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2008/12/29 Oscar Today is, or should have been, Oscar's 80th birthday. What a party we would have had! His boys would have all been in town for the holidays, so they'd be part of it. There was no greater treat for Oscar than to have his four sons all in the same room with him. I miss Oscar dreadfully at this time of year. Every Christmas, we would have his entire family, plus my local ones, over for a party. He loved this so much. This was a man for whom family was central; a man who called all his known relatives---aunts, uncles, siblings, children---multiple times every week. It was so important to him to be part of their lives; to know what was happening; to keep them caught up with what we were doing. I've often wondered, in the almost three years since he left us, how they've dealt with the silence, with the phone not ringing.
Then, as if all the Christmas celebrating was not enough, Oscar's birthday followed right on its heels. Oscar always said, "Don't fuss over me," but he loved it when we did. And how could one not fuss over such a man? I think about heaven, about whatever afterlife there may be, and I wonder if there are celebrations, or if everything is always so perfect, so "good," that one can hardly stand it. Oscar liked a bit of mischief in his life: a drink; music; dancing; jokes. He was, in fact, quite the party boy. Anything that could qualify as heaven for him would have to be a rolicking place. I hope that is what he has found.
Happy birthday, dear Oscar; happy birthday to you!
2006/10/26 But I'm not done dancing yetOur prom king died. This entry is dedicated to AndyPalmer from the class of 1960, in our little school in upstate New York. And, in a way, it is dedicated to all of us, the teens who danced their way through high school, who are still dancing our ways through life.
Remember your high school days? How some kids were ultra-popular, but not really nice, downright mean in fact? Well, Andy was popular, but also nice, so very kind and gentle to everyone. I can't remember one negative comment ever made about him. He married Bunny, his high school sweetheart, and they've stayed together all these years. That, in itself, says a lot, doesn't it? Andy became a teacher, and I imagine his students just falling in love with him. What lucky kids to have him pass through their lives.
It's been years since I've seen Andy, but I can see his face clearly, see him dancing with Bunny at the prom. We girls were all awash in frothy tulle at those proms; the boys wore tuxes, often with bowties to match our gowns. Ah, the 1950s. We felt so beautiful, so sophisticated. I suppose every prom group feels that way; I know my own girls certainly did at their high school proms.
But what were we really in 1958, '59, '60? Rock and rollers....the first generation to be able to say that---that's what we were in our hearts. I barely remember my classes, but the dances are always with me. Sock hops, proms, the "ring dance." I remember every dress, every gown, even those straight skirts and sweaters, those plain sweaters we wore with tie-on angora collars or little silk scarves. Our hair was long and flipped up, or short with a "DA"...duck tail (ok duck's a**). LOL
We watched when Elvis made his tv debut on the Ed Sullivan show; we learned to jitterbug and slow dance; we endured the agony of being wallflowers, at least we girls did, wondering if some boy would ask us to dance. If not, there were always the group dances: the stroll, the hop, the Mexican hat dance. My t.v. is permanently set to Sirius music, 1950s-60s rock, so I'm still doing those dances, bopping around my house, remembering; especially today remembering-- Andy as a teen, all of us as teens. How did those decades pass so quickly?
If prom kings can die, then so must we all. But the music is still playing, and I'm not done dancing yet.
2006/7/30 Talking about CoeymansI wrote this blog about a year ago. I've been thinking of moving from the suburbs to a small town nearby. It seemed like a good idea to run back to last year and remember my thoughts about small towns, so here I am...and I brought you all with me. Quote Coeymans 2006/6/19 Back through the distance "Follow that road, back through the distance, back through the time..." (Anne Hills) Yesterday I did just that, traveling way back to the mid '60s.
I haven't been to a folk concert in years, too many years it seems. But yesterday afternoon I attended one and there it all was, the 1960s, still alive and well. Before Woodstock, before the huge concerts became what "concert" meant, folk singers performed in small venues: street fairs, folk festivals, coffee houses. They were right there, two feet in front of us, talking casually with the audience between numbers; heck, sometimes even during the number. There was such a sense of being included, of being let into their lives. No bright lights, not even microphones half the time. Just these dear troubadors and us. Often we'd sing along, and yesterday, that's what we did, too. Sometimes Anne invited the audience to sing, sometimes a person or two would just spontaneiously join in. There was gentle joking back and forth, repartee with anyone who spoke up, and mostly, that sense of being part of a loving tribe of humans.
This was the period of our history when we were still so shocked that Kennedy had been shot, while we were protesting the Vietnam War, when the Civil Rights movement was going strong; this was the period of time when we cared so deeply, spoke up so strongly, put our feet where our thoughts were and marched in protest. The folk singers were there with us, guitars in hand. They found the words to express what we could only bumblingly say. But they also showed us the gentler side of life. It wasn't all "Blowin' in the Wind," but also "Hush little baby, now don't you cry."
Anne Hills has a beautiful voice and knows every folk song ever written I think. And she took us out of ourselves, that's the most important thing, she showed us how to "Follow that road, back through the distance, back through the time, back to me." It was good to be that me of long ago for a few hours. I came back to today so refreshed, so ready to go on.
2006/5/31 Donna Reed was no mythThe mothers from my childhood are disappearing into illness and death. The first to go was Mrs. Blaisdell. She was a farm wife and the mother of one of my closest childhood friends. The many hours spent in the Blaisdell barn created memories I will always cherish: finding kittens; swinging from the rafters; jumping in the hay. What a time we had back in those sweet days of the late 1940s and early '50s. After we played, into the house we'd troop, and Mrs. Blaisdell...just like Donna Reed......had cookies and milk for us. She was kind and soft-spoken with a nice gentle humor tossed in. What a great mom to spend time with.
Mrs. Frangella, my best friend's mom, is now quite disabled, and yet she has maintained her wonderful ability to look on the bright side. A few years ago, when she was still able to come down the hill to my mom's, I asked her, "How is life?" Her instant reply was, "Life is good, Barbie, life is good." She had just had her hair done and she looked great, but I was very aware of the toll her diabetes had taken as she approached a late-80s birthday. But life was something Mrs. Frangella knew how to deal with. This is the woman whose coconut lamb cake made me a life-long yearner for coconut; the woman whose stylish living room taught me what modern furniture looked like...and how totally classy it was. How totally classy SHE was. Donna Reed, eat your heart out.
My own mother is severely disabled and has been confined to home for several years. Yet she still has her wit, her love of literature, her sense of humor. Through her we all learned to love these same things; and what a gift to have wit, humor, and books to accompany us on our own paths. Mother played ball with us right along with daddy on that diamond in our back yard; yet she took time to bake cookies and can tomatoes, and do all those other expected things, too.
Monday morning I received the sad news about another of the mothers. Mrs. Friday had died during the night. Her daughter was a close friend during our teen years. I'm still in close touch with her son, Chuck (then the pesky little brother). The slumber parties we had at the Friday's were some of the best times I remember from my teen years. Of course, we didn't actually slumber; more like talked and giggled all night. Mr. Friday would get exasperated with us, but not Mrs. F. She took us in stride. I believe she even enjoyed us. From Mrs. Friday I learned how to dress with flair, for this was a very stylish woman. She knew how to put an outfit together, and she had the height and strikingly good looks to turn heads. The cookie jar was always filled in her kitchen, albeit with a stale fig newton or two at the bottom. The funniest memory I have of her concerns a fireplace, or more accurately, a lack of one. How Mrs. Friday longed for a fireplace. Lacking one, she would turn on the oven, open the door, and sit in front of it. LOL Lemonade from lemons, right?
I have to believe the creators of Donna Reed and those other tv moms knew women just like these. Our'50s moms are so much a part of us, so very much loved by us. They will always live on in each of us who had the privilege to know them. 2006/5/17 First CommunionMy sister Bertie's granddaughter Tanner will receive her First Communion soon. She's in Hawaii, and can you think of a more perfect setting? Receiving First Communion in paradise! That is just so perfect!! So this blog is dedicated to you, Tanner.
I, too, was raised in the Roman Catholic faith, and when I was seven received the sacrament of Communion for the first time, just as Tanner will.
We had studied our Catechism for what seemed like FOREVER to my second grade self. In reality, it had probably only been a few months. The nuns described our souls as like the Communion Wafer, so of course my visual was of a small white disk floating around somewhere in the middle of my chest. Our sins put dark marks on the soul-wafer, but those marks could be erased by confession and penance. (Sort of like one of those Mr. Clean erasers??? Well, we didn't have those in the '40s, but it's an image that works well enough today.)
The big weekend approached in that spring of 1949; confession was made, Hail Marys said, and then at last we were dressed in our beautiful white dresses, white shoes, white veil. I remember that Mass so well. Outside I was pure white, and for the first time I felt totally white inside, too. My soul was clean, oh so clean. I had such a vision of what a human can be, what even a little girl could be, when she rid herself of sin and became so white and pure. I was filled with the spirit of our loving God, filled with that great sense of being clean. When I received the Host, I knew I was one with God. It was such a powerful image, such a perfect moment.
That moment has stayed with me through all these years. Even now, when I receive Communion, I go back to that moment, try to recapture the feeling of being so clean, so pure, so with God. It's still powerful for me, and I hope this will be Tanner's experience, too. It's life-changing, life-affirming, and life-lasting.
God bless you, Tanner. I love you, as do so many people. And God loves you even more!
2006/3/3 CharlieWhen we moved to Piqua, OH, in 1981, our family was feeling a bit fractured. We had moved SO many times...always a new school, new friends (and it takes so long to make them), new routes to learn...."where'd they say that grocery store is??"
We needed something nice, something warm, kind, gentle. We needed a dog! So off I went to the pound to find one. As I walked up the walk leading to the office, all the dogs in the kennels lunged at the fence, barking, snarling, acting very aggressively dog-liike. All but one. A black fluffy cockapoo just sat in the corner and looked at me. His eyes followed me as I opened the door and went in. I asked the man to bring that dog out for me to meet. Charlie was on a lead, but that didn't stop him from sitting at my feet and leaning on my legs. He just leaned so hard, like I am NEVER going to move away from you, lady, so you might as well take me home. In the car on the way home, Charlie sat on my lap. No matter how many times I stopped and moved him, he ended up on my lap, leaning as hard as he could against me.
The entire family fell in love with Charlie...and he with us. A more affectionate dog never lived; he sat on our laps, he slept in bed with the children......not because he was allowed to, but because he assumed it as a right.
The photo of Charlie with the Easter eggs shows him about to pick one up. That crazy dog LOVED Easter eggs. He had gathered from watching the children that these were precious things, so he never harmed them in any way...just carried them gently in his mouth. We'd find them everywhere; and how we smiled when we'd see Charlie wandering around the house carrying his tender burden.
We had Charlie for a wonderful ten years. My heart leaps everytime I see a cockapoo. What a dear, dear dog.
2006/2/17 1972This photo was taken in 1972. I was only 30 years old, an age, by the way, that I loved becoming. At last, I thought, I'm a grown up! Now I look at 30 year olds and they seem so very young. Perspective! lol
The people in this photo, left to right:
Baby sister Mary K; me with Noel, who was seven; my mother, age 55...and just before she started having illnesses, surgeries, etc. that began the limiting of her life; my maternal grandmother, whom I dearly loved...she taught me to sew, to crochet, to love Constant Comment tea; sister-in-law Debbie, about the time she married my brother; Aunt Marian, my mother's SIL (now deceased).
My parents, back in those days, used to host wonderful picnics on their patio. Dad grilled the steaks, mom made her wonderful macaroni salad, still the best I've had; family and friends gathered, talked, ate, just had a great time together.
That seems like another world when I look back on it.
Here are a few historical facts from 1972 (From Bernard Grun's The Timetables of History):
So there you have it, a quick look back to what really was a long time ago. And yet, the plays and movies mentioned are all still popular; the events in Munich have been immortalized in an Oscar nominated film; and Nixon's visit to China surely paved the way for all the "made in China" tags on our clothes, toys, and housewares. And, of course, we still have an all-volunteer military. Peace!
2006/1/28 Summers in the CatskillsIn the summer of 1958, when I was a sixteen-year-old in need of a summer job, my mother packed me off to a resort in the Catskills to wait tables. This was the same resort where SHE had worked as a teenager, so she knew the owners well. There was no question of whether or not I would get the job, so off I went.
Other than a couple of weeks at Girl Scout camp, I had not been away from home much, let alone for two full months. You may think of summer vacation as three months, but in the New York State of the '50s, school was not dismissed for summer vacation until the end of June. Resort season was roughly from Fourth of July through Labor Day. During that period, we waitresses worked seven days a week, three meals a day, including setting tables, mopping floors, and cleaning up afterwards. We did all this for the princely sum of $20.00 a week plus tips! (And room and board, which given how good the food was and how much of it we ate, wasn't that bad a deal.)
I was homesick for a week or so, then we got so busy working that there was no energy for that particular emotion. We worked hard; we played even harder. Now, if you've seen the movie "Dirty Dancing," you may think you know what we were doing. You'd be wrong. For starters, there was no one there even remotely like Patrick Swayze. For another, this was a small resort, no alcohol, no dancing. The kind of place parents would feel safe sending their daughter to work.
What's a teen to do? Like teens everywhere, we found a source of rock and roll and beer. Just a short walk down the road was a German casino, complete with a liederhosen clad polka band. Between sets, the juke box was available. All the locals, plus any bored teens from the resorts, gathered nightly. We learned to polka and waltz and drink that wonderful dark beer. And then we jitter bugged to our favorite rock and roll tunes, drank more beer-- just had a great time. Usually we'd be back in our dorm by two or three a.m., just in time to grab a few hours sleep before we had to report to the kitchen at 7:00 a.m. Oh, to have that much stamina again!!
One night a week we'd stay home, do laundry, get a full nine hours sleep. That was enough to fuel us up for six more days of going non-stop. Living, working, and playing together made us waitresses into fast friends. It was good prep for the college dorm in my near future; I met my first big city kids; learned a lot, much of which I couldn't report to my parents, and in general, had four wonderful summers at the Winter Clove. Here is a photo of that lovely old resort.
2005/12/23 Our first televisionOur family first acquired a televison set when I was in third grade. Before then, we listened to the radio; The Lone Ranger, The Shadow, Ozzie and Harriet; we loved those shows, but television! That was like magic. Magic that came right into our living room
The tv itself was a wooden cabinet with a very small screen. No one had heard of color yet, and the rabbit ears didn't do the best job of picking up the signal, but Milton Berle was there to make us laugh; Howdy Doody entertained us children; and the Ed Sullivan Show introduced us to a much wider world than we could hope to find in our tiny little town.
Many years would pass before families had more than one set, so watching tv was a family activity in the 1950s. Only family friendly fare was on before 9:00 p.m.; parents didn't have to worry about accidently exposing their children to X-rated content. "My Little Margie," "Leave It To Beaver," "The Donna Reed Show"---all of these tickled our funny bones, gave us something to laugh about together the next day. Indeed, everyone we knew watched the very same programs as we did, so in school we could all laugh about Wally and the Beav's nutty adventures. No cable; no satellite; no 200 channels. We had three channels. None of them came in awfully well; the snow was part of the picture, and we just accepted it with no resentment, no concern.
When I was in my later teens, American Bandstand was on, and we used to race home from school to watch that; to learn the latest dances; to envy those super cool kids on the show. But even then, evenings belonged to the family. We sat in a row on the couch and watched together. We even liked the ads! It was all so new, so different, and we felt so rich to have this wonderful new toy in our very own living room.
2005/12/5 The baby of the familyBeing with Aurelia has reminded me of when, long ago, we had a baby in our house...my baby sister, Mary K. She was born into our family in 1950. Bertie was already ten; I, 8; and Danny, 5.
Because of the age difference, she was not able to race around outside playing cowboys and Indians, etc. with the rest of us. Instead, she was a special, fragile thing to us; a precious little toy that mom had brought home. As an adult, I can see how difficult that must have been for Mary K. Eventually, she was old enough to race around with us, but by then we older sisters were teens and into other things. So, without any cruelty intended, I think we shut her out of much of our lives. (Can you tell I'm having one of those "if I only knew then what I know now" moments?)
Danny, being closer in age to MK, became her companion sibling, as Bertie and I were for each other. Nice my parents had four so we could break up into even pairs.
As you can see from the photo here, Mary K. was a charming little girl. She had thick curly hair,very different from those wispy locks of the rest of us, and big brown eyes that noticed everything. She still has that thick curly hair and big brown inquisitive eyes. Nice traits to have hung onto!
Mary K was quieter than the rest of us, as, indeed, who wasn't? I often wonder what it must've been like to have three older LOUD siblings. Overwhelming would be my guess. Mary K. cultivated friendships with quieter people, and these tended to be deep friendships, ones that have lasted a lifetime.
Mary K plays guitar. When I still lived in upstate New York, she and I used to sing folk songs together. What a happy memory that is, even now, thirty-three years after I've moved away. It was probably the most powerful bond between us, something that bridged that gap in ages; even now, certain Peter, Paul and Mary songs on the radio bring me right back to those times together.
Mary K is the sibling with whom our elderly, fragile mother lives. If it weren't for MK, mom would have to be in a home, as the rest of us are very far away. I like to believe mother appreciates this, appreciates what Mary K is providing for her, and I think on some level she probably does. Mother has never been one to go out of her way to express appreciation, though, so who knows what she really thinks? What I think is that this is a tuff situation all around. We siblings, at least, deeply, deeply appreciate what Mary K. is doing.
So, hang in there, sister. You are loved! You are appreciated!
2005/11/14 The pony rideWe didn't own a pony or horse, to my never ending regret, but every now and then we got to ride one. This particular pony belonged to an itinerant photographer. My mother was such a frugal person, I'm surprised she paid for us to have this photo taken. Perhaps the look of pure joy on our faces made it worthwhile. That's me on the left, Danny in the middle and Bertie on the right. I think the photo was taken in 1950.
I wanted so intensely to be Dale Evans. Do you remember those old Roy Rogers movies? They were my favorites among all the cowboy movies we watched at the Saturday afternoon matinees, probably because of Dale Evans. There weren't too many female cowboys, so we girls just worshipped Dale. I even had Dale Evans paperdolls and spent many hours playing with them and fantasizing about being on that beautiful horse.
When I was in fifth grade my career choices were two: Dale Evans or nun. Well, we didn't have a horse, and I was quite fond of boys, so neither worked out.
But, oh, what fun to dream! 2005/11/13 Riding along in my automobileChuck Berry probably didn't have our family in mind when he wrote those words, but he, nonetheless, described every Sunday of my childhood. Because we were a family that took Sunday drives.
Sundays had a pattern to them in the 1940s and 1950s of my childhood: church in the morning; a nice roasted chicken dinner at noon; and a two hour drive in the afternoon. We drove up and down the wooded hills of the countryside, those foothills of the Catskills and Helderbergs, looking at trees, rocks, waterfalls; peering over cliffs to the valleys below; sometimes (ok, often) getting lost. I chuckle about how many times we ended up in the same farmer's backyard.
And we sang, always we sang during those rides: "You are my sunshine," "Now I lay me down to sleep," "Tell me why," and dozens of others of those fine old tunes. The last song was invariably, "Show me the way to go home, I'm tired and I want to go to bed..."
Michigan, at least the part in which I live, is pretty flat, but once in a while I find myself on a road that winds up a wooded hill, and when that happens, my heart, well, my heart all but stops. I'm back home. Music floods me: "Angels watching over me, my Lord; all night, all day, angels watching over me."
I thank my parents for this wonderful tradition, this wonderful memory.
2005/11/12 DaddyThis photo. taken in the 1950s, shows my father with his seven siblings. From left, front row: Margaret, Henry, Rose. Back: Ralph, Joe, Tony, Rocco, Carmen, nicknamed Bert (my dad).
The two eldest, Uncle Ralph and Uncle Rock, were born in Italy; the others, in upstate New York. They are all gone now, daddy having died in 1990, about midway between the others. The most recent to leave us was Aunt Margaret, just a couple of years ago.
Our family is from the most impoverished part of Italy, the Potenza area in the southern part of the country. They were the poorest peasants imaginable, thus the decision to emigrate. Grandpa came first, then returned to fetch his wife and two sons. They arrived around 1907 and settled in the area just south of Albany. Grandpa worked at the brick yard, backbreaking work; but work, nontheless, which allowed him to support his growing family.
Dad dropped out of high school at age 17 and went to work on the New York Central RR. He worked there 42 years! If ever we doubt the generations are different, all we have to do is look at the way people work. Once, staying an entire career with one company was common; now, it's all but unheard of.
Dad and my mother met at a ball game in Ravena. From what I can gather, it was love at first sight. These were both very charming, energetic, and engaging people. It was inevitable, I think, that if they met, they would fall for each other. Moths to each other's flames.
In addition to working on the RR, daddy also painted and wallpapered; at one time tended bar; at another, grew mushrooms. His big love, besides his wife and children, was the ponies. We lived fairly nearby to Saratoga and its famous racetrack. Dad loved to go, and when we were quite young, he introduced us to the joys of the track. I can't even see a horse today without thinking about daddy.
I'll tell you just this one story to illustrate his utter charm: In 1975, when we were having Diana baptized, my parents drove to Columbus, OH, for the event. At that time, the grandparents had not met each other, so there was great excitement entirely apart from the Baptism. Sara, mother-in-law du jour, had just read The Godfather. She knew my dad was Italian. She went into a state of total panic at the thought of meeting a real live godfather, panic so bad that she was hospitalized for it.
My parents arrived, and dad asked, "Where is Sara?" We told him. He hopped in his car, drove to the hospital, walked into her room and said, "Sara, I'm Bert." His handsome, quiet charm won her over immediately. She came home from the hospital with him and barely left his side the entire weekend. She even started to like me after that!
I think of daddy every day; he was only 77 when he died, way too young. I get my love of gardening from him and often think of him in heaven gardening for God. If that is true, then God is right now eating some of the biggest, juiciest tomatoes ever!
2005/10/8 AutumnIn my June 20 blog entry, I wrote about the lazy days of my 1940s-50s childhood. Today, with the weather turning brisk, I'm thinking about those childhood autumns.
In upstate New York, fall comes early. The foliage colors are spectacular in NY..........more oranges and reds than we have out here in Michigan. Oh, our colors here are beautiful, too. Michigan, in fact, is known for its autumn foliage. But for those of us raised out east, it's not quite the same.
When we were children, our mothers bundled us up when the weather turned, but they still didn't let us in the house all that much. We rode bikes and roller skated virtually until the snow fell, which often was in late October. I remember many a snowy, sleety football game when I was in high school.
One of our favortie fall activities was making houses out of leaves. We'd rake the leaves into room shapes, making a blueprint-looking outline of a house. Then we'd play in our creation for hours. We'd also, of course, rake leaves into huge piles and jump in them. It was a sad day when the rains finally hit and ruined our fun, but typcially, we had weeks of pleasure before that happened. When the leaves finally dried out enough to burn, our dads built big bonfires of them. The smell of burning leaves even now takes me right back to our backyard in Coeymans.
Inevitably, we had to stay in the house some days. Since my mother had practically not seen us for the last five months, what with never letting us inside, she was pretty tolerant of our indoor play days. These were the times we were allowed to drape blankets over the dining room table, converting it into a playhouse.
Sometimes, if there were several consecutive days of inclement weather, we'd have Monopoly tournaments. One mother or another would allow us to set up the board and keep it up for three days running. We liked many boardgames, and in those days when people didn't watch much tv, we played them all: scrabble, parcheesi, checkers....and many card games. Boardgames fell into disfavor sometime in the 1960s and 70s, but Trivial Pursuit reintroduced us to them in the 80s, to my great delight. Now, when I visit my daughter in California, we often play games. Seems like the good old days.
My friend Linda lived on a farm, which of course had a wonderful, huge barn. What a great place that was to play in bad weather. There were usually kittens about, and I loved to walk around the cows. What lovely creatures they are! There were ropes hanging from the barn rafters for us to swing on; hay to burrow into; and that wonderful sense of being in a special place that kids love so much.
When we were into our teen years, which coincided with the introduction of rock and roll to the American culture, we danced for hours. Everyone had a small record player that could handle 45s or 78 rpm records. I learned to jitterbug to "Rock Around the Clock" by Bill Haley and The Comets. My sister's friend Carol was at our house often, and she taught me all the steps.
It seems so long ago and far away, and yet, it's also right near the surface of my memory. What was that song? "Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end."
2005/10/6 CoconutWe went out to dinner last night, and I had coconut pie for dessert. Whenever I eat coconut, I think of Mrs Frangella, mother of my best friend and across-the-street neighbor back in Coeymans.
Every Easter, Mrs. Frangella baked a lamb-shaped cake covered with white icing and coconut. The first time I saw that cake, I was enchanted. I had not known food could be beautiful! I knew before I tasted it that I would love coconut. I did. I still do. And, always, when I taste or smell coconut, I think of that cake and Mrs. Frangella.
Blessings on her in her older years. I don't think she bakes any longer, but I hope she always has that cake in her mind's eye the way I do.
2005/9/27 Big sis and meHere are two photos of my older sister, Bertie, and me. In the black and white photo, she is three and I, six months. Notice how worried I look!
The color photo shows us on vacation last winter. As you can see, I no longer look worried! It took most of my 60+ years to get that worried expression off my face. Having a big sister helped.
When we were little, we had separate bedrooms, but when the younger sibs arrived, Bertie and I started sharing a room. It's comforting for a worried child who is prone to nightmares to have a big sister there during the night. Thanks, Bertie, for being there for me!
During our teen years, Bertie, who like all older siblings was perfect, was not so easy to live with. We were the original "odd couple." Bertie kept her clothes hung in the closet; mine were thrown on a chair; Bertie's hair was neatly coiffed; mine was a mess of cowlicks; Bertie did what mother wanted; I was constantly sneaking around doing things I shouldn't. I can't remember Bertie ever being grounded, while I was in that condition at least once a month.
But there were advantages to our differences. When I needed some neatly pressed clothes to wear, why there was a whole closet full of them. Oh sure, we had some major fights about my borrowing habits, but I didn't have to worry so much about how I looked. Thanks, Bertie, for being my wardrobe mistress. hahaha Bertie's good reputation with my parents helped too; it gave me a way out......."I'm going with Bertie," I'd say, and suddenly I was ungrounded.
For most of our adult lives we have lived many miles apart, seeing each other only when visits to our parents overlapped. About five years ago, we decided to change that. Bertie visited me in Michigan; I went to her home in Virginia. We loved being together away from our controlling mother.
My daugher moved to California; Bertie's, to Hawaii. No way were we going to let the opportunity that presented get away from us. So for the past two years, we've vacationed together.
How nice it was to discover how easily we share a room......all those years of practice paid off. It probably helps that I no longer need to borrow her clothes! We learned how much alike we are: both pop wide awake at 5:00 a.m., and the first thing we want in the morning is COFFEE. We both like to race around doing things all morning, then curl up with a book in the afternoon. We look so much alike, many people think we are twins. It's fun, it's ... sisterly!
I still thank Bertie for being there.
2005/8/29 CoeymansWhen I was growing up in Coeymans, the population was 800. I don't think it's grown by one single person since.
With the Hudson River on the east and another town just to the west, the only way it could grow, house-wise would be north or south.........and it didn't. Oh, some houses went in up the hill behind South Main Street, but somehow that didn't really increase the population.
So what was it like growing up in such a small hamlet? (Out here in the midwest Coeymans would count as a town; heck, they call anything with a population of 5,000 a city! I've been very interested in political designations of this sort since moving to the midwest and discovering they're not the same every place.)
But, as usual, I digress. Living in a small place means everyone knows everyone else. When I had trouble falling asleep back then, I would go through my litany.....not counting the proverbial sheep, but counting the people who lived in Coeymans. I'd start with our house, move north up Main Street, down Westerlo Street to the river, and so forth. For every house, I would count off the residents: Mr. and Mrs. so-and-so (children never called adults by their first names in the 1950s; I'm not sure I even knew what some of them were), each child by name, and then the family pets, also by name. I never fell asleep until I had named them all; then something in me finally relaxed. I knew my world. I was part of something very specific, very defined.
Now I live in a suburb and only know my most immediate neighbors, and them not well. Oh, we chat in the yard when we're doing our gardening, and so forth, but we don't have the deep knowledge of each other like the neighbors did in Coeymans. I wonder if it's still that way back home? So many of the old neighbors have moved away. Have the newer ones been as thoroughly assimiliated? Did they even want to be?
I like living more anonymously. There are fewer expectations to live up to...or down from. This leaves me free to set my own expectations and to measure whether or not I have met them. And yet, I sometimes have the longing to walk down the street and know every single person I see.
Would I move back? Not on your life. Do I still care deeply about so many people back there? Sure do!
But I look at families out here who have lived in the area for generations. They have great strength of family; but they also have no room in their lives for other people. Oh sure, they're friendly enough when you see them at church or wherever, but they don't invite you over, don't call up and say, "Let's go shopping" or anything else either. Their families take up all their social time. Or if not their families, the old high school crowd they've known forever.
If I were still back home, I might be the same........and never actually realize it. I always thought I was friendly, but there were a lot of family activities and events with old high school friends in my life. I didn't really have openings in my social life for too many new people. The strength of this kind of situation is the depth of relationships that is possible; the weakness is the narrowness it can lead to.
Overall, I'm glad I've moved many times and had to learn to develop friendships from scratch. None of my Michigan friends are people I grew up with or am related to. Yet, we have developed some very deep and enriching relationships. Some of us bonded over the mutual raising of children, others through our employment, some just because we went through a crisis together.
I still have a few friends back home, though, and wouldn't give them up for anything. Remember the old Brownie Scout song, "Make new friends, but keep the old; one is silver, the other, gold"? It was good advice when I was eight, and it still is. So, to you "silver" friends out here, "thanks for letting me into your lives!" And to my "gold" friends back home, "I'll always love and cherish you"!! 2005/6/20 Lazy days of summerThe summer soltice is tomorrow, so I guess it's close enough to "really" summer to make some comments about the long summer days. I remember when I was a schoolgirl and the interminable days of school finally ended for the year. Summer seemed endless. I used to sit under the big maple tree in our front yard, daydreaming, watching the clouds, and thinking with wonder of the endless days before me, days when there was nothing i HAD to do. How lucky I was to be a child in the 1940s and '50s. Parents weren't into the concept of quality time with their children; rather, they wanted them out of the way. For the children in my neighborhood that translated into eight hours a day of being outdoors---away from parental supervision much of that time! We wandered the hills, waded in the Hannacroix Creek, stood on the banks overlooking the Hudson River to wave at ships' crews. We used our scout knives to cut down saplings that we made into corrals for the horses we had also made from saplings. We played cowboys and Indians, and yes, we had toy guns and we shot them at each other. (Amazingly, not one of us grew up to be a violent person.) Every summer the neighborhood gang put on a carnival. This involved sheets for tents, the swing set in our backyard for the trapeeze act, endless rehearsals, and mandatory attendance by our parents. We reveled in our talent, our amusing jokes, our cleverness. Our naivete was as endless as those summer days. Since we were small town kids, our backyards all had gardens. Weeding was a regular chore. Pulling carrots from the earth and popping them into our mouths, taking bites right out of the tomatoes on the vine, nibbling green beans and raspberries..........what delights for the palate. We rode bikes and roller skated; we swam in the creek or in the concrete pool behind our school. We were covered with scrapes from falls, with mosquito bites which we aggravated by scratching until our legs and arms were just masses of red welts, and, of course, with calamine lotion---that '50s cure all. The smell of calamine always pulls me right back to those summer days. My grandchildren are now beginning their summer break. Last week it was swimming lessons; this, Girl Scout camp. They'll swim, camp, visit grandparents, go to the zoo, hike in one of our nature centers. They have bikes and skates and quiet streets on which to use them. Since they moved into their new home, my grands even have a woods, a creek to wade in, and their fair share of mosquitoes. The main difference between their childhood and mine is in the supervision. Children of 2005 are never without adult supervision. There are creepy people out there now, predators who lure children into horrid things. Convicting them is always difficult, usually impossible. We've all just witnessed the Michael Jackson trial; the victim becomes the predator if the attorney for the defense is skillful enough. Reasonable doubt lets a lot of people walk free who maybe shouldn't. Or maybe they should. If the doubt is, in fact, reasonable, then a free country shouldn't be locking people up. But, I digress. This is about summer. Mine doesn't seem quite so endless these days, but I still ride my bike, still weed the garden, wade in the creek, and swim. The perfectness of June!
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