Log in

No account? Create an account


Langston Hughes

I am so tired of waiting.
Aren’t you,
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind?
Let us take a knife
And cut the world in two—
And see what worms are eating
At the rind.


The smell of home,
to me,
is dirt.

The colors are
the first warm day of spring
pale greens and browns so brown they hurt
moist soil turning its face for the first time in months
toward its prodigal mother, the sun.

The sounds are
a beautiful cacophony,
my father and brothers yelling, laughing
lowing cows, heels over head, silly with the pleasures of freedom
a breeze softly roaring in my ears.

We are all drunk on spring
And there is dirt on my face and dirt under my nails
And I am home, and so happy.

A Poem for a Tuesday

“Tree Marriage”
William Meredith

In Chota Nagpur and Bengal
the betrothed are tied with threads to
mango trees, they marry the trees
as well as one another, and
the two trees marry each other.
Could we do that some time with oaks
or beeches? This gossamer we
hold each other with, this web
of love and habit is not enough.
In mistrust of heavier ties,
I would like tree-siblings for us,
standing together somewhere, two
trees married with us, lightly, their
fingers barely touching in sleep,
our threads invisible but holding.


17 aoû 2015

I haven't felt this ashamed of myself in a very, very long time. I feel like my brain is a whirlpool of bad thoughts and hazy, cringe-worthy memories that just keep pulling me back in. I want to rake nails over it, pull an "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and have the whole thing banished from existence. Instead, it's on a loop in my head.

The wedding was amazing, and so much fun. But I spent most of it talking to him in the hall. I left my poor, long-suffering boyfriend inside and dragged him out. What I had in mind was, finally, a frank conversation and closure on the whole thing. What I did instead was sit in the hall having a wasted, pointless, emotional, stupid, stupid, stupid encounter.

I feel immature, and pathetic, and idiotic. I hate myself for turning right into the simpering, naive girl I was at 19 when I see him. It's like I go into another dimension. I lose all context. I just see him. I get so fixated, still, that it makes me sick to my stomach.

It's like the last six years of me growing up and meeting someone I love and becoming an adult and building a real life just went out the window. I let alcohol fuel this stupid, stupid situation. I hurt someone I love so damn much. I disappointed myself and all my friends, for the umpteenth time. I embarrassed myself. I hate that I did this to myself, sent myself sprawling backwards into self-loathing I felt for sure I had outgrown. I hate it.

I'm just so disappointed in myself. I want to cry.


This issue marks my last as managing editor of the East Aurora Advertiser and Elma Review. Come Monday, I’ll begin a new adventure working in marketing and public relations for Trocaire College.

I’m overdue for a new adventure, and I’m excited for the changes ahead. However, that anticipation doesn’t negate the sting of leaving this community after almost three years of being immersed in its happenings, both big and small.

I'll miss the journalism. To say this job is stressful is an understatement, but there is nothing like the rush of busting open a developing story, getting the interview you need by deadline and seeing your byline on a story you know you crushed. Whether “comforting the afflicted or afflicting the comfortable,” these stories need to be told, and I loved being the one to tell them. Equally satisfying is discovering a kernel of an idea, assigning it to a writer and polishing the finished product to its best possible version.

Though I continuously struggled to be better and do more, I'm proud of what I've done here.

However, it's the people I'll miss most, and that statement covers a lot of ground. First of all, the people I write about, which is often one of the best parts of journalism. I have encountered scores of people in this community who are so talented, so proud to live here, so willing to serve. Members of groups like the VFW and Kiwanis clubs and historical societies, educators, students, and so many more—these people deserve our attention, and I tried my best to always highlight their work. It was an honor to do so.

The next group I'll miss is one that is often unappreciated: administrators. God bless every one of the local town, village and school secretaries, who have fielded my frantic calls at 8:30 a.m. till 15 minutes before their offices closed as I sought documents, dates, clarifications and contact information. An affectionate shout-out, too, to the village department heads and school building leaders, who I often felt were kindred spirits in suffering as meetings ticked past the two-hour—sometimes three-hour—mark.

More thanks still to Village Administrator Bryan Gazda and East Aurora School District Business Manager Paul Blowers. The two of you have walked me through hours of explanations on such thrilling topics as budget adjustments, tax levy calculations, water rates, unappropriated fund balances, state aid formulas and more. I would not have been able to do the most technically complex writing of this job without your saint-like patience and assistance, and I have learned so much along the way.

And finally, the part of my job that has made leaving the hardest: my co-workers. In particular, I have been privileged to work with past editors like Libby Maeder and Jeremy Morlock, as well as copy editor/wearer-of-many hats Chris Petermann and reporter Adam Zaremski, whose unshakable writing and news judgement will serve him well as he takes over as editor. These people have become my good friends, and I'm sad to part ways with the paper that brought us all together.

I won't miss the late nights, endless news cycle or long meetings, but man, will I miss this job and those I met along the way. Thank you for letting me be a part of your lives for the past few years.

A New Start

Your New “News” Resource: Kristy Kibler

Hello, Trocaire community:

I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce myself personally—my name is Kristy Kibler, and I’ve been hired as the marketing communications specialist over at the Office of Communications within Institutional Advancement. I’ve met some of you already, and I look forward to meeting many more as the summer continues on.

In my new role, I’ll be taking care of the “What’s Happening” email—thanks to Graphic Design Coordinator Julie Cioccio for the fresh look!—as well as producing press releases, content for our Trailblazer blog and various social media channels and just about any other writing you can think of.

My job is to spread the word about all the good things going on at Trocaire, and I can only do that with your help. Please feel free to stop by my office at 317 Choate, give me a call at 4343 or email me at kiblerkr@trocaire.edu with your ideas, news, program developments, upcoming events, anything. I will make sure they get the spotlight they deserve, whether in this newsletter, the blog or other venues.

In turn, please share our news on your own social media pages! The further our information is disseminated, the more people see it and the more our reach can grow.

Thank you!



I have a new job. One of my duties is to produce a weekly staff e-newsletter, which I was dumbly was extremely nervous about. But I did it, it's done, and it turned out pretty well (I forgot to update the subject line--rookie mistake!--so it still read "DRAFT 2" when it went out to all 451 people, but oh well. I'll never forget again, now that it's happened). The text above was my introduction.

To quote the gorgeous Regina Spektor, "Taking steps is easy--standing still is hard." I still struggle with my decision to leave journalism. After all, I'm a journalist. I love it. But I couldn't do it anymore. I'm still not sure PR/marketing is where I'll be forever, but what I do know is this:

I write--a lot. I edit--a lot. I still get to follow AP style. I have a list of interesting story ideas, all with various deadlines. I leave at 4:30 in the afternoon, and I get Fridays off in June and July and a week off at Christmas. As of Aug. 1, I have healthcare!

Taking steps is easy... once that application is in, the rest is passive-- the momemtum from that one act carries you through follow-up calls and interviews and last days. All of a sudden, everything is new. And as scared as I am of new, it really is almost always better. I'm sharper than I have been in months, less sluggish, crackling with an energy I've only had in spurts since college. 'Be your best' is a refrain buzzing in my brain, whispering constantly in the background. I've felt so stalled the last few years, so angrily complacent. Standing still is hard.

There's nothing like new challenges, new people and new expectations to make you yourself feel new. I'm loving it so far.

Afflict the Comfortable.

Proud of this story I wrote this week. First one in a long time that inspired that surge of journalistic adrenaline that happens when you know people are going to get mad, but you did your job and did it well.

"Online Post Sparks Controversy Over Children's Books."


Monday night, a fellow reporter looked over at me during a meeting we were covering, eyes wide. She handed me her phone, where I saw a breaking news story: beloved comedian Robin Williams was dead, the site reported. The suspected cause? Suicide, by asphyxiation. He was 63.

There will be dozens upon dozens stories written about Williams in the next few days, thousands and thousands of words, and it's hard to feel anything but futility as I add a few hundred of my own into the universe. Nevertheless, I have to try.

Robin Williams was the first actor I remember claiming as “my favorite,” the first I actively followed and sought out. I watched “Mork and Mindy” reruns with my dad, bought a DVD of his standup routine. From “Aladdin” and “Mrs. Doubtfire” when I was younger to “Patch Adams,” “Good Will Hunting” and “Dead Poet's Society” when I was older, I loved him in everything I saw, whether it highlighted his manic comic brilliance or his tenderness and heart.

This does not make me unique, obviously—Williams was one of the most beloved actors in the world. Everyone loved him, and he bettered every production he touched. He was simply one of the best.

When I got my first chance to digest the news of his death in private, tears filled my eyes immediately and involuntarily. I've experienced suicide on a personal level, and that headline was a punch to the gut, a direct blow that took me right back to the worst feeling in the world. After my friend's suicide, I watched its ripple effects across some of the people closest to me. I watched the people around me toss in a tempest of anger and debilitating grief, wrestling with the questions of why, what could I have done, what should I have said.

I wrestled with them myself. I wrote my college thesis on the effects of suicide, talked to people who had experienced it and forced myself to rehash my own reactions. But no matter how many words I wrote about it, it never became easier to understand.

Williams' death is a loss for the entire world, and especially to those that knew him personally and loved him best. If one positive thing comes of such a horrible, tragic event—tragic doesn't even begin to cover it; isn't it awful when you the most descriptive word you can find fails miserably?—it is that, hopefully, suicide and its accompanying devastation will come out of the dark corner to which its usually resigned and be talked about, even for a short time. Hopefully, people will reach out to the ones they love, voice words of encouragement and hope that might have otherwise died at their lips, victim to uncertainty or reticence. And hopefully, people teetering on the brink of despair reach back, take a step away from the abyss that's calling them and ask for help.

There is always help, there is always hope, and there is always someone who cares. If someone you know has mentioned suicide, or if you are thinking of suicide yourself, please, please, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255). You are not alone, and the world is a more beautiful place with you in it.

Rest in Peace, Robin. You will be so, so missed.


So sad, so striking.

Cat in an Empty Apartment
by Wislawa Szymborska

Die—you can’t do that to a cat.
Since what can a cat do
in an empty apartment?
Climb the walls?
Rub up against the furniture?
Nothing seems different here
but nothing is the same.
Nothing’s been moved
but there’s more space.
And at nighttime no lamps are lit.

Footsteps on the staircase,
but they’re new ones.
The hand that puts fish on the saucer
has changed, too.

Something doesn’t start
at its usual time.
Something doesn’t happen
as it should.
Someone was always, always here,
then suddenly disappeared
and stubbornly stays disappeared.

Every closet’s been examined.
Every shelf has been explored.
Excavations under the carpet turned up nothing.
A commandment was even broken:
papers scattered everywhere.
What remains to be done.
Just sleep and wait.

Just wait till he turns up,
just let him show his face.
Will he ever get a lesson
on what not to do to a cat.
Sidle toward him
as if unwilling
and ever so slow
on visibly offended paws,
and no leaps or squeals at least to start.




Latest Month

janvier 2017
“Don’t ask what the world needs.
Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it.
Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

-Howard Thurman

"To know what you prefer instead of humbly saying 'Amen' to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your soul alive."
~ Robert Louis Stevenson.

"Love all. Trust few. Do wrong to no one."
~ Shakespeare

"Nostalgia is just as much forgetting as it is remembering."
~Dr. Mark Huddle

"Nothing's forever, nothing's fatal."

"Faith: the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."

"The Franciscan credo of respect for others permeates the place...That's how it is at a place where many of the 2,200 students greet each other by name.The Bonaventure Bond is arguably tighter than at most schools. There's no med school, no research facility, no nearby big city to escape to. The glue that binds students through frigid winters is equal parts academic, basketball and beer. That's why a horde of alumni stay in touch long after their paths diverge."
-The Buffalo News

"No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world."
- Dead Poet's Society

"Hope" is the thing with feathers-- That perches in the soul-- And sings the tune without the words-- And never stops--at all--
- Emily Dickinson

"General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaking suspicion love actually is all around."
- Love Actually

"For my part, I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of stars makes me dream."
- Vincent van Gogh

"Love the people who treat you right. Forget the ones who don't. Believe that everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, take it. If it changes your life, let it. Nobody said it'd be easy, they just promised it would be worth it."

“The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term. But, America, I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you, we as a people will get there.”
- Barack Obama

"In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."
- Robert Frost
Actionné par LiveJournal.com
Designed by Lilia Ahner