Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen

Archive for May, 2013|Monthly archive page

Fighting Back

In Uncategorized on May 30, 2013 at 8:05 pm

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Fighting might be seen as a brutal activity, but if survival is the primary goal, then fighting becomes quite necessary. We more evolved creatures such as humans tend to look down on fighting and feel that negotiating is a more modern way to handle conflict. But contrary to belief, fighting is very much present in today’s modern, complex world. Not fighting just for the sake of fighting, but fighting back. If a child at school is continuously being bullied, at some point the child must learn to defend himself or herself. In this century, union workers have the right to fight back, or so cease to exist. And without union workers, they’re slaves. So fighting back is justified. Don’t be afraid to fight back.

By Leo

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Love of Writing

In Guest stories, Love on May 24, 2013 at 1:13 pm

ImageFred D. Street read this piece during the Writers’ Workshop Reading this past Wednesday, May 22, 2013. An album of pictures from the reading is up on our Facebook page. The 2013 anthology is also available for just $5 – contact us to reserve your copy.

My love began – I would say in school – reading, writing, arithmetic.  Writing was always a challenge to me because I had to learn how to write a sentence.

Example – I’m glad we’re here today – Instead of – I am glad we are here today. It’s the wording of the statement and the flow of the words.

Writing has given me the opportunity to send a card – to send a text – write to a parent.

Writing caused me to have a sense of confidence in my experiences that I can write about with a desire to write more and more –

Writing gives me a sense of pride that I can write.

Thankful that I was given the chance to learn how to write, to go to school – to communicate with my brothers and sister, my friends at Holy Apostles NYC, whom I admire and appreciate and honor to have the opportunity for expression.

By Fred D. Street

Photo credit: kpaulus

You Don’t Know Me…

In Guest stories, Stories, secrets & dreams on May 17, 2013 at 3:06 pm

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I’m just a regular kind of girl.  I love reading books, especially those of a scientific temperament.  I want to know how hemoglobin turns into oxyhemoglobin, why celestial bodies are spherical, why is it possible to hear radio transmissions of a quasar many billion light years away, what is the meaning of life – I want to know it all.  I do occasionally slip in a romance novel or two here and there – I am after all, a girl.  I love to write as well because writing, unlike speaking, lets me take pause and gather my thoughts, backtrack if necessary and speak articulately.  Writing also is a bringer of imagination come to life, birth of worlds unseen, slipped chances made possible…I lead a beautiful life in my head and nothing brings it out quite like writing.

I love flowers like any girl would – I am a rescue for limp lilacs, red roses, pink and white peonies and fragrant gardenias baking in the sun at the local delicatessen.  I have just bought my millionth Angel Whispers candle because it promises to smell like a floral bouquet.  I love perfumes as well and collect them – not solely for fragrance’s sake but for a memory associated to it.  Downtown Girl correlates to when I turned sixteen, Wind Song for a particular Autumn in Brooklyn, Romance for my college graduation and Pure Poison which …which my little brother thinks is aptly named.

Whereas people hungrily look at a weather forecast to see sun-filled days ahead, I eagerly seek rain and thundershowers.  There is something so comforting about the rain – the water purifies as it hits skin, strengthens stems, revives a barren world.  Through curtains of rain and bellowing thunder, angels secretly speak to humankind, passing on knowledge.  However, man has stopped listening – they pray for days that scorch.

I am a mother.  No passion has been so voraciously needed to be fulfilled as that of it.  It all makes sense now – of how in every animal species, the mother bares teeth and outstretches claws to protect her offspring to the death.  Human mothers are no different.  My child is the remedy to all of my failures, my disappointments, my dreams that have gone unanswered.  He will, through me, succeed where I have failed, be content whereas I wasn’t and witness his dreams come to fruition through practice of guidance and inexhaustible love.  If GOD loves us most, then a mother’s love is certainly right behind GOD’s heels.

I am a believer in soulmates.  I truly believe that there lies an existence that complements mine.  In the inexplicable grand design of the universe, I want to believe that he is out there, waiting for the time allotted to make presence known.  Once I had a dream (nightmare is actually more befitting) that I was told that he does not exist, that GOD has not given him breath.  Upon waking, I wiped my tears and I kept on looking.  I will use these eyes of mine to search for him till the day I close them forever.

I am a Muslim woman.  Your first question, upon looking at me would be if I was a convert.  My answer would be a swift no.  I was born into this religion the day I came to be in Brooklyn.  I am no terrorist, I do not wear a belt of bombs across my waist, I do not hate America or any other religion and I believe the choice to cover up in a hijab should be left to the individual.  I feel like I am in the middle of a great bridge, one side my faith and the other my nationality.  I need both to cross to and fro to destinations on either side of the bridge.  I am a Muslimah, I am an American and I am proud to be both.

By Rosetta Miletti North

Photo credit: k r ranjith

Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen Free Writers’ Workshop Public Reading

In Uncategorized on May 16, 2013 at 8:02 pm

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Wednesday, May 22nd at 7pm
Church of the Holy Apostles
296 9th Ave (At 28th Street)
New York, NY 10001

We invite you to support our soup kitchen guests – and to hear some wonderful new work – by attending the 19th annual Writers’ Workshop Public Reading on Wednesday, May 22, at 7pm in the landmark Holy Apostles church. Join us as our guests showcase their creativity and tell their stories of resilience, hope, and humanity.

There will be bound editions of the participants’ works of prose and poetry available. A brief reception will follow.

Mother’s Day

In Guest stories, Keeping hope alive on May 9, 2013 at 6:26 pm

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May 1959 – I was in the delivery room in the final stages of childbirth, but I already knew the news. The baby was dead. Oh, they never use those words – they seem to have prearranged scripts that they recite with minor adjustments, to fit the individual circumstances. But faces tell it all, and with Dr. Breydart, that came across loud and clear – utter sadness, sympathy, and an underlying attitude, a belief in another human’s power to endure and overcome.

The doctor had plenty of practice in formulating her own beliefs. An underground antifascist in Nazi Germany, she’d supplied funds and messages to the French underground for years and managed a hectic mix of practicing medicine and serving as an international courier. When I first met her, she was a German refugee, the sole member of her family still alive. She and her husband, a member of the French underground, had been living in America since World War II ended.

But back to beginnings: Today was Mother’s Day – not a day I wanted to remember, but still, not one I was likely to forget.

My first words – loud and clear – “I never want to have a baby again.”

With that, Dr. Breydart removed a handsome silver brooch she was wearing, reached over and pinned it on my hospital gown, and said, “Remember this, Jane. This is the first Mother’s Day present you’ve ever gotten. You are a mother, you know. Peter is almost a year old now.”

Months later, she told me about the pin’s history. She’d been part of a wealthy family – all physicians – who’d lived in Germany some 400 years ago. Much of their wealth had gone into jewelry and art – most of which they’d converted to ash which had to be smuggled out to Resistance fighters. “God and diamonds had value. Not so with silver, so this one piece remained.”

I may have lost a baby long ago, but I found a piece of jewelry that wove together honest history and a genuine generosity which became a part of my life. It is still in my life, having now passed on to the blouse of yet another first-time Mother’s Day daughter-in-law, wife of my third-born son.

By Jane Hogg

Six Squirrels

In Uncategorized on May 3, 2013 at 1:24 pm

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Six sexy she-male squirrels spend Sunday on a summers day at the seashore. For supper they had soft-boiled eggs, sardines, salami-sandwiches, swiss-cheese, and soybeans. Follow by… strawberry-shakes. After the sticky-icky supper, the six sexy she-male squirrels, slept snoring. Then after seven hours they all wore up feeling well and smooth, then packed everything up and got in their snakelong-stationwagon and drove back to their supersize splitlevel house.

And oh-yeah, they all used sunblock before they went to sleep.

By John Colloway