Thought Wheel

Ann Chiappetta

Hope in 2014

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When I was an undergrad one of my instructors gave me a grade based on his own mistake and I paid for it with a lower grade. Fearing I would be penalized even more if I appealed it, I sought advice from a college mentor. She said,

“Do you want to be right or do you want the A?”


At first I was confused. I thought that appealing the erroneous grade would mean I would be given a higher grade, as the instructor was obviously wrong and I was right. The mentor explained to me that sometimes one must let things go, allow those in power over us to win so that next time it happens, if it happens, it won’t involve the ego and we will prevail.


Okay, I thought, my pride does get in the way. I’m a Pisces and born in the year of the dragon, let it be said I can be single minded when I feel wronged. I am also the sensitive sort, too, so for that specific incident, I let it go. In the end, it prepared me for another similar incident and I did advocate for myself and all worked out to my benefit.


Where am I going with this? Well, in the spirit of being patient and observing the ides of GDUI, the organization of which I feel deeply tied, I think my patience is paying off.


I hope I’m on the right track and following the right leads, including my gut. I’ve held back, not because I have given up on GDUI but I’ve fallen back to a more defensive position and getting my house in order for the next few months. In these months a small group of folks will give it one last chance and do our best to support and elect individuals who will hopefully mend the distress in this organization. If we fail, then we have done all we can and depart with the knowledge that we’ve our best, done what we can live with, for better or worse.

I would hope that if we do manage to win the upcoming elections that we can continue where we left off and get back to being both an advocacy and service organization with quality and class.

I guess this is my New Year wishl.





by Ann Chiappetta | tags : | 0

Winter is here

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It’s that time of the year, preparing for fa-la-la-la-las, jolly men dressed in red and gift giving. The biggest thing for us this year is that my oldest child has moved out. I’m still in a state of disbelief, expecting to hear him. Yesterday I sat in his room for a long time, just remembering and thinking that I hoped we were acceptable parents and provided enough love and mentorship so he can succeed in life. Heavy shit this job called being a parent. I think the worst part is when other adults criticize you about it, especially those who don’t even have kids. I guess that’s human nature.  It still doesn’t make it feel any better, though, when someone like that says it.


I suppose my oldest leaving the nest at 22 is a gift and not just because we have earned another room to redecorate. We’ve earned our wings, and raised a very smart, sensitive and beautiful person. I think this is our gift for this year, knowing we did our jobs, which by the way, is purported to be the most difficult and rewarding. This is something I will cherish until it’s time for the dust bin and the walk down the final path into the clearing.


Finally, this blog post is for all parents out there.

There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings.
— Hodding Carter


by Ann Chiappetta | tags : | 0

A poem

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By Ann Chaippetta


Goodbyes were said long ago

Although I couldn’t say why.

A life of 80 years has ended

And with it, the deal making begins

Preceeded by melancholy

Preceded by guilt and  denial

And  anger, the funereal umbrella

A Black winged shroud

Flapping and snapping

Refusing to fold.


Preceded by watching my father  slowly die


A young girl’s fractured attachments

Brought on by divorce

A father’s quiescent avoidance

Built the wall in due course.


I know

Sad refrains and death’s bitter dirges

I’ve grieved since  age nine

Of death and dying, what do I really know?

I question

the purity of loss, the sanctity of morning

Because I surely haven’t achieved either

With the solemnity of a widow’s attire

Or baptism by fire

Though I’ve tried.


What I know

Flutters  like film strips

Time lapsed, momochrome, and silent.

In this heart and mind

All there is, all that has gone

Is feather on stone

Wind on water








by Ann Chiappetta | tags : | 0