Life is a story, waiting to be told
I was interviewed recently by Adam Atkinson at North Country Now. He wrote a beautiful article. Click on the link to read about one of the most remote and serene places I’ve ever spent time in.
Source: Story collection featuring Cranberry Lake wins award
This is my last post of South African meals, because I’ve run out of photos…. If this subject thread hasn’t made you want to climb on a plane and head to restaurants in South Africa, you either eat at McDonald’s on a regular basis or had your taste buds excised.
For everyone else, the cooking in South Africa is beyond delicious! Uwe and I are still raving about the meals we ate every single night we were there!
NOTES: ©2023 Jadi Campbell. All photos © Uwe Hartmann. More of Uwe’s pictures from South Africa and his photography may be viewed at viewpics.de.
Click here for my author page to learn more about me and purchase my books. 
This post is an important one.
We all have those special friends who make the world a brighter and better place. I first met Terri Bartell-Cafazzo way back in the 1970s when we were both college students. She’s always had boundless enthusiasm and a lot of energy. We’ve stayed in contact through all the years since, mostly with irregular emails and the annual Christmas card wrap-up. Along with treks and kayaking, teaching yoga and Zumba, Terri’s last Xmas letter mentioned that she cooks for a local women’s shelter in Prescott, Arizona.
On my last visit to the USA I was stunned by the tents and tents and tents and tents of the homeless EVERYWHERE I went on that trip. Programs to assist the needy had been gutted. And this doesn’t include the women trapped with their abusers thanks to COVID, or the job options they’d lost in the lockdown. I was beyond appalled. Clearly, people are suffering.
Then I remembered Terri’s letter. I asked if she’d let me interview her about the work she does at the shelter. She agreed, and I hope my readers will feel as inspired as I am by Terri’s work. We should try to be part of the solution.
What led you to cook for a shelter? I was introduced to providing meals for the local Women’s Shelter over a decade ago when the Prescott Unitarian Fellowship needed volunteers for their commitment to provide a dinner one day per month.
Providing a warm healthy dinner for women and children in need was a huge draw as I love to cook. I believe ‘you are what you eat’ so bringing heartfelt prepared food for individuals needing a sense of comfort in their life is exactly where I want to contribute to my community.
My continued involvement comes from a deep reward in the demonstrated appreciation from the residents of the shelter. I feel these women and children benefit in experiencing our contributions as positive role models in how community extends help to those who need it. That in itself is a strength which helps build the inner attributes needed to create a solid foundation in their lives.
How did you learn about the position? After becoming a round robin shelter meal volunteer through the Prescott Unitarian Church, it came to my attention that there were other days in the month when they had no coverage on a regular basis. I left the occasional Unitarian monthly date and became available for those holes in the meal schedule. I’m contacted at the end of the previous month about the dates and sign up for those that work in my schedule.
How great is the need for Women’s Shelters in your area? The need is great. We’re the only one of this kind providing temporary and emergency shelter in about a 100+ mile radius. First, women must apply. Once admitted to the program they’re given temporary overnight accommodations (4:00 pm-8:00 am) for 90 days with warm meals. They receive life skills resource case management to help them transition into a more permanent setting.
Did your interest tie in any way to the awful increase in homelessness in the USA? The increase in homelessness has grown. This shelter is a wonderful leg up to help women and their families move into a better lifestyle. Helping make our local communities a better place to live is the seed that it takes to grow a greater world. It starts in our own backyards.
In Prescott, many of these women and their children find themselves on the street or living in their cars for various reasons: lack of funds or job, physical &/or mental health issues, unforeseen life changes, domestic challenges, etc.
How many women can the shelter support? The shelter has a dormitory with cots and bunk beds including bedding for 19. Also, they have an annex for women who have young boys 12 years old or older. This organization opened February 2009, serving over 3,000 women and children, providing more than 105,000 bednights with an 81% transition rate to permanent homes.
Is the shelter funded privately or through donations? The Prescott Women’s Shelter is a non-profit backed by United Way, and many significant corporate and private donors with countless individual/local charitable contributors. Local realtors have stepped up to assist in helping find affordable housing for the women in the program.
Who owns the property? I’m not sure how the property is held in title. It has an active Board of Directors with an amazing committed paid and volunteer staff. It’s in a well-kept residential home that has been greatly remodeled to meet the needs of a shelter. During COVID, a variety of landlords donated the use of their rental homes to help create necessary separation while the shelter’s organization continued to serve our women and children. During that time, as Meal Providers we brought sealed store-prepared foods at a greater expense, dropped them off on the doorstep, and left after ringing the doorbell to alert the women the meals had arrived.
Do you have to work in secrecy? Women’s shelters are often at undisclosed addresses to protect women from their abusers. Discretion is key but there is a Facebook page and website with its location and services. It takes a cast of 1,000 to make this place happen on a daily basis so it is no secret. Men aren’t allowed in the facility without special clearance. Security measures are in place.
How often do you cook for them? I fill in the dinner schedule anywhere from 1-3x per month. Menus are affordable, balanced, and baked/presented in something recyclable/disposable so we don’t have to chase after our kitchen ware. We prepare food in our personal kitchens; this gives us the liberty of designing a menu, shopping and purchasing out of our own pocket for 20+ people. Meals are delivered by 5:30 pm that day. Since they don’t have onsite cooking facilities for liability reasons, everything has to be brought through the door ready-to-serve. We are considered an invaluable large portion of their services.
What do you cook? I try to share a main entree, salad, fruit, and dessert. Italian and Mexican cuisines seem to be what many Meal Providers bring. I like to mix it up in the summer with hoagie sandwiches, chips, pickles, coleslaw, jugs of apple juice, a clearance sheet cake from the bakery and watermelon when they are in season. Let’s not forget Swedish meatballs/pasta, Hungarian goulash, and sweet-n-sour Chinese stir-fry/rice. For a fun Saturday party splurge, I’ll make chili cheese fries with everything on them!! Watch out for the holidays as I like to add special napkins and seasonal favors. My list goes on…
How is the food donated? At times, friends have handed me a grocery gift card they won in a raffle. I’ve been gifted a giant bag of extra veggies from someone’s freezer. After a big potluck, people load me up with food to share with the shelter. I talked Walmart into gifting a sliced ham one year when I was in charge of Easter Dinner at the shelter!
Is your work connected in any way to a food bank? Most Meal Providers come from churches and philanthropic organizations. They bring meals from their own cupboards. Storage is paramount for my contributions. I have an extra refrigerator/freezer and shelf unit for can/dry goods in my garage that I’ve devoted just for the shelter meals. I purchase when I can get the best deals or buy something on clearance. It’s so worth it seeing the transparent looks of awe on so many of their troubled faces when these great smells and volumes of food come pouring onto the big community table. It noticeably makes their day a little brighter. You’re showered in songs of sincere ‘thank-you’ and ‘bless you’ as you leave through the door.
I can’t think of a better way to spend part of my time in retirement.
NOTES: ©2023 Jadi Campbell. There are 3 ways readers can contribute to the Prescott Shelter.
Online: https://prescottshelters.org/
Phone: 928-778-5933
Mail: Prescott Area Shelter Services
336 N. Rush St.
Prescott, AZ 86301
PS:Terri also taught classes at Yavapai College. She was recently honored at a catered gala for her 15 years of service!
Click here to read my post Food Bank about Food For Lane County [FFLC] in Eugene, Oregon.
My books are Broken In: A Novel in Stories, Tsunami Cowboys, The Trail Back Out and Grounded.
Click here for my author page to learn more about me and purchase my books.
A brand new literary magazine has begun: Epistemic Literary. You can read an excerpt from my newly finished novel The Taste of Your Name, Food is Love, in their first issue.
I’m honored my work was chosen to appear in this magazine. It’s free, and a labor of love. I hope you’ll all subscribe and support the work of Kristin Houlihan & Melissa Rotert.
Click here to go Epistemic Literary: Epistemic Lit.com. Enjoy.
NOTES: ©Jadi Campbell 2023.
Click here for my author page to learn more about me and purchase my books.
Peter Benenson was born Peter James Henry Solomon on July 31, 1921 in London, England. Poet WH Auden was his private tutor as a boy. Benenson was a cryptographer during WWII and later worked as a lawyer.
He founded Amnesty International in 1961. Here, in his article The Forgotten Prisoners are the grounds for creating the NGO: “Open your newspaper any day of the week and you will find a story from somewhere of someone being imprisoned, tortured or executed because his opinions or religion are unacceptable to his government… The newspaper reader feels a sickening sense of impotence. Yet if these feelings of disgust could be united into common action, something effective could be done.”
To that end, AI supporters write letters and focus public opinion on governments to stop repression, torture, and the denial of human rights.
Amnesty International was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1977 and the UN’s Prize in the Field of Human Rights the following year. Beneson refused all personal honours; his family convinced him to accept the Pride of Britain Award for Lifetime Achievement in 2001.
More than 10,000,000 members around the globe work for “a world in which every person enjoys all of the human rights enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and other international human rights instruments.” In his honor and that of prisoners of politics, religion, or conscience all around the world I am reprinting a post I wrote visiting the surreal North Korean pavilion at the 2010 World Expo held in Shanghai, China. – Jadi
We were heading to China, and the World Expo was taking place in Shanghai that year. Oh man, did I ever want to go. When I was a kid, my family made the trip to the World’s Fair in New York City. I still remember the excitement of the Space Park, the talking, moving Lincoln robot statue in the Illinois Pavilion, and the Bel-Gem Brussels waffles smothered in strawberries and whipped cream that we all ate for the first time. [1]
Expo in Shanghai! Surely we had to see it. But there was just one teeny problem: all the on-line sources for tickets had been sold out for months. I wrote my friend Weiyu in Beijing and asked her, could she get us tickets? She checked in the capitol… all the ticket options there were sold out, too! But, ever resourceful, she called in a favor from a friend who lived in Shanghai, and he managed to secure two tickets for the time period we’d be visiting.
With passports in hand (your passport allowed you to skip the unbelievably long lines in front of most of the pavilions and enter your country’s VIP door), we headed out early in the morning.
That Expo was terrific. Some countries had put incredible thought and creativity into their presentations. And visiting Expo was a way to glimpse certain countries in places that I feel pretty sure I’ll never visit in real life.
Like North Korea. North Korea is shrouded in permanent mystery. I don’t know if their pavilion at the Shanghai Expo cleared up many of the mists, but it was an eye-opener in other ways.
I had no idea that Jeff Koons designed their central fountain, for instance. [2] Frolicking naked cherubs (minus the wings) showed off their muscular buttocks. They held hands in a circle as they released a bird. Cherubs and bird all gazed up into the heavens…. I have a funny bone that gets amused by kitsch, and from the second I saw that fountain my funny bone began to tickle. I started laughing and couldn’t stop.
The selection of literature for sale was slim on choice but heavy on message. Who can forget that classic of North Korean literature, “The Immortal Woman Revolutionary”?
The dour saleswoman didn’t crack a smile. Maybe humor doesn’t translate as easily as I’d hoped. Or maybe she knew there’s nothing in North Korea to laugh about.
In memory of Peter Benenson, 31 July 1921 – 25 February 2005
NOTES: To learn more: amnesty.org, Amnesty International [1] The Vatican allowed Michelangelo’s Pieta to travel for the 1964 World’s Fair. Viewers stood on a moving walkway to see it. I can still remember seeing it there. [2] Not really. I have no idea if Jeff Koons was consulted on that fountain’s design. But I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants. ©Jadi Campbell 2018. Previously published as The Pavilion. All photos © Uwe Hartmann. To see more of Uwe’s photos and pics from our trips go to viewpics.de.
Click here for my author page to learn more about me and purchase my books.
A few months ago I submitted The Trail Back Out for a book award. The San Francisco Book Festival and its affiliated book festivals have been around since 1999 – the cost to enter wasn’t outrageous – and my book had already placed for five other book awards.
There was one major drawback. The festival doesn’t have a category for short story collections. I had to submit my book as General Fiction, and that meant it was up against novels, romances, mysteries, chick lit, thrillers,
and pretty much everyone else….
Imagine my shock when The Trail Back Out WON. I was named WINNER in General Fiction!
I wrote the festival administrators, asking for information about the honor my book had just received. They don’t give out figures on the number of entrants, but did tell me that fewer than 5% of the books considered ever place in their festivals. I did the math and figure The Trail Back Out was chosen as the best book in a field of more than 600 books.
Here is the link for the results for the 2023 San Francisco Book Festival: http://www.sanfranciscobookfestival.com/winners_2023.htm
Winner in General Fiction, everybody!
NOTES: ©2023 Jadi Campbell (still not entirely sure what the category of General Fiction includes).
Click here for my author page to learn more about me and purchase my books.
The brilliant Robin Williams was born on July 21, 1951 in Chicago. In honor of his birthday and his incredible gifts, here is my original post written at the news of his death. – Jadi
Feste the Fool: “This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.” —Shakespeare King Lear, Act III, Scene 4
Robin Williams is dead. He killed himself.
Both of these statements shock and sadden me. Put together, they are almost unbearable. Since his passing the nights have been cold indeed, and it’s taken days to reach a place where I can try to write about him.
Caren Miosga is an anchor for the major evening news program in Germany, and German journalism is a serious business. Caren reported the news of his death, barefoot and standing on top of her news desk. “O Captain! My Captain!” she recited from there. There is no more fitting way to salute him.
I remember when he burst onto the world stage. He was incredibly funny, his wit like lightening. His brain and mouth moved so fast that it still takes repeat viewing (and listening) to catch up to him. And even then you wonder how he could improvise like that. He would recite Shakespeare – and play all the roles himself.
A good word to describe him is irrepressible. Robin seemed impossible to hold back, stop, or control. And he embodied the next meaning of the word: very lively and cheerful. But like all clowns he knew the flip side of laughter is sadness. He was a fiercely observant social critic and he spoke about what he saw. As our greatest court jesters have always done, Robin told us the truth.
During the 1980s I lived in San Francisco, and I remember going with friends to the newly opened Hard Rock Café. As we sat there, a murmur rippled through the big room. Robin Williams, two women, and two very young children had just been seated for lunch. As the news spread, people stopped eating and turned in their chairs to stare.
Robin was a guy who’d simply come in for lunch, and looked uncomfortable with all the attention. But he signed autographs and smiled. I was struck by how youthful he looked, and how shy. He didn’t have a glamorous aura. I tried to figure out what was remarkable about how he looked. In the end, I was startled by a sense that he was terribly vulnerable.
And that is the secret to his magic. Robin Williams didn’t just make us laugh. He made us feel the absurdity of our prejudices and fears, and yes, our hopes and desires, too. He reminded us at all times of our humanity. He was searingly honest about his own short comings and dreams. He turned himself inside out with a candor and lovingkindness that made his humor a healing force.
Our world is a sadder place for his passing. It’s a better place for his having lived and shared his immense gifts with us.
He is already greatly missed.
In memory of Robin McLaurin Williams 21 July 1951 – 11 August 2014
NOTES: ©2014 Jadi Campbell. Previously published as The Death of Robin Williams. Uwe’s photos of our trips and his photography may be viewed at viewpics.de.
My books are Broken In: A Novel in Stories, Tsunami Cowboys, The Trail Back Out and Grounded.
Click here for my author page to learn more about me and purchase my books.
Ah yes, more photos of our meals in South Africa last November.
“I intend that my last work shall be a cookbook composed of memories and desires.” ~ Alexander Dumas *
They all tasted as great as they look. Sigh.
NOTES: ©2023 Jadi Campbell. All photos ©Uwe Hartmann. More photos of our trip to South Africa and Uwe’s photography may be viewed at viewpics.de.
Click here for my author page to learn more about me and purchase my books.
Eric Arthur Blair, aka George Orwell, was an English novelist, essayist, journalist and keen social critic, born on June 25, 1903 in Motihari, India during the British Raj. His life and writings were strongly influenced by his years working as an imperial police officer in occupied Burma, at the time also still a province of British India. Orwell’s works include Burmese Days, Animal Farm, and 1984. In his honor I give you one of the posts I wrote after our visit to Burma, currently ruled by a military regime, currently known as Myanmar. – Jadi
We love travel. I refer to traveling to new cultures and places as connecting the dots. With each trip I feel a little more connected to the world at large and to the various dots that make up my picture of this planet and we who inhabit it.
While in Burma, we took a boat up the Irrawaddy River from Mandalay to Mingun for the day. Yet another fallen kingdom, Mingun is reknowned for the largest functioning bell in the world. It weighs in at 55,555 viss (90,718 kilograms or 199,999 pounds). The sound is a deep claaangg, rung by thumping the bell hard on the lip with a mallet. Mingun is also famous for the king who bankrupted his people with an attempt to outdo every shrine-builder who’d ever lived: King Bodawpaya wanted to build the huge stupa known as Mingun Pahtodawgyi.
It would be the highest in the world, a magnificent 150 meters tall, dwarfing everything built prior to it.
Work began in 1790.
King Bodawpaya never finished his religious edifice. He ran out of funds; or, halted construction due to a prophesy that his realm would end when the building was completed; or, that completing the stupa would signal his death. An earthquake on March 23, 1839 dislodged the huge bell and damaged the structure beyond saving. The Mingun Pahtodawgyi became the world’s largest pile of bricks…
The structure stands, all semi-finished 50 meters (150 feet) of it, roughly a third of the original planned height.
It’s a holy place and the faithful still come to worship. And the curious come to climb it [enter Jadi and Uwe, stage right]. Now, at any sacred Buddhist site, you remove your shoes at the base of the structure.
And you climb the stairs, barefoot, and then clambor on the ruins, barefoot, for one truly awe-inspiring view of the Irrawaddy River and the surrounding countryside.
Shan pilgrims in traditional outfits had also climbed the stupa and gave us the gift of their smiles and waves.
It was a magnificent afternoon and yet another highlight of our four weeks in Burma.
It wasn’t until we were safely home again that I got a good look at Uwe’s photographs.
There was a photo I had taken, too.
In memory of George Orwell, 25 June 1903 – 21 January 1950
NOTES: © Jadi Campbell 2013. Previously published as The World’s Largest Pile of Bricks. All photos © Uwe Hartmann. Reading this post is bittersweet. Burma is wracked by a terrible civil war. We wouldn’t be allowed to make this trip now. More pictures from our trip to Burma, and of Uwe’s photography, may be viewed at viewpics.de.
Click here for my author page to learn more about me and purchase my books.
Illustrator/author Maurice Sendak was born on 10 June, 1928 in England. In his honor I give you the post I wrote upon hearing that he had died. – Jadi
My Sister & Maurice Sendak
Our first experiences learning to speak seem to involve rhymes. [Twinkle twinkle and Dr. Suess, anyone?] We recite as children, loving language’s sing-song chants.
One of the very first pieces I memorized as a child (to this day I can recite it) was ‘The Cow’ from A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods by Robert Louis Stevenson, printed in 1913.
| The Cow |
| The friendly cow all red and white | |
| I love with all my heart: | |
| She gives me cream with all her might, | |
| To eat with apple-tart. | |
| She wanders lowing here and there, |
5 |
| And yet she cannot stray, | |
| All in the pleasant open air, | |
| The pleasant light of day; | |
| And blown by all the winds that pass | |
| And wet with all the showers, |
10 |
| She walks among the meadow grass | |
| And eats the meadow flowers. |
Can’t you see her?? In my child’s brain she was white and a funny shade of red. (Who ever heard of a red cow? I mean, really.) She was named Flossie, or Maisie, or Bessie. Placid Maisie meanders in a huge field, chewing her cud and surrounded by fairy rings of little flowers.
I have to be in the right mood for poetry, but I still have the used copy of The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry from my college days of long ago. (How long ago? Decades. A couple of ’em.) My edition of Robert Frost’s complete works came to me when my mother died. When I read Frost, his poems of New England keep me linked to her, too.
Emily Dickinson still knocks me out, and every word Shakespeare penned is poetry in exalted form.
Poetry is emotion and experience expressed in crystalline shapes, no matter whether it’s metered or free verse. Prose works by poets betray themselves through the beauty of the writing. Think of The English Patient. I read that book slower and slower, and found myself rereading pages over and over, savoring Ondaatje’s mastery with language. Or anything by Ray Bradbury: each of his strange magical visions contains a goodly dose of poetry.
Hmm. I just went back and read what I’ve got here so far… Scratch the comment about needing to be in a certain mood to read poetry.
***
The Muses pay a very special visit on those they gift with the ability to speak through poems. For me it’s the hardest of all forms of writing. Sadly, the poetic Muses Erato (love poetry), Calliope (epic poetry), Euterpe (songs and elegiac poetry), and their sister Polyhymnia (hymns and sacred poetry) just don’t knock on my door more than once a decade or so. An impulse to even attempt a poem is the sighting and citing of a rare bird. The last time, and it came over me in a total rush of surprise and inspiration, was the death of Maurice Sendak.
(Photo from Wikipedia)
Mr. Sendak accompanied my childhood and probably yours, too, and he was particularly part of my sister Pam’s early years. I remember his Nutshell Library books, extra small to fit the hands of children. There were 4 of them: Alligators All Around, Chicken Soup With Rice, One Was Johnny, and Pierre (A Cautionary Tale). Pammy read them repeatedly, relating especially to the contrary Pierre. A few years ago I spotted an interview with Sendak in The New York Times (click here for the interview).
The article brought back those little books and how much my sister loved Maurice Sendak. I promptly sent the link to Pam and we spent several weeks emailing back and forth about his wonderful art and our childhood memories.
In May 2012, Maurice passed away. My sister was teaching in Japan; had she heard yet? For some reason I wanted to be the person to break the news to her. I debated how to contact Pam and gently let her know.
The next morning I awoke preoccupied with way too much to do. I began my tasks with the radio on. NPR mentioned that Terry Gross was doing a special Fresh Air show in honor of Maurice Sendak’s passing (a much older interview with Sendak and a more recent one recorded not long before his death). Despite really having no time to spare, I sat down to give 5 minutes to Sendak.
An hour later I still sat. By now tears were streaming down my face. Sendak’s wise, sweet old voice came over the airways, speaking of the secret fears of children, of his inability to believe in God after the horrors of the Holocaust (he lost his entire extended family), his more than half a century with the man he loved, Dr. Eugene Glynn, a NYC psychoanalyst his parents never knew about… Sendak told his story as the tears continued to pour.
I forgot everything, the chores that had seemed so important that morning, the things I had wanted to cross off my to-do list that day. The interview ended, I got shakily out of my chair, found some tissues and blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and sat down to write my sister. “Pam,” I said, “I just heard an incredibly moving interview with Maurice Sendak. He’s died, and I wanted you to get the news from me…. but really you need to hear this interview and listen to his voice.”
And as I sat, a Muse spoke. I wrote the first version of the following poem in one take.
Maurice
Maurice Sendak
Your words and drawings,
depictions transcribe
the soul&depths
of my sister, Pammy.
You died yesterday,
83 years old and not a day
older than the children now grown
adults weeping, mourning
your passing theirs passing
something of childhood gone beyond
retrieving.
Maurice.
I listen to recordings of your voice
You speak, the New Yorker
in you so obvious
I love your sense of place
your first generation voice
of Polish immigrants
of your humanity
your humility
your atheism
your embrasure of
a definition of the world
in which God is
everywhere
in the Wild Things
where they are
My Wild Things salute you.
My Wild Things weep.
Gnash our teeth.
Our King has left us.
Our island, and not just New York
is so much smaller with your passing.
We will cook a meal
Eat a supper and
wish
You were still with us.
In loving memory of Maurice Sendak, June 10, 1928 to May 8, 2012
NOTES: © 2013 Jadi Campbell. Previously published as My Sister and Maurice Sendak.
My books are Broken In: A Novel in Stories, Tsunami Cowboys, The Trail Back Out and Grounded.
Click here for my author page to learn more about me and purchase my books.