Published poem
"Barriers"
http://atonalpoetryreview1.weebly.com/barriers.html
.jpg)
MORE
magazine article link to "From Rubenesque to Statuesque"
http://www.more.com/2028/9134-how-i-got-fit
Link to published poems:
"Had I But Known"
http://eyeonlife.squarespace.com/poetry-unlocked/had-i-but-known.html
"Not My Stories"
http://www.eyeonlifemag.com/poetry-unlocked/not-my-stories.html
Weekly
(Humor) Columnist for The Union newspaper:
It's In the Bag
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100725/NEWS/100729861&parentprofile=search
White Wedding Couch
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100718/NEWS/100719820&parentprofile=search
Beauty On the Cheap
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100704/OPINION/100709951&parentprofile=search
The Not So Okay Corral
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100627/OPINION/100629804/1024&ParentProfile=1056
Pearly Wisdom
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100620/OPINION/100619693&parentprofile=search
Snap, Pop, Oh!
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100523/OPINION/100529912/1024
The "Not Not" List for
Romance
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100516/OPINION/100519776/1024&parentprofile=1056
Do You Know What I Mean?
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100509/OPINION/100509796
Hair it is
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100502/OPINION/100509989/1024&parentprofile=1056
Appliance Nags
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100418/OPINION/100419795&parentprofile=search
Apostrophe Landfill
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100411/OPINION/100419994/1024
The Un-Cougar
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100405/NEWS/100409885/1056&parentprofile=1056
Very Civilly Yours
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100221/OPINION/100219676/1024&ParentProfile=1056
Driving me Crazy
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100214/OPINION/100219887/1024
The Ultimate Coffee
Klatch
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100207/OPINION/100209828/1066&ParentProfile=1053
Pine Needles are Trying
to Kill Me
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100131/OPINION/100139991/1024&parentprofile=1056
Oh, If Only the Graphical
Could Be the Real Me!
http://www.theunion.com/article/20100124/OPINION/100129886/1024
'Tis
Not Just Seasonal
http://www.theunion.com/article/20091213/OPINION/912129997/1024&parentprofile=1056
Jumper-start
http://www.theunion.com/article/20090926/OPINION/909259969/1024/NONE
Bah-Humbug, It's My
Bah-Birthday
http://www.theunion.com/article/20091017/OPINION/910169977/1024/NONE&parentprofile=1056
If
It Pleases the Court
http://www.theunion.com/article/20091024/OPINION/910239987/-1/rss02
Cat
Cardio
http://www.theunion.com/article/20091115/OPINION/911139978/1024
Love Thy Neighbor
http://www.theunion.com/article/20091129/OPINION/911279974/1024
Venus is Her Name, Baby!
MORE
magazine (on-line)
"Smooth and on the Move"
Photograph by Anne Green
Venus Is Her Name, Baby!
By: Diane Dean-Epps
It’s no coincidence that she is
named after the goddess of love and beauty. All I know is
she is the best thing to hit the women’s beauty market since
the razor; the original razor. She is a goddess among
many, but a rarity in and of herself. She changes lives with
a stroke or two of shearing genius, leaving behind smooth
perfection in her wake. She is a gift from the heavens. The
chosen one amongst all razors. Her name? Venus. (Cue
celestial music.)
When I first met Venus she was only available in a
cool, serene blue. Naysayers thought She was a fad, but I
knew better. I had an underarm feeling, if you will. Never
mind that the razor blades for Venus cost more than a small
grocery store run for my family of four, she was worth it,
providing me with a non-bumpy close shave the likes of which
I’d never seen, not having appeared in a single porn movie.
The importance of this device and the technology that
created it cannot be overstated. Just mentioning her name to
another woman brings up an opportunity for bonding like no
other. I introduced Venus to both of my daughters at an
early age. Why should they suffer needlessly, like their
mother did, through years of torturous shaving that left
rivers of bright red blood coursing down still partially
hirsute legs?
And how about razor burn? For those of you who may not
have experienced this on your underarms or legs (this would
also rule out guys, unless you are a swimmer or weight
lifter) it is a stinging, ever-present pain insistently
reminding you, all the livelong day, that your skin is a
living, breathing organ. Every time you sweat, bend, or
initiate a conversation those bumps radiate “owie” messages
like you can’t believe. And just about the time the
excruciating discomfort relents, it’s time to shave again.
Razor burn makes me think of that line from the eponymously
named song, Venus, by the band, Shocking Blue: “Was
burning like a silver flame.” What an apt descriptor of
those nasty little bumps and Venus, as a “Goddess on the
mountain top” saves the day by preventing that kind of
thing.
Needless to say, this female shaving business became a
task that none of us looked forward to. If only I weren’t in
a relationship where I actually liked my husband I could
perhaps do that whole Sasquatch thing, but the truth be told
I’m not a big fan of the body hair either. It impedes my
whole sweating process for one thing. I like the sweat to
appear and then move on, gliding downward, effortlessly,
sort of like my bank balance does. For another, excess hair
can lead to whole different sizes of clothing and jewelry if
there’s too much of it. I like sleek. I like how it feels
when I slide under my sheets at night and they smoothly
settle on my silky skin rather than stubbing on the leg
stubble.
Venus and I have been in a monogamous relationship for
some four years now. I try not to judge, but some of you are
living a double life, seeing a variety of razors, hurting
yourself and your shave-enslaved parts in the process. But
there are choices; like the available colors and
accessorized models Venus offers.
Even as I was extolling the many virtues of Venus, not
daring to dream it could get any better, She came out in
Barbie pink. I felt playful, just holding a fuchsia toy in
my hand again. All things were possible. I could begin with
my right calf, go up to the right thigh and finish in
reverse order on the back of my leg, all with a brightly
hued helpmate; the adult, female version of racing a Tonka
toy across my gams. Or I could while away my free moments,
performing any number of mathematical configurations that
suited me because with the first stroke of the razor my body
wasn’t sending out painful messages like, “For the love of
God, is it time to shave again?” or, “Why don’t we move to
Paris and sip cappuccinos while we watch our hair grow?” or
even, “Losing consciousness from blood loss…must hurry,”
and, finally, “You’re kidding, right? That was only the left
armpit? We’ve got ANOTHER one?”
I actually look forward to my alone time with my Venus
razor. It’s “she and me” time, Venus and Diane, together
with a can of bargain shaving cream, adding to the adventure
of it all. And the sensory experience aspect.
The sound the shaver makes as I am restored to the
smoothness that is my birth right is much like the shooshing
sound of a downhill
skier. Rhythmic. Athletic. Clarifying. Built for speed. It’s
beautiful really. I can’t imagine what could ever make the
experience better. Unless they added some sort of lotion to
the shaver or something.
Hey, wait a minute. What’s that you have in your
hand? Is that a drugstore flyer? Venus has a new model
complete with lotion loaded into the blade? Wow! It’s not
even my birthday.
Diane Dean-Epps is a
teacher, writer and comedienne who lives and works in
northern California. Her numerous essays have appeared in a
variety of publications, including MORE magazine (on-line),
The San Francisco Chronicle, Sacramento magazine, The Union
and The Contra Costa Times.
From Rubenesque to
Statuesque "Body Combat" Style
I’ve been working out forever and a
day, but within the last few years – the last decade? – I
noticed that my weight and anger gauge were both going up, up,
and away. I had a "moment of truth" that, in point of fact,
added to several moments.
Here they are in no particular order: I viewed myself in some
rather hideous photographs that I could not write off to poor
artistic rendering, my elbows were touching my waist when I
was standing straight up and this seemed anatomically
incorrect, and I was really noticing that my "all
carbohydrate" eating approach was just not cutting it
physically or mentally as I did not feel so swell. This led
to me signing up for our (South Yuba) Club's Fitness Challenge
that was held last April.
Immediately I decided to up the
ante on my work-out by taking on the "Body Combat" class,
along with healthier eating. Some words on "Body Combat."
That class is phenomenal! The team is so
inspirational, consisting of four energetic, positive, taut
people who are outstanding both physically and mentally. I
walked into that work-out room an angry, puffy, middle-aged
testimony to what happens when you let your job take control
of your life, knowing I needed to shift my paradigm. Body
Combat allowed me both a) a venting of this not-small
resentful ball 'o' angst and anger blend, but also b) it
showed me that I can build myself back into the strong,
positive, fit person that used to greet me in the mirror about
a decade ago. Now on with my story...
When the challenge began I
gritted my teeth and submitted to the measuring of my
Rubenesque physique, body fat calculations, and stepping on
the freaking scale, which I detest! I knew I had to suck it
up (okay...literally) and do things differently and the
ballpark approach to figuring out my weight had me headed
toward a ballpark figure of having gained about twenty-five
pounds yea these last several years. Blech! Hubby and I set
out to remove white foods, keep the carbs to a dull roar and
do another dreaded thing that I declared I'd never do --
count calories! (Insert pathetic dog whining sound.)
We took off for our "Fitness
Challenge" journey with a bang and my weight went down
steadily in small increments of one to two pounds a week,
while my husband lost twenty pounds like that -- snap! He was
such an inspiration and incredibly supportive, so I was
determined to meet the same goal as he. Next stop: add
weights. I asked a woman in my Body Combat class – who is
also such an inspiration! – to help me with some weightlifting
sets and she did. I noticed immediate changes in my
mid-section and, just as she said it would, the muscle started
to take over the – ugly word – fat – with a vengeance.
It has now been about seven
months and, all told, I am right about at a place of
maintenance, having lost thirty pounds, three sizes, I'm not
sure how many inches, and my icky attitude. (That last
one was at LEAST a hundred-pound loss!) These changes that my
husband and I made are lifestyle changes that we have adopted
as part of our commitment to a daily health plan and, in the
process, my paradigm shift goal has also been met with more of
a focus on health, family, having fun, and creative pursuits.
(Big surprise that I'm a writer/teacher because this story is
so long?!) And the best part? Though I didn't take on the
Fitness Challenge to fit into a summer bikini or tiny black
dress, I've got to admit, these days when I get dressed, it
doesn't make me crabby because I don't have to find something
that works, I find something I like and that works. Now I
have to push my elbows down into my waist for the two to
meet. I may not be anatomically correct, I may not be
politically correct, but my strong body stands corrected.
Ta-dah! Thanks for
reading/listening!
Best,
Diane
Lean(er) and Not Mean
Sacramento
magazine
FRUSTRATION ABOUT THE STATE OF PUBLIC EDUCATION
DRIVES A HIGH SCHOOL
TEACHER TO CONTEMPLATE A NEW CAREER IN THE
POLITICAL ARENA.
BY DIANE DEAN-EPPS
PHOTOGRAPHY BY BETH BAUGHER
MAKEUP BY SHERRI MORRIS OF BRUSHWORX
Why would I leave the glamorous world of public education
where, oftentimes, it's a fight just to get a class set of books,
let alone four pairs of scissors that work at the same time? And
don't get me started on the paper scarcity, which practically
qualifies clean white paper as the Edsel of teaching instruments.
The Garfield poster hanging in my classroom used to say it all,
admonishing, "You don't scare me. I teach school for a living."
But you know what? I am scared. I'm scared that we're not coming
up with real solutions because we haven't identified the real
problems. Teachers are not the problem, but they make for an easy
target.
These days I feel a little like I'm a first-time speaker at an AA
meeting when I meet new people. "Hello. My name is Diane and I'm a
high school English teacher." Folks tend to nod their heads
sympathetically as they exclaim, "Good for you! I couldn't do it."
Perhaps my contemplation of "educator flight" is because my
profession has taken on the patina of "endangered species," in
which case, as a teacher I may be the proverbial dodo. Rounds of
well-meaning but off-kilter legislation like "No Child Left
Behind," which I lovingly call "Every Teacher Left Behind," has
many of us working on resumes that haven't been updated since We
listed our employment objective as "wanting to make a difference."
No Child Left Behind, in particular, forces teachers to prove they
are "highly qualified" even though the state of California has
already certified them as such, creating more work for everyone,
particularly the teachers. This does not benefit children.
It all has me thinking. And we know what happens when someone
with just enough knowledge to be dangerous begins thinking. An
intellectual Molatov cocktail: a new trilevel hairstyle,
conversion to a vegan lifestyle or, as in my case, entering a
career change turnstile. Maybe I'll run for Director of Sanity in
the Department of Education, or write speeches of some sort for a
liberal-leaning, bipartisan-thinking dude or dudette.
Maybe spunk is responsible for this new journey. I've always had
spunk, and spunk has helped me almost as often as it's gotten me
in so far over my head I need a fireman's ladder to read the
directions for what I'm doing. Yes, I've got the spunk gene, and
it was a spunky little me who entered the field of education after
leaving the world of broadcasting 15 years ago. No one could
understand then why I would leave the glitz (translation: nonstop
stress) of television for teaching, and maybe no one will
understand why I now contemplate departure from teaching into
politics. But I want all of you to know why.
It's not so much that I am "over" my chosen profession as a public
school educator as I am "over" the rhetoric and poor behavior that
has me wanting to put educated adults who are more interested in
sound bites than sound solutions into a corner on a collective
time-out until they can "use their words," "talk nicely" and "be
respectful." You know. Like teachers tell grade school kids to do
when they're acting naughty. I want to lend my voice to the plebe
legislative chorus that has come out of the trenches and really
knows what we've been fighting for, instead of listening to those
who were last in a classroom when chalkboards abounded. (For the
record, mostly we use whiteboards now with cool, colored pens. I
won't kid you: I'll miss writing on those whiteboards.)
Many things lead me to the Capitol besides my failed sense of
direction that consistently has me exiting, unplanned, on freeway
off ramps that always seem to lead downtown, presenting a true
metaphor for life. There is a natural progression at work here
that cannot be simply charged off to rampant idealism. Not only am
I a teacher, but I am a writer who has been telling other people's
stories yea these many years. Now I want to tell all of you the
stories of my "special interest" group: our kids. That's right.
Your kids. My kids.
No Child Left Behind, in
particular, forces
teachers to prove they are "highly qualified" even though the
state of California has already certified them as such, creating
more work for everyone, particularly the teachers.
Recently, in one week, I dealt with a student's emotional outburst
as a result of a pregnancy scare, and her classmate needed to talk
to me-during class-because he was having a whole lot of feelings
bubble to the surface because it was the anniversary of his
father's death. Along about that same time, I had to call Child
Protective Services because one of my students told me that she
had nowhere to live and nothing else to wear because her mother
had kicked her out. Granted, every week isn't like this one. Some
weeks I even teach a little grammar, conduct a little
state-testing soft shoe and require an essay to be written that
doesn't use nonexistent verb combinations like "could of."
Teaching is rather like many jobs that are high stress, high
pressure, high maintenance, but have some great day-off patterns
(think firefighters and nurses). From the outside looking in, the
career looks attractive and easy and, dare I say, heroic. The
reality is that an individual would last about the time it took to
write this article if the only motivation was a run of long
vacations. After approximately 180 days a year of enduring our
students' collective pain, it's possible that the eight-week
vacation teachers enjoy every summer really is a mental necessity.
These sweet, needy, verbal children are our special-interest group
and we drop everything when they open up, but it costs us. Even
so, it's not enough for me to limit my efforts to the classroom.
Maybe the fact that I connect with them is exactly why I'm
compelled to seek an audience on their behalf. I wish to work
with those who still believe, as I do, that the legislative system
is mainly populated with a majority. A majority of good folks who
work for their constituents on a daily, and sometimes hourly,
basis. Who honestly try to be, well, honest. These are the folks
who feel it's important to visit a cross section of schools, not
just the cute little classrooms where people wear funny hats as
they hold books from which they read in a sing-songy voice, but
also schools that sometimes seem as though they are prisons, minus
the sound of barbells clunking together after each set of reps.
Sure, I may be leaving my "cushy" job where I get up at 5 every
morning, stop and get a latte that costs half of my hourly wage
and toddle on in to run my small business of 180 workers, some of
whom want to be there. It's downright luxurious using those Dollar
Tree pens I purchase that occasionally write the first time,
perching on my thrift-store chair that's missing a crucial bolt so
I list to the right-or is it to the left? (perhaps a subliminal
political message there.) And the workload. Now that is sweet. I
continuously show up ready to do my job-teaching material per
state-mandated English content standards to high school
students-while I listen to my students, trying to meet their
emotional needs, as I read in the papers about the dismantling of
my STRS retirement program. All of this as I fight for things like
dictionaries, tables that can stand longer than I can and mileage
reimbursement for a job-related conference I attended six months
ago.
Why would I contemplate leaving the field of education and try my
hand at framing events in a highly charged political environment?
OK, I'll answer a question with a question. How does that basic
criteria differ from the job I am currently working? Because with
this big mouth, active pen and idealistic viewpoint, I unknowingly
have been politically active my whole life. Whether I'm spiritedly
debating the issues surrounding the exit exam, sticking up for
teenagers and their need for vocational options (no, they don't
all go to college and yes, it's true that some do begin college,
but unfortunately the majority do not finish), or simply showing
up to teach a group of underaged voters, I am in the fray. In the
political arena. Because that is where you are when you care. When
you devote your life to causes, you learn to harness the passion
and effect positive change. It's not OK to sit back and let others
do it.
Oh, sure, I've fantasized about the sound of my high heels on
those beautiful marble floors at the Capitol as I clop around
fighting for justice like some sort of middle-aged superhero,
maybe Estrogen Woman. I've even thought about a dream press
conference where the Democrats and Republicans sit side by side
and rediscover the power of compromise. Oh, how I want what I
want, but I know things just don't work that way. And then there's
that visual where I'm dressed to the nines-heck, maybe to the
15s-talking to legislators and being heard by them. But that's
always a teacher's fantasy. Saying words that will motivate.
Inspire. Get through to those who aren't big on listening. It
would be a thrill to have people, even adults, actually listen
intently to me without commenting, "Dude. Did you, like, totally
dye your hair this weekend?" Heady stuff, this contemplation of
political recourse through verbal discourse.
And yet I am fearful-fearful of
not being with my teenaged "peeps" and hearing their funny cadence
of speaking, their queries about how my weekend was, their endless
complaints about homework, the early hours of our school and the
icky smell that makes my oId portable classroom reek like warm,
day-old raccoon. I am fearful that I will lose my way without them
to guide me daily, because any teacher who is worth the money it
takes to pay union dues knows that a teacher learns much more from
the students than the students learn from the teacher. I'm not
sure if I'll ever run for elected office, but I know that running
away isn't an option. What was that freeway exit for the Capitol
again?
Diane's master's thesis,
Changing the Exchange appears in the following scholarly,
transdisciplinary, peer-reviewed journal:
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THE UNION
The fatherhood lens
Father's Day Profile
By Diane Dean-Epps
Special to the Sunday Express
Jorge Velasquez is surrounded by
his family, from left: son Chris, wife Rose, and daughters
Abbey, Clare and Elle.
Submitted photo by Buddy Seidel
The first thing you notice is that
he's pointing a camera at you, but you don't feel the least
bit uncomfortable. As a 15-year news photographer veteran
working at KCRA-TV, Channel 3, it's no surprise that viewing
the world through a telephoto lens is second nature to him,
the fatherhood lens being no exception.
Jorge Velasquez is all about family and his 3:00 a.m. start
time for work provides testimony to that fact. (Yes, you
absolutely read that one right. Three o' clock in the
morning.)
He voluntarily works the 3:00 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. early
morning news shift at the Sacramento NBC affiliate
television station, so that he can spend time with his
offspring in the afternoons.
Whether he's coaching them, helping them with their homework
or just being home every night for dinner, he wants to be
around and not just a little bit.
Jorge's paternal devotion was made possible by what he deems
the “best decision I ever made,” marrying his beautiful wife
of 25 years, Rose Capaccioli, who he met at the College of
San Mateo. (It would take a few more schools, years and
meetings before he actually got to seal the deal.)
They settled in Nevada County, moving away briefly when a
San Luis Obispo television job beckoned, but they returned
to the place they love to start their family. It wouldn't be
long before the dining room table sat four kids; Elle,
Clare, Abbey and Chris, bringing the Velasquez clan to a
bounty of six. In fact, Jorge considers his kids “dessert”
in the full-flavored meal that is his life.
As you would imagine, Jorge doesn't have a whole lot of time
for hobbies, but you might say his family is his hobby. He
spends his treasured time with them, offering useful advice
like, “everything in moderation,” served up in a meaningful
way. Daughter, Abbey, said her priceless memories include,
“waking up the first day of school, everyday since
kindergarten, with a note written from my dad about how
proud he is of me and something about growing into a
beautiful young woman.”
He is a visual kind of guy who makes everyone else look
good, effortlessly providing the backdrop they need to
shine. Being a dedicated father, he chronicles his personal
life as scrupulously as he does the subjects in his
professional life, generating mountains of joyous,
celebratory family pictures.
Jorge's favorite thing about being a father is how much his
brood has enriched his life. He said, “I'm an observer by
nature, and I've been observing what my kids have become.
You get to experience all this different side of your life;
different emotions and decisions. You get to see it in a
light right in front of you, from the beginning.”
True to form, Jorge feels “every day is Father's Day” and
that his greatest achievement is the composition represented
by his kids captured in a close-up shot, the focal point in
their parents' lives.
They know that he leads by example, giving back to the
community as he has done over the years, by donating
countless hours to youth, both in teaching them about
television and sports. His children also know that his
unconditional love will guide them, through the school years
and beyond, during the journey that is their lives.
Jorge agrees with the well-known quote, “The first man a
little girl falls in love with is her Dad,” saying, “The
most magical thing about being a dad to three girls is I'm
their first male love.” This is not to say that raising his
son, Chris, is any less magical and, in fact, it is Chris
who stepped into the frame last, completing the family
picture they had always wanted.
This is a father for whom patience is elevated to an art
form. Clare's favorite recent memory details one of the many
moves her father has assisted her with. “I had to move
quickly to be back in time for my sister's senior ball. He
told me to be ready to load the car at 11 a.m., and when he
arrived at 11 a.m. to help me pack up and move out, I had
neglected to pack any boxes or any of my stuff at all. (I
slept through my alarm.) Without complaining at all, he
climbed up and down the three flights of stairs to my
apartment over 30 times, bringing all my stuff to the car,
while I frantically tried to grab my things and pack and
afterwards he took me out to Chipotle for lunch.”
If Jorge represents an ordinary father, we would all benefit
from a little more ordinary in our lives. Like all great
fathers he doesn't define being a father, being a father
defines him.
Clare expressed this succinctly when she said, “My dad makes
our family strong because he is able to be calm, consistent
and grounded while encouraging us all to try new things and
be better people. I try every day to be more like him.”
Diane Dean-Epps is a published author with a background in
broadcast journalism.
 EMAIL
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