412 298 3432 = cell
Wednesday, May 17, 2023
Fwd: Situational Knowledge of Water
412 298 3432 = cell
Wednesday, May 10, 2023
Fwd: Run like Jalapeno Hannah is on your tail
From: Virginia Montanez from Breathing Space <breathingspace@substack.com>
Date: Wed, May 10, 2023 at 4:29 PM
Subject: Run like Jalapeno Hannah is on your tail
To: <mark@rauterkus.com>
Run like Jalapeno Hannah is on your tailA pocketful of ninja stars and a shrubbery full of leaflets
Happy Wednesday, Pittsburgh! Lots of pictures to share which leaves me less space to say random things to your gorgeous face. Let's talk! 1. Pittsburgh knows how to marathonThe Pittsburgh Marathon was this past weekend and, as always, Pittsburgh showed up. It's one of the more community-building events here because there's just something unifying and heart-lifting about supporting people who are putting themselves through … well … hell. You know me and running. We don't play together and running is not allowed to sit at my lunch table. In fact, if running comes near me, I will punch it out cold JUST SO I DON'T HAVE TO RUN AWAY FROM IT. But, one of the best parts about the marathon is all the witty signs Pittsburghers create to motivate the participants. I wanted to share some of my favorites! WPXI's Jenna Harner went with: If you really want me to run, make a sign that says, "Cookie table one mile ahead." Zoom! Look at her go. Such grace! Such determina— oh, she tripped and fell. And she's bleedi— yes, 911? I didn't realize that was a mannequin at first and I was like, "Bold choice, my guy!" Two of my absolute favorites, because honestly, these signs would have motivated me: I, for one, am all for more profanity in marathon signs. Don't email me. Go tell it to your fainting sofa. You're the best at exercising. I love it. Like someone having a sign at an Olympic ski jumping event all, "Hey, you're pretty good at gravity." And then there's the group of Burghers led by architect and urban planner Bruce Chan, who set up their third annual MEATBALL table in Bloomfield around mile 23: Now listen. I already told you I don't run and therefore I don't know anything about running, but … eating meatballs WHILE RUNNING A MARATHON? It's giving … But according to Bruce, runners do eat the meatballs, as evidenced by this brave soul: He tells me that 5% of runners take a meatball, and that the Meatball Group (band name!) doesn't pass them out to the elite runners, but to those non-elites who "really need it." Now, why? WHY? I'll let Bruce tell you why in his own words, which I edited for space:
I love Pittsburghers. Someone should set up an ACTUAL cookie table next year. Hell, I'll do it. I'm completely serious. We'll get all the bakeries to pitch in. Why the hell not? Imagine runners stopping all, "Do I want a thumbprint or a Mexican wedding cooki— Ooh! Ladylock! This is the perfect dessert after that meatball I just ate. Do you know if there's coffee ahead?" Hope my sister is okay with baking 10,000 wedding cookie table cookies. 2. Girlbossing all up in this bitch like Nellie BlyI realized I forgot to put together a Mother's Day Gift Guide this year, and I'm sorry about that. Between school and writing and the book, well, things fell through the cracks. I'll make it up to you with a kickass Yinzer Holiday Gift Guide, as I do every year. (Makers, start emailing me now with suggestions for that list!) That said, I was hunting for some vintage stuff on Etsy when I visited one of my favorite Burghy shops and found this recently added sticker that your Burghy mom might love for her laptop (not an ad!): She is indeed a girlboss. Always out there having to show the boy pierogies she can do what they do, while carrying a purse. I like to think she keeps ninja stars and a lipstick gun in her purse … like I do. [awkward kung fu moves] Because one thing you never want to do is mess with a Pittsburgh girlboss. Just look at Nellie Bly. Her editor here tried to force her to write society-page drivel instead of her usual hard hitting exposes, so one day she left him a note all, "This girlboss is heading to NYC. Watch for me." And I like to think she then threw the peace sign and stalked toward the door shouting, "Bly out, bitches," before whipping a ninja star into the wall and "accidentally" knocking some Type-A schmuck named Percival's giant stack of papers off of this desk. I have the best imagination. 3. A shrubbery! Full of litter!Let's get serious for a moment here and talk about Pittsburgh's litter problem. I know you've noticed it. How dirty the roadsides are, litter everywhere, stuck to trees and shrubbery, gathering unbothered along the parkway ramps, blowing around downtown. It has gotten so bad. I'm not the only one who has noticed, but as per my usual, I'm just the one being the loudest and most annoying about it. How bad has the problem gotten? Well, take a look at this TikTok/Insta Reel, and believe you me, when he says Pennsylvania, he means us. Here are some screenshots: He's not the only one who noticed. Talk Pittsburgh noticed and now, Pittsburgh Magazine has noticed, with this piece by Sean Collier (full disclosure: Sean edits my mag columns). He asked me for a quote and boy, did I do some stretches before I sent him a fiery email. Here's a snippet of my quote in the piece*:
Like Sean writes, there is a personal responsibility aspect here, but the litter is there now and we have got to get it cleaned up. We can't expect the volunteers of Allegheny Cleanways to clean up the whole city. We need the mayor to pressure PennDoT to clean the on and off ramps and the roadsides. We need the leaders to allocate resources to street sweeping. And we all need to do what we can to help make sure the problem doesn't get any worse than it already is. Otherwise, it will eventually start impacting business, convention, living and office space decisions that will put the city on a downward trajectory that we spent the better part of the 80s and 90s digging our way out of. It's time for us to team up and tackle this problem, and part of that teamwork is putting pressure on our elected officials to make a plan of action and implement it. It's a sad day when Philadelphia can brag they're a cleaner city than Pittsburgh. But that's where we are. Here are just two pictures readers have sent me: If you want to help, check out Allegheny Cleanways and sign up to volunteer for a litter pickup event! They recently cleaned up Allegheny River Boulevard which was in terrible shape. It looks fantastic now. Let's try to keep it that way, Pittsburgh. At the very least, let's try to get as clean as [gag] Philly. *Not an ad. No one asked me to share this article, nor am I under any sort of contract with the magazine that requires I share anything of theirs.4. The tale of the gravestone of James B. HoggRecently while researching for a few fun things I have in the works, (mystery! suspense! shenanigans!) I stumbled upon a letter dated October 26, 1860 from a correspondent in Pittsburgh to the Franklin Repository and Transcript newspaper in Chambersburg, PA. In the letter, the writer describes Pittsburgh as …
After escaping the smoke and bustle of the city proper, the writer headed 'out of town" to … Allegheny Cemetery, a "half an hour's ride" away. As he and his traveling companion began walking the cemetery, they noticed a well-worn path that had clearly been trod often by visitors. Their curiosity piqued, they followed it to see whose grave so many had visited. The path led them to this gravestone: What is depicted in that worn gravestone is an artist's rendering of what would have been the last moments of James B. Hogg's life aboard the ill-fated steamer Arctic which sank near Newfoundland on a journey from England in September of 1854 after colliding with a smaller French ship. The Arctic was sailing with 226 passengers (not including their children), and 175 employees … and lifeboats enough for 210 people. The gravestone is evocative: a sailor struggling in vain to manage a sail. A woman, in the throes of terror. A small lifeless body being tended to. Water. It is actually a testament to Hogg that he died on that boat. Why? As printed by The Pittsburgh Gazette at the time, as the boat sank, the "firemen" rushed the liferafts being arranged for the women and children. One of those liferafts broke apart and sank completely under the mad rush of men. Another left in a hurry, filled only with men and with space for more passengers. Another was never able to be launched before the steamer sank. All told, only 88 passengers survived. All men. The Gazette reported on a rescue ship arriving in Quebec with surviving crew members: "They saved themselves by clinging to a raft. As yet we have not heard of any of the lady passengers or children being saved." There were several first-person accounts printed detailing how the men rushed the boats and left behind all women and children (and many other men), who went down with the ship. So this is me telling you that the next time you take a stroll through Allegheny Cemetery, spend a beat at this gravestone, admire the faded, eroded artistry from 1854 before time erases it fully, and think of Pittsburgh's James Hogg, who didn't survive. Also, this shiz is why I'm never setting foot on a cruise. No thanks! I'd rather run a meatball marathon. 5. I'm out of space!That's all for this week! Be sure to come out and see my Hole cover band Shrubbery Full of Garbage! Be kind! Don't litter! And no matter what, if you ever see me running, assume it's the start of the zombie apocalypse, and just start running too. Because whatever is after me is BAD NEWS. See you next week! |
Tuesday, May 09, 2023
Fwd: Coaching Opportunities
From: Katie Johnson <johnsonk@theellisschool.org>
Date: Tue, May 9, 2023 at 10:24 AM
Subject: Coaching Opportunities
- Varsity Assistant Soccer Coach
- Varsity Assistant Swim Coach
- JV Assistant Basketball Coach
- Middle School Basketball Coach
- Middle School Lacrosse Coach
- Middle School Field Hockey Coach
Monday, May 08, 2023
Fwd: Awards, milestones, and the continuing trust conversation
The Aspen Institute is gearing up for an exciting summer of dialogue, ideas, and connection around the largest challenges of our time. That includes rebuilding trust in the U.S. healthcare system, improving youth sports participation, and empowering everyone from community colleges to authors and high school students to take on these challenges, too. You'll learn all about those efforts, and more, in this newsletter. One fun thing: The Aspen Ideas Festival and Aspen Ideas: Health made a big speaker announcement last week. Check out who's slated to speak this June, and register to attend! | ||||||||||||||||||||
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Monday, May 01, 2023
Fwd: "This is not a speech about Mister Rogers"
"This is not a speech about Mister Rogers"My Pitt School of Health and Rehab Sciences graduation speech
Editor's note: This is not this week's newsletter! That is coming on Wednesday. I promised many I would share the text of my keynote speech given this past Saturday at the University of Pittsburgh School of Health and Rehabilitation Sciences graduation at Soldiers and Sailors. Let me tell you, speaking in front of that many people was a very new experience for me, and it's a memory I'll always keep in a readily accessible brain file to pull out anytime I want. Here's the speech. You'll notice I took a few themes I've written about before and wove them together to give these students a message I think is important for every person in the health and medical fields to hear. Enjoy! "Pull Them into the Sun" Speech by Virginia Montanez This is not a speech about Mister Rogers. [pause] Let's talk about Mister Rogers. In 1983 — I would have been nine — Please don't do the math … in 1983, Mister Rogers published a book that included the iconic quote I know you've heard in this fraught world: "Look for the helpers." He instructed parents on how to help their children through scary times, particularly when the news was filled with fearful things. His message was simple: When you're scared. When you're anxious. When things are bigger than you … look for the helpers; that's where the comfort lies. But let's put a pin that because this is not a speech about Mister Rogers. Nor is this a speech about me. [pause] Let's talk about me. I've been profoundly hearing impaired since birth— for the audiologists among you, bilateral profound sensori-neural hearing loss with a reverse slope. Hereditary. [look to father in audience] Thank you, Dad. It has further deteriorated as I've lived this beautiful, painful life. If you did the math, you know at what age I stand before you with nearly all of my hearing gone. Without my aids, I no longer hear voices, not even my own. With them, I do pretty well. You'd think being born into a supportive family that never made me feel weak or limited would have meant I'd develop a healthy relationship with my disability. On the surface, I'd claim as much for decades. This is me! This is my disability! I am not ashamed! Inside? Well, inside I lived a life mostly trying to pass as hearing and when I failed at it, shame swirled around me. Mocking me as I relegated myself to the shadows. That was my existence. Surface: pride. Underneath, in the shadows: embarrassment and shame. Then Covid came along. Who was ready for that? Not one of us. The thing about me is that if you need someone who uses lipreading as such a crutch that she can tell you what supportive affirmations Mike Tomlin is saying to his men on the sidelines; what profanity Mike Sullivan is shouting at the blind refs; what Tom Brady was whining to his teammates about, I am your girl. I'll give it to you word for word. However, if someone bet you a million dollars about whether I would understand one sentence spoken to me from a foot away by a facemasked individual, my friends, do not take that bet. You will lose and I will feel bad. Masking, while necessary, further relegated me to the shadows of life. No more volunteering. No more events. I said no to so many things I wanted to do because my ability to communicate had been taken away. Stress was my constant companion in every interaction in every store or business. Weakness. Embarrassment. Frustration. This was my new existence. Then I took my daughter to a new dentist about six months into the pandemic. She was 14. Autistic. I was newly divorced. Alone. No partner to help guide me through interactions. When the masked dentist, a young man in his 30s, came to the lobby and began to, I assume, discuss her treatment plan with me … I couldn't pass or pretend. And I had to know what he was saying to me. So I did something I'd never done before. From within the shadows, I held up a hand. "Please. Wait. I'm deaf and read lips. I can't understand what you're saying." Stop. Breathe. Wait. Let the shame swirl. He held up a finger and then walked away, leaving me there in my frustration that this was my COVID life. When he returned, he handed me a notepad near the top of which he had written a word that changed my life. "Hi." Exclamation mark. And he had written, "I am Dr. Tellin!" and everything he had been going to say to me. The "hi." Wow. The "hi" dissipated the swirling fog of shame and it let me focus on something I had never recognized before but I'm now certain many had shown me: grace. I'm a follower of the gospel of Fred Rogers and I had not done what he told me to do. When things were bigger than me. When I was scared. Anxious. Look for the helpers. With that one word, taking the time to show me he wanted to communicate with me, not just list some random bullet points, I saw the grace the dentist offered and I took it. I finally saw the helper though I hadn't looked for one. I learned the truth from that one word. This isn't shameful. This is me. I cannot make myself hear, but others can extend grace enough to make themselves understood. And from that day on, I do not hesitate. When I can't hear, I say it. I look for the helper. Wait for the grace. Most times it's there. That dentist changed my life for the better, for always. With that seemingly small thing–- two letters. One punctuation mark. He took my hand and pulled me out of the shadows and into the sun. That's where I'll stay forever, my face warm with the grace he showed me. But this is not a speech about me. This, Panthers, is a speech about you. By virtue of what you have chosen to study, you have made the choice to be a helper. Hear me when I tell you that you can't understand what it's like to not hear unless you can't hear. You can't understand what it's like for an athlete to be faced with a career-ending injury, unless you have experienced that. You can't understand what it's like to be robbed of your ability to communicate or walk, unless yours is taken from you. It is not your understanding we seek or need; it is your grace. It is your being the safe place where shame lifts. It is us looking for someone who sees our need and makes that one small effort that pulls us into the sun. Makes our going easier. Your grace turns us into fighters. Many of you will encounter so much need, both physical and emotional, for the rest of your careers. Who should fill the need when it's you who recognizes it? Well, if you're looking for a sign … my friends, I am standing right here shouting it at you in neon … I am your sign. The sign reads as this: If you see the need, YOU fill the need. If you see they're feeling small and looking for the helpers, YOU be the helper. Even when a patient doesn't realize they need it, YOU be the grace. Be the person who removes the shame. Be the person who with a wave of your hand, with the scribbling of your pen, erases years of stress. YOU be the one who pulls them into the sun. These are not your marching orders. These are your living orders and they all start with one simple two-letter word. Hi. Congratulations on your dedication and hard work. But your work has just begun. Hail to Fred Rogers. Hail to the dentist. Hail to the helpers. Hail to Pitt.
© 2023 Virginia Montanez |