By Jane St. Anthony
“What do you do when your car is stolen?” Milan Mockovak, 93, wrote in his story, “Life As We Know It.”
“A published story was on my bucket list,” he said. “Before I joined the writing group at Episcopal Homes, all I could write were reports.”
In May, Milan’s short story appeared in “Sunday Bulletin Board,” a feature in the St. Paul Pioneer Press. He is one of the residents at Episcopal Homes Senior Housing at University Ave. and Fairview in St. Paul whose story has been in print.
The authors have something in common: They meet on Friday mornings. Throughout the week, they write.
Andrea Erickson, Director of Service Coordination at Episcopal Homes – and her recently retired colleague, Julie Niewald – launched the writing group15 years ago. Erickson’s friend, Mirella Heimpel, graciously volunteered to assist with the writing group after Niewald retired.
Milan rarely misses a meeting. Neither do the other committed writers, half of them over age 90. The group of 10-15 writers per week bring their writing to share with each other. They are encouraged to comment; negative feedback is not welcome.
On Friday mornings, the session begins with coffee and a reading of the group’s charter: Betty, whose story was also in print, reads the charter aloud:
In Writers Workshop, we agree:
• To listen closely and give respect to the speaker.
• To honor each speaker by not interrupting, commenting or giving feedback unless asked for.
• To honor confidentiality.
• To share the time we have in an equitable way; to be mindful of how much time each person takes.
• To remember the purpose of the writers group: to grow individually and as a community through the sharing of our written stories, to make connections to one another and to encourage one another’s creative expression.
During a recent workshop, one writer added a suggestion after the charter was read: “Send this to Congress!”
The writers look forward to Friday mornings. Comments include: “I value the members of this group and their commitment to show up prepared on Friday mornings.” “I find myself challenged to grow beyond my mindset.” “I have rave reviews for the group experience, the deadlines and the great feedback from all of the writers.” “There’s something special about this group.” “I was brave enough to attend the group. We have a bond of trust.” “This is the highlight of my week; many others have said this.”
One group member, Ben-Li, was born in China and lived in Russian before coming to the U.S. Her two “hi-tech” grandsons translate her stories into English so that she can read them to the group. Her English continues to improve.
Each story read aloud brims with heart, humor and, sometimes, a drop of nostalgia.
EXCERPTS
• The remains of several steam engines sit in the backwoods behind a boy’s home in Southern Minnesota. With his brother, the boy climbs up on the big wheels and plays there. He doesn’t remember ever getting hurt. A local man made a hobby of the steam engines and holds an annual celebration, starting up the engines so that the locals can experience a bit of history. It is thrilling. The boy, now a man, holds on to the haunting sound of the engines.
• Feeling very adult, a 12-year-old girl waits in a cafe for the bus that will take her to her aunt and uncle in western Kansas. A man approaches her, chats and asks if she would like to go for a ride with him, see the town. She has no experience to draw from; she was raised to be polite to adults. But fear grows inside her and she remains seated, shaking her head “No,” until the man leaves the café.
• Another author’s story is inspired by his father’s experience. As a soldier returning from WWII aboard a ship, the father hears the sublime jazz of Thelonious Monk. He is enthralled. On this voyage, he also realizes that White soldiers like himself sleep below deck while Black soldiers spend the night on the deck above. “I never thought my father felt one way or another about civil rights until he told me that story 50 years after the war,” said the son. “It made him so angry.”
• Outside of Moscow, two middle-aged women arrive for a tour. Two young men approach and introduce themselves. The hotel was for foreigners – Russians forbidden – and the men ask to borrow the women’s foreign passports; they want to smuggle two Russian women into the hotel. The Americans hand their passports to the strangers and then freeze, horrified at their own stupidity. Would this be a flash point in the Cold War, life in a gulag? After an eternity, the co-conspirators reappear, passports in hand.
AN UNDERSTANDING
“There are fewer people to talk to who understand about what life was like years ago,” said one of the writers. “So many memories.”
Milan agrees. “Where do memories go?” he asked.
Maybe the memories are held by generations for a long, long time. Maybe librarians will give the memories a home. Maybe diaries will hold them. Maybe they’ll be in the Cloud.
Comments
No comments on this item Please log in to comment by clicking here