Archive | Catskills RSS feed for this section

A Blueberry Patch Was the Site of My First Kiss

29 Apr

The summer of 1969 was famous for many reasons; the July walk on the moon of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, the Woodstock concert in August. But for me, even though I remember those events vividly, and lived just 1 ½ miles from Yasgur’s farm, for me the summer of 1969 was the summer of my first kiss!

It happened near my grandparent’s bungalow colony in town of Kauneonga Lake. It happened on the path between the two sections of the blueberry patch that covered the ground between the bungalow colony and Cooper Drive.

Why it happened there, I do not know. But I remember it as if it was yesterday. My first kiss was very shy. I was 14, I think he was as well. Perhaps 15, but no more than that. Looking back, I realize that kissing on that path was a very poor choice. I had lots of boy cousins, a brother and friends who could have seen us. But they did not. We kissed in the middle of the path, then went our separate ways back to our respective homes.

To be honest, the kiss did not lead to dating. We were just friends. I have no contact with him, although I remember his name and what he looked like.

We, of course continued to see each other. But it was a one-time event.

There were other boys I dated in the Catskills over the years. But not one was ever serious. Usually they became my friends.

One Catskill friend took me to my high school senior prom. He was a freshman in college, so it was a big deal. Another boy I met while working at Daitch Shopwell was beloved by my grandparents. He and I remained friends for years. We both married others — not people we met at the Catskills.

The boy I loved the most in the Catskills, never really took me seriously. I think it was the age difference. I was 16 and he was 22. I was smitten. I also met him when working at Daitch. He had a great voice and would sing and play the guitar during our breaks. To this day when I hear the song, “You’ve Got a Friend,” I think of him. But to be honest, although I remember what he looked like and the sound of his voice, I cannot remember his name!

Not all Catskill summer romances end. Two of my cousins married the girls they met in the Catskills. Both have been married over 30 years and are grandparents. They and their families still come up to Kauneonga Lake every summer.  And there are many others I know who also married the love of their lives that they met while teens in the Catskills.

Although for me, the Catskills was not the place I met my husband, it was the place I brought I children to visit every summer. A place of great fun and memories.  My children got to spend wonderful times with their many cousins at the lake and in the house where I spent my summers.

As for the walk and kiss in the blueberry patch; it was not unwelcome. I still hold it in my heart. I am sure I picked some blueberries on the way back and ate them.   Although my love for that boy did not last, my love for blueberries has lasted forever.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Behind the Beauty and Facades of Vienna

19 Apr

My husband and I took our children to Vienna in 1999. We went to Austria and Hungary primarily to see the total eclipse of the sun. But our tour started in Vienna. I was not sure I wanted to go there. My grandfather was from Galecia, when it was part of Austria. His entire family was murdered in the Shoah. So should I go to a place that hated my family, my people and my traditions so much?

But on the other hand, my grandfather also told me that he bought his property and built his bungalow colony in the Catskills because the hills reminded him of his home. I wanted to see that part of Austria. And I did, when we left Vienna to go into the Vienna Woods, into the rolling hills above the city, I saw what he meant.

It did remind me of the Catskills. And I understood that even though he would never, ever leave the USA. That he would never go back to Galecia, he still had that piece of home in his heart when he was in the Catskills.

In Vienna we also saw the Hundertwasser haus designed by Friedensreich Hundertwasser. Born, Friedrich Stowasser, the son of a Jewish mother, as a child, he and his mother posed as Catholics during the war. His mother lost almost 70 members of her family. When we went up into the mountains, we stayed at the Bad Blumau Spa, which he designed. My son called this place the wacky hotel. It was an amazing spot. It is a place of beauty and peace designed by a Jewish man who was able to survive and provide beauty to the world.

While in Vienna, I made sure that my children went to the Jewish Museum and to the Judenplatz, the area of Vienna where most of the Jews had lived. At the time there was no memorial to the Shoah or an additional museum to memorialize what happened there. When we went, the central grounds in the Judenplatz was in the midst of construction. There were signs about what would be built there. And there was a plaque on one of the buildings describing, in German, what had happened during the war, after the Anschluss with Germany in March 1938.

We stayed for three nights in Vienna. Because we were traveling as a family of four within a tour group, the hotel reservations clerk upgraded our hotel rooms from two small rooms next to each other to an actual apartment suite that was on two floors. It was a lovely suite. We had a view of the city. Our children loved this elegant accommodation. But the entire first day, I felt unsettled.

On Saturday morning, as we were eating breakfast in the hotel dining room, I heard chanting and prayers. I followed the sounds and found several women sitting in a hallway outside a room where a traditional Shabbat service was being held. I was amazed. There was still a Jewish presence in Vienna? People were celebrating Shabbat here? We were not the only Jews in the city? I felt a bit comforted that the hotel we were staying in allowed Jewish services and provided a spot for those who wanted to celebrate the Shabbat and keep kosher. A bit of my angst left me.

We did all the tourist stops in Vienna. We went to the Schonbrunn Castle; The Belvedere; and the Spanish Riding School, home of the Lipizzaner horses. I had to see the Spanish Riding School, because I remember seeing the Disney movie, “The Miracle of the White Stallions,” as a child and have always been intrigued by these horses. At the Schonbrunn Palace we learned about Sisi, Empress Elizabeth of Austria and her very long hair!

I bought souvenirs, some lace, white ceramics, gifts for the children, and of course post cards of art work from the museums, including the beautiful Klimt paintings. They were magnificent.

The Klimt paintings, especially the one of the woman painted and then covered in gold, was amazing.   But there was much going on in the background of that painting that we did not know. There was no mention that the woman in gold was stolen from a Jewish home during the Shoah, along with other artwork.

My views of Vienna changed again when I went to see the movie, “The Woman in Gold” and found out the true story of this painting and others like it. I had a totally different reaction than when I saw the “Miracle of the White Stallions” so many years ago.

Although “The Woman in Gold” has not received wonderful reviews, I found it fascinating.   Perhaps with my somewhat Austrian roots and my previous time spent in Austria and Vienna, I related on to the film a different level. Perhaps because my family was destroyed after the Anschluss, so I felt the story on that level as well.

Of course my family was not multi-millionaires. But they did own a farm and property that was all stolen. And they did suffer through the murders and destruction.

I wish the movie shown that Maria Altman had children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. The Maria in the movie seems to be alone. And that was not the case. I wish the movie shown her triumphant in her life as well as in her fight against Austria to win the return of what belonged to her family.

For me the continuation of her family, as well as the return of the stolen property would have made the story even stronger. Not only did she get the beautiful Klimt, but she also made a lovely life.

I do not know if I will ever go back to Vienna. But I know that with the rise of anti-Semitism in Europe and around the world, we cannot stand back and say nothing.   So I am glad that movies such as “The Woman in Gold” have been made and are shown throughout the world.

Vienna in 1999 was a different Vienna than in 1938, but now I know that they were still not facing the truth of what had happened.   Vienna is a beautiful city. This is a fact. The pastry shops, the museums, the buildings, the parts are all stunning. But behind the facades, for me, will always be the homes, art, jewelry and lives taken.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/09/arts/design/09altmann.html?_r=0

http://www.designboom.com/architecture/rogner-bad-blumau-spa-hotel-friedensreich-hundertwasser-austria-01-19-2015/

http://jewishonlinemuseum.org/friedensreich-hundertwasser

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miracle_of_the_White_Stallions

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Sunday Crossword Puzzle Is a Family Tradition For Some

29 Mar

Puzzle

I never do the Sunday Crossword Puzzle when I am home alone. I do get the Sunday New York Times delivered to my house each week, because I cannot see a life without the large Sunday paper on my driveway. I grew up in a home where the Sunday paper was important. We each would take our sections and sit and read quietly, while my Dad did the puzzle.

Daddy loved to do crossword puzzles. When he was retired, he would start each day with a cup of coffee and the newest puzzle in the newspaper. He usually would use a pencil, but at times Dad used a pen. His ability to solve the puzzle was amazing. In fact I knew after his heart surgery when he was back to himself because he was once more able to complete the puzzle in under hour. For a while, after his open-heart surgery, he struggled.

My Dad had one major competitor for the puzzles, my sister. As she grew up, she wanted to do to the puzzles as well. I think they even bought two Sunday newspapers when my sister was living at home while she attended law school. It alleviated fights as they both could complete these impossible weekly puzzles on their own.

They were not good at sharing the puzzle. This made life more bearable for my Mom.   I am not sure if they competed to see who would complete it first, but it would not surprise me if they did.

I just did not want to get involved in the puzzle battles. I would answer a question about a word, if asked. But usually I stayed out of the way. It could be very intense. And although I was an English major and knew many of the references, I was afraid to get involved. What if I made a mistake? So I just bought my own puzzle books and stayed out of the fray.

When my sister married, she married another crossword puzzle addict. They and their children would sit around on Sunday and read the clues out loud so everyone had a chance to answer. They would also take turns being the one to write down the answers. A new family tradition was born. It was a world of word puzzle cooperation!

My husband was not interested in puzzles. So we never developed the tradition of doing the crossword puzzles together. Whenever my parents came to visit me in Kansas, I would read the section of the newspaper with the puzzle in it first so that when my Dad was ready he could do the puzzle. Sometimes one of my children would sit with him when he worked the puzzle, but it was more of watching than participating. Occasionally, my Dad would ask for help with a word.

I would buy my Dad crossword puzzle books so that he would have something to do when we were having down time. I even purchased him a crossword puzzle mug to use when he visited my family. I still have the mug. Whenever I use it I think of my Dad.

In the Catskills a different crossword puzzle tradition developed. My cousin also loves the Sunday puzzle. Every Sunday friends and cousins gather on his lake front property with the latest puzzle. It is passed around to those interested in working on it. Completing the Sunday Times puzzle is a process of teamwork. Clues are read out loud. Comments are made. The group effort often works.

I enjoy joining in because I like the concept of the crossword puzzle. I took my husband to see the movie, “Wordplay,” about the New York Times crossword editor Will Shortz and a crossword competition. I loved the movie. I enjoyed seeing the joy of the competitors as they did well.

So I had to think, “Why did I never get into crossword puzzles when I love word games so much?” I think it was because doing these puzzles was my Dad’s thing to do. And I would not compete. My sister moved back home after college after developing the love of crosswords while at school. So when she lived at home while attending law school, she and my Dad had to work out a compromise; it was purchasing two papers.

Except for a summer or two, I never lived at home again after college. I went to grad school and married. And the crossword puzzle tradition ended in my home, except when my parents visited. I also think that if online crossword puzzles had existed sooner, I might have been more interested.   With online puzzles, each person can work on their own without interfering with others. But even my sister, who does weekday puzzles online, admits that on Sunday she wants to work on a the paper puzzle.

When I get my Sunday Times. I read it over a two-day period. I save the Book Review and the Sunday Magazine for last. Often reading them on Tuesday. But I have never touched the puzzle. When I am with others, I love working on it. So, perhaps it is time for me to take on this tradition and attempt to complete the Sunday New York Times Crossword puzzle. Perhaps I need to develop a new Sunday tradition.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

The Final Frantic and Frenetic Search.

20 Mar

“I put it in a safe place.” Seven little words that put dread into our hearts whenever our Mom uttered this sentence. They were always followed by, “but I don’t remember where I put it.” This usually happened right before my parents were going out and she needed a special piece of jewelry to wear.

And it had nothing to do with her age. My Mom started putting her jewelry into a safe place into our apartment in North Bergen when we were young. The problem was that she never remembered the location of the safe place for that item. She could find other items, but never the one she was searching for at that moment.

My Dad, brother, sister and I would jump into action. We would search the house starting with her favorite hiding places. (Places I will not disclose, because maybe someone in my family still uses these places.) It would be a frantic and frenetic search,

Sometimes we found the item, but other times it was lost for almost forever. I say almost, because often, many years later the item would turn up.   My mother had a beautiful silver and semi-precious stone wedding band that disappeared for a decade. It was found in the bottom of her closet, years later by my father, quite accidently. So safe places did work.

I think my Mom got this urge to hide items from her mother. My grandparents grew up in Europe and hid money and jewelry throughout their home in the Catskills.   They had a safe, but they also buried items in the crawl space and within items throughout their home. It was fear that led to this habit. The fear of the need to be able to grab something and run, but still have some money. Luckily they never had to do that in the USA.

They had owned a bakery in West New York, NJ. And my Grandma kept every silver coin that ever came into the store. She once told me that when a silver coin came in, she would put it in her apron pocket and later get a coin from her purse to replace it to make sure the drawer balanced in the evening.

When Grandma passed away, the family was in the Kauneonga Lake for the summer.  I had flown in from Kansas. Under my Grandpa’s instructions, we opened every purse, every shoebox, and checked every coat pocket.  He said, “Don’t throw anything out till you open it. She hid things.”  And he knew his wife. Because Grandma did hide money and jewelry.

We found over 900 silver coins: silver dollars, half dollars, quarters and dimes. Money was hidden everywhere. By the end of the weekend of cleaning, we had bags filled with coins and bills. The coins were divided between her two children and among all the five grandchildren. The money was put into the bank for my Grandpa.

After my Grandpa died, I inherited their bedroom set. My Mom sent it to me with items still inside. She could not bring herself to clean it out. In a small top drawer I found a little purse of my Grandma’s. Inside the purse was $10.00. We missed that! I still have it, put away in a safe place.

My Mom developed this need to hide things, I am sure, from her parents. And so she hid her jewelry throughout their home. It helped the one time we were robbed in North Bergen when I was in high school.   The thieves searched and destroyed my parents’ bedroom. But never found her hidden stash. Her secret and safe place was so good, even the thieves could not find it!

Later, when they moved, her hiding jewelry was so crazy, as they actually had a safe in their apartment. But when she died, the jewelry was missing. It was not in their safe deposit box at the bank. That would have been easy. It was not in the safe in their home, another easy spot. No, Mom had hidden her stash away. And it was our job to do one last search; one last mystery to solve. Thanks Mom!

My sister was frantic. She called me six weeks after Mom died and a few days before I flew out to Jersey to help clean my Mom’s items from the apartment. (In Judaism you do not clean out a person’s items for at least a month. So my sister and I were getting ready to do this.)

“I cannot find Mom’s jewelry,” was her comment. Not said in a calm way at all, kind of an hysterical laughing scream.

“Don’t worry! We will find it,” I replied. I really was not worried. I knew it was in a safe place somewhere in that 1600 square foot apartment.  We would find her hidden stash.

When I got to New Jersey, my sister, nieces, daughter and I started cleaning. We opened every shoebox and every purse. But I knew it was not in those. My Mom was so stressed by what my Grandma had done so many years ago, I did not think she would make us go through the same stress. But we checked everything.

My Mom was more organized. She had a little cloth eyeglass bag that she often put her jewelry in. I started searching all the boxes and bags she had piled around the shelves and floor of the closet. There were many! And then:

EUREKA!

I found the jewelry. My sister was so relieved. She sort of sighed a deep sigh. But I felt sad.

‘I put it in a safe place’ had so much meaning that those words had a safe place in my heart. I can still vividly hear my Mom’s voice saying these seven little words. In a way, finishing the search broke my heart. I knew the last safe place was discovered. The last frantic and frenetic search was completed.

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

A Piece of Crumb Cake or A Crumb Bun Equals Love

15 Mar

Crumb cake and crumb buns, I can still taste them. Eating a crumb cake in my family is like eating love.   As the powdered sugar drips and the crumbs fall, we see and smell happy memories. I can not tell you how many important family discussions were held while we sat around eating crumb cake, but there were many. Crumb cake kept us together and talking.

My Grandpa Nat was a baker. My grandparents owned a kosher bakery in West New York, New Jersey. And among my favorite foods were the crumb buns. I say among my favorites, because I liked other items as well: chocolate chip cookies, black and white cookies and rye bread. But for my Mom, there was really just one love: the crumb buns were always the number one item for her.

She told me that as a little girl she were go down to the bakery in the morning and check out the tray of crumb buns, looking for the best one: the one with the most crumbs; the one with the biggest crumbs. And then my grandmother would cut that crumb bun out for my Mom to eat.

I would like to say that she outgrew this need. But she never did. Even after my grandparents closed their bakery in the late 1960s, my Mom still needed a crumb bun fix. When she could no longer find them in bakeries, she turned to Entenmann’s crumb cake to get her fix! Yes, my Mom was a crumb bun/cake addict.

She would share anything with her children and grandchildren, but when it came to crumb cake, she still had to choose the best piece with the best crumbs for herself. We sometimes ‘fought’ over the best piece, but in the end Mom would get it.

Mom loved to eat crumb cake on a paper towel or napkin. She would put the cake upside down on the paper, and eat the cake first. Saving the crumbs for last, she would eat the biggest crumbs first and slowly work her way to the smallest crumbs. Near the end she would fold the paper towel so that the crumbs would gather together. Then when she had picked up all the pieces she could, she would lick her finger to pick up the last crumbs. I still eat my crumb cake that way.

Her children and grandchildren learned early on that Grandma would steal their crumbs when they weren’t looking. Yes she would. If she saw a crumb on your piece of cake that was extremely large, she would just reach over and take it. In fact, sometimes we would notice that the cake in the box would be missing a few crumbs. Mom had secretly taken those crumbs when no one was around.

But the ‘stealing’ went two ways. Sometimes, after my Mom chose her perfect piece, she would leave the room for a minute. Then my Dad would pounce, and hide her cake. He would act surprised and say something like, “That was yours? Sorry I already ate it.” But she knew it was close by.   And he would give it back to her like a guilty teenager.

Finding the piece of cake with the best crumb ever was an important goal. My sister and I soon realized it was best to be up early in the morning to look for the best piece of crumb cake. But it did not matter, Mom usually beat us to the best piece.  As my sister remembers, and it is true,  sometimes the crumb cake was missing a piece from the middle!  Mom had been there first, claiming the piece with the best crumbs.

Entenmann's Crumb Cake hidden on top of the refrigerator.

Entenmann’s Crumb Cake hidden on top of the refrigerator.

The tradition took on new meaning when the grandchildren arrived. It was wonderful fun eating crumb cake together. The crumb cake, which was kept high on top of the refrigerator, would be taken down. Everyone would gather around to look at it, trying to figure out which piece they would get. The corners, of course, were the best pieces. Mom always got one of those.

In the summer time, the crumb cake tradition was not only for mornings. In the evenings, as we had our tea, someone would always bring the crumb cake down from the refrigerator. The grandchildren would come running to participate in the feast. Sometimes it was just all the girls eating with Grandma. But other times, the boys would join in as well. In my mind’s eye, I see them all giggling around the table having tea and crumb cake.

When I moved to Kansas, I was so excited to see Entenmann’s crumb cakes at the grocery store. I bought one every time my parents came to visit. But more important, I bought one whenever I felt homesick. Having a piece of crumb cake with my children, always made me feel closer to my Mom.

Even when my Mom was at her sickest, she could usually eat a piece of crumb cake. She would get a look of childlike delight when the cake would be put on the table. She still analyzed every piece, looking for the piece she wanted to eat.

For a month, when my Mom was sick, my daughter lived with my parents. My daughter told how each evening, my Mom would ask for her cake. “Find the most crumbs,” my Mom would say. And my daughter would cut my Mom the best piece of crumb cake and bring it to her. It lightened the day.

When my Mom passed away, eating a piece of Entenmann’s crumb cake became even more important. I felt close to her when I ate the crumbs from the paper towel. Sounds silly, I know. But in those first months it did help. However, about six months after she died, the grocery stores in the Kansas City area, where I live, stopped selling the crumb cake. I felt crushed. I was devastated. I no longer could have my crumb cake fix. I no longer could feel that connection with my Mom.

I can still get crumb cake when I go back east to New Jersey and visit my siblings. My sister almost always buys a crumb cake for us to enjoy during my stay.  It helps. That bond with crumb cake is part of our existence.

IMG_1663

I actually had a lamp made after my mom died that has some of her favorite sayings on it. The Sticks campany, which makes painted furniture, will personalize their items. And so I had something made in memory of Mom. On one side, I had them engrave, “Crumb cake ❤ Love.”

 

 

 

http://www.entenmanns.com/op-prod.cfm/prodId/7203001994#.VQWQLmTF_Ao

 

www.sticks.com

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

My Refrigerator Holds Memories in its Magnets

12 Mar

My refrigerator drives my husband crazy. Not the appliance itself, but rather the hundreds of magnets that have been placed on it over the years. Many of my friends have switched to stainless steel refrigerators, but I cannot do that . What would I do with my magnets?

When I see my magnets, I have memories. Many of these magnets I purchased on trips or at events. Some were gifts from a friend. But most hold special memories for me.

Thanks to a chance trip to an IKEA store and a wonderful magnetic board on which I moved many of my magnets, my magnet collection has areas of themes. Instead of a mishmash of magnets all over, I was able to make montages and delineate sections.   Well I think I have.

IMG_4959

There are the three magnets from Kauneonga Lake, NY, that highlight the Woodstock concerts. The oldest I bought at Vassmer’s when they had a little Woodstock museum set up in one of the storefronts.   One is from 1994 and the 25th anniversary of Woodstock. And the final one came from the BethEl Woods Museum, which celebrated the 40th anniversary in 2009.

I close my eyes and I am in Kauneonga Lake reliving that summer. Close to these magnets I keep a photo from the Catskills that includes my grandmothers and great aunt. There are other magnets near by, but it is the Catskills memory that stands out in this montage.

On the front of my refrigerator are all sorts of magnets.   Some from musicals I attended, others from places I visited. Some show sayings that I think are important.   My magnet collection seems very organized now. And it is.   Most of the magnets you see there are square or rectangle in shape creating organized lines upon lines of magnets.

IMG_4960

When I see a magnet from a favorite show, the music runs through my mind. I see the action and dance and the people who attended the show with me. Great memories.  My magnets hold up important notes and pictures written or drawn by my children or a special child friend.  These need a place to stay, and the refrigerator is that place.

In another corner of the freezer door, I keep my lucky magnets. Hamsas of different shapes and other magnets that I found on trips to Israel and Greece adorn this space.

IMG_4963

Interspersed throughout the magnets and all over the refrigerator are the photos of important people and children: my children, my nieces and nephews, my grandparents, cousins. The magnets hold up the photos, and in some cases the pictures are within magnet frames. All of these pictures hold a special place in my heart.

IMG_4961

The magnetic board I purchased at IKEA contains over 100 magnets from some of my favorite places: Disneyworld, Prince Edward Island and the Anne of Green Gables home, Bahamas, New York City, Aspen, Lego Land, New Orleans, Seattle. Looking at this board gives me joy because I remember so many wonderful places I traveled to with my husband and my family! I can remember the excitement in visiting each new place.

My husband did not appreciate my efforts of magnet organization. He thinks the refrigerator is still overwhelmed by magnets. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps I need to go back to IKEA and buy another magnetic board. The magnets will not disappear. The memories stored in my magnets are too important to me.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Bungalow Life was Ruptured When the Water Heater Blew Up!

26 Feb

Bungalow colony life in the Catskills was peaceful. Each day we knew some of the basics of what would happen.

The mothers played cards and mah jonng on a set schedule. The grandmas played canasta. All the women knitted and crocheted during the day. We went swimming. We played. We picked blueberries. We rode our bicycles. We just had fun. On the weekends, the dads came up. It was simple and quiet, except for the sounds of childhood and the sometimes yells of the moms.

The moms had several important needs. One was hot water.

We needed to shower and the moms needed to do laundry. Without hot water, life at the bungalows would come to a standstill. Children got extremely dirty with all the outdoor activities in the summertime. We could wash off in the lake, but not our clothing. So the moms were always busy with laundry.

People did their laundry on certain days because there were only two washing machines in our colony. I think they might have had a schedule, but I cannot be sure. I do know that the laundry room often had loads of laundry waiting to be done. People would put their baskets in the laundry room, with their detergent on top of the clothes, and as one person finished her load, she would load up the next person’s laundry in the machine and start it.

The wet laundry had to be hung on lines. We did not have dryers at our colony. I am not even sure if clothes dryers were available when I was little. So the clotheslines were always in use. Clothespins were important. I still have some I saved from the Catskills!

This meant that rainy summers were a disaster for the moms. Children would sometimes have to wear the same dirty clothes for another day, if they could not be washed and dried. During rainy summers, we often had laundry hanging all over the bungalow during the week. And it really did not dry that well because it was all so damp. Sometimes my Mom would put the oven on to try to dry out the laundry.

We would visit our friends during rainy summers, and walk through layers of drying laundry! Clean clothes, clean linens, clean towels were important!

So imagine the aggravation it caused when the water heater went out. It did not happen very often. But once in a while the pilot light would go out and the heater would stop making hot water. Usually one of the men would go and light the heater. It usually was no problem. The heater lit easily.

Except for one time. The time my best friend, Vicki’s, Dad went to light the water heater. I cannot remember if someone tried to light it before him. I do not remember if he was the only dad up there, so he got to do it. I do know that usually my dad did all the chores since my grandparent’s own the colony. I do not know why it was Normie who had the job on this particular day. But he did.

Normie and his wife, Wini, in matching sweaters in the center. My grandfather stands behind my grandma. Wini's parents are the women sitting on the left and the man standing on the right. At the bungalows in the Catskills in the 1950s.

Normie and his wife, Wini, in matching sweaters in the center. My grandfather stands behind my grandma. Wini’s parents are the women sitting on the left and the man standing on the right. At the bungalows in the Catskills in the 1950s.

His in-laws and my grandparents were best friends. My Mom and his wife were best friends. (A friendship that continued till my Mom passed away.   And still continues with us.) And his daughter, Vicki, and I do not know life without each other. So it made some sense that Normie would take on this responsibility if my Dad or uncle was not there.

But we are not sure why it was Normie who went to light the water heater pilot.

I was just a little girl. But I remember what happened next.

Normie went to light the water heater, it was behind a bungalow.

A moment later there was a big “BOOM” explosion and a blast of fire shooting into the sky.

It was so scary!!! Everyone was momentarily stunned. Then there was chaotic movement.

I vaguely remember Normie walking out from behind the bungalow, dazed. Perhaps burning. Or maybe not! Maybe it was just people rushing towards him to get him away from the fire. There was a lot of screaming; a lot of running around. It is so confused in our memories. But there was good new, he was alive.

Then the Moms gathered the children and made us go inside. I am sure Vicki went with me. All I remember is that we were quickly moved out of the way.

Next thing came the fire engine and ambulance and the volunteer firemen and ambulance/EMT crew. It was amazing how quickly they got to the colony. The fire was soon extinguished. Normie was taken away. The children, me included, were terrified.

My friend Vicki remembers, “I remember going to see him in the hospital. He smelled like A & D ointment or some kind of burn cream he had on.

“I was so devastated that happened to him. I thought he would never come home!”

But Normie did come home. He had no eyebrows or eyelashes, but the fire did not reach his face. He had no chest hair; the fire singed that off. The main damage was to his legs. They were burned.

I remember before the explosion, he had large varicose veins on his legs, but after the fire, you would not really see them.

He often wore a bathing suit in the summer time. And we all got used to seeing his burned, scarred legs.

It was a summer event I cannot forget. To this day I hate when someone has to light a pilot light.   I know that it can explode because of my memories of the day the water heater blew up.

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Melody of “Autumn Leaves “ Haunts Me

23 Feb

IMG_2370

Bob Dylan recorded Johnny Mercer’s Autumn Leaves for his new album, “Shadows in the Night”! This song has been haunting me since 1981! But now Bob Dylan is singing it, too!

My history with this song is driven by emotion. So to hear Bob Dylan’s rendition of it on the radio while I was driving somewhat stunned me. Luckily I was close to home and was able to pull into my garage. Yes, the song has that big of an impact on me! I even sent a text message to my sister and husband about it. They know my issues with the song.

My Grandma Thelma passed away from a massive stroke in 1981. I flew in from Kansas just in time to see her once more. She could not talk to me when I came to the hospital. But when I bent over her, she grabbed me with her good arm and pulled me closer. She then licked her hand and rubbed her kisses on my face. She could no longer really move her lips, even though she wanted to kiss me.

I felt her love. I knew that she was near death. I was glad I was able to see her once more.

She died that night. I think she was waiting for me to come. I was the one to tell my grandfather.

After her funeral in New Jersey, my parents, my grandfather and I drove back to the Catskills together where Grandpa and Mom would be sitting shiva at my grandparent’s home. It was August, and everyone was up in the mountains for the summer. It made sense to be where all their friends could visit with Grandpa.

The song haunts me.

All during the way, the long drive back to Kauneonga Lake, it seemed for the entire two hours, my Grandpa Nat sang Autumn Leaves. He told us that Grandma and he had made a vow to sing that song when the other passed away. It was their favorite song. In reality, I am sure he did not sing the entire trip, but it felt as if he did.

We did not notice the beautiful scenery along the way. We did not notice the landmarks that usually mark our journey. We listened to my grandfather sing. He had a beautiful voice. He sang and sobbed. My mother and I sobbed with him. I honestly do not know how my Dad drove. The words and melody were etched into my heart. For weeks it echoed in my mind.

The song continued to haunt me.

Years later a movie came out called, “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.” It’s sound track featured songs by Johnny Mercer, including Autumn Leaves.

I have never seen this movie. I did not want to hear that song.

But one day, while my husband and I were in the movie theater waiting to see another show, I began to feel sick to my stomach.

“I don’t know what is wrong,” I told my husband. “But I really don’t feel well. I feel like something horrible is going to happen. I think we have to leave.”

“It is the song,” he said. He knew about my issue with Autumn Leaves. “They are playing the melody of Autumn Leaves. Why don’t you leave the theater for a few minutes.”

I left, and came back when the song was over. My feeling of dread disappeared and I relaxed once I knew why I felt sick. I was really amazed by how my mind, my unconscious mind, could relate so strongly to a song, while my conscious mind was unaware that it was impacting my emotions.

However, in a way, the sound track to “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” helped me. For a few months the song was playing all the time on the radio. I started to be able to hear the melody without crying. Eventually I could also listen to the words without crying. I still felt an ache in my heart when I heard it, but I realized that this song was a commentary on my grandparents love for each other.

My Mother’s birthday is this week. Perhaps it is fitting that I have heard Autumn Leaves a few days before my Mom’s birthday. Perhaps it is fitting that Bob Dylan is singing this song. I have loved Bob Dylan’s music for my entire life. I still remember the first time I heard him sing Pete Seeger’s, “Where have all the Flowers Gone.”

I know that the melody and lyrics of Autumn Leaves will always haunt me. Even though I can now listen to the song without that awful feeling of dread, or thinking something horrible will happen, I still feel that ache. I remember that trip back to the Catskills. I envision memories of my grandparents and parents whenever I hear it. And whenever autumn leaves begin to fall, I feel my loved ones’ spirits close to me.

 

 

 

 

http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/j/johnny_mercer/autumn_leaves.html

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gnp58oepHUQ&list=PL1012F30BBCC1BEE9&index=4

 

http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/autumn-leaves

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Littlest Gambler: Learning about Horse Races in the Catskills

18 Feb

It started with a phone call. We were in the Catskills in our bungalow behind my grandparents’ home on West Shore Road. We no longer stayed in their bungalow colony, which was located down the road across from Kauneonga Lake. But my paternal grandparents and my aunt and uncle and cousins still stayed at the colony.

The phone call was either from my father’s sister, my Aunt Leona, or my Grandma Esther. But honestly, I think it was my Aunt, from the way my Dad was talking. His conversation went something like this.

“When did they show up? Did you know they were coming? Okay. Okay, as soon as I can.”

He hung up the phone and turned to my Mom. “My Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny are at the bungalow colony. We have to go down.”

My Mom was quiet. “They are here? Now?”

Well obviously yes. They were here. But who exactly were they? And why was it a big surprise? I had never heard of an Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny. But I would soon find out all about them.

Aunt Hady was my paternal grandfather’s sister.   It seems she is the reason that my parents met. Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny lived across the street from my maternal grandparents in West New York, New Jersey. She often shopped in my grandparents’ bakery and she knew my Mom. She told my Dad that she had the perfect wife for him. And in this case, she was right. Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny were responsible for my parent’s meeting.

But Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny were sort of the family black sheep. It seems Uncle Lenny was a gambler. Not a good thing in my paternal grandmother’s eyes. She really did not want them around her grandchildren. I found that out.

You see, I loved Uncle Lenny from moment I met him. Just a few minutes later we went to the bungalow colony, and my siblings and I met our great aunt and uncle for the first time. For me it was joy!

I remember Uncle Lenny’s laughter. I remember sitting on his lap and over the next few weeks learning everything you need to know to bet on the horses at the Monticello Racetrack.

He had these special booklets printed on newsprint that listed all the horses running in each race. In the book were numbers and information about each horse and how much you would get back if you bet on whether they win, place or show (first, second and third place.)

I would sit with him and go through the book each day. He always had pencil in his hand to make marks in the booklets. We would choose the best horses for the night. There were a lot of issues to consider. Had the horse won before? How old was the horse? Had he won against the other horses in this race? Who was the driver (This was a harness racing track.)? All these statistics! I loved it.

We would sit outside at a wooden table on nice days. When it was raining we would sit at the kitchen table and go through the book for each race. Sometimes we forgot about the odds and chose a horse based on its name. Special names were important as well when selecting a winning horse! Each day he let me chose one horse for him to bet on.   If I won, he would give me a dollar.

I think it was the dollar that finally got to Grandma!

I thought it was absolutely wonderful.

My grandmother thought it was absolutely horrible.

Little did I know what was going on! I was only 9 or 10 years old. And I was have a great time. But behind the scenes a war was brewing.

One day I was happily going through the races’ guide with Uncle Lenny. The next day he would barely speak to me.   Soon they disappeared. They stopped coming to the colony.   Their visits diminished. No one would speak about them. I had no idea what happened. Only that they were gone for the summer

I did not know what was happening till years later. Uncle Lenny had passed away and Aunt Hady was living in Monticello. Dad was going to visit her. When I found out, I asked about that summer.

It seems my Grandma Esther was furious that Uncle Lenny was teaching me about gambling, about racing and the horses. It seems the horses and gambling destroyed Uncle Lenny, and there was no way Grandma was going to let him influence me. Enough was enough. Uncle Lenny and Aunt Hady were bad influences. And they would have to go. And go they did. Grandma Esther put her foot down.   And when Grandma got angry, you did what she said!

I never looked at a race schedule again. I did go to the races in Monticello one time with a friend after I turned 21. He spent a few minutes attempting to explain how the races worked to me. But I knew it all. Even 11 years later I still remembered everything that Uncle Lenny had taught me. To be honest, I can still see those listings.

My summer as a gambler ended sadly for me. I missed Uncle Lenny and my gambling lessons. As an adult, when I heard what had happened, I felt terrible. Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny never had children. I believe Uncle Lenny really liked teaching me about the races and enjoyed our time together. I only ever felt love and joy from him.

I regret that my Grandma was so protective. Even though she demanded that my lessons end, I enjoyed being the littlest gambler for a summer. But I have never had the urge to gamble in my life, so perhaps my Grandma was right!

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Remembering a Time Before Vaccines! And Knowing that Vaccinations Save Lives.

12 Feb

Chicken pox, measles, German measles, mumps….I’ve had them all. And I did not like them. I did not like the constant itching of those horrible rashes. I did not like the swelling of my face. When my brother got mumps my parents were frantic…this is a disease that causes young men to become sterile.   Luckily not my brother, but others were impacted by this now obsolete childhood disease, or somewhat obsolete.

I remember the summer we all had chicken pox. It was miserable. We were in the Catskills and could not leave our bungalow. I was the last one to get them. Everyone else was outside playing. And I watched from the porch. My mom was so exhausted by that time that she was sitting outside as well. I know she was happy that there was finally only one sick child, and not three. I remember swinging on the screen door of the porch pushing the envelop of being outside because I wanted so much to be with everyone else.

We got the measles in Jersey during the school year. One week after the other we broke out in these horrible rashes. German measles was the same. I hated them.

Luckily for my children’s generation, there were vaccinations for most diseases, but not for chicken pox. My daughter’s case was horrifying. Her chicken pox were internal. Hardly any showing on the outside, but her mouth and throat was covered. She would cough up and vomit scabs. I freaked out. Luckily my husband is a pediatrician and could deal much better with this. By the time my son had chicken pox, I was much better prepared.

I was so happy that they were not going to get other childhood diseases like whooping cough and diphtheria, both stopped by vaccines. And we cannot forget the important T of the DPT, tetanus. Thank goodness no one ever has to get lock jaw or tetanus anymore. A vaccination will keep you safe.

I remember the small pox vaccine. There was a needle with many little needles that was stuck into me.   I am one of the few who do not carry the scar from this vaccine. But I am so glad I never got small pox.

As for polio, each summer we went to the Catskills for two reasons: first to be with family and friends and second to escape from the city where polio was rampant in the summers.  Those of us who were away for the summer, out of the hot crowded cities were much more likely to avoid this horrible disease.

I still remember standing on a very long line at the public school in North Bergen, New Jersey: so many children and their parents. The line seemed to go on forever. As we reached the front of the line, we were given a sugar cube. Delicious. At the time I did not realize it was soaked in polio vaccine. All I know now is that I walk and I breathe. Thank you for saving so many lives with this amazing discovery.

As we watch the measles reclaim our country, I am stunned. I hear unbelievable comments from politicians who say a parent has a right over his child’s body, I am so amazed. These same politicians tell us that a woman has no right to use birth control or chose to terminate a pregnancy and that the government needs to make laws against it. But at the same time they say that a parent can chose not to vaccinate their child! What type of hypocrisy is this? A major one!

My husband is a pediatric immunologist/allergist. He has devoted his life to helping children. He is amazed that people do not want to vaccinate their children! And do not get mad at the doctor who does not want to treat unvaccinated children and then get mad at a doctor in whose waiting room dozens of children are exposed to measles. It is not the doctor’s fault that people do not have their children vaccinated.

I wonder how far these anti-vaccination people actually go? Do they not have their children vaccinated against polio? Do they understand the ramifications?

And as for our politicians who are supposed to be leading our country and helping its citizens, they need to be voted out of office if you think vaccinations are not necessary. They are a disgrace.

Instead of believing a fraudulent medical study that was disproven years ago, parents have got to realize, Vaccinations Save Lives.

Do not go back to the days of misery that I remember from my childhood.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →