always high on the list.

With the boys it’s all about action heroes and weaponry, needless to say. It’s been interesting. Z always wants a toy gun. He finds exactly what he wants. I say, “Your mother doesn’t allow guns. You know that. Find something else.”

“Call my mother,” he insists.

I call. She says no. He enters into negotiations and bargains down to a sword. Or at least a dagger. Every year. He’s very interested in history and especially likes authentic-looking replicas.

J, by the way, has long since outgrown the sword-and-shield genre. For him it’s all about electronics. Sometimes that’s a bit of a challenge in the touristy places. But we manage, even if we have to sneak in a little side trip to do it.

N impressed us last year when he was six. The first day he picked out an expensive, elaborate, soon-to-be-broken plastic monstrosity. We explained that if he bought that he would use up his entire budget the first day. Instead he agreed to buy a smaller toy and each day evaluated the choices, trying to decide if this or that was worth it. Finally, on the last day he chose a build-it-yourself motorized toy. He set it up in his living room when he got home and was so proud of himself for waiting for the right toy. Wow!

But back to my timeline. After the two Disney trips we missed a year because of conflicting schedules. But after that, since 2006, we’ve had, thank G-d, a straight run. A, now sixteen, is not only the Organizer-in-Chief of these trips, but the Archiver as well. She remembers everything so I know my history is accurate.

S joined us for the first time in 2006 when she was three and a half. That year was my husband’s fantasy come true. We borrowed an RV and camped on the beach at Mission Bay, San Diego. It was beautiful. And sandy. The kids had a blast. Michael was in heaven. However, a few comments about RV’s. Yes, it’s convenient with little kids and efficient to carry your house on your back. And for us, needing kosher food, having our own kitchen was great. But it was not our RV. A friend who rarely used it was happy to lend it to us. We, of course, had to stock it. With everything from linens to toilet paper to food.

So we made lists and shopped and spent twelve hours stocking and arranging this 27-foot land-boat. We thought of everything. Well, almost. At the end of the first day we had three happily exhausted, very sandy kids ready for showers and bed. I had the towels, shampoo and PJ’s all ready. And then I realized what I had forgotten. The one thing that I desperately needed. I had forgotten…soap!

My husband suggested I wash them with shampoo. The kids were horrified. “You can’t wash your body with shampoo!” they cried. So we did what any grandparent would do. We undid the water and electrical hookups and drove our entire, lumbering house out of the campground in search of an open market.

Michael really loved that trip. And to his credit he was right there with me for the full fourteen hours it took to unload and clean that RV when we got home. (Did I mention that RV’s, unlike hotels, do not come with maid service?) I have since learned that as he looks back, J says that that was his favorite trip, too. What is it with guys and RV’s?

The next year we took A, J and S back to Disney. We still avoided the Tiki Room, just in case, but went everywhere else. We had our photo ops with Buzz, Mary Poppins, Snow White and whomever else we could corral. I think the bunk beds and massive pool slide at the Grand Californian were just as bit a hit. And there is nothing like strolling down Main Street in Disneyland or through California Adventure as the summer sun is setting and Dixieland jazz or California surfing music fills the air. I really love Disneyland!

My all-time personal favorite ride, by the way is “It’s A Small World.” I love the colors and sights and sounds. It brings me back to my childhood. No, not at Disneyland. The original “It’s A Small World” ride was the Pepsi Cola Pavilion at the 1964 New York World’s Fair. It was fabulous then and still is!

In 2008 Z joined us. He was four and it would be his first time away from his parents. They were all a bit nervous, so we again decided to stay close to home. This time we spent several nights aboard the Queen Mary. The one-time luxury liner is now a hotel in Long Beach. We stayed in one of the original royal staterooms, with mahogany paneling, portholes and lots of space. It was a wonderful, welcoming place. The staff encouraged exploration of the ship and the kids loved it. One of the highlights – wholly unexpected – was the engine room. It was endless – with tunnels and bridges and fascinating gizmos to climb over and under, and self-guided tours. And it wasn’t just a guy thing; I was completely surprised by how much I enjoyed it.

Right next door was a Soviet submarine from the Cold War, available for tours. Amazing that so many grown men could spend so much time in such close quarters!

There was a fascinating movie explaining how the Queen Mary was converted into a troop ship during World War II. The footage of the magnificent ballroom being transformed into the soldiers’ mess hall reminded me of one of my father’s war stories. He was in the Army in World War II and sailed to Europe on another converted luxury liner, the Ile de France. He described how the grand ballroom was outfitted with long rows of high tables. The soldiers would stand up to eat – there were no chairs. When the ship pitched, he said, your plate might slide and someone else’s plate might end up in front of you. And you just kept eating. Didn’t matter. Dinner time was short.

Another interesting note on the Queen Mary. The first day while Michael and I unpacked, the kids went out to explore the corridors around our stateroom. They came running back to report that they found kosher dishes in a glass showcase. My husband and I followed them and there, indeed, were beautiful dishes on display. A placard showed the Glatt Kosher menu that was served. Then it went on to say that these dishes were used in a crossing from Germany to America in 1938. Michael and I looked at each other. The kids just thought it was cool to find kosher dishes on the Queen Mary. We knew differently. Germany to America in 1938. Oh my.

On a lighter note, the ship had some delightful shops with more interesting souvenir offerings than you usually find in tourist spots. And right across the street was the Long Beach Aquarium of the Pacific. You can spend more than a day there and not see it all. The kids loved the sharks as well as the petting pools, where you can touch living, breathing, wiggly creatures like starfish and horseshoe crabs. There’s also an outdoor aviary where you can buy a cup of nectar and feed the colorful, exotic birds.

The kids also loved the enormous gift shop (naturally.) By this time, the older kids were keeping track of their souvenir budgets, and that became part of the fun. And this was the year we started the tradition of the kids helping us pick out gifts for the younger cousins or siblings who weren’t there with us.

In 2009 we decided to be more ambitious and venture farther from home. We went up to Solvang, California, about three hours north. Depending on your viewpoint, Solvang is either a quaint little town full of Danish architecture or one big touristy tchotchke shop. I vote for the former. My husband’s comment about that trip was that “It’s amazing how much there is to do in a place where there’s nothing to do.” Actually, it was a fabulous trip. One of our best.

We stayed at a lovely inn with a full kitchen and a large ground floor patio where we could bring our own barbeque. Since we keep kosher this was most welcome. We always bring or make most of our food when we travel, unless we manage to be someplace where there’s a kosher restaurant. Solvang is, alas, not one of those places. It is, in fact, famous for its Danish bakeries. The tantalizing aroma of pastries we can’t eat fills the air. But no matter. The kids were thrilled to find an old-fashioned candy shop with plenty of kosher wrapped candy. They also loved the small town atmosphere, and the fact that they could venture out a few blocks from the hotel as a group but without an adult.

They still remember tooling around town in a bicycle built for six, complete with a surrey with a fringe on top. Going up and down the inclines was more scary than a roller coaster any day.

We went blueberry picking and visited an ostrich farm. You don’t realize how big and strong those birds are until you get up close and personal. You buy a plate of food for them. They gobble the food, knock the plate right out of your hand and then lunge for that very same hand. The fence in between you is a great idea.

The highlight of that trip was a performance of Meredith Wilson’s The Music Man by the PCPA Theaterfest at the outdoor Solvang Festival Theater. The Music Man is one of my favorite musicals and my husband and I have seen a number of revivals. This was one of the best. It was beautifully done and one of the most exuberant performances I’ve ever seen. The kids were mesmerized. They loved every minute. And J, then eight, regaled us with his endearing rendition of “The Wells Fargo Wagon” for weeks afterward.

The success of the Solvang trip emboldened us and the next year we went even farther north, to Carmel and Monterey. Our oldest granddaughter A was now twelve, and this would be her second year as my right hand person. Michael was the driver and head of the Appropriations Committee, but by this time. I couldn’t have done it without her. I would gather tour books and do research, and then we would begin a delightful series of planning lunches and dinners. The next thing I knew, she would show up with spreadsheets. Everyday would have several activities and menu plans. Then there would be night activity. And there would be suggested clothing lists for the moms. She had become Planner-in-Chief, and has been ever since.

By the way, sometime ago she outgrew the Souvenir System. She now takes a commission in the form of a trip to the nearest outlet mall with me after we get home.

Something else happened round about this time. The kids began referring to our annual excursion as THE TRIP, with great emphasis, as if it were some sort of institution requiring capital letters. They began asking, right after their January winter-break, where we were going on THE TRIP, which would not take place until August. This prompted one of my daughters to comment, “You’d think no one in the family takes any other trip all year.”

Well, of course they do. But this entailed grandparents, cousins, no parents, no real bedtime, endless amusement and sightseeing and, of course, the Souvenir System, otherwise known as Shop Till You Drop. This was THE TRIP.

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Happy Chanukah 2014-5775

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Michaels creates Shabbat tale complete with dragons

By: Rabbi Rachel Esserman

What do the laws of Shabbat and dragons have in common? The answer will be obvious for readers of “Mindel and the Misfit Dragons: A Magical Tale By An Ancient Hand” by Xianna Michaels (Alcabal Press). Michaels, the daughter of Samuel and Clare Ladenheim, of Binghamton, uses poetry to create a Medieval-style children’s story that combines Jewish faith with a lesson in how everyone – even if they’re different – can find their place in the world.

Although Michaels has written novels before “Mindel and the Misfit Dragons,” this is her first work for children. “I wrote ‘Mindel and The Misfit Dragons’ after my oldest grandchild, 10 at the time, asked me to write a book for children,” Michaels said in an e-mail interview. “She and her siblings wanted it to have a Jewish theme, and I had fallen in love with dragons after researching them for a workshop for her brother’s class. Dragons meant castles, medieval times and fairytales. And somehow there was Mindel. She came to me and began whispering her story about the castle she loved, how hard it was to keep the Sabbath there and how her family might have to leave.”

The misfit dragons are Serpenfin, Pointilla and Bibinfor, whose parents fear they are so odd that they will always be outcasts. Michaels deliberately wrote about three dragons because the number has mystical meanings in many religions, including Judaism. “There are three patriarchs in the Bible; the Jews are a threefold people (the Priests, the Levites and the Israelites),” she added. “We often repeat a prayer three times. It is the number of completion, of the beginning, middle and end. For me, it is the rhythm of stories. Remember there were three little pigs, three bears, three fairy godmothers, three wishes. So there were three dragons, each one a bit strange, whose own parents considered them misfits. I knew that the dragons and Mindel would meet and be the answers to each others’ prayers.”

Each of the characters speaks to Michaels, whether it’s Mindel, a child wanting her family to remain in its home and still be able to celebrate Shabbat, or the dragons, who must leave home in order to learn to use their special skills. “I love Mindel for her courage and feistiness and refusal to give up,” Michaels said. “I love Serpenfin for never going against his nature and for searching until he finds his place in the world. I love Pointilla for knowing she has a purpose, a mission, and, that somewhere, somehow, she will fulfill it. And I share Bibinfor’s love of books, the written word and lifelong learning. But I do not feel that I created these characters. They came to me because they had a story to tell, and I am honored that they chose me to tell it.”

Michaels acknowledges that people might be surprised to read a fairy tale in verse, but to her, it’s a natural fit. “Once upon a time, all stories were told as poems,” she noted. “Before the printing press, books were handwritten, but mostly stories were recited orally, and the rhythm and rhyme of poetry made them easier to remember. But that’s only part of it. The truth is, I’m a poet and almost all my stories come to me as poems. The characters talk to me and I transcribe. And as I write their stories, I come to love them, each and every one.”

Poetry has always been important to Michaels. “I began writing poetry at a very young age,” she said. “It was my way of recording the events and processing the emotions of my life. Others kept diaries; I wrote poems. In adulthood, this gradually evolved further into a means of clarifying dilemmas, finding meaning in difficulty and, ultimately, of healing. My poems became a way for me to connect with my deepest intuitive self, with my own soul; a way of praying to God and, sometimes, of getting answers.”

At one point, Michael’s life went in a different direction. “In high school and college, however, I somehow lost that connection to my creative center and became a full-on left-brained academic, eventually earning a master’s degree in linguistics,” she said. “When I began re-connecting to my creative core in my late 20s, it was through story. I did not choose a particular time or place in which to set my novels, any more than I chose the characters. They came to me and I crafted their stories. I enjoyed the process very much and learned a great deal about setting, characterization, about what constitutes a story and what gives it meaning. I learned about the discipline required of any writer, as of any artist, to go to the desk or studio, every day; and to work on balancing the writer’s need for solitude with my need to connect with those I love.”

However, Michaels learned something important from her experiences: “What the world defined as success might not necessarily be success for me. I enjoyed writing novels and received accolades for them. But I was blessed to realize fairly early on that this was only a stepping stone. My real work lay in seeking spiritual connection through my writing. And my medium, I knew, was poetry.”

Writing them became part of her spiritual practice. “I would go into my study very early each morning, light a candle and enter a meditative state,” Michaels said. “I would begin to draw with pen and ink, and then I let words come. I write rhymed, metered poetry. There is a mystical synergy that arises from the interplay of the music and meaning of the poems, often yielding revelations I would not have accessed with my conscious mind. Gradually, I was able to systematize what had become my daily practice. I created The Alchemy of Illuminated Poetry® process so that I could share it with others. It is a profound vehicle for inner transformation, which I am teaching and about which I am writing a book.”

Although “Mindel” teaches children and adults lessons about believing in themselves, Michaels didn’t plan for this to happen. “Firstly, I have to be clear that I did not set out to teach any lessons when I wrote this book,” she said. “I was simply writing the story that came to me. But when I was finished, I was delighted to realize that children – and adults as well – might learn something from the three so-called misfit dragons. Everyone is here for a purpose, and each of us has a special place in the world. Even though being different might at times be painful, it is often through what makes us seem odd, or not quite fit in, that we are able to fulfill our purpose. I would hope, for instance, that a child who is ridiculed for preferring playing the piano over playing sports might draw courage from the dragons and decide it’s okay to do what he loves. Or that someone who gets rejected over and over while trying to pursue her dream would keep trying, would think of Pointilla and her determination to light the world. Perhaps, too, parents might relax a bit about children who don’t seem to fit in and realize that one day they will, indeed, find their place.”

“Mindel and the Misfit Dragons” differs from many books in yet another way: the publisher has duplicated Michaels’ handwritten manuscript instead of using typeface and included her drawings to illustrate the work. The author noted that she always writes with a fountain pen, rather than using a computer. “The flow of pen-and-ink on the paper is an integral part of my creative process,” she added. “I first discovered fountain pens when I was a little girl visiting my father’s law office in downtown Brooklyn. He would sometimes take me to work with him in the summer. Everyone there was enamored of the new ‘ball-point’ pens. But I would sit at the big, old empty desks in the back and there discovered drawers full of abandoned fountain pens and bottles of ink. It was love-at-first-sight and I never looked back.”

The creative process, though, is still a mystery to her. “I do not always know what I will write before I put pen to paper,” she said. “But there is something about the movement of my hand and the flow of the ink that quiets my analytic left brain and lets my creative right brain take over. I find keyboards disruptive to my creative process, although for a book-length work I often have someone type the finished manuscript so I can edit with greater objectivity.”

Michaels notes that “Mindel” took her six years to finish: two years to write the story and four more to finish the calligraphy and illustrations. Michaels doesn’t begrudge the time and effort, though, because the work “was a labor of love originally undertaken for my grandchildren.”

The Reporter, Issue 48

Friday, November 28, 2014

Link to the original article.

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Always Thankful this Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. It sometimes comes just a month or so after all the Jewish holidays. They entail umpteen three and four course meals. It takes weeks to recover. But still, I must make Thanksgiving.

It’s not just about the turkey, although, of course, we serve that, along with the sweet potatoes, cranberry, et al. But I serve turkey at other times as well.

And yes, it’s about the Pilgrims and the Puritans, but that’s a history lesson, and for me Thanksgiving hits closer to home.

Some say Thanksgiving is a day to thank G-d for all our blessings. Well, yes, but so many people I know, myself included, do that in daily prayer.

So what does Thanksgiving really mean to me? As an American Jew, born and bred here, I view it as a day to thank G-d for the blessing of America and what it has done for the Jews. American has been the most welcoming country for Jews in the history of the world. It saved my grandparents from the pogroms, persecutions and dire poverty of Eastern Europe. It welcomed my in-laws after the Nazis destroyed their lives.

On Thanksgiving I do think about the Pilgrims landing on Plymouth Rock. But I also think about that ship carrying twenty-tree Jews fleeing the Inquisition in Brazil in 1654. The ship was headed to Holland but was blown off course and landed in New Amsterdam, later known as Manhattan Island. Despite Governor Peter Stuyvesant’s objections, the Jews were allowed to remain and established the first organized Jewish community in North America. Later would come more Sephardic Jews, then the German ones, then the Easter European wave at the turn of the last century. Then would come the refugees of the Holocaust, then the Soviet Union, then the Iranian Revolution. And on and on as with so many other refugee groups from so many places. It still goes on today. They find not streets paved with gold but a land of golden opportunity.

As we serve our golden brown turkey on burnished golden party plates this year, that is what I will be thinking about. We’ll have a fire crackling in the fireplace and “Over-the-River-and-Through-the-Woods”-type music playing on an i-device. We are so blessed with all this, even more so to be surrounded by family and friends. And unless we are crazy enough to line up for some midnight store opening for Black Friday, we will sleep soundly at night. Our bellies will be full. We will feel safe.

Back in September a few of my grandchildren spontaneously started singing “The Star Spangled Banner.” They had a contest to see who could remember the most words. I sat there smiling but with a lump in my throat. Here is another generation singing, “Oh, say does that banner yet wave…”

Thank G-d for America.

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Nana’s House – A Poem

From time to time I’ll share a poem I’ve written for children, often from the child’s point of view.

This one came to me when my oldest grandchild, A, was a little girl. We spent so many magical hours together doing art and exploring my house. I try to capture that same magic with her siblings and cousins as they become old enough. What sheer joy!

Nana’s House

Nana’s house has many doors

And windows that have cranks,

And miles of ancient wooden floors

That look like battered planks.

 

A gazebo that becomes a stage

And old green bells that chime,

A turret that looks like a cage

With bars that I can climb.

 

And Zaidy has a stethoscope

And other doctor things

And lots of cords for jumping rope

And a violin that sings,

 

And Nana has a crystal ball

(It really works, I think),

But what I like the most of all

Are her fountain pens and ink!

 

We sit together writing books;

We work with paints and clay,

And then explore the hidden nooks

Where Mommy used to play.

 

But Nana wasn’t Nana then,

A long, long time ago.

She just became a Nana when

My Mom had me, you know!

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On Election Day

Election Day is fast-approaching. This election is what’s commonly known as “the midterms.” It’s been a difficult political season. Dire events are unfolding in the world. Control of Congress may be at stake. It’s important for every adult citizen to become as informed as possible and to vote his or her conscience.

But there’s something even more important here, something too often lost in the political melee.

And so, a story. Thirty years ago. November 6, 1984. The incumbent, President Ronald Reagan, was running against Walter Mondale.

I had four children, the youngest just turning a year old. I was teaching parttime and had a housekeeper who was a political refugee from a war-torn country south of the border. She spoke no English but I, an English and Spanish teacher, speak fluent Spanish. It was my custom to take the baby with me when I drove the girls to school. Then I’d come home, play with him, put him down for his nap and go teach a few classes. But this morning was different. After driving the girls to school, I was going to vote. So I asked my housekeeper to play with the baby and put him down for his nap at the appointed time.

She then did something wholly unprecedented. She grabbed my arm and her eyes welled up.

“Please. Señora,” she begged me in Spanish. “Please don’t take the girls to school. Please don’t go to teach. Please, please, stay home today!”

I looked at her in astonishment. Why shouldn’t we go out? “Why?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

By now her tears were spilling out. “There’s an election today,” she said. “There’s going to be a revolution. They’ll be shooting people in the streets!” She was gripping my arm for dear life. She meant every word.

I put down my books and the child’s backpack I was carrying. We were all a little late that day. What on earth must this poor woman have been through, I wondered, as I gave her a brief civics lesson (in Spanish). I told her that I knew there was an election today, that I was going to vote. The whole country would vote today, I explained. The loser would concede defeat, probably late tonight. The winner would be inaugurated in January. If Mondale won, the two men would ride together in a limousine to the inauguration. Either way, the two candidates would shake hands, smile and part ways.

There might be some distress, some angry feelings. But there would be no shooting, no revolution. We fought our Revolution some 200 years ago, I explained, and we created the world’s first true democracy, the United States of America. And the mantle of power passes peacefully.

I told her she had nothing to worry about. She looked at me with doubt but faint hope, as if wondering if this could really be true. She finally let us go. I took the kids to school. Then I voted, as I do every year. My husband, I knew, had already been to the polling place on his way to work.

Ronald Reagan, as we all know, won a second term. Sometimes it’s a Republican, sometimes a Democrat. But the mantle passes peacefully.

As Election Day 2014 approaches, I find myself thinking back on that long-ago conversation. With all the rancor of our current politics, we often forget about what’s right about this country. Every day we see evidence of how much the world still experiences the change of power with bloodshed, as that poor woman did. But we are America, a beacon of light in a dark world. I pray we never forget that.

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