Tivoli Bird's Nest

2012-02-08T06:14:00.000-08:00

Yesterday at 4 minutes to 5 o'clock in the afternoon was the full moon of February, named in the Farmer's Almanac as the "full snow moon", oddly enough there isn't a flake of snow anywhere. But the full moon made me think of Bucky and her ritual of the full moon. Bucky loved to listen to the radio, the talk shows where people would call in with unusual and somewhat interesting information (kind of like the Almanac). Anyway one night Bucky heard the following: Do this at the exact time of the full moon, and you will get rich: Empty your purse or wallet, go out into the street in the light of the full moon and say the following three times: Moon, moon beautiful full moon, fill my empty purse.

I did this a couple of times with Bucky, standing on Falconer Street, and Timmy and I tried it again last night. I did hear of it working one time. My sister Maureen did it with a friend and her friend's husband won the lottery. I think Maureen said they later were divorced. Anyway, I have a feeling it still might work, so today I get the lottery ticket.

Another thing I learned from the Almanac is that Friday is St. Blaise's Day. Bucky told us that St. Blaise is the Saint of Sore Throats, having saved a boy who had a fishbone in his throat. Anyway, our church used to have a short ceremony on this day where you would get your throat blessed. My kids were always getting sore throats, so I said, Come on we are going to St. Blaise's day. Paul was skeptical, "what do I have to do?" "Nothing, I told him, "the priest will just put two candles around your throat and say a short prayer." Paul looked horrified. "Are they lit?" That would certainly make it more exciting. Well, off to get that lottery ticket. I'll let you know.

2012-01-26T05:59:00.000-08:00

Well, my cold is almost gone, no more runny nose, just a cough now and then. My sister Diane sent me a card with my picture on the front of it, about five years old, wearing toy glasses, with a stethoscope around my neck . It was all part of my Doctor's Kit, a Christmas present from Santa. The kit came with an apron to wear, watch, device to check you ears, the little hammer to hit your knee for reflexes, pill containers, and a small bag of candies to fill the pill bottles. There was also an eye chart and prescription pad and a plastic needle to give pretend shots with. It came with bandaids, but these were used up on my dolls and were replaced with bandaids from our medicine cabinet. This was from an era when doctors made house visits and needed to carry a kit.

I remember Doctor Supple coming to our Washington Avenue apartment in Grandma's house. You could hear him climbing the stairs, I think I was probably screaming, No, no, but up he came trudging up the stairs. I had been sick, maybe with whooping cough and coughed until I threw up, which Bucky has saved in one of my father's photography trays (ugh). Dr. Supple was a heavy man, and a heavy smoker, his office desk had a full ashtray on it. But he, like the other Beacon doctors would come to your house. He checked the tray, pulled out some medicine and I was on the way to mend.

The doctors of that time were heroes, everyone had a story of being saved. Bucky told of a friend who couldn't breath and the doctor asked for a fountain pen, used the ink well portion, and performed a tracheometry in the house, putting the pen piece in her throat to open the airway. I think Liz Taylor had that done, but not with a pen part. My kids' father at age ten had cut off the tip of his finger with a sharp shovel and his father put it in a coffee can and took him with the finger piece to Dr. Astone, who sewed the finger tip back on. "Let's try this", he said, and it worked.

Toy doctor kits are probably not even made anymore. If they did make them today, they would have to have MRI and EKG machines with them and all the equipment used today to determine what the ailment is and what to do about it. The doctors in the past did pretty darn good with just that stethoscope and little hammer.

2012-01-10T06:49:00.000-08:00

I've always believed in prayer, and especially since Ria died I have prayed even more. I have a whole list of relatives and friends that I pray for and lately I have even added two dogs to the list. The dogs are my neighbors' dogs, Irene's old dog Stray and Tony across the street dog whose name I never can remember. Stray appeared more than 15 years ago, running through the neighborhood with a dog catcher in pursuit. Irene hid the dog until the dog catcher must have decided to look elsewhere. Stray, as they named her, was in tough shape. Mal nourished, yet full of milk with swollen teats, she must have just given birth. Anyway, Irene nursed her back to health and has had her all these years. A few months ago it didn't look good for Stray, in fact so bad, they dug a hole for her burial in the front yard, next to the other dog buried there. I told them I would pray for the dog and I started that night. The same with Tony's dog...he said I thought we would have to put her down she can barely walk. Tony sadly built a ramp going up the front steps so the dog could hobble in and out. I said I would prayer for his dog and added him to the list.

Tony's Mom had a rough year, broken hip, medication problems, confusion, etc, the doctor's told the family she might not make it to Thanksgiving. She went on my list. Now here is where it gets good. The empty hole is still in the front yard. Stray got stronger and is no longer on death row. Tony's dog also is doing better, walks freely around the house with the frisbee in her mouth, looking pretty good. And Tony's Mom - Sabra recently said, "Ma, you can stop praying for Sybil - she looks wonderful and even has a new boyfriend." When she visited Sabra's house over the holiday, Tony later remarked "Did you see that ring on my mother's finger? It looked like an engagement ring."

Last week I got Timmy's cold, a real dinger, the kind with a cough that doesn't even sound human, like a dog or a trapped animal. Sore, sore throat, grocery bag full of used kleenex, the works. So here's the ticket. Aunt Lillian and Uncle Phil always said you can never pray for yourself, it must always be for others.

So here I am, with this powerful prayer stuff and I am trying to see if I can sneak around the rule. Please God, help me find a way to stop coughing. It doesn't work. Too bad dogs can't pray - I would ask those two dogs across the street to give me a hand.

2011-12-31T09:24:00.000-08:00

I was given three books for Christmas, the last one I received just yesterday from Sue and Mick, a wonderful Pop-up book of bird songs in stereo sound. Each page pops up, filled with a woodsy scene, lots of birds that start singing, each different, each from a different area of the page. Wonderful...I laughed out loud. Gave me a chance to remember when I was in second grade in Spring Street School. Our prinicipal Miss Palen loved birds and an assembly would often be sitting in our seats at our desk, looking at slides of birds, and hearing their songs. Miss Palen was tiny, but tough. I can still see her reaching up to grab a misbehaving sixth grade boy's ear and tugging him by his sore ear to her office. But she loved birds, and so do I.

The second book was from Helene, "Reading Jesus" by Mary Gordon. I got my nose in it (like Bucky used to say) and couldn't stop reading. Her thoughts on the Gospels are so in agreement with mine, I can't believe it. Raised as a Catholic, and hearing Masses in Latin, like myself, the only English was the reading of the Gospel and then the homily that followed. Her thoughts on the Prodigal son and the orchard workers are a convincing argument of the importance of examining the stories that Jesus used to teach. And then she got to the Beatitudes and I almost cried out YES, YES. So many blessed are the --, offering us a gentle, peaceful world. And the one that she dwells on the most, is also the one I think of the most- "blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be conforted". The author sees this blessing as different from the others, whereas the others extol moral qualitites and mourning is not a moral act - she calls it a useless act without a product. But to mourn, to really mourn you must have loved and loved deeply, a gift. I can't wait to read more.

The last book is a little picture book given to me by Sabra, a picture book recounting the day of the family portrait in the cemetery. On the cover is the photo of the couch strapped on Kevin's big truck, on the cemetery road, with grave stones all around. The only words in the book are on the cover - "The couch worried this was the end of the road". Cute, huh? Then the pictures follow in order, first the Bagge boys on the couch, then me sitting down, then Timmy pulling my pigtails straight up in the air, and I am laughing, then the others get into the picture, until the whole family is there, all smiles, arms around each other, Ria's stone in the foreground, her pirate flag a flying, what a day, what a nice book. A good Holiday all in all. Happy New Year's to all - I love you.

2011-12-18T10:13:00.000-08:00

Christmas is so full of memories for me, and more and more keep coming back, especially of the days at 17 Falconer Street, even earlier at 28 Washington Avenue. In Grandma's house we lived upstairs, at the bottom of the steps to our apartment was a small table holding the one telephone in the house, and under the stairs was a table. On this unlit table under the stairs, would be the gifts from Aunt El waiting to be brought upstairs and put under the tree. Barbara and I would look them over for hours, in complete rapture. Aunt El's gifts were special. Even before we unwrapped them, they were special. Beautiful paper, each package different, bows and tags with all kinds of beautiful decorations printed on them, a candy cane taped to the top. Our mother and grandmother were not wrappers, Grandma would just put something in a brown bag, or reuse some old wrapping paper, even birthday. Bucky was the same. I guess that's why Aunt El's presents stick in my head.

After moving next door, Christmas memories become more vivid. We had to wait on Christmas Eve for Daddy to get home from work to start decorating the tree. He would be working on it in the cellar, making a stand out of two pieces of wood. He then nailed a coffee can in the center and put the tree in that. Nothing fancy, but I don't even remember it falling down. We each had an area for our presents, for a long time, mine was under the tv, making me about twelve years old for that memory. As a teenager, I remember each year Daddy would buy each of "his girls" a small bottle of Chanel #5. That was precious and must have cost him dearly for he had five girls and a wife.

Christmas with my own children are full of memories...Maria getting a baby doll from Bucky as big as herself, as she tried to carry it around. Then our move to Tivoli, coming the Sunday after Thanksgiving, we looked forward to our first Christmas in our own home. Oh, yes, I remember the good times, but there were troubles too. The time we went to Mass and our dog Woofus ate the Christmas presents - Maria's ear muffs, Paul's GI Joe. Or the time I thought the kids were old enough to put presents under the tree early on Christmas Eve. What a mistake. The piles were carefully counted, oh Sabra's got more than I do. Then Paul realized that none of the wrapped presents in his pile resembled a round item (he wanted nobby tires whatever they are) that he went berserk, ripping a small hole in his pants larger and larger until they were in shreds.

Oh yeah, Christmas is full of memories, and they are ready to pop up at anytime. I'm still shopping so I better not get too nostalgic.

2011-11-25T10:50:00.000-08:00

Having lived through 69 Thanksgiving Days, I have different memories from each. The earliest ones were held at Grandma Burky's. The kids were fed early, before the adults, and I don't even think we got the turkey. Then the dinner moved to Bucky's house, first being held downstairs. There was a fire going in the fireplace, all the tables lined up to make one long one and the food was brought down from the kitchen and up the street from Grandma Burky's. But Grandma still had one thing in mind, feed them and get them out. I remember once Grandma put a piece of pumpkin pie right on Uncle Jack's full plate, in fact maybe right on top of his turkey. Then we moved back upstairs into the dining room. The kids ate in the kitchen at the kids' table and that's when the Thanksgiving Day beatings started. The O'Leary's loved to put on a show for their cousins, John leading a contest to see who find the longest hair in their stuffing and other contests involving the dinner. Once, when they were suppose to do the dishes, John or Tom or both opened the kitchen window and jumped out with Uncle Jack following them down the street.

Oh, there are funny memories - the time Uncle Eddie put his hand in the sofa, looking for an earring that Aunt Muriel had lost and instead found a piece of lemon merinque pie that Pooh Bear, their dog, had hidden for a later treat. And the time that the grinder that Bucky used to mix the sausage into the stuffing broke and the stuffing was served full of nuts and bolts.

A sad memory of the Thanksgiving when Kennedy was shot, all eyes on the television watching the grief of the country for a president that was so full of life and vibrant.

But this Thanksgiving might be talked about for years, and I doubt if Liz or Zander will ever forget it. It's the Thanksgiving that Zander fell into the septic tank. The kids were playing kick ball outside, Jer and Liz were chatting on the deck when Zander screamed and they saw that he had been swallowed up with just his head peeking out of the earth. Liz pulled him out, got him into the house crying and whipped off the Buzz Lightyear outfit he had worn for Thanksgiving Day. The hole, we discovered, was the Bird's Nest septic tank, the top had collapsed and thus the sink hole that poor Zander discovered.

Later I thought how bad this could have been - Zander ending up in the septic and what if we had people upstairs in the B&B? "Hey honey, come and see some poor kid is up to his chin in the shitter." Well, as Bucky used to say, "All's well that ends well" (maybe Shakespeare said it too) and all I have to do is find somebody to fix that damn hole before we lose someone else in it. Happy Black Friday.

2011-11-09T04:51:00.000-08:00

Mark Twain said, "I've seen many troubles in my time, only half of which ever came true". I thought the quote was 90% never came true, which seems more like the odds should be in my family of worriers. But the family photo that was taken last Saturday came off with no problems at all and my worries were for naught.

The idea came up at the kitchen table, somebody mentioned the gift certificate for a family photo that Maria, Laura, Paul and Sabra had chipped in for my Christmas gift, so many years ago, we weren't sure if it was 8 or 9 or 10. So, then the conversation continued, we should use the certificate, which I had kept in plain sight on my bedroom bureau . I fetched it and we decided to use it, but I said, we are missing Maria now, and it was suggested to take the photo at her gravesite, so the stone would be in it. Then, someone said "Let's take ma's couch and we can have a couch picture with the group." Now, I had my concerns, but I figured the photographer would either say that the certificate was too old, or most certainly she wasn't going to the graveyard with a couch. Laura offered to call her with the proposal. And to my surprise, Laura said she loved the idea.

We called everybody, there are more than 20 of us, and got everyone to pick a good time for all. I called Kevin and said, "We're taking a family picture, can you be there?" Sure he said. I said it's going to be at the graveyard, and he said ok. Then I said, "there's one more thing - we need your truck to bring my couch there." Again, no "what the hell are you thinking?" Just an ok.

Then I worried for a week, what if we got arrested, thrown out of a graveyard. Sabra tried to calm me, Ma there's a list of things you can't bring - sleds, glass vases, etc. - nothing about a couch.

So Saturday came, we got there and dread of all dread, there were people throughout the cemetery, surveyors, men measuring to put in stones and my dentist and another woman cleaning up branches. But the photographer was there, the couch was positioned and we had the pictures taken. And not one of the others even came near us to ask, "Hey, guys what are you doing?" So, all my worry was for nothing. Don't worry, be happy. We can't wait to see the pictures.

2011-11-01T07:12:00.000-07:00

This week's NY Times had an article on "Shadow Work", work we do that is unpaid. When the term was coined 30 years ago, it referred mostly to housework, but today it is all around us. Pumping your own gas, bagging your own groceries are just two examples. The article mentioned that once stores had employees that assisted shoppers in finding what they were looking for. Today that no longer exists for two reasons, stores saving money and more important the longer it takes you to find what you are looking for, the more likely you are to just pick up a few more items.

This made me think of when I was a kid in Beacon we had a department store Schoonmaker's in which each department was manned by a clerk, who could not only help you find an article (such as a gift for your father in Men's Wear) but also had a cash drawer where you could pay for it. My friend Elaine's mother worked for years in the men's department, each Christmas helping me find the right thing for the right amount for Daddy. Even Grant's across the street had an employee in each department to help you. At Christmas I worked in the stocking and sock area, helping men pick out stockings for their wives. Today most people are young enough that they don't remember that method of shopping or so old they forgot.

And what I miss the most is the Shoe Store. Today you go to the shoe section, look for the style you want on display, check the item number and then search the shelves for that shoe, in your size. Not easy to find, and then you sit on a bench, if you're lucky enough to find one, try on the shoe, and if not satisfied, start all over. What a contrast from the past. First you would look at the selections available, much more than today. Then you would show it to an employee. He would seat you, remove your shoe, measure your foot, and then go find the shoe in the back of the store. Then he would kneel before you, helping you tuck your foot into the shoe - honestly, you felt like Cinderella with the prince...Anyway, if you wanted another color, off he would run and get it for you. Anything you asked for, it was his job to make you happy. Then he would take the boxed shoes to the counter, ring if up and send you off happily ever after.

Shadow work - I still don't pump my own gas -oh, I tried it about 25 years ago, but each pump is different to operate, I got gas on my hands, and then I had to wait in line to pay. I go to the one gas station in Red Hook that still pumps your gas, sometimes they even wash your windows, front AND back. It's hard when I'm away and every gas station is self service, then I have to beg a relative, usually a young kid, to go with me and pump the gas. They do my shadow work for me. Shadow work, sounds sneaky, and I have to think maybe it is.

2011-10-29T07:39:00.000-07:00

So today is calling for snow - not fluries - snow, up to ten inches. The juncos reappeared this week, so I knew cold weather was on the way, but this is too much. And my worse nightmare, we have four people staying in the Bird's Nest. That means the driveway has to be cleared, the steps leading up have to be cleared, the deck has to be cleared. Not to mention, that they are predicting electrical outages, as the trees heavy with snow and weakened by Irene, come down. So that's what we have to look forward to - shoveling and no lights.

Daddy loved snow, mostly because he was a skier. But also as a deer hunter, he would say a light coating of snow during deer season (around Thanksgiving) would be good to track the deer and also, if a wounded deer is moving, to follow him. April snow he liked for spring skiing, would be off to Vermont, returning with a sunburned face and stories of sleeping in an attic with other skiers.

I remember it snowed on the night that Barbara and Jack were married, not much but a coating. That too was late October. But I was hoping for some more of those Indian Summer days, didn't Timmy and I just see swimmers two weeks ago? The neighbors are busy all putting on plows, bringing in wood. Us? Timmy is at the gym, and I told him to pick up some fundador on the way home. First things first.

2011-10-17T12:15:00.000-07:00

Well, another Oysterfest under the belt. We had wonderful weather, warm enough that I wore my bathing suit and got sun burned a bit. Stayed at the Sea Shells, in the house I had shared with Ria in 2007....pretty much the same. In back of us at the Main House, a wedding party was there on Sunday, the young people looked so nice all dressed up going out to the wedding. Not so nice coming back in about 1am, loud yelling, laughing, talking, waking both Timmy and myself up. Just got back to sleep about 3am when a woman's screaming voice was heard, "Thanks a ff....lot for leaving me and coming back without me, I had to call three f...cabs before I got one to take me here, on and on and on, until someone calmed her down. I leaned over to Timmy and said, "Do you think that's the bride?" Timmy just said, "I think I know why they left her." The next day they were gone and things were quieter. In fact, after Columbus Day, everyone left and our car was the only one in the lot until Friday when people starting arriving to go to Oysterfest..

The Oysterfest was crowded, good weather brought thousands of people out. In the ten years we've been going, it's changed dramatically. Used to be a small table set up on Main Street where the shucking contest took place. Now there is a big commercial stage, tents filled with all kinds of food, vendors up and down the street, and barely enough room to get through. Also, everyone is on a phone. One girl checking her new earrings, lots of people trying to locate each other, and one woman at our table, checking her calories "Oh 6 oysters are only 180 calories", although from the size of her, there might have been something else on her plate. Our boy Caleb was there, amidst the Pirate Shellmen who were shucking oysters to sell. Caleb was standing in front of a large steering wheel, dressed as a pirate. When he saw me take his picture, he yelled to me "Give me your gold ARRRRR". Made me laugh with tears in my eyes.

And riding home, along the Cape Route 6, people with signs, "We are the 99%" - even in Great Barrington, which is an elite Berkshire city, there were at least 50 people demonstrating on the Main Street. That makes me glad. Glad to see that people are waking up and willing to go stand on a sidewalk and voice their opinion that our government has got to do something. I think I will start an Occupy Tivoli Movement. My sign will say, STOP THE WAR AND SAVE TRILLIONS OF $$$$$$$. Give the people the gold ARRRRR.

2011-10-08T08:42:00.001-07:00

Well tomorrow we are off to the Cape for fun in the sun and Oysterfest. I remember years back a Columbus Day when the Murphy family went to Sherwood Island on the Long Island Sound in Connecticut on a warm day like is predicted for this year. We all went into the water even though it was October. I remember I was about 12 because Barbara had brought Jack, her boyfriend, along in the family station wagon. The beach was very rocky, and I remember him limping on the rocks to get to the water. He had hurt himself playing high school football a few days earlier. Later he found out that he had a broken leg and used crutches for a while.

I don't remember if the broken leg came before the cut up arm, when he put his arm through a glass window at Beacon High. As I remember, he ran bleeding, to Highland Hospital, a block away from the school. He needed thousands of stitches and had the scar as long as I can remember. Thinking about this, I bet today he could have sued the school for big bucks for both times - one, who would have a glass door for students, and two, don't they monitor hurt football players? But in those days, nobody sued.

Welll, back to a warm day in October. They are gifts, and if they come after a frost, are given the name Indian Summer. Tomorrow is also the Street Painting, which I will miss for the first time in 11 years - and for Tivoli, the weather is predicting in the 80's. One year for the street painting, Laura had put an unbrella in a tub of sand to get shaded while she worked. It can get dangerously hot on a hot pavement, working in the sun. In Florida at the Lake Worth Street Painting in February the younger kids are all wearing shorts and small tops, sunscreen. The older folks wear big hats and cover up. Street Paintings and Oysterfest. I love Indian Summer.

2011-09-24T12:48:00.000-07:00

So another soap opera bites the dust. I remember my Grandmother watching this show, it was on for over 40 years. Grandma called it "All My Childrens" - cute, isn't it? Makes me worried about my show Days of Our Lives, which I have been watching for 16 years, five days a week, something like 4,000 episodes. What would I do without it?

The appeal to me is that anything can happen, the crazier, the better. This year Hope, breaking up with her husband Bo, starts taking a medicine that changes her personality at night, and she goes on a rampage, attacking men, the Mayor, other policemen (she's a cop) and even her ex, who she knocks out, pours gasoline on and is lighting him up when she is stopped. She goes to prison, where the prison matron is killing inmates and selling their body parts. Hope's cousin Jennifer gets involved and they take out her heart, put it in a cooler, then the hero doctor, replaces her heart back, and in a week she is fine. Hope solves the case, gets cleared, goes back to Bo and we go on to the next story. There are usually about 5 or 6 story lines at a time, weaving in and out during the week. Still one of my favorites is when Stefano dressed like Elvis, and seduced Susan, who had a baby EJ - Elvis Junior. Now that was early on in my watching, but Elvis is already married, divorced, married again, and has two or three kids. That's another thing about soaps, time can speed up, or slow down to a snail's pace, weeks going by and it is the same day.

People being buried alive occurs frequently, as well as babies being switched at birth. Dead cast members come back, healed and no one seems to notice. Bucky used to watch "Dark Shadows", a vampire soap opera, that my kids were hooked on as well. When in Beacon, they would all join Bucky in front of the TV every afternoon to get scared and then talk about the show for hours.

Solomon and Henry don't like Days, but they grudgingly let me watch, uninterrupted. During a commercial, Henry made the comment "Don't you just hate Judge Judy?", so I guess he puts Days on a higher scale than that. So do I.

2011-09-16T13:04:00.000-07:00

Today feels like fall, all of a sudden the air is cold and crisp and the flannel robe hanging in the bathroom all summer is a long, lost friend. I had a memory of these kind of days, a memory of driving around the back roads of Tivoli, looking for wooley bear caterpillars. Sabra was probably three or four when she became obsessed with wooley bears. First, we found them on Clay Hill Road, taking a walk, and she picked one up and wanted to keep it. "We will need a jar or something to put him in", I told her and on our next walk we had a mason jar to hold the wooley bears. It was a good year for wooley bears, easy to find them on the road. She liked the jar, but found something even better as a home for the caterpillars - a good sized pocketbook, with a snap top.

For the next few days, we walked Clay Hill Road, up and down, looking for more wooley bears for her pocketbook. Oh, she made it nice for them, lots of grass, leaves to hide in. Wooley Bears are smart little things, when you catch them, they curl up and play dead. But in the pocketbook, they roamed up and down, looking for a way out. But still, the collection wasn't big enough.

"Get in the car", I told Sabra when she whined for more wooley bears, "We're going wooley bear hunting", and she climbed in the front seat with the yellow (I think it was yellow) purse on her lap. In those days, there were no car seats, I don't even think there were seat belts, so she had a good spot next to me to search the roads. We hit all the back roads, and when spotting a caterpillar crossing the road, I would pull over, throw the brake on, put the car in neutral and run out to catch the wooley bear before he crossed the road. Then I would bring it back to the car, Sabra would pop open her purse, and in he would go.

This would go on for hours, until we had to be home for the school bus bringing the older kids home. They would look in horror at the open purse, crawling with brown and orange caterpillars, grass all over, little caterpillar poops all over, and shake their heads in disbelief.
"Ma, how can you actually encourage this kind of behavior? This is cruel, let them all go," but Sabra would stubbornly hang onto her purse.

I can't remember how it all ended, what happened to all the caterpillars, and the crazy drives around town trying to spot a small bug crossing the road. But I am kind of glad we did it. You rarely see the wooley bears anymore, at least not in the numbers they used to be. Of course, Sabra and I might have done some damage to their numbers in our quest to get every wooley bear in the county into her yellow purse.

2011-09-14T08:17:00.000-07:00

I've been missing Maria a lot lately, maybe because of the 9/11 ceremonies, all that grief, maybe because of fall coming, maybe because Maria the hurricane is drifting away. Anyway, after shopping at Hannaford today, I headed for the graveyard, but passed it on a whim, just wanting to see her house. As I drove up Starbarrack Road I thought of excuses I could use if anyone saw me, "checking on the apple tree in Kevin's yard" that's a good one, I concluded. Anyway, I pulled into her driveway, the house even bigger than I rememembered it. I stayed only a moment, it really didn't help and headed to her grave.

As usual, no one was around. I began deadheading the cosmos on her grave and a few tears were falling. Moving slightly, I looked up and there standing before me was the largest buck I have ever seen. Great big rack of horns, looked like something that had escaped from the Catskill Game Farm. I spoke to him, told him what a beauty he was and warned him about the upcoming hunting season. He stared at me, motionless for what seemed forever, but probably a minute of two and then slowly trotted back into the woods. "Did you see that?" I asked Ria, that probably was the sonofabitch that ate all your sunflowers. (Nothing but the stalks remain among the cosmos.)

The moment was gone, almost as if I had imagined it. But like in Harry Potter, the deer had changed the mood from sad to excited. Was it a sign, or was it just a curious giant buck that came out of the woods to see who was sniffling in his territory?

2011-09-10T08:39:00.000-07:00

This morning, after bringing breakfast upstairs to our guests, I noticed hundreds of spider webs in the grass. Timmy hasn't cut the grass for over three weeks. His right leg hurts (actually makes a grinding noise) so he has avoided this task, though he can go to the gym twice a day, for over four hours. Go figure. Anyway, I pointed out the webs to him. They are funnel webs, made by the funnel spider, and in the center, hiding in a hole is the spider waiting for a bug. Timmy then told me that one of his earliest memories of my grandmother is her swiping away at the spider webs in her hedges. He thought that very brave as his whole family seems to be afraid of spiders. But that made me forget spiders and think of those hedges.

They were high and surrounded her house at 28 Washington Avenue. So high that Poppy would stand on a step ladder, waving hedge cutters that were attached to a long extension cord. As Poppy cut the hedges, Grandma would pick them up and cart them away. I grew up in that house with the hedges and can remember trying to peek through them to watch passers-by.
A perfect safe playground for kids.

Mrs. Chase, the next door neighbor, did not have hedges, but an iron fence, but her yard was so grown in you could barely see the house. Next to her house, the Lotsko's had the same high hedge that Grandma had. My most vivid memory of that hedge is when Tommy Lake's grandfather dropped dead in them. I remember it was a while before his body was removed, and for a long time, whenever I passed those hedges, I saw the indentation of where his body had fallen. Today I would say quite a nice way to go. I also bet Poppy and Grandma were happy that the old man made it past their hedges safely.

So, that's how spiders got me to Grandma's hedges. I think Timmy might be cutting the grass today and there will be a lot of spiders out of work for a while.

2011-09-09T08:15:00.000-07:00

For some time now, I have been thinking about conscience. It started in July in the church in Wellfleet when the priest was giving his sermon. He was quite the character, taking the microphone off the dais and pacing back and forth, like on a stage, doing a monologue. Well, I guess he was doing just that. Anyway, he said when he was growing up his nun teacher said they should examine their conscience each night, searching and reviewing their day's actions, both good and bad and asking if they were mean or good to others. He made a joke that most people today examine all the bad things other people did to them that day, not the other way around.

Growing up, Bucky use to say that we had a devil on one shoulder telling us bad things to do, and an angel on the other, leading us in the right direction. I can remember her saying to one of the kids, "I see that devil on your shoulder", and they would twist their head and try to look at their shoulder to see him too. When I was working in IBM we each had a white board in our office, supposedly to figure out complicated formulas or jot down ideas. No one used it for that purpose. My girlfriend was religious and she would put Bible quotes. It drove our manager nuts because they are not suppose to criticize anyone's religion, but also not to promote religion. I found a quote I liked and wrote it on my board: There's no softer pillow than a clear conscience. My manager would frown when she read it, trying to figure out what it meant and how it applied to IBM. I looked that saying up recently and it is attributed to almost every country, so I guess it is not original. But I liked it then, and still do.

You must have to lose your conscience in war. I just finished reading "Unbroken" about an Olympic runner that is captured by the Japanese during the war. What they do to him and the other captives made for difficult reading. War IS hell and anyone with a conscience would have a hard time in it and for years and years after.

Maybe they should start teaching about conscience in the schools. Walt Disney did it with Jiminy Cricket and that old devil on one shoulder, angel on the other is also a good place to start.

2011-08-13T10:57:00.000-07:00

The B&B season is in full swing, and it is taking me down. This morning the phone rang at 6:30am - I pick up, no answer. Again, at 6:45 it rings. I spring up, expecting to hear the worse, death, accident, people I love dying in pain. But it is a foreign voice asking if we have certain dates in September available. "Let me look", I say through clunched teeth, "yes, we do". And the rate is as your website says is $125 for two people? "Yes, that is right, plus tax"...and the foreign voice continued what does that come to? $140 a night. "Good, good" I hear...we are traveling around America with two big suitcases...will that be a problem? "Yes" I say quickly thinking maybe I can get rid of him, "Yes, the Bird's Nest is above the garage, you have to go up stairs." "How many stairs"? Now, I am starting to shake....this man is killing me. "A set of stairs". "Is there anyone to help us up the stairs?" "No", I almost scream, NO there isn't. Well, we still want it. I will check with my wife and call you back in a few minutes.

Now this is when I lost it. "It is not even 7am in the morning. I do not like early morning calls. They scare me. "Oh, I am sorry to wake you up". "No you didn't wake me up, you scared me. The phone ringing this early is not good. Don't call me for four or five more hours, I requested.
Now he is apologetic...."I am sorry, but keep the rooms for us."

The day before I had a call, "Do you have towels at your B&B" Yes, we do. And do you have soap? Now, what would compel a person to ask these questions.

Monday the phone rang at 7am and our guest who was to come that night was on the phone from a motel in Poughkeepsie. "How do I get to your place?" I said, Oh it is easy. Go up 9...and he stops me. I do not have a car. Then, I said, you will need a cab or take a bus.

Last weekend the Bard freshmen came to school. The parent drove up, the mother, got out of the car, but the daughter refused. The mother puzzled went back. Is the door locked? What's the problem? "Spider" the girl says, pointing at the outside mirror. "Spider". I looked and said I don't see a spider, and the mother came around and brushed an imaginary spider from the mirror. Ok, now, she said. You can come out.

Do you see how they drive me nuts?

2011-08-02T11:34:00.000-07:00

Here we are in August - after the fourth of July the summer is over...where is it going? Well, in July we had the wedding - and it was all we expected and more. The girls all looked beautiful, the location was perfect, right on the river, the tent, the food, everything wonderful, but what stands out in my mind is the PHOTOBOOTH. Yes, the photobooth was the hit of the party, in constant use, and the pictures getting better and better as things loosened up. I love the pictures of Timmy and me, the second shooting that is.

Then there was Cape Cod, another fun filled week, a new house right in town to explore and the same cast of characters. Our neighbor had puppies to exclaim over, a chipmunk filled himself and his nest with the bag of seeds I brought, and two visiting cats ate our leftovers. The ocean was warm and the bay was great for swimming. Kevin and I went to Provincetown to a psychic who specialized in readings and aura camera pictures until her dog ate the aura camera wires. Kevin tried to fix the wires while I had my reading. Then it was his turn. The readings were good and Kevin and I both kept saying, "boy, was she right on" for the drive back to Wellfleet.
Laura and I met Caleb, the boy who lived and entered our lives for ever, and he was sweet, saying "I love you" to both of us over and over. Another scene that stays in my mind is an old man going for a swim in the ocean. His daughter on one side, his wife on the other, a cane in his hand, he made it through the waves, the strong undertow and into the water. We all shared glances with each other, the sight was a warm touching tribute to both him and the ocean. Water is a great bonder of all - connecting the young and the old, each laughing as the waves try to overpower them.

Then it was home to hot, hot weather and get ready for Yard Sale Day in Tivoli, which was this past Saturday. We used Sabra's yard, Sabra, her friends, Laura all putting everything out and boy it was busy. The neighbors all had sales so the street was hopping. The best part of that day was when a boy of about 8 or 9 picked out one of Tim's combination locks for himself. "He loves to figure out locks," his father explained. Sabra and I regret that we didn't give him the whole box.

Now we are in August. Lots of bookings at the B&B as the Bard students come back, and the music festival is taking place. Already, the stores are full with back to school items so it does seem like the summer is dashing away. We only have picked one red tomato, so we have that to look forward to and whatever else this summer will bring in the next month.

2011-07-05T08:51:00.000-07:00

Sad, sad day. I wondered why the cat Gray Boy was not waiting on the deck for his normal routine, Friskies Mixed Grill on top of dry cat food, that he would leave for the blue jays to fight over. Then taking out the garbage, I saw two cats in the road, one down and one right next to it crying. It was Irene's big cat Franco crying , and I knew it was Gray Boy down. Irene was coming from the house, attracted by the cry of her cat, and I just kept saying poor Gray Boy, poor Gray Boy. Irene bent down to look at him, "he's still breathing, but he took a terrible blow on his head - not going to make it." I got Timmy who put him in a basket and brought him to our yard. Irene had watched over him until then, keeping traffic clear. An hour later he was still breathing, so Tony took him to the vet and that was it. I couldn't look at him, but Sabra said he didn't look like he was suffering, so that's something.

Gray Boy came to us in July 2007. We were coming back from Cape Cod, Ria driving, when Sabra who had arrived home earlier, said, "Ma your cat died today." That was Ellie, old, old cat so it was no surprise. What was a surprise, was later that day, a gray cat appeared in the yard, a gray cat wearing a pink flea collar. And that is how we got Gray Boy. Oh, we tried to find his owner, Sabra took a cute picture of him and we posted them throughout town. The phone rang, and a woman said she saw the poster and thought it was Smokey. She came to the house, with two kids, a girl and a boy, and the kids both yelled Smokey, It's Smokey, and I smiled. But the mother looking closely, said No, it's not Smokey, Smokey held his head differently. So close. Then a man called and said his cat was missing, looked like the picture, but did this cat have only three legs? Sadly, I had to admit there were four. No one else called, and he became our "outdoor cat". He slept under the living room window, and since he was a Russian Blue Cat with heavy, heavy fur, he didn't seem to mind the winter. Recently, in the heat he had been tearing his fur out, pieces all over the deck.

Maria loved Gray Boy. "He was a prince in another life, Ma." Sabra loved him too, would pick ticks off of him, which he patiently let her do. Timmy would chase him if he came in the house, but he would prefer Timmy instead of me for his nightly belly rubs.

Poor Gray Boy....rest in peace. We are going to bury him with Sabra's cats, Horchow, Toad and Aunt Eddy. Rest in peace.

2011-06-29T06:00:00.000-07:00

Well, the wedding is in three days and I still don't know what I am wearing. The problem is all my clothes come from two places - the thriftshop in Tivoli and the Free Table at the gym. Well, acutally, there are two tables at the gym, one is FREE and the other is LOST AND FOUND, but Timmy treats them both as the same thing. Right now I am wearing New Balance sneakers from the free table that I saw at Kohl's for over $80. You can't beat the free table.

And the same is true about the thrift shop, most clothes are marked under $5 and once a month there is "bag day" where you can fill a grocery bag with clothes for $5. Hence, the problem why I can't buy clothes. It just doesn't make sense. ButI haven't seen anything recently at the thrift shop that would be good for the wedding.

So I started pulling out old dresses from the closet. One was so old, it was falling apart on the hangar. Well, time to get rid of that one. I showed one of my favorites to Sabra, and she called it "frumpy". So that's my latest dilemma.

Last week it was my car. I needed to get it inspected, but the "service engine soon" light was on. I told the manager that when I made the appointment, and his voice saddened, as he said, "well, that's going to be a problem." So I took it to the garage, "Needs three new tires to pass inspection", so feeling hopeful about the light, I said "Well, you might as well make it four", and went home to await the phone call. It came. "Well ma'm the light indicates the emission valve might be stuck , we can get a new one for $290". Go ahead, I gave approval. I have to get the car inspected. But when I picked it up, no inspection ticket. You have to drive it now for 50-100 miles and bring it back with the light still off. So I drive for 50 miles, bring it in and my friend Chris who was behind the desk is not there. "He was taking over for me last week", explained the new face. When I told him I drove over 50 miles, he shook his head, and said"You have to drive it more than 80 miles." But we will check it anyway. Sweating bullets I watched them attach the computer to the car. Then, the mechanic drove it into the shop. Oh, No, this isn't good. I watched thru the window as he typed in information on a computer. Finally, I saw him open the driver's side of the car and do something with the window. GREAT...he was putting the sticker on. $21 more dollars on top of $653. No wonder I can't buy a dress. Maybe something will turn up at the FREE table.

2011-06-06T04:31:00.000-07:00

Courage has come up several times lately - Kathy send Laura a courage pin from Maria, the cowardly lion, and Maureen sent her a cup from Maria that had one word on it - COURAGE. So, it came as no surprise when the priest yesterday quoted Robert F. Kennedy: "Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet it is the one essential, vital quality for those who seek to change a world which yields most painfully to change."

Courage - I have been interested in that word since I read Anne Morrow Lindberg. She questioned what courage was....was the person afraid to face the world that managed to get out of bed and face his fear any less brave than the soldier on the battlefield? Good question. She was also quoted as : "It takes as much courage to have tried and failed, as it does to have tried and succeeded."

Lots to think about - COURAGE...you can almost see the Wizard of Oz lion when you say the word. Courage ---Anne also said, "Don't wish me happiness...Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor. I will need them all." So my wish to you today is COURAGE.

2011-06-01T12:52:00.000-07:00

It's been a while, I have been in a scattered frame of mind and today is no different. I am thinking about turtles and thunderstorms. Turtles first. I saw a painted turtle on the road and I always have the urge to stop the car and pick them up. I used to do this for the kids. We would bring them home, look them up in the turtle book to identify the type and watch them for a while before releasing them. 40 years ago there were a lot of turtles, painted turtles, box turtles, snapping turtles, etc. Today you are lucky if you see one turtle all year. We had turtles, as I recall Maureen had them and gave them to us...Romeo and Juliet? Something like that. They were big painted turtles that lived in the living room window, eating flies, vegetables and ground beef. When I couldn't take the smell anymore I released them in the creek here in Tivoli. They got caught in the current, and I saw them going downstream, heads lifted high, watching out for each other.

My favorite turtle story is from Paul. He and Steve were going somewhere when they saw several cars stopped, watching an enormous snapping turtle slowly crossing the road. Now snapping turtles are scary to look at and if you hold a thick stick by them, their jaws can snap it in a second. Paul and Steve got out, and unexpectedly, Steve picked up the snapping turtle and carried him to the side of the road. The people were amazed. "Is that the direction he was going in?" asked Steve, and was told that actually, he was going the other way. So Steve picked him (or her) back up and carried him to the other side of the road. The turtle watchers loved it.

Thunder storms are another thing that comes with summer. Today was just a small one, but we've had some boomers. When I was a kid Bucky would go crazy when lightning and thunder arrived. "Take the bobby pins out of your hair - it attracts lightning." And, we would pull out the bobby pins quickly. Another thing, "Get off the phone - you'll get electricuted". This I almost believe because one storm hit close by and our phone made a strange noise. When I lived on Beacon Street, we had some terrible storms, and I would gather the kids and run into the hallway. There I would be joined by the woman and her daughter from across the hall, and we would hear Helen from downstairs, hurrying to join us. Actually, that is a good memory, we would all look at each other embarrassed, laugh at ourselves and wait for the thunder to stop.

I heard on the news this morning that they are expecting more than the usual number of hurricanes this season. Then when I saw Sabra this morning, she said one of the future hurricanes is named Maria. This gave me goosebumps...I mean that, so I think we better be ready for that one.

2011-05-07T10:16:00.000-07:00

May 1st was the last day I saw juncos, those little caped birds that mean winter is here. They all left at once, and on the first day of May. The cat birds have come back and the rose breasted grosbeak, so it really must be spring. Thursday was Cinco de Mayo and that always makes me think of my last days at IBM. It was on Cinco de Mayo that still another offer of an early departure from IBM came around. This one seemed to be made for me. You had to be a certain age, 49, you had to have 9 years of work at IBM and you had to be willing to "bridge" for 6 years until the time you would have had a total of 15 years, which was the earliest you could retire at.

Cinco de Mayo, my last name at that time was Ciancanelli, so I kind of sang Cinco Ciancanelli, a few times, and e-mailed my manager that I wanted to take this last offer. Who wouldn't? IBM was going down the toilet, grown men were crying in their offices, the older workers were hiding in bathrooms to avoid the talk with their manager about taking retirement, the young workers were afraid that they would be the first to go. Rumors were all over, this department was going to Texas, this one was being dissolved. No problem, Cinco Ciancanelli is going out the door. Oh, my manager tried to talk me out of it. They had just put me through three years of programming school, wanted to get their money worth, and of course I was an older woman, one of the statistics the government liked to see in corporations. But I took the bridge. My last day the main desk called me that I had flowers, and I went there to find who would have sent me something on my last day. Sure enough, it was Maria, with a note that said"To Ma, the Captain of her ship". As I returned to my office, one worker seeing the flowers said, "Did you get a promotion?" "No," I replied, "I'm leaving -it's my last day." And it was one of the best feelings I ever had.

It turned out to be a good decision in so many ways. And the money I got up front paid for a big house in Cape Cod that I rented for three weeks, with everybody we knew coming and going.

Then there's Mother's Day. I would be told to stay in bed - the kids were going to make me breakfast. My bedroom is right over the kitchen, so I could hear the fighting and arguing, while I waited. Then they would come up with a tray...a dishcloth covering a pizza pan, a cup of tea, toast with jelly in a little cup, and flowers in a small vase, usually apple blossoms from our apple tree. Then they would all sit on the bed and watch me eat. The toast was cold, but I ate it, the tea too sweet, but I drank it and when I was finished, they said "We're starving - can you make us crepes? Happy Mother's Day everybody.

2011-04-23T12:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to the Stations of the Cross for the first time in many years. When I was a kid I remember going with Grandma Burky. The church was packed, waiting for the priest. I remember her looking at my hands, dirty from playing outside, and frowning and shaking her head. You should have clean hands in church. Then the priest came out, with beautiful robes, and an altar boy on each side, each with an enormous candle that took both of their hands to hold upright. They moved slowly down the center aisle, stopping at each station, singing, praying and sprinkling incense. Nothing like that last night.

First of all there were only 10 of us in the church - 10, my first surprise, no full church, no anticipation. Then only one priest came out, no altar boys, no incense, no robes. He started out by saying that there cannot be an bell ringing on Holy Week, he even said he disconnected the outdoor bells so he wouldn't make a mistake. I knew from Ria dying on Easter week that we could not have any music at her funeral, so this was no surprise. Then the priest, elderly with a heavy accent, slowly walked and stood in front of the first station. We each had been handed a booklet with the prayers and recitings for each station, so we opened them and started. As we went from station to station, there was one refrain at the end of our recitation that was always the same, "do with me what you will". It had been a hard week, I'm down with a bad cold, then Laura went into the hospital and had surgery, and I was too sick to even go and see her. Sabra kept me informed and Laura and I talked on the phone, but that's not like being there...do with me what you will, kind of says it all. We cannot be and do everything that we want to, and we certainly don't know what lies ahead, day by day or even minute by minute. But do with me what you will, takes a lot of pressure off. Stations of the Cross, so different from my memories 60 years ago with Grandma, but boy, worth every minute of it. Happy Easter everybody.

2011-03-31T08:39:00.000-07:00

March is fast coming to a close and that makes me think of two things. The first one is fishing season, April 1st is the official start of the fishing season. Daddy loved to fish and after we moved to Tivoli he would come to our house and go to a stream in Elizaville he especially liked. When we were kids we would help him get this bait. He would take us to Legion Pond in Glenham (now a car dealership) and he would put his homemade net in the water. It was square, as I remember it, two to three feet in diameter, and lined with a fine netting, maybe an old curtain. It was at the end of a long stick, and he would put the net in the water, letting it sink. Once it was deep enough, we would throw little pieces of bread over it, and the shiny minnows would appear, a feeding fenzy. When there were enough of them, Daddy would quickly jerk the net out of the water, and the trapped fish would be carefully put into a pail of water. Another place he got bait was on the creek near Texaco by a dam. There were a lot of rocks in the water, and he would carefully lift one and there would be a crawfish exposed, a little lobster that he placed into his special baitbox, a small wooden box with a screen top, so you could watch the crawfish in their new home. Daddy would bring home his catch, if it was a large trout, he would place it next to a ruler and take its picture, no "fish story" here. The second thing is April Fool's Day. About sixteen, seventeen years ago Timmy got me really good. It was a Friday, like this year, and we were both going to work, Timmy left before seven and I went about eight. Before he left, he put a lottery ticket on the kitchen table and said, "I didn't have a chance to check my ticket. Would you find Wednesday's paper and check the numbers?" Then he left for work. I did a few chores and then I noticed the ticket on the table and dug through the recycled papers until I found the one that listed the winning draw. I checked the first number, it matched Timmy's, the second number, the third number. My heart was pounding, every number matched. Timmy had won the lottery! It was too early to call anybody, then I remember Paul left for work around seven. I called him up, my hands shaking. He answered the phone, sleepily, I think I woke him up. "Paul, I screamed, "You have got to come over and check the numbers, I think Timmy won the lottery, he matched every f.... (I let that slip) number. Paul answered generously, "That's great he won Ma, nobody deserves it more," and said he'd be over as soon as he got dressed. I checked the numbers again and again, and then I looked at the date. It wasn't for last Wednesday, it was for the coming Saturday. Poor Timmy, he matched the numbers, but not the date. I called Paul not to come, and then I realized that I had been fooled. He knew I wouldn't check the date, just the numbers...Poor Timmy really got me good. Well, anyway, I thought, now I know how it feels to win the lottery, and I did. Happy April Fool's Day.

2011-03-17T08:19:00.000-07:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day. Next week my classes start and one of them is titled "Dystopian Works", we are reading books about the opposite of Utopia. And Japan is a good example of this right now. But let me tell you what I read last night. I was reading Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury and this passage jumped out at me. "Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away." And a little further on "Grandfather's been dead for all these years, but if you lifted my skull, by God, in the convolutions of my brain you'd find the big ridges of his thumbprint." Now Maria left a million things, kind letters, an "invisiblity cloth" for Timmy to wear to family functions, a book for me titled "How to be a Guest at the Bird's Nest B&B", a collage of Mothers- Grandma Burky holding Bucky, Bucky, holding me, and me holding Maria.... I could go on and on, you probably could add something to the list if you knew Maria, because that was just the way she was. Three years is a long time, and it is a blink of an eye. Today is a beautiful day and I am going to wish everyone I see Happy St. Patrick's Day. God Bless. Rest in peace Maria.

2011-03-02T13:21:00.000-08:00

Well today would have been my mother Bucky's 95th birthday. Maria loved Bucky and I think she was a lot like her in many ways. When Maria was in College a lot of her essays were about her childhood memories of Bucky and staying with her on Falconer Street, sleeping on the back porch, looking for Mr. Chase's hidden money, etc. I recently found a letter Maria had written but never mailed to her cousin John...she wrote "You remember how Grandma used to walk Poohbear - she'd always say, "Who wants to take the dog for a dump? She had a way with words!" Maria had captured Bucky in a nutshell - she had a way with words.

We could all add to the list: (1) After the fourth of July, the summer is over, (2) Show me an engaged girl, and I will show you a future bride, (3) you shit in one hand and wish in another, you know what you get first. My brother Bob remembers these two: "I know someday I will wake up dead", and a recurring dream of hers where she would wake up and say I was dreaming I was choking on a peach pit. She never could stand clothes that were too close to her neck...she would explain, "I must have been a dog in my other life, I can't stand a tight collar."

Well Happy Birthday Bucky - we miss you wisdom and your wit.

2011-02-22T08:46:00.000-08:00

Today I was at Agway buying birdseed, when I walked in on a conversation between the cashier and her customer. "The news was so bad this morning," she was saying, "I don't know why I bother to put on the Today Show." He agreed and added, "It's only going to get worse with the unrest in the Mid East, terrorism you know," nodding like he knew we were going into RED ALERT at any moment now. The thing is that I was thinking these exact thoughts this morning. Why am I starting the day off with all this terrible news? Today's morning show was filled with graphic pictures of the victims of the earthquake, bloody, writhing in pain, and I thought back to 40 years ago when I would get up and have a cup of coffeee, not with the tv, but with the radio.

I had a little black portable radio, battery driven that picked up an AM station in Kingston, WGHQ. The radio sat on the kitchen counter, close by, while I made the kids' breakfast and packed their lunch bags. Bill Skilling was the show's host and he gave the news, the weather, and played music. The music was always the same..."Breaking Up Is Hard To Do", was played every morning - I don't know if that was a reflection of someone on the show, or the only record they had at the studio. The best part of the show came on 5 minutes before the hour. Bill would read the school lunch menus, making appropriate voices and sounds to go along with the food. For example, hamburger on a toasted roll would be said in a Jackie Gleason voice. Desserts were always good for a laugh, especially fruit cup, which he would pronounce, and then put his thumb in his cheek and make a ccccuuuupppp noise. That was the way to start the day, laughing with the radio, no visuals, nothing more dramatic than thinking of canned fruit mix being served to the poor kids as dessert.

I should have known back then that the newspaper and tv weren't for me. The songwriters were telling me so. Simon and Garfunkle said, "I get all the news I need on the weather report."
And really, that is all that I am interested in. Don McLean said it also, "Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step." Timmy is always telling me I need a "News Fast", go a week or two without the news and see what happens...like a fruit juice fast or that cayenne pepper lemonade fast that people use. Maybe I'll try that, or see if I can find a radio stations that reads the kids' menus today.

2011-02-12T11:01:00.000-08:00

Well this is the first weekend in two months that there is not a zero reading or snow predicted. Hooray! I've been spending my time mostly watching the birds and the neighbors. The neighbors are like the fable the ants and the grasshopper. We (Timmy and me) are the grasshopper, fiddling away our days, while the ants (the neighbors] are working hard. Wayne has a big yellow shovel, a long roof rake shovel, a snowblower, and a little go-cart mobile that has a plow on it. He can use all of these almost at the same time, removing methodically the snow from his house and yard.

Last week our other neighbor Tony did something I have never seen before. He hitched his son Christopher in a harness, tied a rope to it, tied the rope around himself, and they both went up on the roof. Now this is a high roof, steep pitch, therefore the rope on Christopher who had a roof rake shovel and was clearning off the roof. Now this made me laugh, because I remembered a story from my childhood where the husband and wife trade jobs, and the husband does everything wrong, including putting the cow on the roof, so he doesn't have to take the cow to the pasture. Then he tied a rope around the cow and himself. Well, the story ended with the cow falling off the roof, and the old man going down the chimney. This didn't happen across the street, but the tension and drama lasted most of the afternoon. Better than the Superbowl.

So February is dragging on. I tried to think of some good that has come out of this winter - hard to do when the pipes froze in the garage, had to all be replaced, cabin fever doesn't even describe it - and a trip to the Post Office is all I can say happened in my journal. But then I thought of one thing - no mice. Usually, in the winter, they come in the house and Timmy is trapping almost one every night. No mice. They can't make it into the house through all the snow. I think I would rather have mice than this winter.

2011-01-21T07:53:00.000-08:00

Yesterday when Timmy brought in the mail there was a package for me from my Aunt Alice. Now this was a surprise on many levels - Aunt Alice was married to my father's brother and is in her 90's. We only corresponded once a year, at Christmas and I hadn't received a Christmas card from her this year. I thought perhaps she's not well. Anyway, when I opened the box there was a letter on top of the wrapping which I read before looking into the package. Aunt Alice said she was cleaning out nick nacks, saw this and thought of me. I couldn't imagine what it would be, unwrapping the papers, I laughed and then cried...one of the teasel ladies Ria used to make years and years ago.

Maria and Kevin were running the Stork - delivering (thus the name) sandwiches, foods, desserts to businesses, but mostly Bard students. To supplement their income Ria was also making crafts, one of which was the teasel lady, a plump, kerchiefed lady, holding flowers with a teasel face, making it look like a hedgehog. Then I remembered Maria going to the craft fairs and one event jumped into my mind. This was maybe 27 years ago, when Jer was 3.

There was a craft fair in Cold Spring and Maria asked if I could go to watch Jeremy, maybe take him someplace, while she was at the fair from 10 until 2. I said sure, and my friend Crissy decided to come too. "I've always wanted to visit Boscobel in Cold Spring," she said and we agreed to go there with Jer while Ria was at the fair.

Boscobel was beautiful, but we realized a few seconds into the tour that it was not Jeremy's idea of fun. He started to scream "Lets go" and twist and turn, trying to get away. I asked the guide if we could be excused, but the woman, in a strong German accent, said "No, you MUST stay with the group. There is no one to take you out." So we stayed and it got worse and worse. On the second floor both Crissy and I were red faced, sweating trying to control Jer. In the main bathroom the tour guide pointed out the large bathtub and said, "You could drown a bad boy in there." Finally, it was over. Crissy held Jer, who tried to punch one woman in the face, and he bit into Crissy's leather jacket, leaving teeth marks. We went to a deli, got sandwiches and two beers and drove to the river, where there was a nice beach, people feeding swans and sitting in the sun, and we tried to relax, eating our lunch in the car. Just then the noon whistle went off, Jer panicked and huddled under the front seat of the car, shaking in fear. Crissy and I looked at each other in amazement. That kid who had no fear of the guide, the other visitors, us, or anything was terrifed and quiet as a mouse with the noon whistle!

Anyway, just seeing that little teasel lady from Aunt Alice made me think of that day. Maria must have made a 100 of those dolls, I wonder how many will turn up.

2011-01-08T08:26:00.000-08:00

The snow that fell last night clung to the trees this morning, making a winter wonderland. I swept off the deck to lay out birdseed and filled the front feeders, got a new cup of coffee and waited. The cardinals, juncos and chickadees were the first to appear at 7am. For a time in the early morning light, they all were motionless in the trees, bright red dots against the snow. A hawk must have been around, and then left not seeing his breakfast, for in union they all again began to eat and flit from feeder to deck to feeder.

Then the blue jays came. Noisy, piggy, stuffing themselves with seed after seed. Not like the cardinals, who politely nibble one seed, look around, wait, then take another nibble. Also, the jays are loud, screaming to each other, screaming for themselves, chasing each other away from their special place.

The squirrels come next on the half hour as if an alarm clock had set them off. I had to laugh because as they jumped from branch to branch they set off avalances of snow, minature blizzards. They are more like the bluejays, glutons, and not nice to each other. The other morning I counted nine, nine competitors, some more interested in fighting than eating.

The last to rise on a cold morning are the woodpeckers, downy woodpeckers that will go for the feeders, but prefer the suet, but today the suet is frozen, a little too hard for their taste.

Birds have been in the news lately - the reports of thousands of them dead, lying on the ground, in several parts of this country and even in Europe. What this mystery means seems to have everyone baffled. I can't imagine my life without birds. They are my meditations, my seditives, my addiction - and my salvation (that might be going a little too far!) When my neighbor Nick's wife died years ago, he went into a deep depression. She had been sickly, but her death was totally unexpected. His mood was so different, not the laughing, joking person he once was and his eyes would fill with tears frequently. Then, something changed him, brought him out of the depths of depression - a fishtank. Yes, he found an old tank in his garage and decided to buy a couple of fish. He told me about it, and I could see something had changed. Then he bought more fish, apparently he had once earlier in his life had fish, so he knew what kinds were compatable and would once in a while, splurge on an expensive, exotic fish. He told me how he would sit and watch those fish for hours. I thought of that this morning - I guess I use the birds like Nick used his fish. Relaxing, calming, amusing. I hope they find out soon what is causing these bird deaths. I need my birds.

2011-01-01T07:04:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year - since all the media seems to be looking back over the year, I thought I would do the same, but just break it down to one per season. Spring would have to be the kite flying and bubble blowing festivities in the cemetery. Not gloomy, not sad, I don't think a tear was seen, just the joy of watching the kids running, some with adults trying to get their kite in the air. We all rubbed instant lottery tickets, but no big winners, only one $3 that Paul had. Sabra's tarot reader later said to forget the ruboffs, go right to the lottery and we will have a winner within 3 years.

Summer would have to be Wellfleet, almost the whole family there, lots of laughs, lots of good seafood and Ava spotting the skeleton of what turned out to be a dophin, that came home with Jer and is now on the back porch. The kids gave me a lot of laughs and it was fun to sit on my bed, drinking fundador with Maureen, listening to David Sedaris. John O'Leary's yearly trek to our campsite was fun for all the girls and Sabra and Laura are still talking about midgets and webbed feet.

Fall would be the StreetPainting in Tivoli, working on the pavement between Sabra and Tony and Regina on the other side, doing the Guiness bird, remembering Margaret. The funniest part was that Natalie Merchant and her daughter were working on a square right in back of me. They had live music, a young woman dressed in fancy clothes, little red hat, peacock earrings, and singing all the songs I knew from my past. When she did "Blue Skies" I couldn't help myself and broke into song: "Blue skies, shining at me, nothing but blue skies do I see...never saw the sun shining so bright, never saw ..." I looked up and realized I was within earshot of Natalie and she probably never before had heard anyone sing like that.

Winter would be Rachael and Miles' engagement party - really nice restaurant, good food, everyone dressed up. Rachael looked beautiful and Regina was wearing a topless little dress she kept pulling up. Lots of topless dresses, lots of tugging, lots of pictures and lots of families. Very nice and gave us a glimpse of what is coming at the wedding.

So that's it - the year in a nutshell. Let's see what happens this year-I'm hoping for the lottery.

2010-12-26T04:51:00.000-08:00

Christmas morning I was walking to Sabra's house to see the boys opening presents. The sky was spectacular! Pinks in every shade, shimmering whites mixing in, a panorama of color and light. Entering Sabra's house I said, "You have got to see the sky..Granpa Bunny outdid himself." One of Maria's favorite Golden Books was Grandpa Bunny, about an old rabbit that showed the children how to paint Easter eggs. When he died, the children missed him, but everynow and then the sky would be lit up brilliantly and the children knew that Granpa Bunny did that for them. That's how I felt yesterday morning - that sky was a gift to us.

Then in the afternoon the family came for turkey dinner. Later, Regina was sitting in the rocker in the living room, when all of a sudden she said, "I just love Christmas", another gift for me. Merry Christmas everybody.

2010-12-16T12:42:00.000-08:00

Two Ciancanelli Christmas family stories. The first one is Santa Mouse. When the kids were little we used to take them to Stickles' store in Rhinebeck to buy their presents for the family. Each was given $10 and they would roam the store, seeking just the right gifts for their family and maybe a friend or two. One year Sabra brought herself a gift, a little mouse dressed like Santa. After shopping we went to Foster's to celebrate with lunch.

When we got home and opened the bags, no where was Santa Mouse to be found, it must have fallen out of the package in our travels. Sabra cried and I promised to go back to Rhinebeck and get another mouse as soon as possible. Well, it snowed for the next several days, and when we got to Stickles, there was no Santa Mouse left. I tried to talk her into another decoration, but she wanted Santa Mouse. "Let's go to Foster's for lunch," I said, trying to cheer her up, but she just gave me the "face", still off we went to Foster's. Crossing the street, I glanced in the gutter in front of the restaurant and something red caught my eye. I bent down, and sure enough, it was Santa Mouse, flattened from being run over and parked on, all wet from the snow. But Sabra was in heaven - I promised to dry him out and maybe I could make him a new coat, and I did. He still was flat, and certainly looked as if he been through what he had been through, but he was hung proudly on the Christmas tree, not only that year, but every year after that...The Santa Mouse miracle - found after all those days and how you can get what you want if you want it badly enough and believe.

The second story is Christmas Party at school. Paul was probably in first grade when the note came home that there was to be a party and each boy should buy a boy gift and each girl a girl gift to exchange on that day. The note indicated that the gift should be under $2. So Paul and I looked through Stickles, I being very careful to make sure the gift was close to $2 and finally settling on something that was $1.99. Proudly, I felt, that is as close as you can get under the limit. We wrapped it, labeled it "boy" and Paul took it to school on the last day before Christmas. I wondered if the boy who got the gift would like it, appreciate my generousity, going right to the limit. When Paul got home, I eagerly asked to see what he had received. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a beat up, worn matchbox car. "Is that it?" I asked disgusted that someone would wrap up something so old and scratched. "Yes,"he answered happily, "Jimmy gave it to me. It was his FAVORITE toy." I was taken aback. Boy, was my face red. Those little first graders had a better understanding of Christmas than I had. I wiped a tear, and told Paul that Jimmy was right, that is the BEST toy anyone can get. And like the grinch, I think my heart grew three sizes that day.

2010-12-07T04:45:00.000-08:00

Christmas shopping - with these knees I can only do one or two stores at a time. Years back with the three older kids in school, I would put Sabra in the car and start off for Kingston to do as many stores as possible. Sabra was a squealer though, had a great memory, and would tell her sisters and brother about my purchases, so I had to go prepared.

We had a game then, "Beat the Clock", also a TV show, in which you had to do stunts while the clock ticked off...probably a lot like "winitinaminute", or whatever that show on TV is now. Anyway, part of the game was a blindfold that the person would use and try to do some stunt, like pile blocks or something. I would bring along to the store the blindfold, and get Sabra settled in the cart and then put the blindfold on her eyes. I would be putting games and toys in the cart, carefully covering them with my coat, in case she peeked. But she never peeked. I think the kid liked the game herself, and would keep up a coversation, "How much longer?" "I'm hungry, can we get something to eat?" Other shoppers smiled at us. She did look cute, a little kid blindfolded talking all the while I filled the cart. What a clever idea they seemed to think, as we proceeded to the checkout counter.

We would end up at Britts, a really nice store that was as close to Macy's as we had in Kingston at that time. Very nice clothes, a good fabric department (I was sewing then) and best of all a restaurant...not like you find in Sam's Club or Target - frozen pizza and three day old hot dogs, but a real restaurant, with soups and sandwiches, small pots of tea. I would get a soup and chicken salad, and Sabra would get a grilled cheese sandwich, with chips and a pickle. "Now this lunch is our little secret", I would whisper to her and she would nod agreeably. But then when the bus dropped off the older kids that afternoon, the first thing out of her mouth was "MOM AND I ATE OUT". Thank God for that blindfold I would think.

2010-11-28T09:09:00.000-08:00

Moving Day 1967, 43 years ago today we moved to Tivoli - weather wise it was a day much like today, clear but cold. The excitement had been building for weeks, as I packed the boxes for the trip, labeling each - Kids' clothes, kids' toys, Linda's clothes, etc. The boxes were lined up in the downstairs hall, waiting for the big day. We were leaving 66 Beacon Street, home since before Maria was born. We lived in an upstairs apartment, one apartment on each side of the hall, the same downstairs four in all. The downstairs hall had boxes from the floor to the ceiling by the time moving day arrived.

Sunday after Thanksgiving was the day, not sure of the date, but this is the day I celebrate. We had rented a moving truck, with an automatic lifter on the back, for the refrigerator and other large pieces of furniture. Bill Olah entertained the kids by riding up and down several times, making appropriate, or inappropriate noises. Maria was 5, leaving her first school, Laura was 3 and Paul was only 2. I was to drive them in the station wagon, which was loaded up also and had a canoe tied to the top. This was to be my longest drive ever since I had only received my driving license the summer before.

We set off, a small caravan, me in the car with the kids, Bill in his car, and Joel driving the van. I think I warned the kids to be really quiet, they were probably sitting in the back seat, although Maria might have been up front with me...no carseats, seatbelts or airbags to worry about in 1967. The drive seemed forever, just over an hour, but I was glad to see the turn for Clay Hill Road, and into the driveway we came.

Jane, Bill's wife, was waiting for us and everyone explored the house up and down, easy to do, it was two rooms and a bath downstairs, and one big bedroom, one tiny bedroom and regular size bedroom upstairs. Jane had brought sandwiches and we sat on the kitchen floor eating them, with the heat blowing on us from the radiator. I don't remember the unpacking, all the work of moving. I do remember later that afternoon, with no curtains on the windows yet, we watched our neighbors decorating a large cedar tree in the front of their house for Christmas. They had a boy a little older than Maria, and two teenage girls, "babysitters" I thought. They argued about the placement of the lights, not enough green, or yellow, etc. But it felt right, sitting in that open living room, my first home with my family, as excited and happy as my kids. I still love it.

2010-10-27T12:52:00.000-07:00

Today would have been my neighbor Angelo's 84th birthday. Angelo was the kind of man you wanted for a neighbor. We shared a lot of good times, good laughs, and I still consider him one of my best friends. This time of year especially brings back the memories because Angelo and I celebrated Halloween every year - each trying to trick the other, each getting into outlandish outfits or situations to do so.

There would be a loud knock at the door, and there would be Angelo, dressed in women's clothes, or dressed like a bum. He always disguised his face with a veil, or a hat drawn way down, so I never was quite sure if it was him at first. One time he came in dressed in heavy clothes, disguishing his body, and wearing big old fashioned galoshes. He never talked, didn't want to give away his identify with his easily recognizable voice. So, he handed me a note. On it was written, "AFRAID OF AIDS, WEAR RUBBERS". Now, I got a little worried, what if it wasn't Angelo but some demented Halloween killer I had just let into the house? He went right into the living room which was lit only with a candle near the bowl full of candy and started to empty all the candy in his bag. But he didn't know that we had an extra prop in the room. From behind the curtains came Timmy's loud and stern voice "TAKE JUST ONE" and Angelo fell back into a chair, holding his heart. We all had a good laugh at that.

Once I dressed up like a pirate, full pirate mask on my face. I had Timmy drive me down the street, so Angelo wouldn't see me cross Clay Hill to his house. He didn't recognize me, I think he had been looking out of his window to see when I would leave the house, so the entrance from down the road confused him ...and I got him good.

My kids all loved Angelo. Laura would picture her ideal parents as being my sister Maureen for her mother and Angelo for her father. When Maria lived in the Bird's Nest she and Angelo would meet at the mail boxes, right after the mail delivery. They kidded each other about how important their job was, getting the mail. Paul spent time with Angelo in the back shed, looking at his collections. Angelo collected hub caps, which he sold to people seeing his sign on 9G. One time a nun bought a hub cap from him and he put it on her car. I always wished I had a picture of that nun in her full habit and Angelo on his knees, putting on the hub cap. One time our guests in the Bird's Nest said to me, "We saw the most wonderful thing today." I thought they meant a bird, or deer in the yard, but they had wandered across the street and Angelo had given them a tour of his hub cap collection. They were from England and thought this was grand.

Angelo was a little hard of hearing, so often instead of yelling to each other across the street, we would pantomine a discussion. I would look up at the sky, raise my hands , like what is it going to do today? And Angelo, would pretend to put up an umbrella, or break into a big smile, arms out like he was sunbathing.

Oh, we had good times, right up to the end. I would go stay with him from seven in the morning until his nurse arrived around eight. We were alone for that time, and he could be open with me about his illness, which he always tried to keep from his children. One morning he looked at me and just said simply, "I'm going to miss you." For a moment, I was thrown. It sounded like I was the one going away, and then I understood what he meant. "'l'll miss you too, Angelo," I answered, and then we went on to another subject. And I do, especially at Halloween.

2010-10-18T12:49:00.000-07:00

Back from Oysterfest, six days at Wellfleet. Years ago, probably at least 6 now, one day Ria and I took Ava and Regina to Duck Harbor during our summer vacation. The girls were in a bad mood and they kept fighting and bickering, until Maria couldn't stand it anymore and drew a line down the sand. "Here," she said, "Regina, you stay on this side of the line and Ava, you stay on the other side." The kids mumbled, but obeyed, each going on their side of the line drawn in the sand. Regina went off a ways, but Ava stayed near the line, bending down into a huddle. She picked up a stick and was making marks in the sand. Curious, I went over to see what she was doing, and saw that she had written in the sand, "I miss my hole family". Now I thought this was pretty spectacular, the kid was only five, and the only mistake was the hole for the whole. I showed Ria and we discussed it, because Ava was there without the family she lived with...she probably did miss the hole. And that's how I was feeling this past week, like I was missing my hole family.

Oh, Timmy was there with me, we did crossword puzzles, sat in the sun, ate at the Lobster Pot, but something, just something was missing. I know it was my family. Maria always came out with Regina, and Laura, Michael and Atticus had made it out too. My nephew John and his family would visit for a day, but this year there was no family. Even at the Oysterfest, something was off...my friend Jackie and her husband would meet us there, but that ended when Jackie died two years ago, the summer after Maria.

My hole family...missing the W and then I thought a W is an upside M...M for Maria. This only made it worse, but things changed Sunday morning when I went to Mass. The church is almost brand new, Our Lady of Lourdes in Wellfleet. Entering, the first thing I saw was a giant seashell filled with holy water to dip ones fingers in. I sat down on the pew and then the next thing that caught my eye was the stained glass window over the altar...It was a W and a M combined. (Like in Mad, Mad World, I felt like I had discovered the "THE BIG W" that they were all looking for where the treasure was buried.] The W and the M.

I don't know what the symbol means, I couldn't find it on the internet..but it is definitely a W and an M interwoven, with a crown on top and flowers on either side. The W missing in Ava's sentence found the M that I was missing. It was wonderful and my outlook on life changed - I went back to the cottage and the yearly road race had started. I clapped as the runners went by and they all gave me big smiles, peace signs, yelled thanks, it was heartwarming. One woman went by and as I clapped she broke into a big smile and yelled "This is my first race", "You're doing great," I yelled back. I tell you seeing that M and W together was a dam breaker. The world seemed right.

Later, I told Timmy, maybe next year, if there is a next year, we will rent a really big house so my hole family can come out and join us. What do you think?

2010-10-03T11:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday while leaving the Street Painting, Regina and I passed through the old Methodist Church yard. "Linny," she asked, "why do churches always have windows you can't see through?" My first response was "to keep the devil from looking in", but then I thought and said, "or to keep the people inside paying attention, and not looking out the windows." Today at Mass, the priest talked about stain glass windows (a coincidence that is occuring so often any more that I don't even question it).

The priest said that during the Renaissance, when churches were being built all over Europe, most of the parishioners could not read, so the windows became the story tellers of the Bible, of the life of Christ, etc. St. Sylvia's has the sacraments on the side walls. My usual seat is near confession...one half of the window shows Jesus forgiving sins, the other half of the window shows a man in a confessional booth with a priest. I don't know if they even do that now, go into the confessional. You used to go behind a curtain, waiting your turn, making sure the person ahead of you had left. The confessional booth had two sides, the priest sat in the middle with a little window he would open on one side, hear the confession, close it tightly (you could still hear the loud talkers) and open the other. That was a dramatic moment, the moment you heard the window open, the Latin words being spoken by the priest, and then "Bless me father, for I have sinned..." No turning back, but I bet many wished they could bolt out of that box.

My last confession was face to face and it had been so many years that the priest had to keep urging me on, "work with me Linda". I was shocked. Confession when I was a kid was one sided, your recital of everything bad you had done...you told the priest your sins..if you didn't give a number, or a vague number like "a few" he would stop - almost visibly hold up his hand, "how many is a few? More than five, more than ten?" pinpointing it down, while you wished you were anywhere but in that booth, with that man. Oh, it was an ordeal - confession. Something the kids today probably don't even know about. If they made that stain glass window of confession today, it would probably be a priest smiling, with little birds singing and rabbits jumping, like a scene from Snow White and the confessor wearing a big smile.

Laura did a Street Painting yesterday that looked like a stain glass window. It was of God creating the world and he is pictured with an instrument actually designing and measuring the details. Sabra and Tony did a woman being hugged by a bear, Regina did birds in a tree and I did the Guinness Toucan bird, with "A lovely day for a Guinness" above a colorful Toucan balancing a pint of beer on his beak. I wrote "For Margaret" on the bottom, because Margaret did this bird with me in 2002 in the Black Swan patio. She also did one of Regina and did the first one ever with me on Clay Hill Road of Mona Lisa Rabbit. Margaret was a great artist and a great friend. Street Painting Day has so many memories of her, Maria, of all those years my family worked so hard with me on this event. Trish spoke with me yesterday, saying all that I put into that event, but I responded that I got so much more out of that day than I ever put into it. And I surprised myself because I really meant that.

2010-09-12T10:16:00.000-07:00

I've been going to church now for over a month. It's a long story as to how I got started again, at this time I'll just say that I'm enjoying the experience. Our church in Tivoli is St. Sylvia's. It is a lot different since the time I went with the kids back in the 70's and 80's. Oh, it's the same beautiful small church, and like so many churches has the feeling of another world, another country to it. Oh, the church is the same, but attendance is way down; today there were many 20 people at the most - all older, no kids at all. When I used to take the kids, the church was full, and there were all ages, and all sizes. Today I sat in the same pew as I did so many years ago with the kids. I remember how it was always a challenge then, to get everybody ready, in the car and seated in that pew for Mass.

And then, it was the challenge of keeping them behaved, not laughing, not wriggling or poking each other. That's when the term "the church face" was given to me, apparently my face turned into something completely abnormal, that demanded certain behavior to change. The kids would sneak in toys, anything to keep them amused. One time I looked over at Sabra and she had pulled Chatty Cathy out of her pocket and right before my cringing eyes, pulled the string way out. Now if you remember Chatty Cathy was a small doll that would talk when the string was pulled, saying things like "I want a hamburger" "I think I'm pretty", etc. I grabbed Cathy out of her hands before the string could start down. Holding the sting taunt, now I had to figure out what to do with it. I couldn't hold it the whole Mass....carefully, everytime the congregation would stand I would release a little string, the noisy standing covering most of Cathy's comment. It took careful concentration and I was sweating bullets while my kids were grinning from ear to ear at my dilemma. Finally, Cathy was quiet and put away in my purse. That's how church was then, nerve wracking.

Today was quiet, no church drama, not even much to look at. The sermon was about 9/11 and especially Father Judge, the Fire Department Chaplain who is listed as the first casualty of that event. The priest returned to his usual theme of you never know when you will be called, a common thread he has included every week for the last month and which always makes me think of Maria. Anyway, he quoted Father Judge as having said, "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans for tomorrow." That's basically all I remember of the sermon, but that is plenty.

2010-08-26T11:13:00.000-07:00

Twins, I have had twins on my mind for the past weeks. My neighbor has twin girls about six months old that she pushes up and down the street, trying to keep them cool in the summer heat. Then twin fawns appeared in our yard, orphans, that cried first, sad mournful sound, but soon they were just seen quietly nibbling on grass, way too young to survive without a mother's milk. But they did and they still are around. Then an invitation to my twin sisters' birthday this weekend. And most surprising, a book, a wonderful book that weaves the lives of twins in a gothic type plot, The Thirteenth Tale. Helene was reading this book at the lake two weeks ago, could hardly put it down. So I went to the library, and likewise "had my nose in it" (as Bucky would say) until I finished the more than 400 pages in three days. I used to do this all the time, but lately my reading, like my walking, has slowed down.

Twins. I was eight when my twin sisters were born, did not know my mother was pregnant, and my mother did not know she was having twins - a little like a gothic mystery. But my mother came home with two babies, two girls who at first wore bead bracelets "a" and "b". They were small, I don't remember the birth weights, but I do remember my mother relating a scene in which the nurse said to Doctor Supple, "You are not going to let these babies go home so soon, are you?" and as my mother proudly announced, he said "Betty is a good mother. They will be fine." So there we were with two new members of the family - Kathleen and Maureen. Twins.

I had never seen twins before. Two perfect babies that looked exactly alike. I have a picture somewhere of me holding them soon after, one in each arm with a very serious look on my face. When they grew older, I would push one in a carriage, and my girlfriend would take the other in a carriage and off we would go...probably only nine or ten years old ourselves. But twins are magic and everyone smiles, wants to know their names and of course always ask "are they identical"? which always seemed stupid because they looked exactly alike. Just a little difference in their smile, or the look in an eye. In photographs it was harder to tell, and we would go back and forth...that's Kathleen, no that's Maureen, Wait, I think it IS Maureen. No it's Kathleen.
Until finally we just said, who cares, it is the twins.

That's how it is with twins....they are individuals, but you tend to pair them, think of them in the same way. The Thirteenth Tale had an evil twin....we didn't have that. Kathleen was kind of a tomboy, wore cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. And Maureen cared more for dolls, once getting hurt from a doll. The arm had come off. In those days they were wired on and somehow the wire cut her mouth, tongue, something bad. That's the thing with twins, you had twice the responsibility, twice the nerve wracking care, but like the old tune used to go "double the pleasure, double the fun, with doublemint doublemint doublemint gum".

Twins. They run in families you know. Grandma Burky had twin sisters (or maybe brothers) she didn't know that until after Bucky had had her twins, having left Europe at an early age. They skip a generation, is the theory. If so, we are due for twins in this family any day now. Wouldn't that be great?

2010-08-21T12:22:00.000-07:00

This poor blog has been on a long dry run, end it today with my birthday. 68th birthday...what a ride. There used to be a tv show in the 50's called This is Your Life and Ralph Edwards would surprise a person, usually a celebrity, by reading from a big book a bio of their life, bringing in people from their past that they hadn't seen for years. Some of the surprised lifers would be less than happy to have their life paraded in front of them, but most seemed to enjoy it. 68 years - who would they bring out and what would they say?

I just had a email that there was a comment from Kathy L on facebook that said "happy birthday" - so that's one person they could bring out...tell about when we worked together at IBM, the escapade when we didn't get a raise, so we would come in a half an hour early and be "greeters". We would stand near the door, drinking a cup of coffee from the cafeteria and just say "Good Morning" to everyone, making overtime for no work. No one ever challenged us..I guess there was nothing in the Manager's Manual about greeters.

Then I got a birthday card from Timmy's sister Meg. Meg could come out and tell us about our fun in Florida...one New Year's Eve her husband Bob was playing in a band and they played a song with the line "with a girl named Lindy Lou" and I got up on a picnic table to dance. Now with these knees I have a hard time sitting at a picnic table.

Then there was my 60th birthday party at the Black Swan, with Shockwave, wearing an UPS uniform came to the door..."package for Linda Murphy, package for Linda Murphy". Maria had borrowed the uniform from a friend whose husband had worked for UPS. Shockwave had a boom box, plugged it in, and started to Shock Wave, dancing, throwing off the uniform, bobbing and weaving in front of me. My nephew John grabbed his three daughters to escape before Shockwave went too far, and Erin screamed all the way out, "But we haven't had cake yet, we need to have cake". Shockwave stopped at his Scooby Doo underwear, but he would be a good one to bring on stage.

Chrissy could tell about our adventures in Ireland, driving the little red rental car on the wrong side of the road. Once the car was too close to a stone wall, and a long scratch appeared, we used red nail polish to disguise it. Or the time in Provincetown when we were the only women in a restaurant. "Look Chrissy," I said pointing to a figure near the bar, "There's another woman."
Chrissy looked and answered, "Loggy, that's a man dressed like a woman."

68 years is a long time. I can remember when jet planes were something special, rattling the windows of the house, and we would run out to see the stream they left in the sky. Or go up to the old schoolyard to watch Sputnik make it's orbit over our house. The inventions - air conditioning, TV, video games, cell phones, span the years, as well as I Like Ike, the Nixons, the tragedies of the Kennedy boys, Bill Clinton's cigar and now Obama. Like I said, it's been a ride and I'm waiting for the next turn in the road.

2010-07-21T06:15:00.000-07:00

Well, this is the fifth day back from vacation. It was a good one, weather-wise, family-wise, and fun-wise. I guess some of my favorite memories are just sitting on the beach, watching the tide coming in and going out and observing my family..all four generations (counting me) interacting.
Some of the memories are:

o The sand castle contest. Ava, Atticus, Shane, Regina, Zach and Ian each made their own and then explained and described it. Ava's won for its ecology, Shane for his humor (the stupid people made their homes outside of the castle wall), Regina most unusual (her castle was underground) and Atticus for most elaborate. Ian only used his hands, no shovel and Zach had a trench going several feet, the longest.

o Finding the skeleton. On a beach walk, Ava yelled to me "Linny, look at that" pointing to a large skeleton high on the rocks. Jer identified it as a seal or a dolphin and decided to take it home with him. He recovered it in the dark of night and rode home next to it in the back seat.

o The food. Kevin caught bluefish,bass and striper which Jer cooked for us...bluefish on a plank and leftover bass made into fish cakes. The fish cakes were voted the best of all. I made oysters Rockefeller, but couldn't find the spinach (we never did find out what happened to it), but they were a hit when I added cream cheese.

o The cocktail party. The girls came down the hill from Laura's cottage all dressed up, high heels, gorgeous outfits and eye makeup. Helene found a dress in the Wellfleet Thrift shop that was perfect and I wore a pantsuit that was about 20 years old. Atticus kept grabbing the pants part saying, "I can't believe they are pants". I guess she never saw anything like that. Maureen wore a black dress with a large moon necklace and Caitlin made Pina Coladas and Marquaritas.

o The refrigerator going up the stairs to Laura's cottage. The cottages were experiencing power surges and Laura's refrigerator died. When the handyman came to replace it, he was alone and started the long trek up many steps to the cottage. We were enjoying Happy Hour on the deck, watching the whole show. It was like the Laurel and Hardy when they have to move a piano up a hundred steps. He made it, then a while later had to come down with the old one. A little entertainment for us.

o Elf shoes. Gabby (Jer's girlfriend) came back from Provincetown with a pair of green elf shoes, with the front toes pointing up. You had to smile to see them.

o O'Leary visit. John and his family came, and had a surprise, my great neice Catlin with them. The seven girls sat in the house, eating, texting and being girls. Good looking bunch.

o The kids. Solomon and Henry in the water, laughing, Shane threatening his brother Zach, "If you touch this sand castle, I will put your face in the sand and stand on your head until you are dead." Pretty good threat that worked. My bedroom was over the back yard and one night I heard...Do you have the flashlight? Where's the shovel? OK. let's bury it. I think they were burying a broken pingpong paddle, but I will never know.

So that's it...I will probably think of a hundred more. That's what vacations are for, memories that pop in your head that make you smile.

2010-07-04T04:47:00.000-07:00

One of Bucky's favorite sayings was "after the Fourth of July the summer is over". It used to drive us nuts because summer was just starting, but I realize now there is some truth to that. The stores are already advertising back to school items. I read an article where a woman's father use to say on June 22, the first day of summer, "well, that's it, now it is going to get darker earlier everyday". Maybe parents just have to torment their kids.

But I do notice signs that summer is going fast. The baby birds are just about all grown up, the first batch anyway. You still see a few "baby Huey's" bigger than their parents flapping their wings, nosily screaming, waiting to be fed some of my sunflower seeds. And the squirrels are all fighting for a place at the feeders, little mean red squirrels and big gray squirrels, but no more babies. With no rain for days past the bird baths are getting a lot of use. I do love to see the chipmunks and the squirrels taking advantage of them and leaning way over to get a drink. So summer is moving ahead.

Next week we will be in Wellfleet. The whole family is going and we are whipping ourselves into a seaside mindset. Lobsters, oysters, clams, beach umbrellas, are all we talk about. "Don't forget to bring the games, some good knives, these houses never have a good knife, do you think four pounds of butter is enough? I mean we are getting into a frenzy. I myself think the oil spill has something to do with it. Spill is not quite the word, gush is better. The ocean as we know it is being attacked, under seige by our own greed for oil. Will that mess makes it way to Cape Cod? Will the kids be making sand castles that are black? Will the seagulls be dropping the clams on the stones, flying down and then going "yuck" and leaving them there? With that in mind we are acting like this might be our last time for the beach as we know it. Maybe it is. So Wellfleet here we come.

2010-06-25T06:28:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about relationships the other day, what makes some work and others not. I saw Carl Reiner on a talk show and he and his wife Estelle (now deceased) were married for 64 years. He said that once she was asked what's the secret for a successful relationship and she answered, "You have to be able to stand the other person". Estelle was famous for one role in the movies, in her son's production of Harry Meets Sally, she had the line: "I'll have what she's having". Anyway, at first I thought she was setting the standard a little too low. Like he has to be able to use a fork (not even a knife). But when you think about it, it might just come down to that. You have to be able to stand the person to have the relationship go on and on.

My mother Bucky use to say "like finds like", but I lean more to "opposites attract". I met Mr. Haley 23 years ago. Maria, Jer and baby Rachael drove to Beacon to show Aunt Lillian and my mother the new baby. My brother came up from the cellar with this strange looking guy wearing overalls and my brother started apologizing right away. "I'm sorry about this, but he wanted to meet you" and that's how Harry Met Sally.

23 years is a long time (we've been engaged for 22 of them) and I think it's because he interests me in a strange way. Like his bathroom habit of playing boggle whenever he feels the need to go. He's done that for years and no one ever questions the boggle game next to the toilet. One year he measured the sun everyday, covering the floor with little yellow stickons and typing measurements methodically into the computer. He even measured the sun on our trip to Florida, which was quite exciting because the numbers are all different down there. One day in the summer he was measuring on the Bird's Nest deck to take advantage of as much sun as possible. A lady came to see the B&B, and as we passed him on the deck, with all the yellow stickons, I just explained "He's doing a scientific experiment". I don't think she ever came back.

We're alike in some ways, both like puzzles, crossword or suduku, and both like to sing. Sometimes we sing together, he is much better than I am, but singing together is always fun. Ironically, I sang a song with his Uncle John 52 years ago. He was my sister's best man at their wedding. We sang Down By the Old Mill Stream. It was fun because it goes: down by the old (and I would say 'old not the new but the old')and he would say where I first (and I would say 'first not the second but the first") met you (not me but you), dressed in gingham (not silk but giingham). Well I guess you get the idea. What we sometimes do is get the other person stuck on a song. It's really easy to do. First get a good tune. Yesterday I heard in Shop Rite, "Keep on Believin' by Journey, "she took the midnight train going anywhere'. Then you just sing it a few times and before you know it, you hear the other person humming or whistling or even saying the words to the song. Timmy is more the "Whip It" type, and me the "Zip A Dee Dooda" but it works with almost any tune.

So, I think Estelle was right. If you can just stand them, it can work out.

2010-06-15T09:04:00.001-07:00

Today is a beautiful, almost summer day. The sky blue and sunny after more than three days of clouds and rain. Ria's grave was beautiful, the flowers really picking up now and some starting to bloom. I added flowers from Stop and Shop having brought scissors and water with me. I had to clean off the stone, it was covered with bird shit. A pair of mockingbirds were flying around. Ria's stone is one of the highest perches for them, and you can tell they like to use it to spot the next bug they will take to their babies. The date June 15, 1962 kept drawing my eyes. I remember it so well. It was a Friday morning, a little after 3am that she was born. An easy delivery but I was too excited to sleep much and starving when they brought me breakfast on a tray early in the morning. The tray held a card with a baby wearing a graduation cap that said class of 1980. I kept that for her baby book. The breakfast was hash, toast and two runny eggs. (One time in a diner the man in back of me ordered eggs "overeasy, no snot.") He would not have been happy with these. But I ate everything, wiping the plate with my toast. The orderly smiled at me as he picked up my finished tray. "Look at that", he kidded, "you ate the design right off the plate." I was anxious to see my baby. After delivery, they took the baby one way to the nursery, and sent me the other way, to my room. Finally, a nurse stuck her head in the door. "Do you want to see the most beautiful baby in the nursery?" she asked and brought in Maria. And she was beautiful, big, big eyes, rosy clear skin and a soft halo of red hair. I remember staring at her, watching her pulse bobbing in her "soft spot" thinking all kinds of thoughts.

The Soft Spot -that's what Bucky had explained to me when she brought home my baby brother and baby sisters. "That's their soft spot" and she pointed at the top of their head. "The fontanel," she added, impressing me with her knowledge. "Their skull is not quite formed yet. They need that soft spot to be born. But you can never touch them there.....their brains are covered with just that little bit of thin skin." I was horrified, but interested too. A soft spot.

At the grave today, I thought about that soft spot. Ria's death is kind of like that a soft spot that is tender, pulsing with memories. Proof of the love we all felt for her and the love she so generously gave to us. Happy Third Birthday in Heaven, Maria. Love, Ma

2010-06-02T11:23:00.001-07:00

I spent the weekend at Laura's cabin in upstate New York with two of my grandchildren, Regina and Atticus. We left Friday morning - it's a four hour drive - and came back Monday afternoon, so that's what? about 72 hours all together. And what stands out from all that time is not the beauty of the lake, or the quiet uncomplicated life. Nope, it's the conversations with the kids.

One was the retelling of how Regina's father recently ordered Chinese food to be delivered to their house by taxicab. (Atticus was spending the weekend). Kevin couldn't use his truck, as they explained, because it was full of rhubard. Now, Laura and I had heard the story earlier and had wondered what was he doing with a truckload of rhubard, but had accepted it as certain, didn't even question it. After all, it is rhubard season right now. At the lake, we dug a little deeper, "What was your father doing with all that rhurbard?" "You, know" Regina explained, "he needs it for work." Now, Laura and I were really puzzled. Rhubard for work? "Yeah, well it sounds like rhubard"......Laura and I looked at each other and said it together....REBAR...they mean rebar, of course. It makes a lot more sense that a mason would have a truckload of rebar, but then maybe someone had too much rhubard so they gave it to him. Could happen.

Another conversation had Regina roaring in her seat. Atticus was telling about a boy in high school that came to school with a dead squirrel stapled to a Yankee baseball cap, the squirrel's tail flopping in the wind. Now, that's something you don't hear everyday. Then Regina told about her class seeing a movie called "Here Comes Puberty", the boys separate from the girls. Regina said the boys version only lasted a few minutes, but the girls was longer. One girl felt faint and had to go to the nurse to lay down. Then each girl got a "goodie bag" of supplies, which I guess they promptly opened. Regina said the item looked "like an old ladies diaper" and some more girls went down for the count.

That's always been the way with our family...the kids provide the most amusement. It started with Jer. He had been punished for using bad words, common swear type, so he invented words to call peole. He had "ash tray" which was good, "dog smell", even better, but my favorite was "air hole". Now that's original. I even used that at IBM, one guy really got to me and I called him an air hole, and he told his manager and his manager just looked at him like he was nuts. "What's an air hole?" he asked, like it might be a new scientific wonder.

Atticus had other names for people...her cousin Rachael was FooFee and Liz was Wren. Jer had named me Loggie Linds, which became Loggie, which became Linnie. More than one of them has called me Ninnie, with the L a harder letter to say. And it wasn't just words...sometimes they asked for strange things. One Christmas all Rachael wanted was "a monkey with clean hands". Maria had to search , but she found one with light pink palms - just what Rachael had wanted.

Recently, Henry discovered my hamper, a dark small closet under the stairs in the bathroom. Playing hide and seek, Solomon and Henry hid there. Henry renamed the hamper, the "Underwear Cellar", probably because it was dark like a cellar, and had dirty underwear in it.
Sabra said he now calls their cellar, the underwear cellar.

I can go back even further. One time Paul came home from school and looked annoyed. He said the teacher had asked them to name birds and he had said the "bra bird" and the teacher looked surprised and said she never heard of that one. It took me a while, but I figured it out. He meant tit mouse. When Maria's class was covering monies, Maria told the class she was going to bring in some money that her grandfather had from the war. So, she took it to class and presented it as "Peen" money. Again, the teacher was surprised, looked at the coins and corrected Ria, saying you mean "European". Maria never forgot that and every now and then would say how "we" embarrassed her by letting her go to school thinking it was Peen money.

Art Linkletter knew kids were funny, all you had to do was get them talking. The section of his show called "Kids say the darnest things" was one of my mother's favorite TV shows. The kids certainly had me entertained this weekend.

2010-05-22T04:43:00.000-07:00

Today is Bard's graduation. We've been doing the Bird's Nest B&B for 15 years and we started with a Bard graduation. I remember it very well since it was the first and also we had guests from Viet Nam that did NOT want breakfast, they brought their own food. I remember Timmy and I cleaning the kitchen, smelling all the wonderful smells and wishing they had shared with us. Another Bard graduation guests I remember our parents and a grandmother. It was hot, very, very hot that day and when they returned the father's face was a beet red. A few minutes later the grandmother came down and asked for bug spray.."There were big black ants coming out in the heat". It took me a few minutes to find the spray, and when I went upstairs with it, the father was flat on the couch, air conditioner pointed at him. The grandmother grabbed the can of spray and started spraying everywhere. I didn't even see an ant, but she went into the bedrooms, bathroom and was going into the kitchen when I left. I thought the spray scent would kill the father, already weakened. Another graduation group were parents and grandparents, each arriving separately. The grandparents came first, driving a Cadillac with Florida plates. He didn't even get out of the car before he started complaining.."Terrible directions, just terrible" he scolded me. She handed me a suitcase to carry, although I wasn't much younger than her. We went up the stairs and entered the B&B. At this point, most people say, "Oh this is lovely", remark on all the room and the brightness and cheeriness. She just waved her arm over the freshly picked flowers on the table and said "Nice touch." They were the only people we ever had that didn't eat breakfast together. The grandparents ate at 8:30 and the parents at 9:00. It was surprising but certainly understandable.

My own Bard graduation sticks in my head because of Timmy and fireworks. We were all robed, marching to the graduation tent, when I passed Timmy, Maria and Jer and Timmy pointed to the front of his overalls and slightly exposed the contents - fireworks that I recognized as the "20 gun salute", a firework that shots rhymatically 20 times in a row. My heart sunk. There was exceptional security coverage because one of the speakers was a controversial figure from South America. We sat under the tent, everyone joyous, passing a bottle of champagne down the row, taking a swig and passing it on. I joined in, figuring I was going to see Timmy hauled off to jail, or worse. But Jer saved the day. I was told that when they called my name to go on stage, Timmy started to pull out the fireworks and Jer pointed at a policeman watching him....so, common sense ruled for once.

Another graduation I remember was a high school party graduation being held secretly in the woods behind our house. Sabra and her friends discovered it first, a large tent filled with teenagers and kegs of beer. We were all sitting outside, when Timmy stated he was going to get a beer from the party tent. He was already drinking from a plastic red party cup that he held in a crocheted purse we had found on the road...he called it his "beer cozy". I said I'm going to bed, not wanting to have anything to do with this and later was told what happened. Sabra and her friends peeked through the woods, carefully and quietly following Tim. They said he went right to the center of the lit tent, to the keg, held up his beer cozy and said, "I am Bacchus, fill my cup". Everyone looked and the burly guys in charge of the keg, took the tap, and filled his cup. I was in bed reading when I heard him rummaging through the closet. What are you looking for? I asked and he answered "fireworks". Apparently he thought because they gave him a beer, they deserved fireworks. Now the whole idea of having a party in the woods is so no one knows where you are. Not a good idea to set off fireworks...Again, Sabra reported what happened next. Timmy went into the woods, pasing a couple searching through the grass for her contact lens. The fireworks went off, and all hell broke loose as the burly guys came running through the woods, looking for the culprit. They were sidetracked by the couple in the grass, and Timmy made it out safely. He ran up the stairs yelling, "Shut off the lights, Turn off the lights" and Sabra and her friends all came in and hid. Kristin was the only victim, had run into the picnic table, trying to get in the house and hurt her toe.

So that's graduation. You experience many of them, but only a few stick in your mind. Like weddings....maybe next I will tell you what weddings I remember best and why.

2010-05-16T05:46:00.000-07:00

Well this week I sent in my membership dues to the Red Hook Pool. This pool has been a part of our life since my kids were little and became even more important in the last years of Ria's life as we all were members, sharing many afternoons and many laughs. It was hard, very hard, that first summer after Ria died. Everytime I looked up I expected to see her coming through the door, big bag full of books, drinks and snacks for everyone in it, straw hat perched on her head and a great big smile. But she never came and it got harder, not easier that year. Last year was better and I hope this year will be better too.

The pool is a short drive from Tivoli, not even ten minutes. You go up the steps and enter the pool house where you're greeted with a bunch of teenagers, the life guards who take turns manning the entry. Music greets you, the kind of music that gets your shoulders moving and your feet tapping. Through the door and there is the pool surrounded by half a dozen shelters for shade and an assortment of white chairs and lounges.

Three years ago, Ria would be waiting under one of the pavillions, saving us a spot in the shade. Several chairs would be arranged for us and she would give us a big smile and wave us on. Regina would be already swimming in the pool. Regina had swim lessons at noon and Ria just stayed since the pool opened at one, getting one of the ideal seating spots. That year was a good one for many reasons - the kids were all at a cute age, the food concession was excellent, and the weather was great.

That is one thing about the pool....the weather has a big influence. One clap of thunder, even though it's just heat thunder miles away, and the lifeguards' whistles blow and every one has to come out of the pool for 20 minutes..."that's the state law" as we are told. That year, 2007 the whistles blew for a different reason one afternoon. We all looked around, no thunder, no clouds, what was is? "Feces, human feces in the pool" one lifeguard yelled and we all looked at each other in amazement.

Mothers pulled their children close, as if the pool contained a poison or a bomb about to go off. We watched as the lifeguards amassed and assessed the situation. The director passed us muttering "It's those gd disposable diapers" but Regina and Atticus were quick to point out that the object was in the adult area of the pool, not the childrens' side. Most members sat, waiting to see what would happen next, a few really disgusted adults left. A big net was brought out, and a pail to put the specimen in. As I said, most people stayed far away, but Atticus and Regina had to get a close look. Ria and I laughed as we saw them head right to the scene of the crime. "Look at that Ma", Ria giggled, "they'll give us the real scope on the poop". And they did, describing the object in detail and telling us that the lifeguards told them that they had to put bleach in the water, wait fifteen minutes and then you could swim again. We watched as five big gallons of bleached were poured into the pool. Maria looked at me. "Do you want to hang around?" she asked. "Why not?" We agreed, no big deal....like the caretaker said in Caddyshack. No big deal and he put the candy bar (mistaken for something else) in his mouth, and chewed it.

That's one memory of that year. Another one is Ria was reading the latest Harry Potter, a big fat book she was going through like a marathon reading. She was up to the part where Dobie, Harry's house elf friend is killed, and Harry digs his grave, without magic, and tenderly and lovingly buries him. Ria told us how when she read this she burst right out loud crying. That conversation has stuck with me for many reasons, and helps to make the pool a special place in my memories.

2010-05-08T11:40:00.000-07:00

Another Mother's Day rolling in. Paul asked me on the phone "What can I get you for Mother's Day?" and my usual answer was birdseed or Fundador. Everybody knows what birdseed is, but Fundador is something special. Laura introduced me to it...a Spanish brandy. She would say FUN da dor....and it is fun. Fun to drink, fun to say. I have gotten into the habit of having a swig (or more) of Fundador before I go to bed. So, if I am going away for the week or even a night, I have to be sure to pack my FUN da dor.

A couple of years ago I spend a few days at the Lake with Paul, Helene and the kids in their cabin. The cabin is typical, loft upstairs with beds, no ceilings in the bedrooms, so everything is open and easily heard. I was pouring my nightly drink and asked Helene if she would care for some and she agreed. The only glass she had was a small character glass, but Fundador can go into anything. Anyway, Paul was upstairs reading to Shane and Zach, I had settled into my bed and Ian was getting a snack in the kitchen, when he spotted the glass, and thinking it was for him, took a big swig. All hell broke out....he clutched his chest, sputtered, fell on the floor, kicking his feet, muttering incoherently. Of course everyone could hear him, and Paul yelled down, "What's going on down there?" Helene answered "Ian drank my Fundador by mistake." Paul, puzzled screamed down, "What the %^&^% is Fundador? I ran out of my bedroom and by this time Ian had recovered and to tell you the truth we all had a good laugh at it.

Last year I drove Atticus and Regina to the Cape a day before we could get in our cabin. The ride was terrible, we got settled in the motel, and I thought, in a few hours, I can go to sleep. Then I realized...I had forgotten my FUNdador. I fell on the bed, saying words a grandmother shouldn't even think, when Atticus calmly stated, "Linny, I will text Rachael and she can bring it out tomorrow when she comes." And she did....the one time I realized both the importance of texting and careful packing.

I remember one time Laura and her boyfriend Art who were both working together as painters had too much FUNdador the night before. They suffered through work, then their car wouldn't start and they had to walk home. Laura said it felt like a tomahawk was sticking straight in her skull. I guess you can have too much FUNdador.

Bucky liked Seagram's. She would drink it out of a Mason jar. When she was very sick, and her doctor wasn't helping her out, she told him, "Time for me to see Dr. Seagram." The doctor had no sense of humor (or alcohol) and shook his head and said, "I don't recall hearing about a Dr. Seagram." I think I will use Bucky's line with my doctor....Well, time for me to see Dr. Fundador.

I'm getting to be more and more like Bucky. Talk about imprint, Bucky stamped us, tattooed us, marked us for life with her wonderful sense of humor and being. Thank you Bucky and Happy Mother's Day in heaven.

2010-04-29T08:41:00.001-07:00

I've been hearing a lot about facebook lately, most of it not good. People being robbed after they wrote on their facebook "Oh so glad to be going to Florida for the next two weeks". Teenagers and even younger kids bullying and being mean..."Oh you look so fat in that picture you posted". Every now and then when I check my e-mail there's another person "wanting to be your friend". Now, I don't have many friends, but I don't think that is how I want to get them.

When I was a kid (long before the internet) we had autograph books that we would exchange with our friends. This was very popular in the 50's and I can still recall some of the verses that were written. We were about in the fifth grade and just starting to notice the opposite sex, so there were some suggestive ones at that time:

I love you much, I love you mightly,
I love your pajamas near my nighty.
No don't get excited, don't get red,
I mean on the clothesline -not in bed.

When you get married, and you have twins,
Don't come to me for safety pins.

Don't kiss by the garden gate.
Love is blind, but the neighbors ain't.

Tulips in the garden,
Tulips in the park.
But the tulips that Linda likes best
Are two lips in the dark.

We always hid our autograph books so our parents wouldn't read the above.

The pages of the autograph books were varied colors, so some kids would write on a blue page, I hope you are never the color of this page. Or on red "This is the color you get when you see (boy's name who is in the class). "

Some times the page would be folded over, and on the outside would say, "If you are beautiful, open this". Then inside it would say, "Stuck Up. That's getting a little close to Facebook. Or, "Open if you have a dirty mind" and inside "Ivory Soap." Corny, huh. But that's what the autograph book was for. Corny verses. Sometimes teachers would sign and they always wrote something like "Good luck as you continue your journey through school" or "You have been a pleasure to have in the fifth grade". I remember my art teacher, a beautiful young woman, Miss LaScala would always draw a figure, a girl for a girl's book, a boy for a boy's book and sign her name next to it.

That's another thing. You had to use your best penmanship because you knew EVERYBODY was going to read what you had written. Kids can type on the computer probably close to a 100 words a minute, but they can't write legibly anymore.

After you wrote your verse, signed you name, then you had to add: "Your's til Niagara Falls".
Or, "Your's til butter flies". Locally, we had "Your's til Bear Mountain gets dressed" or "Your's til Cold Springs".

Today it is all shorthand LOL, IMHO, WTF - for a two fold reason - older people don't know what you are saying, and it is quicker. IMHO - give me an autograph book anyday.

2010-04-17T09:12:00.001-07:00

I am taking two classes in the Learning Institute this Spring - Family in the Bible and three plays by Eugene O'Neill. They are both worth while. Yesterday we learned about Joseph and his brothers and family. Joseph's story has its up and downs...thrown in a pit by his brothers, sold to slavery, became Head of the Slaves in the Phaoroah's home, thrown into prison, etc, etc. The teacher emphasized the unknowns in a life, nothing can really be planned, with a story his grandfather had told him.

A tailor and his Polish Magistrate are friends. One day the Magistrate drives by in his car and sees the tailor. "Where are you going?" he asks and the tailor responds "I don't know". The Magistrate's friends in the car laugh at this and the Magistrate, angrily asks again, "Don't make me look foolish, where are you going?" Again the tailor answers "I don't know". More laughs in the car, and the Magistrate says "Give me an answer, or I will have you thrown into jail." And, again, the tailor shrugs and says, "I don't know" so they throw him in jail. The next day the Magistrate visits him in jail and says, "Why wouldn't you tell me where you were going?" And the tailor responds, "Did I know I was going to jail?"

O'Neill wrote Mourning Becomes Electra, the American version of a Greek Tragedy. That teacher couldn't help himself and told us this joke: A man goes to his tailor, puts a pair of pants on the table, and asks, "Eumenides (You menda deese)?" The tailor responds, "Euripides?(You ripa deese)"

You can tell I love these classes. But the best thing happened last night. I was thinking about the story of Joseph, really a wonderful, entertaining piece, and I looked for Aunt Lillian's bible to see if this version matched the Rabbi's version he had told us in class. Now, Maria had inherited Lillian's bibles, several of them, so she had given one to Tim, a white bounded book marked with the American Legion seal. I had often referred to this book since many of my classes deal with religion, but last night I discovered something for the first time.

Glued in the front of the book was a spiritual leaflet, entitled Power for Living ... the First Step. Inside the pamphet were two pieces of paper. One was a note from Uncle Phil, a love note written on a scrap of paper, with a heart with an arrow drawn through it. I love you written in Uncle Phil's uneven handwriting.

The other piece of paper looked like it had been in a small pad and written in red ink in Aunt Lillian's beautiful penmanship was a poem - The Traveler by James Dillet Freeman.

Let me write it out for you:

She has put on invisibility
Dear Lord, I cannot see -
But this I know, although the road
ascends and passes from my sight,
That there will be no night;
That you will take her gently by the hand
and lead her on
Along the road of life that never ends,
and she will find it is not death but dawn.
I do not doubt that you are there as here,
and you will hold her dear.

Our life did not begin with birth,
It is not of the earth;
and this that we call death, it is no more
than the opening and closing of a door -
And in your house, how many rooms must be
Beyond this one where we rest momentarily.

Dear Lord, I thank you for the faith that frees,
The love that knows it cannot lose its own;
The love that, looking thru the shadows, see
that you and she and I are ever one.

A gift from Aunt Lillian and Maria.

One more note about our class. Joseph's story ends the Book of Genesis. The book starts with Adam and Eve and Cain killing his brother Abel. When the Lord asks Where is Abel? Cain answers "Am I my brother's keeper?" and with Joseph at the end of Genesis forgiving his brothers, and loving them in spite of the past, it answers the question...Yes, I am my brother's keeper. I like that.

2010-04-04T04:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I stopped at our Agway store to buy birdseed and a mother and daughter were sitting outside the store, with three cages of baby rabbits. When I was making my purchase, the phone rang and the question was asked "Is the lady with the rabbits still there? Someone else wants to buy rabbits?" They are hard to resist, but then I remembered back when we had rabbits.

I don't remember where they came from, but Joel had made a hutch and two baby rabbits appeared, one almost all white, one with black spots - two males (or so we thought) Peter and Thumper. Then in June my sister Kathy said the class pet, a black rabbit named Benjamin, had not been claimed by any of her students. Would we want him? So Benjamin was added to the group. But when he was placed in the hutch with the other two, a terible ruckus occurred, so Benjamin moved into the house.

Benjamin liked to sit under the pot belly stove and amazing to me, he would only poop in the bathroom, on the bathroom rug. The fact that he knew what room to use, plus always the same spot was appreciated by me, the cleaner. All I had to do was carefully pick up the rug, then shake it in the toilet and voila, all done. Unless somebody didn't look where they were going and stepped on the rug. Then it was a different story.

One morning I went to the hutch and was horrified by a sight of tiny, hairless, dead baby rabbits. Thumper was NOT a boy. She apparently was amazed at what had happened and was pulling out her hair to make a nest, a little too late. To avoid another sight like that, Peter was moved onto the porch. There he quickly made a home in a large, leatherly reclining chair, a tossed out gift from Uncle Phil. We liked to point out that Peter made two holes in the chair, an entrance and an exit hole. "In case he was chased in by a predator, he had another exit, so he could escape safely", we would proudly explain. No explanation for a rabbit, a rabbit predator, or a large reclining chair on someone's porch though. Peter, unlike Benjamin, was not happy indoors, so everyday we let him out to roam the yard. Getting him back in at night was the problem. "Go put your shoes on, we have to catch Peter", I would tell the kids. It took all of us to catch him. He would run in circles, dart out of our hands. It usually took anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes to corner him. Paul was best at it - but Peter would retaliate as Paul got close. "He's pissing on me," Paul would yell, but knowing there was no rest until Peter was on the porch, would try to grab him anyway.

This went on for months, until someone from IBM wanted rabbits and came in a truck to take the three rabbits, hutch thrown in as well, away. He had two little kids with him, and they were so pleased with the sight of the rabbits. Like the army, it was "don't ask, don't tell" as we handed them over. The man took four boxes out of the truck, each one holding a large chocolate rabbit. The trade was complete.

The girls cried and moaned at the loss of their pets, but Paul opened up his candy box, settled on the couch in front of the TV and joyfully, contently grawed at the rabbit.

I never found out what happened to Thumper, Peter and Benjamin. But somehow, I bet it wasn't pretty. Happy Easter everyone. God Bless.

2010-03-27T13:25:00.000-07:00

After Maria's memorial last week, Paul and I were sitting in Sabra's yard, sipping drinks and watching the others dive into the food. Paul turned to me and asked, "Ma, will you just come and look at furniture with me?" I knew just what he was talking about. They all want me to get rid of my couch.

I bought the couch and the gray reclining chair (which they also want me to get rid of) 24 years ago when Maria was pregnant with Rachael. We went to Sears together and she helped me pick the couch out...a light brown fuzzy couch, with three cushions and fashionable buttons decorating and forming the cushions and the back of the couch. 24 years is a long time, but I love this couch. It fits me like a glove.

Other people have remarked on the couch. When my brother visits he tries to avoid it because of the difficulty in rising from it...you kind of sink in. And it was even featured in a film that Sabra made for me, called My Crazy Family. The segment on the couch is titled "Defending the Couch" and is simply Laura, Sabra and myself (sitting on the couch) talking about it. It goes something like this:

Laura: Ma just wants to keep the couch because Emily (the cat) died on it.

Me: No, Emily died on the chair, she jumped up and her claws got caught, and that did her in.

Sabra: How about the time the rat was hiding his food in the couch?

(Several years ago we had a varmint in the house that was stealing cherry tomatoes off the kitchen table. I accused Timmy and he really couldn't deny it, because sometimes at night he just eats anything he can get his hands on. Anyway, I was looking for something that might have slipped in the couch, and my hand came in contact with something soft...the cherry tomatoes. Sure enough, soon after we caught a rat in a hav-a-heart and that was that story.)

Me: That was years ago, and nobody else has hidden food in the couch since.

Laura: It just looks so bad Ma.

Me: Well, how about Timmy's gym shorts hanging over the stove, the hanger attached to a family picture? Or the paper plate that is covering the old stove pipe hole? Or, those awful curtains that I got from Mary because she couldn't pay rent?

Laura piping in: Or the lawn furniture I'm stting in. (A director's chair, another rent payment from Mary.)

Sabra: But what happens when people come to visit?

Me: Who ever comes here but you people? And, do you think if I called Angelo (my neighbor, now in Heaven), asking him to come over he would say, "I'd come over but you have THAT COUCH.

It's pretty funny dialogue and was made that many years ago. I remember when they were going to deliver the couch and chair. Kevin's cousin came over to take the old couch (that was in pretty bad condition), but he and his wife carried it out like it was a treasure. Sabra was probably about 16 then, and she said sadly "I had a lot of good times on that couch" and I added "Me, too" , just as sadly. That's what it is about the couch. I sit on it every morning, put on the news and drink my first cup of coffee. At night I eat supper on the couch, drinking a beer and go from the couch to the bed. A nice full rotation...bed...couch...bed. Every one of my grandchildren (except Jer and Liz) has taken a nap on it, sat on it and laughed. Our last memory of Maria is sitting on that couch with Solomon, laughing about cheese farts the afternoon before she died.

So, unless somebody sets the couch on fire, or something terrible lives in it, I think it can make a few more years..at least until Rachael is 30.

2010-03-21T05:16:00.000-07:00

Well. St. Patty's Day has come and gone, a glorious day with kites flying, bubbles blowing and the kids running with kites and just chasing each other. I expected someone to run into a gravestone and lose some teeth, but that thankfully didn't happen. There was quite an ensemble, all of the family, Rachael and her boyfriend Myles, Jer and Gabbie, Rachael's friends and Maria's friend Carol and her husband. Yellow crocus were blooming on her grave, the only live flowers in the cemetery and three vases of flowers were filled in her memory. Jer's pink tulips gently brushed against the stone, near the words "Not lost, gone before" and that is how it felt - we didn't lose her, you couldn't lose Maria, she will be with us forever.

I did remember something Zach said last year to me...a year after she died. She was buried on March 22, Shane's birthday. Zach was remembering that day and said, "Last year, Shane had a terrible birthday. We had to go to a wedding." I looked at him, wondering what he meant, and then I realized he mixed up wedding with funeral. And I had to laugh. Some weddings certainly turn into something else. Humor was Maria's legacy and that too goes on.

2010-03-12T12:39:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling low lately, a combination of the time of year, not good results from the knee doctor and just a somethings not right feeling. I was even writing imaginary gloomy blogs about Amazing Grace and the sad sound of the geese returning. Then today, three things turned this around. First my horoscrope (don't laugh) "Just because you have a tendency toward theatrics, doesn't mean you'll sign up for misery....Go where the happy people are." Then a woman, Barbara from Georgia, a stranger to the family, wrote to teamria blog "sharing your loss and your joyful memories makes each of you stronger". And finally, the piliated woodpecker was right outside my window and hung around in the back yard for a long time. So, I'm replacing the sad sound of Amazing Grace with some of my best memories of Maria and the family.

And most of them have to do with Cape Cod. Maria was like the Tazmania Devil on the Cape, chauffeur, grocery shopper, beach packer upper, etc. She was at her best when something went wrong, like the toilet getting clogged - a big problem when there are more than a dozen people using it. Maria would get a gleam in her eye, put a big pot of water to water to boil, find the plunger and be off to rid the clog. "I learned everything about plumbing from the old man", she would say, pouring the boiling water down the toilet, plunging, more water, plunging, until you heard a victory cry "Shitter's working".

The same with setting up the umbrella. The beach winds on the Cape are often strong, sending unbrellas dangerously spinning at helpless, unsuspecting beach goers. Maria had a way with the umbrellas, they never got free when she put them in. First, she would find the right spot, not too many stones, then she would get into a deep knee bend, gripping the umbrella pole and twisting her body and the pole round and round, going deeper and deeper. Ria had beautiful legs, a strong dancer's legs, nothing weak about them, and that umbrella would be in for the whole day.

Oh, sometimes we laughed at ourselves. Once, when Rachael was about ten, Maria opened a beer (no alcohol on the beaches) and Rachael started to yell "Lifeguard, Lifeguard, my mother's drinking a beer". Ria smacked her hand over her mouth, and promised to drag her up the dune and leave her in the car if she didn't stop. One time Atticus and Regina were acting up, and we kept yelling at them, Atticus, Regina, Atticus Regina. A group nearly by (probably with alcohol) started to mimic us, but they said Sparticus, Regina Rex, Sparticus. It made us laugh too.

Just driving to the Cape in the car with Maria was an adventure. One time we stopped at MacDonald's so that Maria could nurse Regina, who was having a fit. We were sitting in the car, waiting for Regina to fill up, when an oriental woman backed her car into a parked car. Straightening the car, she ran into a car in front of her. People all came out to see the commotion and the woman started to yell at her kids in a heavy accent: "See what you make me do! You make me have accident! You make me have two accidents!" Maria and I laughed at that for the next two hours.

There were a lot of laughs the year that Regina and Ava were in the same class. Ava had moved to Red Hook, but Maria assured me that they never put two people from the same family together. That was until Ava and Regina ended up in the same class. Every day after school there was another episode and one I remember well involved Ava standing up and saying in a loud voice (and deep voice, she sounded like Gravel Gerty) "Eat it like a French Souffle". Well, nobody knew what that meant then or now, but she kept repeating it, until Regina couldn't help herself and she stood up and yelled "Eat it like a French Souffle". Maria said the teacher just said sadly, "Girls I wish you wouldn't say that any more"and sent home a note for Maria to help her enforce stopping the dietary comment.

Maria could make you laugh about anything, about Kevin's workers complaining he was too hard on them..."Mr Kevin, I am a man, I am not an animal", about the plumber, she knicknamed Whistling Willie who gave all his instructions to his crew by whistling (nobody understood English). About the cat that threw up all the time, even in their Christmas manger, and peed on their clean clothes. Ria knew where the happy people were, they were in her head laughing at life's little problems, seeing the humor in everything.

2010-02-28T06:24:00.000-08:00

It's almost like I can't remember it not snowing - it has snowed every day for the last seven days. At least the kids can enjoy it, I thought, until I read in the paper yesterday some states are actually considering banning sledding. Or at least making it the law to wear a helmet while on a sled. Can you believe it? The best memories I have of winter are sleigh riding, especially at night.

Beacon had designated certain streets as "play streets". These were usually steep hills and as a play street were not plowed and were closed to car traffic. We were lucky that Master's Place, one of the play streeets, was right near by. It was at the end of a series of less steep hills that snaked down from Falconer Street to Liberty. As soon as we had a heavy snow, we all met at the corner, bundled up, pulling our sleds, ready to go.

There were two ways to ride down the hill. You could sit up and steer with your feet, kind of clumsy because this was a job your feet were not used to. Or the preferred way, on your belly, steering with your hands. Also, this increased the speed of the trip, or at least it seemed that way. Sometimes, especially at night, the older kids would make a "train", attaching all the sleds (each sled how a rope on it to tow it back up the hill with) and making one hell of a dangerous ride. You could catch your fingers or feet between the sleds. Also, as the sleds gained speed, some one would turn over, causing all those sleds in back of it to tip as well.

Sometimes you rode two or three to a sled, sitting one behind the other, the designated driver the only that could see where you were headed. The ride was fast, and the walk back up the hill seemed to take forever, as you had to keep dodging the sleds that were coming down.

Yankee magazine had an article about sleds, saying that sledding goes back centuries to when the Roman soldiers would use their shields to go down hills in battle. In our country sleds were mostly used to haul timber, ice and supplies until the mid 1800's when sleds were manufactured for recreation.

Our kids had sleds and a tobaggan that was a family Christmas gift for all four of them. They sled over at Mimi's, off of Boyd road. Good thing there was not much traffic, because the hill shot them right across Clay Hill into the woods. The tobaggan was used in back of Mary's house, now Tink and Irene's. They would go off with our neighbor Tony for hours on that hill. I remember one time when they were sledding, Tony knocked on the door and asked for Joel. Joel listened to him and quickly got on his coat and followed him up the hill. Tony had told him that Maria was hurt, not talking, but was all right by the time he reached her - just had the wind knocked out of her. Oh yeah, it had its dangers, bloody noses from bumping the head in front of you, black and blue marks from hitting the snow hard, but that was all part of it.

Rereading this post, I am beginning to see the point. Maybe it is too dangerous. Like diving boards. All the high diving boards have been removed from local pools. But those diving boards, and the fast sleds were "rites of passage" moving you from little kid to big kid, little hill to big hill. Building your confidence, your self esteem. So go on and sleigh ride. Tomorrow's March and this snow can't last forever.

2010-02-25T11:15:00.000-08:00

As Death Month winds down, I thought it would be fitting to recall my memories of one of the month's victims, my father's friend from childhood, Cap Hancock, aka Lawrence Hancock and Judge Hancock. I remember vividly Cap at my father's funeral. He was a tall man, over six feet, and he put his arm around my much shorter Uncle Ed and walked out of the church with him. A year later he read a poem at my father's grave. He and his wife were frequent guests of the O'Leary parties and I also remember one time he and his wife had traveled to Clermont State Park and approached for a tour just at the closing time. I was standing behind the guide that answered the door as they were told the house was closed, they couldn't come in. I had to smile as he grandly remarked "I've been thrown out of better places than this", as he and his wife walked away. But I got to know Cap best the last two years of his life, when we were pen pals.

Cap was in a nursing home in Beacon. My brother was a frequent visitor and coveyer of books for Cap to read. He loved to read and had read his favorites Dickens and Doyle over and over. I gave my brother some of Anne Morrow Lindberg's Diaries to read and that's how the correspondence began. From February 2002 until late in 2003 we exchanged letters. I received 16 in all.

At first he just talked about Anne's books and the Lindberg's and what he remembered of that time. But every now and then he added something about his childhood and a clue to what my own father's life was like in those years. "Glenham boys don't cry or wear hats in the winter'', he wrote. "They never learn how to dance", although he said he had to learn how to waltz when he was in a play in his senior year. And he did admit to a tear reading Dicken's Dombey at the death of poor little Paul Dombey. Also, he confessed to reading a "girl's book" Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking glass although he said he never told his friends he read it. Mark Twain had been a childhood favorite and Cap wrote that he imagined Hannibal (Twain's home that he wrote about in Tom Sawyer) seemed a lot like Glenham in my youth.

He would recommend books to me that he was reading..Mornings on Horseback, a biography of Theodore Roosevelt. He admired Teddy and said that Teddy had been heartbroken when he learned his father that he idolized had hired a substitute to fight for him in the Civil War. Books were his passion and his pastime in the years in the nursing home. As they seemed to have always been - he told me he had read Oliver Twist when he was 9 years old.

Some of his letters contained information on his years as Judge in the Glenham Courthouse. He said lawyers were "lots of talk" and he kept himself awake by doing isometric exercises and repeating silently the Avogadro's Hypothesis, "Equal volumes of all gases....". He recalled one time when he had poison ivy from his waist down and he couldn't stop squirming on the bench. My brother told me once that Cap had told him about a young person who came before him with a ring in her nose. He thought her nose was running and handed her his handkerchief. He was a judge longer than any one else in the state as I recall.

He wrote a little about being in the war, had he had earned M-1 rifle medals and then added "my dear wife let my Robert (his son) have the medals to play soldier with. For all I know they are now on the bottom of the creek" and added "crick" as they say in Glenham.

I once was at the nursing home visiting Aunt Lillian who was there for only a few days. He wasn't in his room, but I peeked in and saw piles of books on the window sill and on the floor. He had a reputation as a "ladies man" and the nurses warned Aunt Lillian to beware of him. Not the picture I had of him reading Dickens aloud in his very theatrical voice. He died on February 10, 2004. I am happy I was able to share a little of his history those last years. He liked to write that we shared several things, both Bard graduates, both Leos (his birthday a day before mine) and both readers. Rest in peace, Cap.

2010-02-15T06:10:00.000-08:00

I've been treating myself on Saturday morning to a soft boiled egg. You may wonder why that is special, but I buy these jumbo brown eggs at Adams that are delicious and a soft boiled egg is the best thing in the world. You prick the large end of the egg with a needle, place in boiling water, and boil for five minutes gently. Some say four minutes, but with the jumbo you need to do five. Then crack the top, open and expose the yolk and dip in.

I use a safety pin to make the hole. I usually have one pinned to my underside of my shirt, a habit I got into years ago. My mother always had a safety pin on her clothes so somehow I figured it was good luck. Bucky used the pin to remind herself which breast she had used to nurse the last time. Bucky had four kids in six years, Bob, then the twins, then Diane. With the twins I guess she didn't need the safety pin.

I wondered about safety pins. I don't think they are used much anymore. Timmy gets them at races because they come with the number to be pinned on his chest. When my kids were little we had great big safety pins for their diapers - they even came topped in pink or blue plastic, boy or girl. It used to be terrible when a pin wouldn't hit the diaper and get the baby.

I wondered why they were called safety pins and the internet explaned that the patent went to William Hunt in 1849. The clasp and spring action were designed to keep the fingers safe, and that's how it got its name - safety pin. During the punk rock period it became popular to use safety pins as fashion. I can remember Jer having big pins holding his torn pant legs together. Pins were used as earrings - ouch - or in other pierced places. The recent fashion shows reveal a return of the safety pin...calling it "recession friendly" ..pins decorate vests and are used as collars on shirts and suits.

Anyway, back to the soft boiled egg. This was a popular dish served by my parents to the little kids, we called it "eggie pop". A soft boiled egg was taken out of the shell, placed in a bowl with small cut up pieces of white bread, so that the bread soaked up the yolk. The kids loved it and it was a healthy and filling breakfast, lunch or supper. Take my advice and try it.

2010-02-10T10:45:00.000-08:00

The picture shows the four of us, Me and Laura in the front, Sabra and Maria in the background, between two fake palm trees with the sign " Carnival Ecstasy Feb 7 1994" written on the wall behind us. It's hard to tell who has the biggest smile. Yes, it was 16 years ago, a bad winter, lots of snow when I heard of a special offer on the Carnival, 2 full fares, one half fare and one free, but this offer was only good for a short time. I called up the girls, Sabra had to check with her boss, Maria had to get Mary to take care of Jer and Rachael. I think Laura said yes right away, but it wasn't more than a few hours that I called the travel agent and we got the tickets to go on our cruise in less than a week's time.

It was to be a quick four day cruise, leaving Miami at 4pm, first day in Key West, next day in Cozumel, a day at sea, and then back to Miami. Kevin drove us to Stewart Airport. It was snowing lightly but our flight left on time. Maria was a little nervous about flying and when we landed in Miami the pilot did that wing tipping thing, first one wing, then the other as he landed. Maria said loudly, "Just land the f..... thing" which got a few laughs. Before leaving port we had to Muster, where everyone puts on lifejackets and goes to a central area as if there was some sort of crisis. This put everyone in a good mood, as the jackets were bulky and hard to walk in. Then we were off - the adventure had begun.

Key West was fun, with a tour of Hemingway's House and some souvenir buying. Cozumel was hot and dirty and the best day of the cruise was the day at sea. We all went to a show The Newlywed Game with the contestants being other cruisers. We sat around the pool, and fixated on a little red haired girl that looked a little like Rachael, even taking pictures of her. Two events that stick in my head are of the casino when Maria hit the slots, winning over $150. The machine was roaring, flashing, and the coins were pouring out, with Ria yelling Ma, Ma. I have a picture of her grasping the container holding all her coins, and she has the same look on her face as she did at age five with a bag of Holloween candy. The other memory is of her ordering tea at the supper table and the waiter came out with a wooden box, that he opened grandly for her to select the type of tea. "Look, it's in a box, a whole box of tea, like a treasure chest." The most fun of all though was joking with the crew that took care of our room.

As is customary, the ship's crew would fold towels into animal shapes and leave them on our beds at night. After the first time they did it, Maria made some little animal and left it for them. Then they got fancier and so did we. The last night we planned a special treat for the men who were so polite, always smiling, but very hard to understand with their poor English. Sitting at the pool we thought of making a whole person for them to find. And then we decided where to put the dummy - on the toilet. We stuffed clothes, pants and shirt. The head was a coconut face I had bought in Key West. A hat was put on his head, and we turned off the bathroom light and went to dinner. That was when the men always came into the room to tidy and turn down the beds. When we got back to the room, the men were waiting for us. In broken English they said how scared and surprised they were to find the body on the toilet. They used pantomine to show how surprised they were and then they shook our hands and said this was "the best trip ever". For them!

Leaving the ship we heard some people talking about a snowstorm in the north. Is it snowing in New York? we asked and the man nodded his head and said "it"s been snowing for four straight days there." There was some delay, but we finally got on our first flight. Changing to go to Stewart, the plane to take us there was waiting, with all the travelers angry for having to sit in the still plane for over an hour waiting for just four people. The stewardess rushed us, not even letting us use the restroom, hurry, hurry, hurry. The other riders glared at us and off we took. You could see the snow as we got closer to the airport. It was early evening and Maria looked out the plane window and said nervously, "They have ambulances waiting for us. They think we're going to crash". But what she saw was the snowplows with flashing lights, clearing the runway. No one was waiting to pick us up at the airport. Kevin and Tim had been told no flights were able to come in. So we had to wait for Kevin to get there.

Taking Laura home to Kingston, the snow was piled high along the roads. Not wanting to risk her steep and slippery hill, Kevin dropped her off at the top and our last sight of her was her struggling in the snow with her suitcases. They were right, it had been snowing the whole time we were away. But what a wonderful vacation, like the crewmen had said "the best ever".

2010-02-06T10:29:00.000-08:00

Well February - death month - has claimed another victim, Alice Horton, Grams, of Days of our Lives, in real life Frances Reid who died this week at the age of 95. Alice was the matriach of the family. She started the role in 1965. I started to watch in 1997. It was after the car accident. I was getting around with a walker, able to take care of myself, when the phone rang and Maria asked if Rachael could hang out with me that day. Rachael wasn't feeling good, and Maria could not miss work. She assured me Rachael who was 11 would be no trouble. And she wasn't. We were watching television when she asked if she could watch a show called Days of Our Lives. And that's how I got hooked.

Days had at that time more than 8,000 episodes under its belt. Alice was well established as the grandmother who doled out advice and her donuts to an adoring family. Alice had been married to Dr. Tom Horton (MacDonald Carey) who died in real life in 1994 but they still show reruns of him and Alice and of course, each show starts with his voice saying "Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives".

In 1997 when I started to watch the show was really going all out. One actress was playing four parts, Kristen Black (pretending to be pregnant to fool her husband), Susan Blake, a plain woman with buck teeth who actually was pregnant (impregnanted by Stefano who was dressed like Elvis because Susan was in love with Elvis Presley), Sister Mary, a nun, and Sister Mary's brother, who looked just like the other three but had a mustach. Who wouldn't get hooked on this show? Susan had Marlena (her husband's true love) locked up in the wine cellar. Bo was seaching the bayou for Swamp Girl and his wife Hope thought she was a Princess. Rachael patiently explained all this to me and I began to watch every day. In fact it became the highlight of every day.

I noticed last year that Alice hadn't been on since Christmas 2008. She was referred to often: Grams is taking a nap, or Grams is baking cookies, Grams is visiting a friend. But no Alice was in the show. Then the news of her death with a review of some of the early shows when she was really the star. All through the film the song "Always" was playing. This was Alice and Tom's song, many scenes of them singing together, "I'll be loving you always, with a love that's true always." I cried like a baby watching Alice grow old within minutes, going from young and beautiful to gray hair and feeble. That's what I mean by hooked. You get to really know these characters , as well if not better than your own family.

The thing that I love most about this show is the continuance of characters and of course the play with time. Elvis, Stefano's son who should really be about 13, is a regular character today, married with two children. And last year his wife faked pregnancy just like the one so many years ago. And the viewer accepts it. Accepts every terrible thing that they see: people buried alive, implants placed in their brains, poison apples and of course pregnancy after pregnancy. After watching this show for 13 years, day in and day out, I think you can accept almost anything life hands you. And that's why I watch Days and am proud to say it. But who will replace Grams and bake the donuts? I think Maggie who just lost her husband, runs a restaurant and has a drinking problem.

2010-01-22T12:08:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid it seemed like I had a million aunts and uncles. My father's mother Nana was one of ten children, five boys and five girls. The aunts were: Aunt Sadie, who lived to be 84. I have a note from her at age 80 when she was still working, watching three children. I had sent her a Christmas picture of the kids and she said she had red hair like Ria when she was a kid. Aunt Sadie always remembered our birthdays. A card carrying a dime would arrive right on time. She lived in Connecticut so we didn't see much of her, but you could always count on that card and that dime. Aunt Mae lived in Glenham, married to Mitt Moseman with three boys. She was a tiny woman with a gray bun, always wearing an apron, and most often sitting in front of the tv watching wrestling. Aunt Gert shared my twin sisters birthday, so every year she would come to their party, with TWO store bought cakes. Gert died young of cancer. Aunt Mina lived in California, so I don't remember even meeting her. I had even forgotten her name and that now Kathleen's granddaughter is named Mina, I find that interesting. The Uncles are less memorable, one died before I was even born. But I do remember stories about Uncle Sam and Uncle Teddy. These were just my father's aunts and uncles on his mother's side.

Nana had five children, Daddy, Joe who died young, Uncle Ed who died last year at 96 and two girls, Aunt El and Aunt Grace. Aunt El was my favorite aunt, made wonderful toll house cookies and gave beautiful gifts for all the holidays. Aunt Grace lived on Long Island, but later moved to Glenham so I got to know her better. She had her last two children, girls, late in life. At 41 years she had Margaret and at 45 she had Ellie. She was very cheerful, with a big smile and lived to be 84.

My Grandmother had a brother Joe, Great Uncle Joe that lived in the city. When we visited him and his wife Rose we were warned to be quiet because Uncle Joe had been gassed in the war, MUSTARD gas, which we thought was kind of funny. Her sister Mary lived in the city too, was custodian for an apartment building, lived in a basement apartment. I remember visiting and not seeing a handle to flush the toilet with. My mother showed me a string hanging from the ceiling that you pulled. Aunt Mary was a good cook. I remember her creamed potatoes with dill. Aunt Anna lived in New Jersey, married to Uncle Arnold. When they visited they would bring their dog, a little dachsund and Uncle Arnold would be told to go climb up Mount Beacon while the sisters talked. There was another sister Julia, but she lived in Arizona I believe so I only heard about her and saw pictures of her as a beautiful young woman.

Poppy had a sister Pauline that lived nearby, and Mrs. Pipi (we called her Mrs Peepa or Peepot) who lived in the city. There were two brothers, Uncle Steve and Uncle Cy but I can't remember them. Mrs. Peepa also was a good cook, and I remember eating golden rice at her house. How does it get this color? someone asked and the answer was goose fat. Delicious.

Bucky had two brothers, Uncle Joe who married Aunt Rose. Aunt Rose was from an Italian family, a good cook, and put up with Uncle Joe's antics, with just a shake of her head, and an "oh Joe". Uncle Eddie married Aunt Muriel. She was from Montreal and spoke French and wore makeup and fancy clothes. She drank wine and smoked cigarettes and called him Ed Dee and he called her Mur EE ALE. They lived in Vermont and then moved to Florida, where for the past fifteen years or so I would visit them on our Florida trips. Aunt Muriel wore a hearing aid and Uncle Eddie would hollar at her...."turn it down, Mur EE ALE. You're buzzing".

So that's my aunts and uncles. I probably forgot some, but my point is that at one time, and it doesn't seem that long ago, I had aunts and uncles a plenty. Yesterday my Uncle Ed died in Florida. This leaves me with one uncle, Uncle Joe who is 90 and lives in Beacon and Aunt Alice who was married to my father's brother and is almost 90.

My kids still call my sisters and brother with the title Aunt or Uncle and John O'Leary, my godson at age 50 still addresses me as Aunt Linda. Aunts and Uncles are so special, and play such a part in our lives, but few books are written about them (oh there's Auntie Mame) and they are kind of the unsung heros and heroines of our families. Playing the role of our father or mother's sisters and brothers, they help complete the family picture. Rest in peace Uncle Eddie.
Rest in peace all of you.

2010-01-12T08:43:00.001-08:00

OK, let me report to you on The Eskimo Twins. When I first started to reread it, I was reading as a cynical, feminist - the first chapter introduces the twins, Menie and Monnie, (Monnie is the girl) and to quote: "They would have thought it luckier still if Monnie had been a boy, too, because boys grow up to hunt and fish and help get food for the family." I snarled, "No wonder I have no self esteem, brought up in an Irish Catholic family, one of five daughters whose father used to say, "in China they drown baby girls" and then I had to read this garbage to reinforce my feminine worthlessness." Oh, I was hard on Lucy Fitch Perkins.

Then I started to read it for the story, so what if the women had to pull the dead bear back into town. So what...women have been cleaning up messes that men started forever and will be doing it forever. So what if the medicine man is a pain-in-the-ass that uses his power to control the villagers (there are only five families) and gets to keep the best pieces of the kills. He's so fat he gets stuck in the tunnel leading into Monnie's igloo. The kids know he's a phony..Menie says, to his mother, If the Angakok (medicine man, leader, whatever) can go anywhere he wants to, why couldn't he get out of the tunnel?" Like the kid exclaiming the Emperor has no clothes on, Menie wasn't taken in by the old liar. Maybe Lucy was telling us to question authority.

The story starts in the winter, dark all the time, then it becomes summer and the whole village climbs into the Woman Boats and goes to a green, grassy, flower filled valley, where the salmon are spawning. They pack everything they own into these boats (kind of like us going to Cape Cod) and set up tents there and fish and hunt and play for four months. Their lives are so simple, without night and day, they just call the passage of time "sleeps" - five sleeps ago this happened or two sleeps ago that happened. And the love and care they have for each other is heartwarming, each sharing what they have, each pulling his own load with an eye out for their neighbor at all times.

Back in their winter home, the mother tellls the children, "The Giants are always waiting before the igloo and we must work very hard to keep them outside" - and they know she doesn't really mean giants, she means the Hunger and Want are always waiting to seize the Eskimo who doesn't work all the time to provide for himself and his family. Now that's a lesson we have not learned or taken to heart. What's in it for me? How can I beat the system? Never heard or thought of from an Eskimo.

So, all in all, I am still happy with the Eskimo Twin book, maybe I even enjoyed it more than 60 years ago. And today, it even hit 34 degrees, first day above freezing - and you know what? it's even lighter earlier. Cape Cod here we come.

2010-01-04T06:54:00.000-08:00

Sunday, yesterday, was the fourth day in a row that I didn't go out of the house, just once next door to Sabra's and a trip to the Tivoli Thrift Shop on Saturday. But no car out of the garage. Yesterday it started to get to me. I looked at all the Christmas curios (junk) in the window and thought only of clutter. I looked at the manger scene on the nearby table and thought "that looks more like an oversold rock festival than a manger scene". (I can't resist buying more and more manger figures, there are about 5 Marys and the Wise Men are a crowd, not three.) Anyway, I guess that is what "Cabin Fever" does to you- you get sick of your surroundings.

When I was a kid going to the Howland Library the children's section was way in the corner, you had to pull a cord to get the light to go on so you could find a book. At one time I was hooked on the Twin Series, 26 books by Lucy Fitch Perkins (1865-1937). She wrote about twins around the world, The Irish Twins, The Dutch Twins, Japanese, Mexican, even cave twins. The twins were almost always a girl and a boy (one time they were both boys) and I got drawn into their worlds, so different from mine. The book I loved the best was the "Eskimo Twins", the girl was Monnie and the boy was Mennie. They lived in an igloo, freezing cold, dark half of the year and yet they had the best times....playing in the snow, tracking polar bears, jumping on a fur skin held by the men in the village. I loved their life and wanted to be an Eskimo. A typical scene in the igloo would feature their mother sitting in a corner, making a needle out of a whale bone, their grandmoter chewing on a fur to tenderize it....God it was so exciting.

I just looked up the author, that's why I have that little bit of information, and her books were reprinted in the early 2000's. Then I checked the Tivoli Library, and sure enough, there was the Eskimo twins, so I requested it, and will let everybody know if it still has the appeal that it did 60 years ago. Also, it just might make me appreciate the winter a little bit more.

2009-12-31T05:46:00.000-08:00

Hard to believe this year is ending in a few hours. It wasn't a bad year - all things considered, the economy (I guess that says it all) the economy with all its concerns and uncertainty. But here are what I myself consider the best things of 2009.

(1) The Wacky Raft Race. When I first told my family this was my favorite thing of the year, they looked at me like I was crazy. But it was wonderful. Being on that little raft, in the middle of the river, just trying to make it to Catskill made for an exciting, amusing, exhausting, exhilerating experience. And we made it - did not even consider quitting. My family at their best. And being on that raft, with just my family, for all those hours, was more time than we have spent together, alone, in a long time. Sabra is already planning our next wacky race.

(2) Maribeth giving me the woodpecker painting. So unexpected, so kind, so touching. God Bless you Maribeth and family. Everytime I look at it, it makes me happy.

(3) Meeting Caleb Potter at the Oysterfest. After all those months, in which he played the invisible but prominent role in our family, in our thoughts, in our prayers, the boy that survived. In some way his recovery, his continued recovery gives hope. And he looked so good, and kissed me, I can still feel the stubble of his beard. God Bless you too Caleb. I continue to read his mother's blog and keep him in my thoughts and his Christmas card to me is placed with honor near Maria's picture.

(4) The week in Wellfleet with my family. The Monkey Party, the snail race, laughing in bed with my sister Maureen, the surprise visit of John O'Leary and family, the mermaid sand lady, all the experience - even being in the same cottage that I had shared with Ria for her last trip to the Cape - like the commercial says "priceless".

(5) Sharing with Margaret her last year with us. Zach's pirate show in Catskill, eating the boxed supper after the show down at the Park, drinking a beer with her on my birthday, walking with her at the Street Painting, and finally speaking and sharing at her memorial. Rest in Peace Margaret.

I probably will think of another hundred or so things that I should have included, but right now I am happy with the above. Happy New Year - bring on 2010. God Bless.

2009-12-25T05:10:00.001-08:00

This morning, before eight, I went to watch Sabra's boys open their presents and on the way home I heard the loud rat-tat-tat of a woodpecker, a big woodpecker sound. Could it be the piliated woodpecker? Yes, he flew right over my head and then from the back yard the loud squawk of another woodpecker, and another piliated woodpecker flew over. My heart pounded as I got this rush, this feeling that Maria was saying Merry Christmas Ma. A wonderful gift on this gray but beautiful Christmas morning.

2009-12-24T13:14:00.001-08:00

Today, Christmas Eve, I received a card from Cape Cod, from Caleb. This is what he wrote:

Ho Ho Ho !!!! Merry Christmas to you and your entire family...& I hope you get every gift you wish for.....soooo have a great holiday !! & thank you!!! (Drawn heart) Caleb! (15 little drawn hearts).

And I just want to say Ho Ho Ho Merry Christmas to all. God Bless us all and give us peace and good health in the next year. (Drawn heart)

2009-12-16T12:48:00.001-08:00

Today I was remembering a Christmas six years ago, a hard Christmas for Maria because she had to make life defining decisions for her Godmother and Aunt, Aunt Lillian. Lillian was in the hospital in Poughkeepsie and the staff was adamant that this time she was not going home. She had to go to a Nursing Facility. Although there is usually a long waiting line, and lots of foot work and paper work, Maria managed to get her in Northern Dutchess, close to Maria's home. Lillian was admitted a week before Christmas. Maria followed the ambulance that brought her to Rhinebeck. As they were getting Lillian out of the vehicle, one of the men said to Maria, "Boy, that Aunt of yours is a real pisser" and told her that before they took off, Aunt Lillian said to the two men, "Boys, can you do something for me? Make a stop for me?" The men thinking that she wanted some magazines to read or personal items, said sure, and Aunt Lillian said, "Take me to the Poughkeepsie Bridge. I want to jump off."

Aunt Lillian seemed to adjust well the first day. The dietician came up to ask her what she liked to eat. "Oh, said Aunt Lillian, "I'm a vegetarian. But I would love a lamb chop." Because they rushed her into the Nursing Home, she had to share a room. She didn't like this and neither did the woman with her, who called her a "Princess" and would talk aloud to herself about the "spoiled princess". I let her get settled and went to see her after two days. Maria was in her room with her. Her roommate was wheeled out to see the Christmas Pageant, loudly discussing how the "princess doesn't want to go to the show like everybody else. Trying to make small talk, I told Maria that I had heard the coyotes the night before. Aunt Lillian looked up from the bed. Coyote? Uncle Phil had a coyote during the war. He carried it around with him." Maria and I exchanged looks and then Aunt Lillian asked for a cup of tea. Maria offered to go and get it and said she wanted to see the Christmas pageant anyway. Lillian and I had a nice talk, about family and old times and Maria came back with the tea. Later, going home Maria said the Pageant was beautiful, sad but beautiful, with the players being the patients. The three wise men came in on wheel chairs and Ria had tears in her eyes when she said one old man had a big bandage on his head, but a great big smile.

Maria was called in daily to calm Aunt Lillian down, who was not happy to be there and even managed for her to get a private room. The day before Christmas a nurse told Maria to stay home tomorrow, spend Christmas with your family. Besides, Aunt Lillian might adapt better if not given the chance to lean on Maria all the time. So she did. She called and the staff said she had visitors from Beacon and was talkative and responsive to her guests. But Sunday after Christmas they again called Maria, that things were not going well. Aunt Lillian was going downhill fast. Maria called the priest to come for the last rites, but found Lillian naked, not even a blanket on in her bed. The nurse explained that sometimes near death the human "thermostat" goes crazy and Aunt Lillian could not cool down. "Help me, help me die,"she begged Ria. "I called the priest, he will help you." But the priest seeing she had no clothes on would not go into the room. Get her dressed, he directed and Maria went back into the room. Again Aunt Lillian asked for her help, help me die. The nurse looked at Maria and Maria said sternly, We will help you Aunt Lillian, We will help you die. But first you have to get dressed. " Maria said the nurse laughed right out loud at Maria's words. But Aunt Lillian did get covered up and the priest said his prayers which calmed Lillian right down.

The next morning while Maria and I talked on the phone, Aunt Lillian died. I went with Maria to the funeral home. Lillian had made all the arrangements before, just the obituary had to be written. Where was she born? He asked Maria. "Harlem", she was always proud of that fact. He shook his head, we better just say New York City...people might misunderstand. He asked a few more questions, and then Ria said to him...about her birthplace - I want you to put in Harlem. That's what she wanted, that's what she is going to get" Maria did a great job taking care of Aunt Lillian, right to the end....and more.

2009-12-09T04:32:00.000-08:00

We are having the second snowstorm of the week. I woke up thinking of snowmen. Last year I read The History of the Snowman by Bob Eckstein and was fascinated by the historic facts presented of the snowman. The author really did a good job, searching art museums throughout the world, looking for the first sign of a snowman. Because of the nature of snowmen (they melt) there was little seen of them in art, but then in the 15th century they started to appear in winter scenes.

Their history is a shady one, snowball throwing started the American Revolution with the Boston Massacre...some boys threw snowballs at the British soldiers. Also, a fort in upstate New York was attacked by Indians when the men, during a snowstorm, left the fort guarded by just two snowmen. Early snowmen were both snow men and ladies, and some of them were quite risque. The snowman really became popular in the 19th and 20th century in advertisements. They advertised everything from cars, to candy, to alcohol and not one snowman ever made a penny for representing a product. (Unlike Tiger Woods who up until recently made millions of dollars by endorsing products!) Bob Eckstein called the years from 1975-2000 the "white trash years" of the snowmen, with Hollywood making movies, not only cartoons, but bloody killer Snowman movies and snowmen being exploited all over the place.

The Guiness Book of records lists the people of Bethel Maine as building the largest snowman. They keep breaking their own record, no one challenges them. The latest was a snow lady, 122 feet and 1 inch high. I think they are working on another one right now. Anyway, when I read the book I thought what a wonderful project for Tivoli, not the biggest, but maybe the most snowmen in a Village. Everyone could go to the park, or maybe just make a snowman in their yard, or maybe a whole crowd of snowmen.

Then this morning I had another thought...snowmen in the cemetery. We just finished decorating Maria's grave with a grave blanket, so the cemetery was on my mind. Any what better place to make snowmen? Lots of space, no one would bother them. They would get people to gather in a place that used to be used by families to picnic and spend time with their departed families. And, I bet Guiness doesn't have any record of the largest number of snowmen made in a cemetery. January 18th is World Day of the Snow Man (a fact I stumbled on in the internet) so I think a snowman -at least one - will show up in the cemetery on that day.

2009-11-28T10:16:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I read at Margaret's Memorial. I was not going to read and then I thought well, I wrote it, Margaret would have liked to hear it, so I got up, the next to the last person to speak and read my page and a half on my experiences with Margaret and a few of the times we had shared. People started to laugh as I got into the second paragraph about Margaret and the bread dough and they kept on laughing. It made me feel really good because I love to make people laugh (sometimes I don't even mean to.) I think it started when I was in eighth grade and my father was in the hospital with a heart attack.

In those days they kept you in the hospital for six weeks, flat in the bed, no pillow, nothing. My father had always been a very active man and this, plus the doctor saying he would never ski again, had depressed him deeply and I saw a side of my father that I had never seen before. The hospital was one block from the high school, so everyday I would stop in to visit him on my way home from school. One day I told him what had happened that day. "Bill Eggling made himself faint today in school, " I started. My father looked at me blankly. Why did he do that? he asked, and I said, "Well, Mrs. Collins, our history teacher was late in coming to class, and he just told everybody he was going to make himself faint. He went up to the front of the class and held his breath. First he turned kind of red, then white, then he tumbled over just as Mrs. Collins came into the room. Now the man in the next bed, put down his newspaper and looked at me, like what happened next? "Well', I continued, Mrs. Collins screamed "What's going on?" and someone said Bill wanted to show us how he could faint. Bill already was starting to sit up and Mrs. Collins ordered him to the nurse, assigning another boy to go with him. "What did Mrs. Collins do then?" my father asked and I said she shook her head and said, "And they shot good men like Lincoln." Well, my father smiled at that. The man in the next bed said he knew a guy in the service that could make himself faint...he thought it would get him out of the army, but they didn't care. And he started to tell us his stories of the war. After that everyday I would look for something funny or interesting to tell my father. And there was always plenty of material a lot of it involving the strange Bill. One day he went too far and lit lighter fluid on his desk, so we didn't see him for quite a while after that. Anyway, there were a variety of teenage boys doing weird things to report back to the hospital room, trying to get at least a smile.

Years later I was taking an English class at Bard with Professor Wilson, a well known and respected teacher at Bard for many years. We were the night class, mostly adults, but had a full schedule. We read Moby Dick plus had writing assignments every week. One time he came into class, smiled at us, and said, "Last week after this class, I went home, made a fire in the fireplace, poured myself a glass of scotch and started to go through your papers. I got laughing so hard that Mrs. Wilson (his wife was the Registrar at Bard) came downstairs to ask what was I laughing about and I told her Mrs. Fritz." That's when I knew he was talking about my paper and I blushed red as a beet but was also as proud as I could be. I made Professor Wilson laugh.

It was not easy to get Margaret to laugh. She smiled a lot, but held her laughs mostly in reserve. I remember one time at the Black Swan I was telling her about a Larry David show where he had a particular type of hair caught in his throat, and she got laughing so hard. Margaret was beautiful when she smiled, but when she laughed it was like plugging in the Christmas tree and all the lights and decorations lit up like magic. That was her laugh and I hope I made her laugh yesterday too.

2009-11-20T12:31:00.000-08:00

I was looking for something last week in one of my drawers and ran across a file of writings that Maria had given to me. They were written by her for her English class, English 101, when she was a student at Columbia Greene College. Here's a part of what she wrote:

"When I was a child, my mother belonged to the Columbia House Record Club. Once a month, Nick our mailman, would deliver to her a flat, square package. Sometimes it was the selection of the Month, which meant she hadn't mailed in an order. Usually she returned these, although I do remember her keeping a few. Most of the arrivals were long awaited and most desired. James Taylor, Carol King, Simon and Garfunkel, Cat Stevens, and Bob Dylan all came into our lives this way. If we happened to be home from school when the latest album came, we were treated to an impromptu party. She remove it lovingly from its outer wrappings, carefully put it on the old black stereo, and after blowing once or twice on the needle, begin to play it. Just once how I wish I could return, spiritlike, to peer through the window and see the five of us dancing barefoot in that livingroom of my childhood. We were joyous."

I first was introduced to the Columbia Record Club by my sister Barbara. She was working at Texaco at the time, was making "good money" so had enrolled in the club. In 1955 the Club was still in its early stage, but already had more than 128,000 members. Barbara bought Frank Sinatra, Broadway hits - I knew and still remember all the words to Pajama Game and My Pal Joey. One time she got Rimsky Korsakov Scheherazade (probably didn't send back the monthly selection), but I loved the mysterious haunting sound of it. That was what was different about Columbia. They had "Negative option billing practice" where every few weeks you would get a postcard in the mail with the monthly selection. You had to either mark NO and get nothing that month, or pick another selection. It could get ahead of you, if you weren't prompt in mailing back the selection card and usually once you got the package, you opened it, thought what the hell, put it on, and then you were stuck with it. Weird Al Yankovic has a song in which he described the Columbia Record club as a larger commitment than getting married. And it was. It didn't take long for the records to add up both in quantity and in money. In its hey day, which Maria writes about in the 1970's there were more than 3 million members.

Of course there is no such thing (at least I don't think so) of the Record Club today. With the internet music is a completely different animal these days. But there was something, something special about getting the music in the mail, putting it on the record player and hearing Cat Stevens right in your living room.

2009-11-16T13:13:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot about memories lately. I guess a class on how our body ages started it. The memory, short term, is the first to go. That's why we can remember who we sat next to in second grade, but can't find where we put a certain letter or bill. And then Margaret's death, following the year after Ria, and all you have left of them is memories.

You don't have any memories before your child is born. Oh, maybe the conception. Timmy was conceived on New Year's Eve and he's told me his father kept the cork from the champagne bottle. I remember about two weeks before Ria was born, I was watching the Memorial Day parade and a drummer banged his drum right in front of me. Ria jumped in my belly about a foot and I recall thinking, "Well, at least she isn't deaf." They say you never can remember the pains of labor, as soon as they hand you that beautiful baby, it is forgotten. I don't know about that...it comes in handy when you are arguing with your kid, and you start in about the delivery and what you went through.

Anyway, last Friday we were all at Margaret's house, looking through pictures, picking out specific ones to display at her Memorial. One was of me and I said, "Oh, yes, that was a Tivoli clean-up day and we were all at the park afterwards for refreshments. Liz was with me and we rode around town picking up bottles and garbage." Now, where the hell did that come from. Margaret had labeled the picture 1993, 16 years ago, and one look at the picture and the whole day comes back.

That's like with Ria. The other day I remember the summer before she died and we were sitting by the pool, watching the kids in the water. Rachael was sitting with us and I turned to Maria and said, "Ginny sent me a joke today. I think it's funny, do you want to hear it?" Ok, Ma she said with a little shrug, like why not? So I started. And the funny thing is I never can remember jokes, I always forget an important line or even the punch line, but this joke sticks in my head like glue, probably because I was with Ria. Well, I started - an old couple were on their first date, and they go out to eat, have a nice meal, nice conversation, lots of wine and they end up in his apartment. Sure enough, a little later they have sex. Afterwards, he is thinking, "If I knew she was a virgin, I would have gone easier on her." And she's thinking, "If I knew he could get it up, I would have taken off my panty hose." Well, Rachael huffed..."That's disgusting," and got up and left. Maria looked at me seriously, and said, "Poor old people, everyone makes fun of them" and then she laughed, her wonderful laugh, that I hope I will always remember. And I laughed too, and we kept laughing thinking about the old lady with her panty hose on. And that's what I mean about memories. We really don't have control of them, they can pop up anytime and just about anything. And I am thankful, oh so thankful that I have them..of Maria, of Margaret, of Bucky and Daddy, Uncle Jack, Grandma and Poppy, on and on. It's like a part of them is still here, stuck somewhere in the cauliflower folds of my brain. Hiding, but ready to come out at any minute.

2009-11-03T06:18:00.000-08:00

My neighbor Mary Alice once said to Maria that "your mother can get along with anyone" a really nice compliment and in most cases true (we won't mention Barry at Kosco). My friends can vary from Ginny that sends me e-mails of internet interest. The last one was "called caterpiller seen in dormitory" and it was a picture of four or five guys on top of each other- , mooning, with their legs sticking out - it did look like a caterpiller. Timmy's sister Meg also is an e-mailer. The last one was Halloween Costumes that are just wrong - and they were so tasteless (and funny) that I can't discuss them. Then I have a friend Crissy with whom I can have a lengthy discussion on how difficult it is for women to pee in the woods, "you always end up wetting your shoes". I know people that you can have a political conversation with, both Democrats and Republicans, but I had a hard time last year with anyone thinking McCain was the choice. And all my neighbors and I can go on about living in Tivoli and how good it used to be.

Then I had Margaret, who was a wonderful combination of all the above. She too could pick out the best internet jokes and send them. One last year was a woman singing about Sarah Palin, with a man playing the piano in back of her wearing a Moose Hat. "Don't speak for me Sarah Palin" in the tune of Evita. I still laugh at that. We too talked about urine, but our conversation was how asparagus affected it and the chemical reasons for the change in its odor. My last long conversation with her included discussion on the movie she had just watched about Frost and Nixon and did Nixon really think that he was above the law as President. And we talked about the book I had just read in Cape Cod "That Old Cape Magic". There was one line that had stood out to me and I repeated it to Margaret "Why does a rich country likes ours blame people who have nothing for its problems?" and we discussed how that line applied now to the health debate and who decides who gets what kind of health care. Pretty heavy stuff for our last conversation.

Picking up the Old Farmer's Almanac this morning, I realized that this varied type of information and interest is exactly what has sold the Almanac since 1792. Last night's moon was called the Full Beaver -no reference to the caterpiller please. November 8 is when black bears head to winter dens and November 20 is when skunks hibernate. Today, Election Day, is when the first dog was launched into space in Sputnik II in 1957. And even a quote from Emerson, "the sky is the daily bread of the eyes". Something for everbody and something to think about this cold autumn day. Weatherman says snow showers on Thursday and the almanac agrees using the rhyme "first its glowing, then its snowing". And hopefully, silly e-mailing is a coming.

2009-10-25T05:23:00.000-07:00

Last week in Cape Cod we spent a lot of time indoors listening to the radio and CD's. Two songs brought me to tears, Eva Cassady singing Autumn Leaves (I dare you to listen to that with a dry eye) and "Has anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?" (I always let out a few tears at that one - the Kennedy's are still like family.) Yesterday my old friend Margaret died and the song that keeps going through my head is "Piano Man".

Margaret and I were carpooling to Dutchess Community College, oh back in the late 70's or early 80's. One night she turned to me and asked if I had heard this song Piano Man? She praised the song, the lyrics, the singer, an unknown to me - Billy Joel. "..when I wore a younger man's clothes", she quoted some of the words. The following days I listened to the radio and finally got to hear the song, a song that was sad, an encompassing all the lonliness of the world, but also the hope that a piano man and his song can bring.."we're in the mood for a melody, and youve got us feeling alright".

In 2001 Margaret and my sisters went on a mini cruise from New York City to Nova Scotia. Margaret was a riot, attending every show, finding every ice cream station, attending yoga classes, my sisters and I were amazed at her sheer energy and ability to stay up late at night. (We all were ready for bed at 8:00.) But Margaret was like the Enigizer Rabbit, on the go, exploring every inch of the boat. She would report back to us her findings and one day she told us about a piano bar and how great the piano man was. It was late at night she advised, knowing of our early to bed, early to rise habit. Maureen and I steered ourselves, made it to ten o'clock and went to the piano bar. Sure enough, there he was - just like Billy Joel sang about him, taking requests, and playing each one. He had a miniature hoop, like a basketball hoop and when people requested a certain song, they would throw a couple of dollars in it. Maureen and I drank Fundador (which was to become my favorite drug of choice) and listened as long as we could keep our eyes open.

Thank you Margaret for Piano man and all the good times we shared. Rest in peace. I love you.

2009-10-20T06:40:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Henry was at my house playing, when he suddenly said, "This day justs keeps getting better and better." I looked at him surprised, and then I realized he was quoting his mother who says this sarcastically as work calls with bad news, tax bill comes in, Solomon's school contacts her, etc. But Henry used it the other way...he meant it.

The week in Wellfleet was like that. Cold weather, rain, wind advisory, no beach days, no walks at Duck Harbor. I was like Sabra, well this vacation just gets better and better. Then it was Saturday, a nor'easter had blown all day Friday, keeping us near the fireplace, and the weather was not forecasted to be much better on Saturday with another nor'easter coming in on Sunday. But I could see the school buses running up to the festival, it was starting and a little after 10 Timmy and I climbed on a crowded school bus to get shuttled up to Main Street. Just getting on that bus, with all those happy, expectant faces, started to cheer me up. Crowding in, knees tucked up to your chin, in seats meant for smaller people, the mood suddenly brightened. (I think they ought to run the school buses on the weekends for adults - it would be a mood booster. Of course they would have to be taking you to a pub or someplace fun but thats another good idea, as they would be the designated drivers.)

Our first stop was at the Catholic Church that is being renovated into the Town Center where we already have signed up for a bench in the garden that will have Ria's name on it. The volunteers recognized me, "how are you doing? so good to see you, we remember you and Maria, all those cards with donations for Maria - I opened the mail and was amazed at the number of people that donated, etc, etc". Then we got to the festival, really good band, 3 guys that had a big sound. Timmy was happy and although he's not drinking (in training for a race next month) he went and got me a Sam Adams and oyster stew....yummy stew, not thick, but thin broth with almost a dozen oysters in it, potatoes and carrots...delicious. Looking around the crowd of strangers, people began looking familiar. "Look at that girl," I pointed out to Timmy, "shes
a cross between Bessina (Tivoli woman) and your sister" and he had to agree.

Then I saw a blond woman, good hairdo, well dressed with boots, and I thought that looks like Sharyn, Caleb's mother and I saw she was with a young man, whose back was to me. He turned and I saw the blind eye...IT WAS THEM. Normally shy, I surprised myself jumping off the seat and chasing them through the crowd. Sharon turned as I waved. I saw her look, like Do I know this woman? But she smiled and I reached her and asked Sharyn? Yes she said, and I introduced myself as Linda, Maria's Mom. She hugged me and introduced me to Caleb who gave me a hug and a kiss too. He looked wonderful, big smile, weaving to the music. He was with three young women who were introduced to me as his nurses from Boston. We exchanged a few words, I think of you often, I think of you often, too. Then she said I need another hug and I hugged her and out of the blue I said she was blessed. She looked surprised and we parted. I didn't get even a glimpse of them again, although I kept looking over the crowd.

The shucking began and we had front row seats. Another Sam Adams, Oysters Ole Cliff (like oysters rockefeller) and my mind shifted to Henry's words, "This day just keeps getting better and better." And I meant it. The sun even came out a few time.

2009-10-11T13:17:00.000-07:00

Timmy and I are leaving for Wellfleet tomorrow morning, but since Ria's death I just don't have the enthusiasm I use to feel at packing up beach chairs, looking for the right clothes and books and food to bring. In fact, I didn't shop for my usual goodies - dry roasted nuts, herb teas, good crackers (not just saltines), etc. It's Oysterfest, the ninth festival and I think Timmy and I have been to every one. It started with just a table set up on Main Street across from the Light House Restaurant and the spectators just stood on the hill in front of what was then Aesop's Table Restaurant and watched and cheered the shuckers. Everyone laughed when one of the shuckers' mother reached over to the table to rearrange his freshly opened oysters and the judges moaned. The first festival lasted a few hours. Now it is a weekend long event.

Maria loved the festival. She would get Regina out of school early (like ten minutes after she started) and drive out on Friday. The festival is always the Saturday and Sunday after Columbus day. They would stay at a nearby motel with a heated pool for the kid to swim in and Maria would pack everything, as if going for a week, not a couple of days. One of my best memories of the festival is sitting at a bench in the rain watching the shuck off. The man ahead in the contest was Karl with a K and the little crowd braving the rain were yelling "Karl with a K, Karl with a K" and Regina and I were yelling as loud as we could. Maria said that night, when Regina was taking her swim in the indoor pool, she was so wound up she kept yelling Karl with a K, Karl with a K, the sound echoing throught the pool room.

Another memory is of a hot day, very hot the sun beating down on us, with no shade to hide in - the leaves were off the trees. Timmy was complaining that he had forgotten his hat, didn't have on sunscreen, and Ria said, "I know what to do - I'll make you a hat out of this paper bag" and she rearranged her purchases so a grocery size brown paper bag was available. She started folding it one way, crumpling it another, and before long she had this hat, big, like the Cat in the Hat wears, and Timmy promptly put it on his head. The nearby crowd loved it, more entertainment and cheered him on. "How did you learn to make a hat like that?" I asked Ria, and she smiled and said Mary, Kevin's mother had shown them one night hats they use to make when they were working in the fields. Timmy wore it all day and even on the bus ride home.

They shuttle the crowd in school buses. You park down by the wharf and school buses run back and forth all day taking people to and from the festival. One day we were waiting in line and Ria was arranging Regina's hair. The woman behind her looked at the golden hair, shining in the sun and said to Maria, "that looks just like spun gold" and Maria beamed brightly, so proud she got tears in her eyes.

Ria loved the food at the festival. I remember once she got pizza with clams on it and talked about it for months. Oysters Rockefeller were another favorite but the oyster stew and clam chowder are worth the trip alone.

This year I am going to plant bulbs on Mr. Brown's grave. His grave is the one that Ria traced years back when Rachael was about 3 and Jeremy about 8. We have a picture of her making the rubbing. This is the same rubbing we put on her stone, an angel with an hour glass on her head. His stone is one of the oldest ones, dating back to the 1700's and I think it is fitting for him to have some flowers next spring. A little surprise for anyone who looks and wonders where they came from.

2009-10-05T11:15:00.000-07:00

There's a killer on Clay Hill Road. According to Peterson's "A Field Guild to Birds" the identity of the killer is an immature Cooper's Hawk (not to be confused with the Sharp Skinned hawk who has a notched tail). Anyway, about a month ago, I noticed the birds often getting into a tizzy, blue jays screaming, birds frozen in position on the feeders. Then I saw the reason - the above named hawk. At first he would just sit in the apple treee looking at the bird feeder. "He's a young hawk", Timmy explained, "he's just learning to hunt." He boldly set up a surveillance system, one time even calmly sitting on our deck's rail, right outside our window, head turning almost completely around as he watched his prey innocently eating at the feeders.

Then, he put his information to use. He doesn't fly down and grab the victim like most hawks I've seen, he chases them into the window, knocking them to the ground, and then he just picks them up and flys away with the poor stunned creature. Today, he got a mourning dove. She flew into the window, leaving that smudge imprint of herself, a little bird poop, and he picked her up as all the birds screamed in terror. I flung upon the deck door, screaming at the hawk, "Bird Killer, you're a Bird Killer", which jolted a memory of Maria in my head.

Maria was caretaker for Aunt Lillian in her dying months, actual years. Others had gone before, and now it was up to Maria to help Aunt Lillian with her daily living, doctor appointments, various medical procedures, visiting nurses - everything an elderly person that lives alone needs. One day Aunt Lillian was in an especially foul mood. Maria tried to joke her out of it, but there was no chance. Looking out the window, Ria said, "Oh, Aunt Lillian, your mail just came. I'll go get it for you." Getting mail was an event that usually cheered Aunt Lillian up, but today Ria saw that it was going to be a challenge. Ria selected a red envelope from the pile of mail, looked at the Christmas stamp, and said, "Aunt Lillian, I think you just got your first Christmas card." Aunt Lillian just muttered and looked the other way. "Do you want me to open it for you?" Ria cheerfully asked, and Aunt Lillian just waved her hand, like "whatever". Ria opened the envelope.."It IS a Christmas card, a family picture card, with two boys, twins, wearing suits and big owl glasses, with a proud mother in the center." Aunt Lillian snapped to attention. "Let me see that card", she demanded, and when Ria handed it to her she screamed, "Dog Killers. They're the ones that killed Spotty. Damn Dog Killers", and she threw the card down in disgust.

Now Spotty had never been a favorite of mine. When Atticus was not even two, Spotty jumped off of Aunt Lillian's lap, and bit Atticus right under the eye, one of the worse scenes I have ever experienced. We knew Spotty had died, just before Maria became caretaker, but we never knew why, just thought of old age. When Ria told me about Aunt Lillian, and the Christmas card and the twin boys wearing glasses, we tried to figure out how they killed Spotty. "Maybe Spotty had a heart attack thinking about biting TWO boys at once", was one suggestion. "Maybe Spotty had a stoke thinking he was seeing double, looking at the twins", was another. We got laughing at the thought of Spotty getting so excited he just keeled over, and for days, Ria and I only had to say Dog Killer and we would go off laughing.

So now I have to figure a way to get those killer twins up here. Or maybe I could put out a whole bunch of stuffed birds that wouldn't fly into the window at the sight of the hawk. I'll have to come up with something soon because I can't stand the sound of birds slamming into the windows all day.

2009-10-03T06:23:00.000-07:00

We started Our Learning Institute classes and one class that I am taking is on French artists in the 18th and 19th centuries. This week we looked at Jean Baptiste Greuze who was painting at the time that France was becoming emotional and interested in everyday life. His paintings usually depicted several subjects in a way that told the viewer immediately the story of the painting. For example Broken Eggs has this little demon boy holding an egg shell, while the family is scolding the maid for the mishap of eggs on the floor. Anther one, Return of the Prodigal Son, the family surrounds the father's death bed, the mother is pointing accusingly at the son, the people surrounding the bed are wringing their hands, holding their heads and hearts, all melodramatically. The instructor even said that silent films copied these familiar stagings. Then he said something that clicked with me. He likened these paintings to Norman Rockwell, who likewise, used ordinary looking people, in a scene that was instantly recognized by the viewer. Christmas Homecoming has the mother hugging the son, while every one, old and young are smiling around them. Norman Rockwell brings me right back to when I was 12 in the 6th grade with Mrs. Fritz as my teacher.

Mrs. Fritz was a tiny woman, with curly gray hair, that ran a tight ship, mostly keeping us in line with her "credit system". Everytime you did something right, or got a 100, you got a line, 5 lines made a star, or a credit. Likewise, when you did something wrong, or failed, you lost a line, or if really terrible a whole credit. One of her weekly assignments would be a Norman Rockwell Saturday Evening Post Magazine cover. She would set it up on the chalkboard and have us write our own story to go with the picture. I loved this assignment, it was right up my alley and my pencil would fly. Norman Rockwell's picture practically wrote the story themselves.

There was only one problem with Mrs. Fritz's class. My seat was next to Paul Cooper's, a red headed freckled handsome boy that could have modeled for Rockwell. He had a good sense of humor and could make me laugh easier than anyone had ever done. Soon after entering Mrs. Fritz's class Paul and I noticed something strange about her and the Pledge of Allegiance. Instead of putting her hand over her heart, she cupped her left breast, most gently, almost as if she were checking to see if it was still there. I didn't think too much of it, until one day when Paul made a noise and when I looked in his direction he was mimicking her method, had his hand cupped over an imaginary breast. I giggled and looked away, but the damage was done. He knew he had me and every day after that he would do the Pledge the same way as Mrs. Fritz. Now, she never noticed, her eyes intent on the flag, her full attention on her patriotic duty as a citizen and teacher of the young. But, as my giggles got louder, she began to look in our direction. One day it was really bad, and I laughed out loud. Mrs. Fritz stopped the Pledge, stared at me, and said "Linda, I think you better go out into the hall until you can control yourself". Red faced, I did so. After that Paul stopped doing the gesture, I think he knew how embarrassed I was. I don't remember how many credits I lost, but I bet it set me back a bit.

Norman Rockwell could have done a painting of our class, with Paul making me laugh (the evil kid with the broken egg shell) and Mrs. Fritz staring angrily and disappointed at me (the innocent kitchen maid) while I am shaking with laughter. I would like to see that one.

2009-09-27T06:52:00.000-07:00

I can remember as a kid my father would look around the living room at the mass of newspapers, books, reading material that my mother had collected and accuse her of becoming like the Collyer brothers. There's a book about them now, two brothers that were compulsive hoarders, and when one died, after setting off one of his booby traps, the other brother, blind and paralyzed, died of hunger. Pretty grim story, huh? So their claim to fame was their fear to throw anything out. My mother would say, "as soon as you throw something out, you have a need for it" and that has proven true to me many times. A couple of years ago I threw out a pile of maps I had in the desk. You can always look up directions on Map Quest, I reasoned. Since then, I don't know how many times Timmy and I have gone looking for a map to see the general area of cities our guests are from. Map quest can get you there with accurate mileage, twists and turns but it doesn't visually show you the city's location in the state. Plus, to look it up on the computer, you have to go upstairs, turn on the computer, etc, etc. Opening a map was so easy.

There's another reason why people save things - it's just too costly to throw them out. Today, garbage collection is not cheap - so what is there to do but hang on things. When I was a kid, I was always afraid of the garbage men. They were a rough bunch, two or more of them, dirty, with ragged looking clothes, you wouldn't even want to make eye contact them. They rode on the back of the garbage truck, jumping off to pick up a garbage can and throw it into the truck. It seemed like every time they were in front of our house, they had to reposition the garbage, and a big plate of metal would nosily push the garbage to the front of the truck. My fear of garbage men probably goes back to when there was a "junk man". He collected rags and broken appliances and had a row of bells across the back of his truck that jingled when he drove by. A common threat parents used in those days was "be good, or we'll give you to the junk man". Tell that to Child Protective Services.

My mother once thought she killed the garbage man. My family bought wine in big gallon bottles, probably Gallo. (I was surprised when I found out you CAN buy smaller bottles of wine.) Anyway, Bucky had run out just before the garbage truck came, and put an empty big bottle of wine on the top of the pile. When the garbage man raised the can to throw it into the truck, the bottle came crashing down on his head. After falling to his knees, and screaming obscenities, he managed to get back on the truck and ride off. Maybe that's what happened to the Collyer brothers, they had been frightened by the garbage men and gave up putting it on the curb. Well, I have to get back to the Sunday New York Times. My living room is looking like the Collyer brothers are here.

2009-09-23T11:45:00.001-07:00

Early this morning, just as it was starting to get light, an owl serenaded me from the pine tree across the street. It is the first full day of fall, and the owl's song was a sad and almost silly one:"Hoot de hoot hoot hoot" over and over. Made me smile but also reminded me of my mother's saying, "If you hear an owl hoot three nights in a row, someone will die." That was Bucky - she wasn't scaring us, she was just giving us her facts of life.

This summer was kind of like that, good and bad. Good in that no one I know, not Timmy, not me, not even the cat had one tick on them. The bad was there were herds of slugs, bad guys coming into town, eating everything, all the beans, all my marigolds, everywhere you looked gooey, disgusting slugs. The rain was good in that we never had to water the garden once. Bad in that all the rain killed most of the garden. Good in that even though there was a recession, business at the Bird's Nest has been busier than in past years. Bad, so busy my knees are killing me, no time to have fun and sheets to be hung up on the line everyday and bed making a back breaking chore. The woman who runs a B&B in Wellfleet said it best: "we are victims of our own success." Our guests this summer also have been the Good, the Bad and the Ugly with more cancellations and "no shows" than in all of the other years. The ones who make the biggest messes write the best things about us in the guest book. Good and Bad everywhere you look. Today we had a cancellation for this Saturday. Bad, because that is a loss of anywhere from $60 to over $100. Good in that now I can do a Street Painting this weekend because we have no guests coming. I guess it all equals out.

2009-09-13T08:23:00.000-07:00

The other morning was a chilly fall-like one so I put on long pants and pulled a pair of my monkey socks out to wear. You can't wear monkey sock with short pants. Monkey socks, one pair of many that I have - black ones, blue ones, even Valentine monkey socks - all from Ria. And started by the Street Painting. Now that's a strange connection. But when I was running the Tivoli Street Painting I called upon Ria to do demos, to show people what street painting really is. She did street paintings at Red Hook School, Rhinebeck School, Bard College, Dutchess County Fair, Rhinebeck Farmer's Market, etc, etc. even one in Wellfleet for the Oyster Festival of Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf, with the variation that Little Red was holding oysters, not goodies in her basket. Anyway, about the third year of the Street Painting, Poughkeepsie Journal called me for an interview of how it started and what we were doing this year for entertainment. Then the reporter asked if she could talk with one of the street painters and I gave her Maria's phone number. That evening I called Ria and asked did the reporter get a hold of you? "Yes, she did, Ma. She asked me why I do street paintings." "What did you tell her?" I asked and she straight faced (for the phone) said, "I do street paintings because my mother asks me to. If she asked me to pull a monkey out of my ass, I would do that too." I gasped, then realized she was kidding me, but that became the monkey gift beginning. I kept thinking of her saying that, and I found a picture of Ria holding a zuccinni up in front of her. It was one of those gone wild in the garden ones, the size of a baseball bat, and she held it up suggestively, but with a big innocent grin on her face. I found a monkey picture in one of the kid's books, cut it out and glued it over the zuccinni. Then I glued the picture onto card paper and wrote "Hey, Ma, looked what I pulled out of my ass." Ria got a big kick out of it and from then on every holiday there was a pair of monkey socks for me. I returned the idea with monkey underwear for her. You would be surprised how many things have monkeys on them once you start looking. Anyway, it's almost street painting time and I will put on my monkey socks in memory of Maria and the girl who would do almost anything for her Mother.

2009-09-09T11:12:00.000-07:00

The other day on TV a woman was interviewed that wrote a one act, one woman play about her hair. Now she did have an interesting hairdo, kind of an afro, but it made me wonder what could I write about my hair. I have very thin hair, the old lady type hair that you can see the scalp through. Not very interesting, and certainly not worth paying to hear anyone talk about. When I was a kid, I had thick hair that my mother would braid into two even braids that were quite long. In some of the pictures there would even be a ribbon braided into the strands, or the braids would be pinned to the top of my head. But that was when I was little, grade school age. When I was older I would go to the same hair dresser as my sister Barbara. Her name was Tillie and she always cut our hair with a razor...the whole thing. No scissors, just a razor. And short, both Barbara and I had it very short. I hoped I looked like Audrey Hepburn with that short hair and her beautiful profile, but I think I just looked like a kid with short hair. So then I had short hair for years, mostly cutting it myself. When I went to work at IBM I stopped cutting my own hair. One night my friend Kathy met me in the mall, after I had had my hair chopped in one of those walk-in places. She took a look at me, I think she even sobbed a bit, then vowed to introduce me to Joe, her hairdresser. Joe was a great addition to my life. He had a salon all to himself (not like the mall) had coffee and a little refrigerator filled with drinks. Soft music was playing and all his magazines were interesting and up-to-date. I loved Joe. I would tell him all about my family, just like he was my therapist. He would tell me about his life, his partner, his dog and we would laugh and laugh. Being cheap, I would let my hair grow quite long in between appointments, but Joe never forgot our last chat and would ask to get up to date on all the family news. He also cut my hair short, but with scissors, just a touch of razor on the back neck at the end. One time I went to work after getting my hair cut, and one of my managers looked at me interestingly and said, "Not many women would dare to cut their hair that short." I never knew if that was a compliment or a put down. About three years ago I decided not to get my hair cut anymore. It grew, little by little, until today when I can make these two braids, that are no thicker than a rat's tail. (Sabra just got a rat, so I know what I am comparing them too.) I guess I get my thin hair from my mother Bucky, who got it from her father Poppy. Poppy went bald at an early age, probably even in his 20's. My mother told a story once of how Grandma found a remedy for bald heads, smearing them nightly with the marrow from a cooked marrow bone. Now marrow, lightly salted and spread on a toasted piece of buttered rye bread is one of my all time favorite things to eat - but it is very greasy, nothing you would want to put on your head. But I guess they tried it and Bucky said even a little fuzz began to show up, when Poppy couldn't take it anymore, resigned himself to baldness and bought a hat. So that's my story about hair, my hair and my family's hair. Nothing worthy of a purchase of a theater ticket and it wouldn't surprise me if not too far off, I have to go hat shopping.

2009-08-19T09:09:00.000-07:00

Well, it has been a while...4th of July in fact. Bucky always said "After the Fourth of July the summer is over" and she was right. Here we are past the middle of August. First there was vacation...staying in the cottage Ria and I shared two years ago. The weather could have been better, but all in all, it was good. Then we got back and had to get ready for the Wacky Raft Race, which we did last Sunday. Sunday was hot, and we got there about 8:00 - the earliest time they suggested. There were some concerns with one of the volunteers (not a good start) but then things came together as strangers volunteered to help us. One man who was waiting for a friend helped Tony get the raft out of the truck and helped him assemble it. Then another man who had a trailer helped us get it in the water - a distance of several yards that would have been a hard carry. Then we got in the water and the tide was going the wrong way...north, not south. Almost immediately, we were being carried to Albany. That's when another stranger offered to tow us to the starting line...almost a mile away. Good thing, because the tide didn't turn even after the race started. People were walking faster than four of us could paddle. After 3 hours we arrived at the finish line, coming in 10th. 2 more finished after us, and 6 dropped out and had to be towed. So, I'd say we did pretty good. No permanent injuries from rowing. I was complaining the next day that my left arm hurt "from holding the umbrella all that time" - pretty selfish, huh? Anyway, there were a lot of mistakes in the running of the affair, mostly the timing because once the tide changed, things were 100%, no 200% better. Apparently, Laura was not happy with the way things went. The next day she called the Green County Tourism and gave them her opinion and what it was like -"worse than labor." Sabra called up the Tourism people to get our time, and the woman said to her, "What team were you with?" and when Sabra said TeamRia, the woman declared that she would not talk to anyone from TeamRia that she just had got off the phone with Laura after 45 minutes. Well, this made me laugh and laugh and laugh some more. TeamRia will probably not be allowed on the west side of the River for some time. But that was that. Now I have to finish my embroidery of an apron for the Dutchess County Fair that has to be handed in on Saturday. Dear God, please let this summer end.

2009-07-04T17:39:00.000-07:00

The Fourth of July, and many other fourths flood my memory, Maria as a small child burning her fingers on a sparkler, all of us driving with my brother in law to Carmel to see fireworks. In more recent years when Maria lived in Germantown, she would have a barbeque, invite the whole family and afterwards we would go to the nearby cemetery to view the local fireworks. One time Timmy was a little snuckered and was pointing out in the darkness of the cemetery to the children the planets, Your Anus was one, Penis was another. The kids all laughed and the Kelly's still talk about that night. Four years ago on the Fourth of July we were in Wellfleet and all went to see the parade. There we met Yellowbeard, Caleb, a young pirate marching with mermaids and other pirates. We did not know then that he would have an effect on all of us. Then the last summer of Maria's life, on the fourth of July 2007, a few days before we ventured to Wellfleet for our summer vacation, Caleb was hurt, badly hurt after appearing in the Wellfleet Fourth of July parade. When we entered Wellfleet, a large banner on the overpass, advised "Pray for Caleb" and twice daily the town gathered in the center to have a circle of hope and prayer for him. Maria, I and the whole family were touched. I remember Laura saying she eagerly emptied her whole purse in a jar for Caleb at the local grocery. Pirate flags flew everywhere, he was a shell fisherman and his company flew the pirate flag. The next month for my birthday Maria organized a pirate party - and instead of gifts, donations could be made to Caleb's fund..the party was the best. I have the picture of all us all on my living room wall, Maria and I making the arrrgggg pirate faces. Then in October for the Oysterfest, Maria made 100 pirate cookies for Caleb's friends to sell - wonderful cookies of a pirate with a patch on his eye and a big smile. "Cookies for Caleb" his friend yelled when she delivered them to their booth. When Maria died his mother wrote a wonder piece on Maria in her blog. To this day, I am grateful for the kind words from a stranger, who is not really a stranger, we are connected in our grief and hope and joy. This Fourth of July Caleb's Mom, who keeps a blog, wrote that he again would be in the parade. I smiled at the thought of him once again parading down the streets of Wellfleet and I pictured Maria watching him again, waving and yelling "Go Caleb, Go Yellowbeard".

2009-06-08T08:52:00.000-07:00

While driving into Red Hook today, I passed a sign for a new daycare. It was called Wee People. I had to smile because I remembered years back when my sister Maureen and I had a great idea. We were sitting on the beach at Wellfleet, wondering how we could someday afford to spend our whole summer there, just laying in the sun, eating Wellfleet oysters and enjoying the good life. We came up with an idea that we could rent a big house right on the beach for the summer. Now, to pay for this lease, we would run a daycare. People could leave their kid or kids there for an hour, two hours, or even days at a time. We got this idea because all around us on the beach were kids freaking out, screaming for forgotten toys, needing a drink, having to go the bathroom, etc. Hassled parents looked like that wanted to kill themselves, wringing their hands and wondering why this was their vacation, or worse, their life. We figured they would pay big bucks to have an hour or two alone on the beach or go out to eat alone. The kids were really bad in the restaurants. After a day at the beach, they were either overtired and whining, or zapped up from too much candy at the Chocolate Sparrow. And they never liked the food offered on the menu. I remember one boy, about 10, standing up and announcing to his family and the whole restaurant that he couldn't eat Pasta Primivera one more time without throwing up. We knew we had hit about the right idea when we came up with the name: "Dump a Kid". That said it all. Not Funshine Time or Little Darling Place not even Little Rascals...just Dump a Kid, exactly what the parents were thinking. Now, we didn't want to watch these little b*$^%$^% ourselves, so we figured we could hire high school kids, even college kids that would be willing to spend their days at the beach and making some money at the same time. We played around with this idea for hours, it seemed like we had the right idea. But then we saw one kid throwing rocks at his sister in the water (insurance?), another one torturing a turtle he had found on the beach (deranged children?), kids with red faces just screaming for no reason, and we decided to give this daycare thing some more thought. But the Dump a Kid still seems to me to be the best ever name for a daycare.

2009-05-28T13:32:00.000-07:00

I was just ironing the cloth napkins for the Bird's Nest, when I realized the B&B napkins and tablecloths are probably the only ironing I do today. Not so in the 60's when there was actually a day set aside for ironing. I ironed the babys' clothes, my clothes, shirts for my IBM husband, a white shirt fresh for each day. There was no spray starch, so you "sprinkled" the clothes with water first, keeping them in the refrigerator to stay damp in the summer heat. Ironing was a part of life. I learned how to iron by ironing my father's handkerchiefs, first flat, then doubling over, and over until a small white square was done. My father took a clean hankie every day. I remember my sister Maureen telling me that her boyfriend was taught to always carry two handerchiefs (he learned this at dance class) in case a girl ever needed to use one. I guess it was manners to hand her a fresh one! Any way, ironing was, as I said a part of life. My Aunt Muriel knew how to iron. She would set up the ironing board, this was not easy in the old days. They were a wooden contraption, that you had to get just right or it would collapse in the middle of a delicate job. So, she would set up the board, heat up the iron and pour herself a glass of wine. In the 60's drinking was also a part of life. No one thought anything of drinking in the afternoon, or even pouring a little glass while you stuffed the turkey in the early morning hours. My Aunt was from Montreal, spoke French, was very sophisticated, so I too would sometimes pour a glass of wine while I ironed. You be surprised how it helped. Grandma Burky did laundry for people to bring in some money during the Depression. She taught my sister Barbara and me how to iron a man's shirt. Her ironing board was just the board, no legs. She would balance it on the dining room table and a corner shelf. Anyway, she showed us how you do the collar and the cuffs first. Then the arms, then the left side, right side and last the back. She would fold the whole thing up and I swear it looked like it came out of the dry cleaners. My mother did not have my Grandma's skill or the desire. Her way of ironing was unique. She would start by laying a sheet over the board. On top of this she would put other flat items, a tablecloth, pillow cases, a skirt, kitchen towels, etc. She would keep piling on the items and then finally, on the top do a kid's shirt, or a pair of kids' pants. I guess she thought this was efficiency. My father did his own ironing (do you wonder why?) Every night he would iron his pants for the next day's work. He did it completely different than Bucky. He would lay just the pants on the board. Then he would test the iron, over and over again, until it was just the right temperature. Carefully arranging the pants legs to get the seam exactly in the center, he would iron them using a damp cloth and sometimes I remember him laying a newspaper over the seam first. You know, writing this I almost miss ironing. It was a meditation, taking items from the laundry basket, ironing them, folding them, putting them in neat piles to later go in the proper drawers, until the basket was empty, ready for next week. A lost task. A lost art. Like the dinosaur, someday, there won't even be irons.

2009-05-17T06:37:00.000-07:00

I thought of Aunt Lillian yesterday. I was picking wild grape leaves to stuff and I remembered the first time I had them at her house and how she shared her recipe with me. This is the only time of the year when you can use the wild grapes leaves, in a few days they will be too big and too rough to eat. But right now they are perfect. You pick the ones with leaves that are divided into threes, make a filling of rice, fresh mint, scallions, spices and an egg and cook them for a few minutes in chicken broth. Easy, good for you and delicious. I used to have the kids help me pick the leaves. Paul was a worry wart and would say, "Don't touch that - it's poison ivy." No, its not, I would tell him, continuing to pick the leaves. "Leaves of three, let it be," he advised. I would show him how these leaves were growing on the grape vines, therefore they were safe. But he never really believed me. It was this time of the year too when we would go "steal" rhubarb from our neighbor's yard. Actually, Bob Barrett had told me to take all I wanted, they didn't use it. But I liked the story of Rapunzel, where she asks her husband to steal the rhubarb, he gets caught, and the witch gets their baby. Anyway, we would sneak into the Barrett's yard, I would pull out a knife and start cutting the rhubarb, showing the kids how you never, never even take the leaves, they are too poisonous, and I would discard them in to the weeds. "How can the leaves be poison and the stems are ok to eat?" questioned Paul, a look of disbelief on his face. That's just the way the plant is, I would answer and take home the rhubarb to make Strawberry Rhubarb pie. The kids never liked that either, probably thought I was trying to poison them, but in later years it has become the favorite of all my pies to them. Another memory came to me today, as I picked the Lily of the Valley (they are early this year). My grandmother carried that flower as a bride on Memorial Day and there is still the wedding picture of her and Poppy, and the dried flowers are part of the frame. Lilies of the Valley are tricky to pick, you don't pick them, or cut them, you tug on them gently until they are released from the pip. Poppy showed me how to do this when I was a kid. There was a patch of them in their yard, and their scent still is one of my favorite smells. So, spring is here, Aunt Lillian's tradition continues, Poppy's picking lesson is remembered and I need somebody to go with me to steal rhubarb.

2009-05-03T12:22:00.000-07:00

Last week we were at a party. It was unusually warm for April, and we were all sitting outside, except for Solomon and Zack, in the house playing with their games. Then from inside someone was playing the piano, a haunting Eastern melody, like a harem dancer would be swaying to. "Who's playing the piano?" I asked, looking around the guests to see who was missing. "It's Jer - Jer is playing the piano." Now I never knew he could play the piano. He's always played a guitar, I think Maria started him on lessons as an early teen and he is usually never seen without the instrument. Hearing Jer play the piano made me recall conversations Ria and I had had many times. Jer was NOT her son, the babies had been mixed up, and she had Todd Rundgren's son. Yes, back in 1980 when Maria had Jer there was one other baby in the Rhinebeck nursery. Maria and I were standing outside the nursery window, looking at Jer when this young, thin woman, wearing a shortie nightgown and holding a radio to her ear, joined us, dancing and moving to the music in her ear. "Look at her, Ma", Ria moaned. "She just gave birth and she looks like she's at a rock concert. Nobody would know she just pushed out a kid, not like me". Maria could have been on a poster for Post Partum Support. Back in her room, Maria explained to me that that was Todd Rundgren's girlfriend. Todd Rundgren of "Hello, It's Me". Oh yeah, I always liked that song. Years went by and I had forgotten Maria's partner in the Maternity Ward. Then when Jer was about 3 and he was dancing crazy to music, Maria brought it up. "Ma, I think I got the wrong baby, I think I got Todd's baby." This was repeated many times over the years, usually when she was having some problems with Jer. "He's going back to his father and that Playboy girlfriend of his." Anyway, after listening to Jer playing the piano, I thought I would look up what had happened to Todd's son who had been born at the same time as Jer. His name is Rex and he is playing baseball for the Dodgers Team A in Vegas. Now, that's a surprise. Last year Regina played softball and she was pretty good at it...and then I read that her real brother Rex is playing ball. Maria you might have been right.

2009-04-11T11:57:00.000-07:00

Two completely unrelated things made me smile today. We have guests in the Bird's Nest from Holland and as I tidied the bathroom, I noticed a shaving brush on the shelf in the shower. A shaving brush, like the one my father had. I remember watching my father shave, it was a morning ritual. He would lather the brush up , working the suds, until he was satisfied with the quantity and quality of the suds. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror he would apply the suds to his cheeks, chin and under neck and then with long deliberate strokes of the razor, remove the suds and the beard, finishing it off by rubbing his hands together with Old Spice, getting just the right amount on his palms, then gently slapping his cheeks with the Aftershave. Just seeing that brush on the shelf brought all those memories back, almost the smell of that Old Spice. The second time was reading today's New York Times and reading an article about a remake of Gray Gardens. Big Edie and Little Edie. That's what Maria and I were named, first by Sabra's husband Tony. Ria and I were sharing that awful last cottage we shared together and Tony and Sabra had the cottage on the hill above us. He would stop by on his way to get the paper, see me having my coffee, Ria with her tea, Ria in her bathrobe, me wearing my Miller Lite pajama pants and Miller Lite shirt. He must have remembered watching Gray Gardens (both Sabra and Maria had loved that documentary) and he thought our outfits worthy of the names of Big Edie and Little Edie. Drew Barrymore is playing Little Edie and Jessica Lange is playing my role. I once had the honor of riding in the truck that Jessica Lange had ridden in the movie "Tootsie". The movie was filmed in Hurley and I worked at IBM with an older gentlemen who drove a beat up truck, that the film company had asked to use in the filming. I can't remember the IBMer's name now, but I recall his face. He took me for lunch at the Bowery Dugout and I had the honor of sitting in the same seat as Jessica. That makes me smile too. Then at the Bowery Dugout I would order soft shell crabs, my favorite - and Adam's is starting to carry them. Well, there you go, from shaving brush, to Big Edie, to Jessica, to soft shell crabs. It's Easter Saturday, the day last year that Maria was buried. This cold, dreary day is perfect for the thoughts that pop into your head. Rest in Peace Little Edie. Love, Big Edie

2009-03-16T11:03:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is Saint Patrick's Day. I have been thinking today of all the good St. Patty's Days I've had. I remember one just before the Iraq War started. Maria, Patty, Margaret and I were sitting with several other people on Bailey's porch - a warm night. The Mayor was there and like a typical politician, was going from table to table. At our table we exchanged Irish jokes and then I said "Let's get Tivoli declared a Peace City" and he moaned and said, "Oh, no Linda, don't start that". Then a year later we celebrated at the Black Swan, sitting around a table in a crowded room, drinking Guiness, Maria, Patty, Me and others I can't remember now. But my favorite St. Patty's Day memory goes back probably 28 years ago when Maria had Jer as a baby and was living with Kevin's mother. I had asked her if she wanted to go to Bailey's with me for St. Patty's Day and she jumped on it, asked Mary to watch Jer for the night --she planned on spending the night at my house. I picked her up after work and we were soon on our way to Bailey's. Now only once a year did they open the back room making Bailey's double in size. The juke box was playing Irish music (nothing special for the occasion, it ONLY had Irish music on it) probably Danny Boy and we ordered beers and tried to find an empty seat. The only seats were at a table filled with young guys - I especially remember Benjie Sosta as being there. He had a Tivoli kid reputation and several years later died in either a car or motorcycle accident. We sat down, Ria grinning broadly at probably her first night out after having the baby and took a sip of her beer. Now, Maria could never drink. A half a glass of beer and she would be silly, so I wondered how this would go. Benjie was making us laugh, calling to Lillian the beer maid, "Take the hill, Lill" because she was wearing a green hat that looked like an army helmet. He leaned in close to me and asked in a low voice"Do you woof?" Ria gasped, choking on her beer. I looked at him and said, "I don't think so." Maria explained that to woof you have to drink the whole glass down at one time. NO, NO, I don't woof. But that did put us all in the right mood. Erin Go Braugh flags were passed around, more green hats, green plastic leis, and the music got louder and louder. A good time was held by all. The next morning I woke up Maria to take her back to Mary's house. She said "I'm not even going to get dressed. I'll give Mary a good show." So I drove her home and she got out of the car, wearing her bath robe, a green hat perched on her head, several leis and waving a green flag. I thought I saw the curtains move as she yelled out to me from the front steps..."Happy St. Patrick's Day Ma". It is my best memory of the day. I bet she and Benjie and Patty are getting ready to woof tomorrow. Happy St. Patrick's Day and God Bless us all.

2009-03-02T13:07:00.000-08:00

Boy, it has been a while - I think I was stuck in February doldrums. Now it is March. Timmy has a riddle "What's the only date that is a command?" Answer: March forth. That's what the cold does to you, strange chemical changes to the brain. My mother told me that my first sentence was "GaGa, Nana, brrrrrr" which translated to Grandma, I'm cold. 65 years later, I'm still stuck in the I'm cold mode. Clothes don't seem to make a difference- two, three shirts, two pairs of socks, still cold. When I was little, still living in my Grandmother's house, Barbara and I slept in an attic bedroom, without heat. I remember my mother ironing the sheets before we hopped under the covers. GaGa, Nana, brrrrr. I wasn't kidding. School was cancelled today because of the snow storm. Rarely, do I remember school closing, and if it was closed we were advised by the firehorn going off in three threes, the signal for school closing. Today you look on the internet or tv. Oh, the television weather people love a storm. You would think it was the end of the world coming, their pointing out the approaching low, the expected number of inches, and oh, yes the wind chill which is always near zero in our area. Today is my mother Bucky's birthday. I can remember a warm March 2, taking a walk with the kids down Clay Hill Road in the dark of night, hearing the peepers, feeling Spring, feeling the joy of the damp air with that earthy smell that signals Spring. Last year was cold too. Laura was married on Leap Year Day, a cold day, and Maria drove us to Catskill for the ceremony. It was a wonderful time, an alligator cake made by Maria, with a bride and groom alligator, the bride wearing a veil. We all had good food, laughs at Liz's son Zander eating everything he could get his hands on, and then Laura and Michael left to catch a train before noon to the city and on to Florida. On the way home in the car, Maria looked excited and said, "I got an idea. Let's go wait at the Tivoli Railroad tracks and wave when their train goes by"....she was so pleased with the idea, but we all poopooed it, too tired, why would they look out the window, etc. , etc. So we talked her out of it. But that memory is sticking in my head, why didn't we just go along with her, it would have been fun just to see the train go by anyway, so we could tell people what a crazy thing we did. But we didn't. Yesterday I went to the railroad tracks, driven by that memory. "Maybe I will see an eagle, or even wave to some newly weds going by in a train", but no eagle, no train went by and I drove home. Cold, just cold. Gaga Nana brrrrr.

2009-02-03T11:11:00.000-08:00

A few more thoughts on suffering. As my sisters' comments indicate, Catholics are taught about suffering too, but for them, it is a way to get into Heaven and enjoy eternal life. Of course if Adam and Eve never ate the fruit, there would be no suffering to begin with...God wouldn't have condemmed them and the rest of us to pain, work, labor and toil and all those good things. Anyway, Aunt Lillian's prayerbook says that "out of suffering comes all good" and "suffering was the lot of all saints". (Was it St. Francis who wore a horse hair shirt next to his skin as a penance? ) "Suffering has a refining influence upon our character and tends to free us from selfish motives and purifies our aspirations". "Every sorrow, every trial can be turned into a blessing". Well, I don't think Buddha would say that - he said "Suffering is an illusion." But as Catholics that is how we are taught. "Thanks be to God, my rheumatism is much worse today!" Just another way to look at it. Now Maria thought all our trials, all our suffering and pains in this life were brought on by something we did in another life. Atonement for unknown sins. She often would call me, saying dramatically, "Ma, I don't know what I did in another life, but it must have been terrible." I remember one time she called, after an especially bad day with the kids, motor bureau, bill collectors, etc, and said, "Ma, I think I finally figured out what I did in another life....I was Hitler." We laughed and after that, whenever things were really bad, she would repeat that she must have been Hitler, that was the only explanation for her sufferings. Well, enough on suffering. It's snowing, cold and frigid - the house only 60 degrees. Makes one not mind putting on the horse hair shirt.

2009-01-29T06:58:00.000-08:00

January has been hard on the Learning Institute's classes at Bard. I wanted to take Buddha's Four Noble Truths, but the classes kept being canceled, rescheduled, so I ended up only attending two...I guess I only will find out about the first noble truth, something I already suspected. Our instructor presented us to Buddha in a strong Italian accent. He had a nervous little habit of giggling at what seemed the most inappropriate times, which surprised me but made me smile more than once. The 1st great noble truth to get back to it, is "suffering" and we suffer said Buddha, because we get too attached to life and that is why we suffer. "Greatest pleasure gives you greatest pain" (giggle). I remember Aunt Lillian telling Maria, "I never knew the pleasure of having children," here she looked knowingly, "but I never had the pain that comes with raising a family." Aunt Lillian must have known Buddha. Nietzsche was quoted by the professor more than once...my favorite, the familiar, "that what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger" (giggle). I have thought of that quote many times in the last months. But to get back to suffering, we suffer because of our physical wants, our mental wants, our attachments (greed) and our spiritual suffering, our hunger for eternity (giggle). He continued that our needs have dominated our lives, we need more and more...actually, we really need less and less. Here the professor referred to today's economy, our living beyond our means, and said we may learn the hard way to need less and less (giggle). Made me think of St. Francis and even Cat Stevens in his song "Moonshadow" and if I ever lose my eyes, if my colors all run dry, I won't have to see anymore, or if I ever lose my mouth, all my teeth both north and south, I won't have to talk anymore. Cat Stevens, like Aunt Lillian must have known Buddha. So here I am stuck in the house, the yard an ice skating rink, not able to find out the other noble truths, or how to get out of suffering, other than death (my giggle). Oh, well that what doesn't kill us....we're getting stronger every day in this January of below zero weather, snow, ice and cancelled classes.

2009-01-17T05:05:00.000-08:00

This morning the thermometer in the front window read minus 12. The sun was not yet up, but already the cardinals were searching in the snow for left over seeds from the day before. The red birds are always my first visitors. Soon, the blue jays, sparrows, chickadees and more were arriving and I pulled on my boots, jipped up my coat, wrapped a scarf around my face, put on Aunt Lillian's hat and went out to feed the birds. My glasses actually frosted up, not steamed, but iced and my eyelids stuck together with frost. I filled the feeders, threw corn on the ground and hurried back inside. Sitting in the rocker in the window, thankfully holding my hot cup of coffee, I saw something I had never seen before. The sun was coming up, it lit up the trees, made the cardinals look even redder and the snow turned a golden color. Years back we had a nest of baby blue jays in the front tree and the babies were adorable, fluffy and fat, noisy and bratty, a handful for their poor parents. Anyway, these grown blue jays outside today were all fluffy, like baby blue jays, using this technique to keep warm. The rising sun had a strange affect on the blue jays, I swear they became religious. As the sun rose, they quieted down completely, left the food, found a branch and faced the sun...each of them did this. They were probably just trying to use the first sun for warmth, but I swear to God, it looked like they were praying. And they probably were in their own bird way, saying "look the sun, we survived that long, God awful night. Hallelujia". So I looked at the fluffy, for once quiet blue jays, thanking the sun or maybe just using the sun and I smiled. The news this morning was filled with pictures of the plane down in the Hudson River, people lining the wings, crowded together, having survived the crash while the plane slowly sank. One woman interviewed said it gave her a lot to think about, why did 155 people survive an almost certain death. She was quoted as saying, "There must be a reason we lived, something we must do before we do die". Like the birds, she was just thankful to be here another day. You can learn an awful lot from the birds.

2008-12-23T05:56:00.000-08:00

Well, it's almost Christmas, the doubloon has been found, I might get to hibernate after all. Team Ria has been such a plus in our lives....the well wishers from afar have filled my heart. But, what a difference a year makes. Last year on this blog I wrote about our first Christmas on Clay Hill Road, when Maria was five and sick with a fever and she and I stayed up on Christmas Eve, surprising a mouse and laughing about it. Maria wrote on that blog..."one of my favorite memories..because I liked having you to myself on Christmas Eve." That was Maria. Years ago she had a bumper sticker on her car that read "Practice Random Acts of Kindness" and Ria intuitively knew how to do that. Her cards were always perfectly selected and she added the right words, whether in humor or in love. At her funeral my brother pulled out a birthday card she had sent him of an old man holding up an ugly animal, a giant possum, and inside she had written, "The critter on the front is probably the only animal that doesn't live on our third floor." We laughed at that together. Two years ago she gave me a prayer book for Christmas, and had inscribed to "Mom, A copy of Aunt Lillian's prayer book for you with all my Love, Maria" and that was Ria, not just love, but ALL my love. Since her death so many people have sent me cards with her words, always so appropriate and loving or told me of the little things she had sent to them at dark times of their lives. Last night I thought of her before going to sleep, as I usually do, but this time I said in my head, "Good night, Maria, wherever you are" and I had to smile because I remembered Jimmy Durante saying "Good Night Mrs Calabash, wherever you are" at the end of each of his performances. I looked it up today because I thought it must have been someone very dear to him to acknowledge her that way and was surprised at the story. Mrs. Calabash owned a restaurant that he stopped at in Calabash, South Carolina at an early stage in his career. He was impressed with her kindness and as he left he said he would make her famous one day. Her daughter said she didn't even know that she was talking with Jimmy Durante. And so it was that Lucy Coleman became the famous Mrs. Calabash announced in his routine sign off. I guess that just goes to show you that kindness can be repaid, and repaid in a dramatic way. Team Ria's crown will be used in a way that commemorates Maria's spirit of kindness and giving. So this eve of Christmas Eve, I say Merry Christmas and God Bless and Merry Christmas Maria, wherever you are.

2008-12-13T05:19:00.000-08:00

Very exciting news...the doubloon has been found and Team Ria will soon be wearing the crown. Sabra has made a website http://www.teamria.blogspot.com where we will be posting information, pictures, etc. and more details of the actual finding of the doubloon by Michael, Laura's husband. Check out the blog for a video of Timmy, Michael and Tony searching the low tide at Catskill.

2008-12-09T04:30:00.001-08:00

I've been thinking about hibernation. Last week's paper had a review of a book written by a New Paltz professor about a woman being put into a coma for two weeks to lose weight. It's fiction, but this is entirely possible today with medically induced comas. I'd rather hibernate. Last year the New York Times had an article about human hiberation that was known about in Russia (the people said 7 months of winter, 5 months of hell, so that tells you something about their lives). But the one I was interested in was a town in France which produced wine where the peasants would hibernate once the grapes were harvested and the wine was made. Their work was done for the year and there was no reason to wake up each day. It showed a picture of a family sleeping with their arms around their animals - a cow, sheep and pigs. Rotating, one member of the family would stay awake to tend the fire and the family would wake to eat a piece of stale bread every now and then. A long winter's nap. This appealed to me and I've been drawn to that thought now that the days are gray, darkness comes so early and even the mornings take a while to arrive. Just get under the covers and like Sleeping Beauty, wait until a prince comes to wake you up, a well rested, 30 pounds thinner you, get rid of the animals and get on with life. But, there is Christmas coming faster each day, Team Ria searching for the lost doubloon (our new member, Rob, has been coming up with the greatest ideas - he's found a shipwreck, numerous places to search including a sewer plant, can't miss that) and they called to tell us Maria's stone has come to Red Hook, to be put in place by next week. Sabra asked what does it look like, and the man said it hasn't been uncrated yet....too much going on. I'll hibernate next month.

2008-11-23T02:37:00.001-08:00

We've been busy, searching for the lost crown of Captain Kidd. Actually, this was a plan 17 years ago to drum up tourism in Catskill, but failed miserably when a tv show that was featuring the hidden treasure was pulled and never shown. Anyway, for the last month we, Team Ria, have been studying the story and the map, looking for clues. The story goes something like this:

Captain Kidd and his crew of 185, 75 from the city of New York, are sitting in their worm filled boat waiting to find pirates. Instead they see the Quahog Merchant, and decide to become pirates. The ship is full of treasures, gold, fabrics and a diamond filled crown, and a beautiful young girl bound to be married to a rich king. Kidd's second mate, Lad Widerear, falls in love with the girl, who sits around in pantaloons and a camisole and gives him the eye. The rest of the men dress in the fancy clothes and pretend to lay golden eggs. Kidd sees Widerear's interest and gets rid of the girl, takes over the ship, goes back to New York and hides the crown with Lad Widerear 87 miles north of the Statue of Liberty and 36 miles down from Albany. Back in New York Kidd, who has been summoned about his actions, puts on his best dress and tells his first mate Dolton, if you see me drop my hanky, get the hell out of there. When he drops his hanky, Dolton and the crew head back up the Hudson to hide Kidd's share of the booty, before he goes to the brink. They hide the chests of gold doubloons in the same place as the crown, and Dolton asks for a straw from a haystack, takes a needle, puts it in the straw and a small bowl of river water, and laughs as the needle turns north. Then he takes a cross staff and shoots a light at Widerear's end. Perfect he smiles, half of Widerear's age. Aha...now he tells Widerear that he has to stay here with these directions in case Kidd ever comes back. Then the story jumps to the 1900's and a girl name Hannah, escaping the boredom of Catskill finds the crown. Now go and find it. That's all you get.

308 years later Team Ria is in action. Maria and Sam Bellamy, the pirate from the Whydah are sharing a rum coke and are watching from above. "Look at that", Sam says to Maria pointing at the bunch of them running around St. Anthony Friary, "They think they're on to it. Who's the one holding the girl up to the statue of the Blessed Mother, and what is she trying to do?" "Oh, laughed Maria, "That's my brother with Atticus my niece on his shoulders. I think they think the blessed Mother's crown is the doubloon. Oh, wow, Shane is trying to knock the statue down with a big stick. This is getting good." Pirate Sam, interrupted Maria, and pointed in the opposite direction, "And who are those three nuts in the Hudson River in November and what are they trying to do?" Maria turned and laughed out loud. That's my brothers-in-law, Tony and Michael and the white haired guy wearing shorts and no socks, is my mother's fiance. They've been engaged for 22 years now." "And, asked Sam, "What are they doing in the mucky low tides of the river in below freezing weather, in the water?" "Well" explained Maria, "Tim thinks that little piece of land that shows up in the map is Madagascar and he thinks that tidal land is where the treasure is." Sam laughed a hearty laugh, and pointed to a woman on the shore. Maria told him that was her sister Sabra and she was video taping the whole search. And that's my mother and sister Laura in the car watching with the binoculars. Sam turned to Maria, gave her a hug, and said, "You know you're family is nuts, but I am cheering for them." Maria and Black Sam lifted their glass, "Go team Ria, Go."

2008-10-30T06:00:00.001-07:00

When Timmy and I are on a long drive, and he's behind the wheel, he likes to find a "happy place", a place on a major three lane highway, that suddenly has no cars in front of you and no cars in back. You relax, look at the scenery, slow down to the speed limit and enjoy the drive. Without the rush of cars passing on either side you are suddenly tension free, if only for a few minutes or even seconds. I have been kind of in a "happy place" since Cape Cod. It started one morning, early about 7:30 I was on Mayo Beach drinking a hot cup of offee, watching the shellmen about their job. Wellfleet Harbor stretched in front of me like a cinematic screen, land, water, Jeremy Point, more water and vast amounts of blue sky. The moon had been full the night before, so it was a very low tide and the men were so far off they looked like toy soldiers, their trucks pulled to the end of the water looked like Matchbox trucks. They moved slowly, some raking their oyster beds, some pulling rowboats filled with burlap bags of oysters and suddenly I felt a peace, a good feeling watching these workers doing a tedious job in slow motion, in cold water. A happy place. Then last week in my writing class at Bard I read my piece on "I knew I grew up when..." a piece that ended with even Maria's death not accomplishing my growing up. The class applauded me, the teacher said excellent and I went out of the room feeling a "happy place". I hate to read in front of people, I inherited the Murphy shyness and this was something hard for me to do and I thought I would cry, but I wore the scarf Maria had made for me, and I think that helped. My happy place continued.

Right now our country is not in a happy place and the result of next Tuesday is all important. Sabra e-mailed me an essay David Sedaris wrote for the New Yorker on voting. He mentions the voters who are undecided and likens it to being on an airplance. The stewardess approaches with the food cart and asks, do you want the chicken or a platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it and the undecided voter asks "How's the chicken cooked?" Funny, but sad too. We need to get into a happy place and Tuesday means the difference of an over crowded dangerous highway of crazy drivers or a long stretch of calm road ahead. Please, give us the calm road.

2008-10-21T11:24:00.000-07:00

Back from a week at the Cape - beaches, Oysterfest and a memorial for a schooltime friend. Something for everyone there. I spoke a few words at Jackie's memorial, about our long time friendship. After the speakers, there was food, snack food and a small boat decoration filled with raw oysters. Her younger sister Sandy told me how she was so angry when Jackie died too early, Sandy thought they would have so many more years to be together. A few days before I had been to a funeral for a friend in Tivoli, who died at 69. The pastor there also kept saying, too young, she died too young. Made me think of Maria at 45 but then I guess they always say too young. Not my Uncle Ed Murphy, he was 96. There they said, "Doesn't he look good?" and he did. I went to Oma's 100 birthday, but was away for her funeral, but they probably didn't say she died too young either.

Anyway, something happened to me at the Cape, something broke free and I can once again do embrodery. I haven't been able to do that since Maria died. Instead I replaced it with Sudoku, the numbers game, placing numbers 1 through 9 in blocks, filling books and books of Sudoku. I even did the ones in the newspaper each day and the one in the AARP magazine, any Sudoku I could get my hands on. I realized in Cape Cod that was because when I embroider, I think. When I do Sudoku, I have to concentrate on the numbers, nothing else, no thinking. I had my bag of assorted projects to embroider and I picked up an apron I had started before Christmas. The needle went in and out and the brain started to wander. But my thoughts weren't scarey thoughts, they weren't awful thoughts, they were just thoughts and the needle kept going until I ran out of thread and then I picked another color and it was like I had never stopped for seven months. One small step.....

I've changed in many ways, I know it. Not long ago Caleb Potter's mother wrote in her blog that Caleb had asked her, "Where's my real Mom?" She was upset and hurt, but Laura wrote to her blog, saying something like "since my sister died, I lost my real mother, the one I had before" and I know what she meant. Tragedy changes you. I told Timmy the above, and he simply said, "I lost my old girlfriend too". I know I am less tolerant, less patient. At the Cape we were in line outside waiting to eat at Moby Dick's the last night of the season it was to be open. A big van drove up and parked next to the line of waiting customers with a bumper sticker NOBAMA. "Where did you get that sticker?" asked the man in front of us."I want to get one". The people behind us piped in, "We want to get one to," That's it, I told Timmy. Let's go. I'm not eating with people that think like that and we left, with the hostess saying, "Won't you reconsider?" I wanted to yell, "You assholes want McCain. Stand in line then, like sheep, waiting to go into a restaurant" , but Timmy (who is never the conservative) said to me, "I wouldn't say anything to that group if I were you" and I didn't. But that's just an example. No patience. I can't even wait for the next two weeks to go by so we don't have to see and hear all the politicians pointing fingers and telling us how much money they are going to save us. Well, I may be impatient now, but I can once again do my embordery.