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A Photo Triggers Driving Memories

7 Oct
AP parking lot photo from Cindy Bottcher

A&P Parking lot, photo from Cindy Bottcher on the Town of North Bergen Facebook group.

The photograph on the North Bergen Facebook group page brought a flood of memories. It showed the parking lot of the A & P grocery store, a store that has been closed for many years. The photo showed the somewhat empty parking lot and to the left, alone by itself, a single light pole. I know that light pole well!!

It was in 1972. I had recently received my driver’s license. Mom and I went to the grocery store together. At that time the parking lot at the A & P was packed. I easily parked the car in the only empty spot by the light pole. Later when we left the store, Mom once again let me be the driver. As I put the car in gear I made a slight error. I went into drive instead of reverse, and I hit the light pole. It made a dent in the front bumper. My first fender-bender.

I was so upset. I knew my Dad was not going to be very happy about this! I had already had a mishap with the garage door during the summer. My father had told me NOT to attempt to park in the garage when I went driving with my brother in the Catskills. When we return home, I decided to try. My brother did not stop me, so I always sort of blame him. In any case, I misjudged as I entered the garage and off came the car’s side view mirror.

Dad was not happy with me.

So now it was a few months later, and I hit the light pole. My Mom and I looked at the damage. It was not too bad. My Mom was calm. “Better the light pole than another car,” she told me. Then she offered to tell my Dad that she had hit the pole. We agreed that he would be much calmer that way.

So home we went, and my Mom took the responsibility for the accident. The parking lot was busy. She got distracted. She hit the pole. My guilty face probably gave me away. “Who really hit the pole?” My Dad demanded. My Mom kept up the pretense.

A few days later my Dad announced at dinner, that it did not bother him that I hit the pole (ha), but it did bother him that I let my Mom take the blame (This part is true). My Mom still stuck up for me. It was her idea. I just agreed. However, now as an adult I do agree that we should have been truthful…somewhat. My Dad was much calmer a few days later when he actually learned the truth, than he would have been when it happened.

However, I never liked to drive in New Jersey after that. Luckily we had wonderful mass transit. I took buses, trains, subways and taxies wherever I wanted to go.

The following year, when I was a senior in high school, my parents went to India for three weeks. I was in charge of my sister. And I had to drive. We needed groceries. We were invited to friends’ homes for dinner. We had to go to school in the cold winter. I was getting much better and began to lose my fear of driving.

My parents left us with many phone numbers of people who could help in an emergency. Friends and relatives were on call. One of my Mom’s friends called every morning as a back up alarm clock to make sure we got off to school on time. So many people called to invite us for dinner, we never used the meals my Mom had cooked and froze for us.

But for me the most important person was my Dad’s business colleague and friend, Normie P.   One night I took my sister to the movies. We came home, and I forgot to turn the lights off.   The next day the car was dead in the street. We had drained the battery. At the time I did not know that. Normie and his son came and fixed it for us. I will never forget them in their work suits, jump-starting the car. We had to drive to school immediately, but take the long way to recharge the battery.

When I moved to the Midwest for graduate school, I was extremely concerned about driving here. But it was a breeze. The traffic was nothing compared to the traffic in the New York City area and in New Jersey. I drove downtown with ease. I found the perfect place for me to drive. I met my husband, and he let me use his old Buick to do my school assignments. Driving is easy in his opinion.

However, he learned his lessons about New Jersey.  I remember the first time my husband drove in North Bergen and West New York. He continually got stuck behind double-parked cars. I kept telling him to move over.

“What do you mean they are double parked?!” He demanded. “That is illegal.”

“Not here,” I told him.

He thought people in New Jersey were crazy.

We also made him drive into New York City one time. It might have been a bit cruel. But he needed to see what we were talking about.   Growing up in St. Louis, he had never experienced REAL traffic.

For years, when I went home to Jersey, my Dad would drive. As he aged, I had to take over some driving for him. And after my parents passed away, the driving ended as well. My sister or brother do most of the driving for me. I am once again in the passenger seat. I usually do not mind.

To this day, I do not like to drive on the highways of New Jersey. I am fine in the lovely highways of Kansas and Missouri.   I am fine in the local driving of my daily life.

But occasionally I get the urge to drive when I am back East visiting. I decided that Catskill driving is the best for me.   And now I have no problems at all pulling into a garage. It is something I do multiple times a day.

It is amazing what one photo can do for memories. I will always remember that A& P parking lot and light pole.

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Honey for Rosh Hashannah and a Sweet, Wonderful Year!

11 Sep
Honey, apples, serving dishes, flowers and my kitten make the holiday sweet and happy.

Honey, apples, serving dishes, flowers and my kitten make the holiday sweet and happy.

We must have honey for Rosh Hashannah: honey for our apples, honey for our challah, honey in our cakes. Honey brings the knowledge that the year will be sweet. And even in times of sorrow, we must think of the happy sweetness of honey.

For over ten years my local section of National Council of Jewish Women has been selling honey for Rosh Hashannah. A dedicated group of women organize this fund raising mitzvah. We enjoy the camaraderie of packing the honey and signing cards. Each year we send out almost 1000 boxes of honey throughout the USA to family and friends.

I enjoy helping with this fundraiser both as a volunteer and as a contributor. It is one good deed, one act of Tzedakah, that I truly enjoy. Each year it seems that I send out more and more honey to my family and friends. Most of the honey I send out goes to people who live far from me. It is a way for me to be part of their holiday experience.

It is a joy to know that these people/families will have honey for the holidays. And they will know that my husband and I are thinking of them.

For many it has become a tradition. I get phone calls and emails asking me if the honey is still coming. Of course it is. I will continue to buy honey as long as NCJW has this fundraiser.

I love getting the thank you emails when the honey arrives. One friend even sent me a photo of her honey in her thanks. Another cousin in California told me that she would definitely be using her honey. From New York I heard “We got your honey! Thank you!” A friend in Massachusetts sent a note that just entitled “Sweetness,” because getting honey is that!

I know getting honey makes people happy, which makes me happy. The recipients know my family and I am sending them love as well as sweetness. We are helping to make their holiday and New Year as wonderful as can be. And sweetness from honey helps.

When my daughter was in college, I sent honey to her and her friends, some who were not even Jewish. They called it the ‘holy honey’ and used it not only for Rosh Hashannah, but also whenever they were feeling sick or blue. Tea and ‘holy honey’ cheered everyone up! What a way to make a year sweet and healthy!

On Rosh Hashannah I take out my special honey and apple set. I actually have several now. The one I used when the children were little looks like a bee hive. They loved it.   I also have the honey bowl my parents used for their holiday. Each year I use them as we dip our apples and challah into honey.

The holiday is soon. My raisin challah and honey cake are ordered. My NCJW honey is ready to be opened. My holiday meals are planned. Whenever I get ready for Rosh Hashannah, I remember celebrating the holidays with my family, with my maternal grandparents.  My grandfather was a baker and his special, round Rosh Hashannah challahs were delicious.  So sweet and so wonderful dipped in honey.

As we celebrate I try to think of all the joy and happiness that is in the world, and block out the sadness. Although we cannot forget what is happening, for this moment in time we celebrate and prepare for the time of forgiveness and repentance. But for now:

L’shana tova u metuka! May you all have a good and sweet year.

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Is It Serendipity, Just Pure Chance? Or Is My Dad Listening?

2 Sep

My daughter lives in Israel and works at the Peres Center for Peace in Yaffo/Jaffa. I am so proud of her and all that she has accomplished. So when I learned at a committee meeting I serve on for my synagogue, Kehilath Israel, that they wanted more women speakers at services, I made an offer.

I told our Rabbi that my daughter would be flying in from Israel for Yom Kippur and for Succot, and perhaps she could speak about the Peres Center on the Saturday after Yom Kippur.

I figured I was doing everyone a favor: first after Yom Kippur everyone is exhausted. I thought the Rabbi could use a rest from speaking. Second, they wanted more women to make presentations, especially women members. Since my daughter grew up in the congregation, she would qualify on that account. Third and finally, my daughter would have a chance to tell the congregation about the Peres Center for Peace, providing some publicity for this non-profit and its work.

So it would be a little something for everyone, with positive outcomes for all.

The Rabbi agreed it would be a great idea. My daughter agreed, and said she would like to do it. Thus on the Saturday after Yom Kippur, my daughter will speak during Shabbat services at our synagogue.

I told my husband that he had to go to services with me that Saturday. We would get to hear our daughter speak, and perhaps ‘kvell’ a bit. But it is not to be, as he has to be out of town that weekend on business. I was disappointed, and a bit sad that he will miss it and will not get to hear her speak. I had been looking forward to sitting with him, among our friends, and sort of bask in the glow of hearing our daughter.

I told a friend about my daughter’s talk, and my husband’s travel. She understood my disappointment. She said her husband is out of town that weekend as well; so even though she belongs to a different congregation, she is going to come to services with me to hear my daughter speak. Okay I am not alone.

But today, I realized I was never really alone. That same Saturday will be the Shabbat that my Father’s name will be read to the congregation because his yahrzeit (anniversary of his death) is that week. I will stand and say Kaddish (prayer to honor the dead) for my Dad at services.

I say Kaddish for my parents, my grandparents, some cousins and my brother in law. It is the last act of kindness I can do for them. I remember them. Each time I rise to say Kaddish, I feel as though that person is with me for that moment of prayer. I commune with the in my mind. Their name is not forgotten. And so on this day I will remember my Dad and he will be with me.

My Dad was extremely active at his congregation, Temple Israel, in New Jersey. He served as president for eleven years. YES, 11 years. He went to services almost every week. It was his congregation, the Rabbi and the members, who emotionally supported him when my Mom was ill and then passed away.

It was members of the congregation that supported my siblings and I when our Dad died nine months after Mom.   They came to every night of Shiva. They brought food and gave us comfort. The Rabbi was there for us for too many funerals that year, even as he himself endured the loss of his wife.

My parents were so involved in their congregation. They shopped each Thursday at Costco to buy the food needed for the Shabbat Kiddush. They cooked; they volunteers; they served on the board; they went to services.

Mom was the daughter of European immigrants. The granddaughter, niece, cousin of many who perished in the Shoah, she also believed it was important to support the work of her shul (synagogue). My Dad believed in the importance of being a proud Jewish man, a husband, a father, a grandfather and a friend. He was so proud of all his grandchildren. He would be delighted to know she was making a presentation to the members of our synagogue. He would be so proud of her!

In my heart I want to believe that my parents know where my daughter lives and where she works. I believe they are watching over her. I do not think it is serendipity that my Dad’s yahrzeit is that day. I did not realize it when I made the offer. But it makes so much sense. It ties everything together for me.

When I rise to say the Kaddish, I believe he will have listened to his oldest granddaughter as she spoke to the congregation. I know that my Dad will be there with us, beaming in pride. Sometimes serendipity is more than just pure chance!

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My Grandma Always Won At Solitaire

11 Aug

Grandma Thelma was not a good loser. In fact, I would have to say that she hated to lose, especially at cards. It did not matter who she played with, a solitary game or against one of her grandchildren. Losing was not an option for grandma.

She loved to play solitaire. And her endless days in the Catskills during the winter months gave her plenty of time to play. But she played even in the summer when there were many people up for the summer.

Grandma would eagerly deal out her seven piles of cards and start a game. But if it wasn’t going well, she might add an eighth pile. Or perhaps count out her three cards in a slightly different manner. Or maybe check the cards that were turned over to see where the card was that she needed.  She would then work to get that card uncovered.

We would protest! “Grandma, That is cheating!”  She always denied it. To her it was winning. Why play a game by yourself if you were going to lose?  She said she was not cheating, she was just changing the rules.  But rules are meant to be followed.  Not to Grandma, if she had followed the rules, she once told me, she would not be here. She would have died in the Shoah.  So you make the rules so that you win. To some degree I could not argue with that.

However, there were times she would never make up her own rules. During the summertime daily canasta games with three longtime friends (including my other grandma), she played honestly.  Doing anything else would have been a disaster. And when you play with a partner, it is much more difficult to make your own rules, since you both have to play as a team.  But to be honest team work was not my Grandma’s strong point.

She also never cheated during the weekly gin rummy game that the women of the colony played when the husbands were in the City. It was for money! A penny or two per point depending on the win. When she played for money, she always followed the official rules.

But with her grandchildren, the three of us who spent the summers in the Catskills, she would often follow her own rules.   Sometimes is was as simple as taking a peek at our hands.  I admit we were a little lax on holding our cards close to our chest.  But when playing gin rummy with Grandma, we learned quickly to keep our cards hidden. She would warn us once if we held our cards where she could see them. But if we made that mistake again, forget about it, she looked.

On rainy days, when we were stuck inside for the entire day, my Mom would often ‘kick’ us out of the bungalow and send us across the lawn to our Grandparent’s house.  They lived there throughout the year and had a television.  But that was not our true reason for going.  With our Grandparents we played cards or baked or just visited.  The card games, however, were epic battles.  They could go on for hours as we played gin rummy for points.  Or perhaps a canasta game, the three grandchildren and Grandma.  Or perhaps a canasta game for two.  Hours of entertainment,  And my Mom would get a break.

My brother believes (and it is true) that she would rearrange the deck, stacking it in her favor, if you had to leave the room for a minute. I remember often calling for someone to watch Grandma while I ran to the bathroom.I would bring my cards with me,  I knew that if I left my hand unattended, I would not win.  Sometimes, if my brother or sister were around,  I just asked one of them to play out the hand.

You might think that she not a good role model by all this ‘cheating.’  But she really was so obvious about it, and never sneaky, that I am a little adverse to calling it cheating.  We knew exactly what was happening.  We knew she just did not like to lose, but at the same time she knew that she was not really winning.

It became a running joke.  I remember once telling a friend that my Grandma always won at cards.  She was amazed. “How did she do that?” My friend asked.  “She must have been really lucky.”

“Well, luck had nothing to do with it,” I admitted.  “She created her own rules.  And in her rulebook, my Grandma always won.”

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Flying Is No Longer Fun!

3 Aug
The moon from our plane window. It was supposed to be daylight when we arrived.

The moon from our plane window. It was supposed to be daylight when we arrived.

Six and one half hours. That is how long our flight was delayed.  We spent 8 1/2 hours at the airport in Kansas City in total. A very long day. I am so happy my son was with me.  His amusement and laughter made the day much more enjoyable.

It started as a simple 30-minute delay for an incoming plane. It quickly turned into a nightmare for those with connecting flights.

When the new crew entered the plane they noticed something was wrong,  the plane was extremely cold.  We did not know what was happening at the time. But I did noticed that the captain had come back up the jetway and got the woman agent who was working the desk (for what she thought would be a routine flight.) She went down the jetway with the pilot.

I turned to my son and said, “That does not look good at all.”

I have been flying a lot lately, and to me this indicated a major problem .  She came back out and immediately anounced a one-hour delay. It was a simple problem she told us, one that they would probably just look at and note. If only that was true! But it was not to be.

That one hour turned to two hours . We were told that maintenance was now looking at it and determined that they would need a part to fix a thermostat.

Those with connecting flights started to line up, making their connections would be difficult.  In the summer time, flights are often crowded, with every seat filled.  Plans to fly overseas were especially difficult.

My son was walking around the waiting area, while I read a book.  He came back to where I was sitting with our carry-on luggage.

“Mom, they are offloading luggage from the plane,” he said.  A very bad sign.  I have learned that if enough people are taken off the flight and put on another flight, the airline will cancel  the ‘problem’ flight.  I did not want to be waiting for hours for a cancelled flight.  I absolutely hate that.

I immediately got on the line. I wanted to reserve a seat in the later flight.  Which I did.  We were only 2 1/2 hours delayed at this point and the next flight was to leave in four hours, but you never know. I try to be flexible, but I also want to be prepared.

We started watching people be sent away.  I was calm.  One woman was very upset because she had special concert tickets. She was making phone calls, speaking to people and speaking to the agents.  I notice one of the two male agents who had replaced our original agent was leading her away from our gate.

The delays piled up.  The part was found, but now a team of mechanics were working on it. Instead of being an easy fix, now an entire unit had to be taken out of the plane to get the plane repaired.  It was apparent that things were not going well.

We were sent to another gate as a new plane was coming, being ferried in just for us.  Okay, maybe things would get better.  Maybe.

The line to transfer or find solutions was long, since the earliest we would leave was 4:30 pm.  Our scheduled flight now was leaving five  and half hours late. Some people went home or to a hotel. They had no chance to make any connections, so they were rescheduled for the next day.

We went to the new gate and waited.  The woman with the concert tickets was back! What happened? The flight on Delta was cancelled  so she came back to United to get on the original flight.  Needless to say she did not make the concert.

The plane came. You could feel the excitement from the crowd.  Although many had left our group,  others who were on a flight with a stop in Chicago had chosen to change to our flight to Newark.

We lined up ready to board.  The new agent asked if any of the first class flyers wanted their original lunch meals. One raised her hand.  The agent had to go to the other gate to get the food.  People moaned.

The crew got off the plane.  You could feel the anticipation as we waited for our crew to arrive.  And waited. And waited.

The agent came back on the speaker. “Ummm. Well, first I am really sorry, but the crew members were sent to the hotel and are not here.  We thought they were in the crew lounge at the airport.  But they have left.  We have to get them back.  So there will be another hour and half delay. The earliest you will leave is 5:45 pm.”

People audibly gasped! Tension filled the air. The comments and questions were flying around the waiting area: “Don’t they talk to each other?”  “How could that happen?”  “Will they really come back?”  “Is this flight actually going to go?”

My son burst out laughing. I got up to ask to transfer to the other plane. But the agent was not done.

“Also I have been told that we cannot serve the meals from first class as they have been on the plane for too long.  I am sorry.”  So first class passengers were getting no food.  Neither was my son or I or anyone else.   They had just joined us peons.  And there are not many food choices at the Kansas City airport.

My son and I  had already gone without a real lunch.  It was obvious that we were going without a real dinner.

I was first in line at the counter. “Can you just transfer us to the other flight, please.”  It was scheduled to leave one minute after the flight we were supposed to go on.  But I just was not sure we were actually going to go anywhere.

“I could” she said. “But it is scheduled to go on the original plane that you were supposed to go on, and it is still being fixed.  What do you want to do?”   I really had no choice, at least I knew this plane was in working order. I stayed with the original flight.

We all sat and waited and talked to the people around us.

When the crew arrived we all applauded.

When we boarded the plane, people were laughing.

When the plane took off we were amazed.  I actually heard a few people applaud.

The captaiin came on and apologized.

But we had been at the airport for 8 1/2 hours. The airline did not offer us food coupons. There were no snacks on the plane. Luckily I had purchased some snacks for us.

We arrived 6 1/2 hours late. Instead of 3 pm, we arrived at 9:30 pm. A wasted day. We missed dinner with my brother. We were tired and cranky and hungry.

At the luggage carousel, my son and I waited with others from our flight.  Making jokes about whether our luggage was actually put on the new plane, and what else could possibly go wrong.  However our luggage did arrive.  Our ride from the airport did show up within minutes of us leaving the terminal.

The passengers had bonded during our time together.  People who were strangers became temporary friends.  But it was now over, we were all returning to life outside of the world of the airport.

Earlier in the odyssey I told my son I was going to send an email to the airline when I got home. I was angry. But United emailed us first, apologizing to us and offering a link for a gift for each of us.   You know it is bad when that happens.  I have 90 days, so I have not checked the link yet.

Although nothing can give me back my day, which was spent watching the world from a terminal window, I do appreciate the apology.  But in reality flying is no longer any fun.

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Watermelon Helps Make Summers Wonderful

28 Jul

image

I love watermelon.

In the summer, on a hot day, it is the MOST refreshing of all fruits.

I love eating it cut up in chunks. I love eating it in wedges.

I love it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I eat watermelon for snacks.

Buying me a watermelon is buying me joy.

This week, with the temperatures and heat index going above 100, I knew I had to get one.   So I went to Costco, walked to the giant bins of bright green watermelons and searched for the best. I picked a few up and thumped. And finally I heard the noise I liked the best. I had found my perfect watermelon. Total Joy!

When I was little my brother and sister taunted me by singing, “Ellen, Ellen Watermelon.” I actually remember all the cousins and other children at the bungalows singing it as well. It was my Catskills nickname as a child. In fact, there are a couple of adult friends of mine who still call me Ellen Ellen Watermelon. It might have bothered me a little bit when I was younger. But truth be told, I love watermelon. So now I do not care at all.

I always got a thrill when I saw my Dad bring a watermelon into the bungalow. He would be the one to cut it up, not my Mom. He would usually cut it into quarters and then make triangular strips. That meant it was really just for us.

If he cut it out of the rind and made chunks, that usually meant he was making it for lots of people and it might be part of a fruit salad. My Dad would make one side of the watermelon into a giant bowl and put the fruit salad back into it. I never do that. But I always helped him by making the cantaloupe and honeydew balls with a special scoop.

I learned to make fruit salad from my Dad. Now, I love to make fruit salad. I like chopping up fruit to make the best combination of fruit flavors. It brings me memories of Dad, and for some reason chopping fruit relaxes me. Whenever I go to a pot-luck dinner, I bring the fruit salad.

Personally, for me just watermelon would be fine.   I like it best cut up into inch to two-inch chunks. Then I fill up a bowl and just snack away. I usually like it on its own, not mixed into a salad. Why mess up the best fruit ever, well except for blueberries, by mixing it with other melons. Yes some like cantaloupe and honeydew. But for me, only the watermelon is enough to make me happy. Although I have been known to mix blueberries and watermelon together for a special treat.

Watermelon has other uses as well.   There have been many a watermelon seed spitting contests at our home in the Catskills. And it is not just for children. I have seen many a grown man and woman spit out their seeds to see whose goes the furthest.

What other fruit gives you the joy of eating and the ability to play with it without anyone yelling, “Stop playing with your food.” Even my Dad would spit watermelon seeds. I remember one contest in particular that included my husband, brother, brother-in-law, Dad and a first cousin.   We were all adults. And we cheer them on.

Best fruit ever, watermelon always helps to make summers wonderful.

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Upgrading My IPhone Turns Into Drama!

26 Jul

I made the plunge. I upgraded my Iphone from a 4 to a 6. It was dramatic and traumatic. The young man, Ian, at the Verizon store was friendly and competent. He and my husband talked about my phone and got me the upgrade I wanted. The wonderful blue Mophie case is stunning and will keep my phone charged.

I phone

But there was a little problem, which they sort of blamed on me. I had not backed up my old phone for a while. Okay so I forgot, big deal. And it was not on the I Cloud at all.

“I don’t want people stealing my stuff!” I announced to Ian and my husband.

The young man smiled, the same sort of smile my son makes when I comment on the internet and the web and the cloud and all that stuff. I even said, “You are making the same exact face my 24 year old son makes.”

“I am 24 also,” he admitted. I was not surprised. They all have the same expressions some times when talking to parental age adults. He then told me that Apple has made the Cloud more secure and the hackers do not go after normal people like me on the Cloud.  Really? How can he be sure?

Fine. So he could not transfer my info at that moment. He and my husband agreed that this could be done easily at home. My husband knew what to do. We would just take both phones home. Plug my old phone, update to my ITunes account and all would be just fine.

HA!  As I left the store I told him to be ready for a call.

The first part went fine. I plugged in my old IPhone 4 and backed it up to my ITunes account. No problems. I was happy. Then I turned it over to my husband.

He made some noises. They were not polite noises.   He turned to me, “When was the last time you updated you OS? Your Operating System?” He demanded. “You are way out of date.”

So. What’s the big deal. I was happy.

I have not updated my operating system for a while. I admit it. So what? I did not need anything. All was going just fine till now! So what that I have not been able to update my ITunes because I did not update my operating system? My I tunes worked with my old phone. But this then became a problem because the new phone could not speak to the old I Tunes. Shucks.

Then my husband started the process of updating my operating system. In the meantime, I had no phone. NO Phone. In this day and age, I felt cut off. I needed to call my son because we were volunteering for a National Council of Jewish Women’s event, and he had to come and get me.

“Yes,” my son said as he answer the phone.

“Are you still going with me?” I asked.

“Sure, text me about 15 minutes before we need to go. Do you want me to drive over there?”

So I told him I could not text him because my phone was no longer working and we could not get my new phone connected and the operating system was taking forever to install and I need new I tunes. Okay, maybe I was whining a little bit. Maybe I sounded like a two-year old.

But at the exact same moment, the exact moment, my husband and my son both said simultaneously (yes I know I am redundant!), “You are being way too dramatic, it will work out!”

Me! Dramatic! Okay, maybe a little.

My son showed up 15 minutes early to check out the progress. The computer was still thinking. Did I tell you that I have a five-year-old computer. I was really worried they were going to make me get a new computer too. That would have been a disaster!

We left the house. My son and I volunteered, while my husband sat and watched the computer think and update.

When I got home close to 11 pm, my husband was in bed. The computer was not quite done. But after about five more minutes, the new operating system was installed. So I tried to install ITunes 12. But it would not work. My computer’s operating system was still not good enough. However, I could install I Tunes 11 something.

And I got it to all work. My new I Phone connected to my computer. It spoke to my I Tunes account and my backed up information flowed through a wire into the new phone. I was successful. I did not need my husband or my son. I did all on my own.

I updated my phone’s apps.   All seemed well and good.But I noticed something odd. Some of my apps, although they are still visible in my settings, do not appear on the phone. Hmmmmm. I had to work for awhile to get those all sorted out. Eventually they reappeared as icons on my phone.  Success!

However, I then got into my car to go volunteer again. My phone would not sync with my car. Of course not! I now had a new phone. I had to delete my old phone and re-sync with my new phone. But I forgot to download my phone book.  It only took a moment once I figured out what to do, but I had to figure it out.

Getting a new phone is really a hassle.  Over and Over again I had to reinter passwords…but first I had to remember them.  I had to reinstall my Jawbone Up and re-sync the phone to the Up.  I had to re-enter my wifi password.  I spent many hours getting everything up to date.  But I also did not need to call Ian at Verizon.  I was able to do it all myself,  well with some help from my husband and perhaps a few bouts of anxiety!

I was feeling very badly for myself because of all the hassles of the past 18 hours, until I was telling my tale of woe to another volunteer. She said, “I know what you mean. My family wants me to update my phone, but I am not sure.”

Then she pulled out an old phone with a keypad. She did not even own a smart phone. I looked her and smiled. “You are in big trouble!” I said.

“I know,” She responded. “I am not sure I can handle a smart phone. “

I admit, updating my phone was very traumatic and dramatic for me. But she is in for a big shock.

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Getting Ready for The Catskills

23 Jul

Next week my son and I are going to New Jersey/New York for 11 days. It is the first time in five years that I am going back east without a purpose. I have no ailing parents anymore, as, sadly, they passed away. I do not have to clean out an apartment or a house. This is not the unveiling. I do not have any meetings plan. We are just going for fun. I have not gone back home just for fun for a long time.

We are staying with my sister for a night and then my son and I and my sister and my niece are driving up to the Catskills to stay in our family home. My brother, and perhaps his wife and/or daughter will meet us up there.   We do not have to clean the attic, basement or house out. We do not have to fill up a dumpster. We do not have to do anything but enjoy the house, the grounds and relax.

Wow. We will see our cousins. We can walk into town. We can eat at a restaurant. Perhaps we will go to Bethel Woods? Who knows? We have no plans. It will be like old times…. Sort of.

My parents will not be there. The annuals my grandparents and then parents planted so lovingly will not be planted. There is no food awaiting our arrival. No special treats hidden away in the special cookie tin. We have to buy all the food ourselves.

There will be no one to welcome us when we drive up the long driveway to the house and no one to stand outside and wave as we drive away.  We will miss their smiles and their welcome.  But I know that they will be so happy to know that we are there, and that the house is alive again.

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Our home in Kauneonga Lake is our happy place. There are so many wonderful memories. SO many stories embedded in the essence of the house. So much laughter, and some tears. So much of my being was formed by events that occurred in that house. I would not be who I am if I had not spent my summers there.

I close my eyes and see the many outside activities that reside in my mind’s eye: croquet, bocce, baseball, running in the rain, watching the stars.   Each memory is a delight. My grandfather was colorblind, each year we never knew what color the furniture would be: a crazy quilt of chairs and tables. Sitting around on brightly painted wooden lawn furniture discussing whatever topic we decided.

My grandparents’ laughter; my parents’ commands; my brother’s and sister’s voices; the house resonates in sounds of love.

And then we walk down West Shore Road to where my grandparents’ bungalow colony once stood, we do not miss out on memories. We pass what used to be Kauneonga Park, the Fink’s bungalow colony, home to our grandparent’s good friends, Sidney and Bertha. The colony has changed now, but in my mind I see them and the way it was when I was a child or a teen. We also pass the White Lake Homes. If we walk through the streets there we can pass the home of Nan, a friend of my grandmother’s who was always embroidering tablecloths.

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Further along was the house of a friend of mine. His house abutted the Lake. Now there are giant homes there. But in my mind I still see the little homes.

We pass Cooper Drive…so many memories there as well, with friends who stayed there over the years. Then we walk on to the area where our bungalow colony once stood.   Now two of our cousins have homes there. Although some of the original bungalows no longer exist, houses stand in their places.

Our cousins are part of our childhood. We had so many adventures together. We grew up in the heyday of the Catskills: the 50s, 60s and 70s.   No one can take that joy away from us. We are more than just cousins. Our summers in the Catskills made us so close. We were more like siblings. And sometimes we bicker like siblings. But we share the joy of being in the Catskills.

We will share meals and memories with our cousins. We will sit by the beach and perhaps go out on a boat. The children, not us, but our adult children, will go boating and jet skiing and waterskiing. And now there are grandchildren to watch as they learn to love the Lake and the Catskills.

I CAN NOT Wait!

This time next week I will be getting ready to drive up to the Catskills. My heart is already singing with joy.

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Saving Pompeii: A Heritage Site That Needs to Be Protected

16 Jul

Upon returning from our two-week trip to Europe, it took me about a week to sort through all the mail. I saved my magazines for last. However, although unexpected, I was not surprised at all to see what was on the cover of the July/August 2015 issue of Smithsonian. There was a depiction of a peeling fresco, and the headline, “The Plight of the Ancient City SAVING POMPEII.”

We had just toured Pompeii, a city I had dreamed about visiting since I was a little child. The idea that this entire town had been covered in ash and preserved for future generations so intrigued me as a child. I had to go.

Our tour guide was from the modern city of Pompeii. He had grown up near this wonderful ancient city. But I could tell from the tone of his voice and the comments he made, that all was not going well there.

He was constantly telling people in our group and in other groups “Do not touch the frescos.” Under his breath he would mutter, “I don’t know why they don’t put something over them.”

Frescos easily touched and uncovered.

Frescos easily touched and uncovered.

When we walked through the theater he made some comments as people asked what all the modern equipment was doing there. “They plan some shows,” he said. But when questioned further, he said nothing has been finished yet.

There was a street we could not go down. It was blocked with signs.

There were frescos that were fading from the sunlight.

There were seats that should not be used, that people sat on. He asked them to move. “I know it is a lot of walking,” he said. “But you really cannot sit there.”

When asked about some of these issues, he said, “I really do not know what they are thinking. They have to do something.”

And then I read my Smithsonian and I understood! The first thing I read was the article by Joshua Hammer, “The Fall and Rise and Fall of Pompeii.”

He wrote, “But the Pompeii experience has lately become less transporting. Pompeii has suffered devastating losses since the Schola Armaturarum collapsed in 2010. Every year since then has witnessed additional damage….” It goes on to discuss other issues like closed sections, buildings propped up with supports, grass and shrubs cropping up and more.

Propped up wall at Pompeii.

Propped up wall at Pompeii.

It makes me sad. As someone who had never been to Pompeii before, I still found it amazing. I am glad I have been able to walk down some of the roads and visit some of the villas and buildings. But even I noticed that all was not well. I saw the fading frescos, the closed roads, and the grasses growing in cracks, just as was mentioned in the article.

But then there are the beautiful colorful frescos that display the beauty of Pompeii.

But then there are the beautiful colorful frescos that display the beauty of Pompeii.

Something needs to be done to keep this wonderful site safe. I recommend all reading this article in Smithsonian, and learning about what has been happening in Pompeii.   I am hoping that those who are responsible for keeping the city safe read it as well, and work to continue to improve, secure, protect and save Pompeii.

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Walking My Way Through the Perils of Stone Pathways in Europe

10 Jul

Shoes are the most important item to pack for a trip through southern Europe! Forget heels. No heels! Sturdy walking shoes are the only reasonable shoe to take and nice flats for the evenings. Believe me when I tell you that walking on stone streets and paths is not for the timid or the unbalanced.

Italy, St. Peter's Stones/Bricks.

Italy, St. Peter’s Stones/Bricks.

I have learned to hate St. Peter’s Stones. These unusual shape stones make up many of the pathways in Rome. Each stone is about 4 inches wide at one end and tapers to about 2 ½ inches at the other end. Between each stone is about a half inch of grout…if you are lucky. Most of the time the grout is missing. A great place to get a heel caught and trip.   I asked some female Rome citizens how they walked in heels. Their answer, they don’t. I know why.

Stone walkways in the Jewish Quarter of Rome.

Stone walkways in the Jewish Quarter of Rome.

But it isn’t just the St. Peter’s Stones that can wear on the legs. Almost everywhere the sidewalks and streets are made of stone. And it makes sense. These are old cities. In the Jewish Quarter of Rome there were square stones that paved the walkways and streets.   I say this together because in the tight areas of the old city people and cars share the streets and walkways.

I cannot imagine what they are like when they are wet. We were fortunate and never encountered rain on our trip, but I can imagine that these stones cause much misery when they are damp or wet.   The only place I can compare it to is Jerusalem. Also a city paved with stone, Jerusalem is a place where I have experienced rain and snow and it was not pretty! After two days of walking in Rome, even with sneakers and flats, my legs were aching.

In our not quite two days in Rome, we walked 11.8 miles! And over our two-week trip to Europe I walked 62 miles, averaging 4.4 miles a day, including the two at sea days. I know for a fact as I wore my Jawbone Up the entire time! So believe me when I say I became intimate with the stone walkways of some of the cities along the Mediterranean. And I feel fortunate that we all survived intact!

To be honest, the stone walkways were so beautiful, I started taking photos of them. Lovely to look at in every city and island we visited… but terrible for the legs and feet.

Pompeii stone streets... Pretty good actually.

Pompeii stone streets… Pretty good actually.

I loved the incredible stone streets of Pompeii. That they lasted this long through fire and ash and 2000 years shows their durability. And actually the stone walkways in Pompeii were easy to walk on. I was amazed at how the craftsmen took irregular shaped stones and fit them so precisely together. They were just stunning.

Sicilian Stone walkways.

Sicilian Stone walkways.


Sardinian stone.

Sardinian stone.

On the islands of Sicily and Sardinia we encountered larger, more even stones. Rectangle and squares probably made it for easier for masons to install the stonework. They were also a bit easier to walk on in the more modern parts of town.   But still gave no relief to tired calf muscles!

Corsica at the citadel. These stones were impossible! And yes, it was the only place to walk.

Corsica at the citadel. These stones were impossible! And yes, it was the only place to walk.

After Corsica, I knew the stones were starting to take their toll on people. In Calvi, Corsica, the citadel is located high above the city. You have to walk up a multitude of stone staircases before reaching the path that takes you into the citadel. Should I call it a path, or the stone walkway from Hell? These uneven and rounded stones pushed into the ground must be carefully and diligently watched as you walk. They look like giant river pebbles. When you walk on them there can be no looking up until you take a break. Just watch your feet. I thought going uphill was bad. But going downhill was much worse.

The day after the trip to Calvi, I noticed several people on our cruise ship now in wheelchairs with their ankles wrapped. An older woman, who had been on our flight to Europe, and was on our cruise, fell and was sporting a black eye. She spent two days recouping from that incident. Calvi’s citadel is not for the weak-kneed or anyone who needs help walking!

Monaco, beautiful patterned pebbles to walk on.

Monaco, beautiful patterned pebbles to walk on.

Monaco had lovely walkways, easy to meander through. But near the prince’s palace, where we watched the changing of the guard, there was a beautiful inlayed pebbled area, so beautiful to see, but perhaps difficult for the pedestrians in heels. I just took pictures, and tried to stay off of it. Okay, honestly, I had to walk on it at least once to test it out. It was okay, just a little rough on the soles of my feet.

St. Tropez, more stone for people and cars.

St. Tropez, more stone for people and cars.

St. Tropez’ older areas had more St. Peter’s Stone’s as well as larger rectangular steps. And I do not like St. Peter’s Stone! To be honest this was my least favorite stop on our journey. However it had the best story about the paved roads. The walkways in the ancient area are all made of stone, slippery when wet. Our guide told us that when people tried to invade the city, the citizens would pour olive oil into the street, which made the hilly stone paths impossible to navigate. I wish I could have seen the invaders’ faces as the olive oil came oozing down the roads. The slipping and sliding was not funny to them, I am sure. What an ingenious idea!

The beautifully stone paved Rambla. Easy to walk on.

The beautifully stone paved Rambla. Easy to walk on.

We ended our trip in Barcelona. The new parts of town have easy to walk on streets. And we loved walking on the Rambla! The stonework was so pretty with waves of color. And the stones were even and comfortable for walking. But the old, gothic city also had its stone and uneven pathways. However, I understand that these streets and paths are over 1,000 years old. So I am not complaining, I am just saying BE Careful.

Notice the difficult walking through the trails at Montserrat.

Notice the difficult walking through the trails at Montserrat.

Our final stop was Montserrat, a beautiful mountain and Monastery about an hour from Barcelona. This area is so breathtaking with its views and buildings. It has three main walking paths. We took one.   You can see that they are trying to repair the paths in some areas, in others it was quite the challenge.   But so worth the effort!

My legs are still recovering from the hard walking. To be honest, I went for a leg reflexology on the cruise ship. It was wonderful after all those stone steps. I gifted myself an extra long 75-minute leg and foot massage. I figured that my legs had done me well, and they deserved pampering. When I got home, I went for a pedicure with massage at Old Town. It helped as well. Sixty-two miles of walking on stone paths was perilous, but worth every step!

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