Karen Loftis Rankowitz

As a writer, I am often overflowing with words. I have stories to tell and thoughts stir within my mind until I have just enough of the right words put together. Like a strand of pearls or a neatly crocheted blanket, I craft my tale and then move these hand picked phrases from beginning to end until they explode onto the page through my #2, black, Ticonderoga pencil. Today I feel as though my words have stalled, my thoughts are tired, and my heart is aching. My heart breaks not for the imprisoned story, which has befallen me, but for what has happened in my small community in which I live. Lisbon, CT is a small town; just fewer than 4,100 people reside here. We have one school that educates our children from pre-K through the eighth grade. Teachers are different from when I went to school; they are now my friends. Friends whom you trust to take your child and love them through good grades, poor choices, and gym class (without deodorant). Neighbor helps neighbor and we have settled...

Holidays are great for spending time with family. Yesterday was Easter and my day began early. I prepared a dish to bring to my Mother-in-law’s house for dinner. I woke my children early – not the other way around. Gone are the days when they were too excited to go to sleep and then got up before the Easter Bunny had a chance to finish her work. My husband took me out for a ride on his Harley; a little chilly...but it's a "biker thing". I ate, and then ate some more, and of course devoured enough candy to induce a diabetic coma fit for an elephant. I also went for a walk with some of my family. A detour led us up a rocky hill to the train tracks. The hill topped, maybe, 15 – 20 feet. About half way up, I got stuck. Not because the rocks were loose or the air was thin at that altitude. I froze because I am terrified of heights. Put me on the back of a big, bad motorcycle and I think I’m a badass. Ask me to scale the side of a rocky, fifteen-foot incline and I’m reduce...

Some of you may know that my favorite book happens to be the dictionary. I’m a writer; words are my thing. Yesterday I had an occasion to require the use of the dictionary. The word “balderdash” came up while I was talking and my 12-year-old, who rarely tunes into my voice, took notice. Basically, the gist of the conversation began with, “Every word that comes out of your mouth is complete balderdash!” “Mom, does that mean they’re yelling really fast?” My inquisitive child asked. “No, he wasn’t yelling, he just wasn’t making any sense.” “Then why is it bolder?” This, of course, prompted me to write this piece in terms of how children, who are raised with such languages as “text-speak” and “Hooked on Phonics”, process and then define the words they hear, see, and use. I’ve come up with a few definitions to words, both in the English language and that which is foreign to me. Avoidable – Actually a Spanish word, meaning “Running of the Bulls” Brothel – Wearing one cup-s...

Winter weather here in Connecticut is giving up its hold on the cold and with warmer temperatures revving up, motorcycle enthusiasts are taking it to the streets. Now that the highways and back roads are busy with bikes and BMW’s, trucks and tractor-trailers learning to travel together sensibly is a positive step in ensuring the safety of all. Generally, motorists know to look for other cars on the roads, not motorcycles. To share the road safely drivers need to be watchful of motorcyclists. Research has shown that 75% of motorcycle fatalities have involved a passenger vehicle, and two out of every three of these fatalities were the fault of the driver in the other vehicle not that of the motorcyclist. What can you do to avoid being part of these statistics? Give the motorcyclist a full lane to ride in and allow the same room when passing as you would a car. Pay attention when making a left turn, at intersections and when changing lanes. Most crashes, about 42%, occur when th...

Nurturing my inner woman does not involve makeup, manicures, cashmere, or jewels. I am quite comfortable in my own skin and do not require the pretense of outer good looks or prettiness to foster the beauty on my inside. Dress up the tree but remember to take care of you during the holidays. And I don’t necessarily mean that you shouldn’t dress yourself up if it makes you feel good. What I mean is that while the tree looks good with the lights and ‘jewels’ of Christmas past the stresses of the season can swoop in and, like a vulture, steal the fire that burns inside your heart. Here’s what makes my inner woman shine… Affection Conversation Lighting a candle The smell of the ocean Honesty Loyalty Respect Forks to eat pizza Laughter Warm sunshine on my face Driving with the top down even though I don’t have a hair brush Crying happy tears and sad ones too And being seen as a woman and not just a mother My heart can sparkle like glitter as long as the light is shining ...

Dear Santa, Yes, Santa, I do believe. I’m only going to ask you for a few things this year for Christmas. I’ll start with the easier requests. I’d like a self-loading dishwasher. And would you be able to make the dust on the shelves look ‘festive’ – like snow or frost – instead of neglected? I’d like my father to call me by my name and not those of my siblings or the dog I had when I was a teenager so long ago. I’d like just a little bit more time in each day. You can give that to me through my children. Please have them turn their clothing right-side-out, before it’s washed. Specifically, their socks. Enough Scotch Tape to wrap ALL the gifts. Oh, and some Duct Tape so I can hold myself together this season. I don’t want leggings or tights. But could you give me legs that might look good in them. In years past, I didn’t always get the things I wanted, but that’s probably because I didn’t ask for them. I wanted things, but I stopped working hard to get them and keep them. ...

Oh, the controversy…should retail establishments open for business on Thanksgiving Day? Traditionally this is a holiday when time is spent with family and friends. We give thanks for what we have. Turkeys are roasted, potatoes are mashed, families embrace, and perhaps this is one of the rare times everyone sits at the table for a shared meal, good conversation, and prayers expressing gratitude. In my home, for many years – and I guess it has now become a new tradition, one that is quite different from what I remember growing up – I rise early to prepare the feast. Yes, my mother did much of the same things that I do. However, there is one exception in this cozy scenario. My husband works on Thanksgiving…my father did not. I could feel saddened by this, but I don’t. Instead I choose to be thankful. My husband has a job to go to. Many do not. I still have my husband, my children, and my parents. Many do not. I had a brother who passed away 18 years ago, and while I miss h...