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Old Photographs Bring Memories to Life

19 Aug

My siblings and I recently spent a weekend together cleaning the attic, basement and garage of a house in the Catskills that our family has owned for well over 50 years.   And although our parents made an effort to clean out some of our grandparents’ items when they inherited it, it still was quite full.

It has been a process. This was our final weekend of cleaning. My brother with some help from his son and a friend, had already moved out the old metal bungalow furniture and moved in furniture from our parent’s apartment.

We had cleaned out clothing and personal items. We had moved out some items that we wanted in our respective homes. But now it was time to get rid of the stuff that had just collected and decayed over time.

My brother ordered a 20-cubit yard dumpster that he demanded be filled by the end of the weekend. My sister and I thought he was crazy. There was no way we would have that much junk. We were wrong. And it was, amazingly, filled. The house is now in order. Clean, organized and ready for us to use it. We had a feeling of accomplishment by the time we were done.

Two of my nieces were there as well. And the four women, my sister and my nieces and I did the heavy emotional work, we went through thousands upon thousands of photos. We sorted them for each family. We made piles for our cousins. There were some we just discarded and put into the dumpster. And then we put together the ones we all wanted for me to take home and scan into my computer, for I am the family archivist. I will make digital copies and send them out to everyone.

Front Great grandpa USA Visa

The treasures we found included our great grandfather’s passport and 1936 visa to come to the USA from Poland. Our grandparents worked diligently to get the paper work accomplished to bring him and my great aunt to the USA. It saved their lives. My Mom would tell the story of going to Ellis Island with my grandparents to get them when they arrived from Poland.

Years later, when my children were little, we went with my parents to Ellis Island. My Mom asked, “Where are all the cages?” The main room was a large empty space. But on the wall were photos of what the room looked like in the days it was in use. And the metal bars between lines of people could have looked like cages to a child. We think that is what she saw.

In the bags and albums, we found photos of people in Europe from before the Shoah. And wondered how many of them perished? We found photos of our great aunt Tova and our great grandmother Chava. Photos we had never seen before. Our great grandmother is young in this photo. My brother and niece have her mouth. We know they both perished, along with many other family members.

Photos of our parents taken in Hudson County Park, North Bergen, NJ, in the 1960s were also a rare find. They were dressed up, obviously ready to go out somewhere. Mom even had white gloves on… white gloves and a sort of ‘mini’ skirt: an interesting combination; a transition between two generations, two styles of dress. There are no full skirts here.

We found pictures of our aunts and uncles from both sides of our family, grandparents, great aunts and uncles; photos of us and our cousins when we were little. They were wonderful finds. We even found three photos taken during the Woodstock weekend in 1969. We thought all of them had been lost years ago when my Dad tried to mail them to me and the envelope broke while in route.

My nieces loved one photo in particular, of my brother, sister and I when we were in our teens. We hate it. But the girls wanted to keep it as ‘blackmail.’

We found wonderful documents: the list from our parent’s wedding; some of Dad’s school papers, and his army paper, a telegram he sent his parents from the army. One of his school papers said he was in the choir in high school. We all laughed, Dad could not carry a tune!

Grandma Thelma graduation from night school she is second in middle row

A favorite was group photo of our Grandma with the other students, when she graduated from night school, after immigrating to the USA in the 1920s.

The attic held a bonanza of information! We actually thought we had found it all because previous cleanings we had found 8mm movies that my brother had turned into DVDs and other photos that I had used to make a book of family history.

But the most amazing find was a photo album of my grandmother from before her marriage. There was one young woman in many of the photos with Grandma. We were sure it was her best friend and cousin, Katie. But there were no names written on any photo. It was so frustrating. But then we found a more recent photo with my grandparents and another couple. In this one the woman was identified. And yes it was Katie. My sister and I were so excited!! When we compared her face to the young women in the photos we knew that we had discovered and identified our lost relative.

There are many photos in the album that were taken in Europe. On the back many are inscribed to my loving cousin, Tova, in Yiddish and in German. I think they are photos given to her before she left Poland for the United States in 1922.

I have that album with me now. I am going to try to match some of the unnamed people with photos that we have where people are identified. I have already found photos of my grandmother’s siblings.

It is a puzzle, and I am determined to make as many matches as possible because these old photographs bring my grandparents’ and parents’ memories back to life.

 

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A Summer Recharging In New Jersey

6 Aug
Double rainbow over the George Washington Bridge, view from my parent's apartment.

Double rainbow over the George Washington Bridge, view from my parent’s apartment.

Another visit to New Jersey begins. A cat is rubbing her head up against my computer and me. She really wants to sit on my lap. My sister’s cat, Tilda, wants some attention. And that is part of what makes my visits to New Jersey now somewhat strange. I am at my sister’s home, not at my parent’s home.

When my parents passed away within nine months of each other, I thought I might not travel to New Jersey each summer as I had for the previous 30 years I was married and lived in Kansas. But that turned out not to happen.   In fact, I continue to visit my family in New Jersey for a week each summer, staying with my sister. Visiting with my brother. Seeing my cousins. Going into the City for a show or to go to a museum. Then spending a wonderful weekend in the Catskills at our family home.

It is almost the same. I have a room to stay in. I have a great place to stay. But it is not the same. My parents are not here. My home away from home is a different place. It is still New Jersey, but I no longer have the magnificent view of Manhattan right out the window. I am not staying in an apartment, but instead a house. And I have cats here that want love and attention, just as my cats do.

I love my time here. For some reason I need a week on the East Coast each year. It is like an energy pack! I return to Kansas with my Jersey accent much stronger and a sense of well being. There is nothing like Jersey for the Jersey girl in me.

When I stroll the malls or take the ferry to New York City, I am in my element. I have visions of my childhood underneath the current events.   In Kansas I do not have that double vision. When I am in Kansas, I see the changes in the last 35 years, but they are adult years. When I am in New Jersey, I see the sights of my childhood changed and reinvented in my adult eyes.

Last summer my brother drove me to the two homes I lived in when we lived in North Bergen. It was remarkable to see how much they had stayed the same, and what had changed.   I plan to ask my sister to drive past my grandparent’s bakery in West New York this time. I wonder what it is now. After they sold the building, it became a restaurant. But I have not driven past it in a long time.

Of course part of the excitement of coming back East, is to travel to our home in Kauneonga Lake, NY. We visit with our cousins. Sit by the lake, go out on the boat, and just enjoy the time together. Pizza on the beach is a tradition! When we sit there, I also see my parents and aunt and uncle. They loved to sit under the tree and watch the grandchildren grow into adults, seeing the changes that came each summer.

Another generation comes to the Lake. My two of my cousin’s are grandparents now. The fourth generation to come to Kauneonga Lake and enjoy the beauty and peace, as well as the fun! We were so blessed to have this oasis from the City.

A trip to New Jersey and New York in the summer is a welcome relief to me. It brings me back to my self. I will eat at a diner; I will see a show on Broadway; I will take the ferry to the City; I will travel up 17 to the Catskills and get off at exit 104 in Monticello. My journey on 17 B and then 55 will lead me to Kauneonga Lake.

I might live in Kansas for over 30 years. But when I close my eyes I am sitting in New Jersey. The house might be different. There might be a cat on my lap.   My parents might not be physically here. But my soul resonates with the love and joy of my childhood and I become rejuvenated.

I love my summer week back East.

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Learning Infinity and Beyond Makes Me Insane

2 Aug
A note from Mr. "Mean" Thoens to me in my senior yearbook. We never did agree on infinite numbers.

A note from Mr. “Mean” Thoens to me in my senior yearbook. We never did agree on infinite numbers.

My disdain for infinity and infinite numbers started when I was a senior in high school. My North Bergen High School calculus teacher, Mr. Ray Thoens, (who I called “Mean” Thoens) was teaching us about infinity and the infinite number of points in a line. Okay, I could get that. But then he told us that two lines of unequal lengths would have the same number of infinite points. What!!

I argued with him.

How can a line this long ___________, have the same number of points as a line this long _________________? The lines have a definite beginning and an end. How can they have the same infinite number of points! For my logical mind, one must have more points than the other.

Mr. Thoens and I argued about this all year. Whenever I was upset about something I would just say, “Yes just like those lines and infinite number of points. It just doesn’t make sense.” And I would sometimes add while shaking my head, “that is just wrong.” Other students in my class perhaps agreed with Mr. Thoens, but that did not change my mind.

Senior year, basically the calculus class. I had a lot of hair, but not as much as the boy next to me.

Senior year, basically the calculus class. I had a lot of hair, but not as much as the boy next to me.

Over the years, the long years, since I graduated high school, I still felt that the information about infinity and lines and infinite numbers of points was a crazy thing and just could not be right. But I kept my point of view to myself all these years. I never took another math class (except statistics), so I did not have to worry about these numbers. And even though my husband studied math and physics for the first two years of his college career, infinite numbers just did not come up.

Until now, when my nephew, my sister’s son, came to stay with us for a few days.

My nephew just earned his master’s degree in mathematics from the University of Kansas. He taught calculus to college freshman for the past few years, and he is staying with me before he leaves for Florida to study for his PhD in math at a university there.

And we got into a math debate.

I am not a hundred percent sure how it started, but we got on to the topic of calculus. I could not help myself, I had to tell him about my disdain for infinite numbers and points in lines.

He said something like, “I will explain it to you. Many people have this problem.”

I said, “You are not going to change my mind. It is not right! I have held this view for 40 years!”

He told me that Mr. Thoens, my high school math teacher was right! Can you imagine that! He told me that my high school teacher was probably trying not to use more advanced math language when he tried to exlain it all those years ago. But he, my nephew had explained this to many students, and he could explain it to me.

The diagrams in my nephew and my debate over infinite points in lines of two different lengths.

The diagrams in my nephew and my debate over infinite points in lines of two different lengths.

He started talking about ‘cardinality’ and how to match numbers. He showed me two sets of numbers, one with three dots and one with five. We could agree that these did not match. Then he added two more dots to make them equal sets. And we could agree that they were now equal.

He made graphs and wrote equation-like things. Who cares? When you look at two lines of unequal length it is intuitive and logical to realize that they do not have the same number of infinite points. ( I spoke to my daughter about this, and she totally agreed! So I must be right.)

I showed him two equal lines, A to B. We agreed that they had the same number of infinite points. Then I added a segment that doubled the size of one line to C. And I said, “This line has more points. It is a longer line.”

And he said, “NO!”

What! How can you say no?

He then told me that “The same way of matching is not going to work.”

Of course it will not. You cannot match the same way because they are different lengths.

And then he went into a silly math concept that showed matching using x/2 (x over 2). In this way the numbers in the longer line matched numbers in the shorter line like this: .3 went with .15 and so on. So! Yes you can make pairs of numbers, but there are always other numbers. He agreed and said something like, “But you never actually get to zero so your cardinality is okay as long as you can keep matching.”

Yes, Mr. Thoens had tried that same trick on me when I was 17. It did not work then and it will not work now.

I appreciate my nephew’s passion for math. I hope he has great success and continues to teach and learn. But I am not changing my mind. Two lines of unequal length and size cannot have the same number of infinite points even if both have an infinite number of points.

And do not tell me that an infinite number of points is an infinite number of points.   I know that. But it is something that does not make sense in my mind, and probably will never make sense.

I think I will just go another 40 years believing that learning about infinity and beyond just makes me insane!

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A Wonderful Weekend in Arkansas, Visiting Friends and A Wildlife Refuge

26 Jul
Beaver Lake

A view of the long and winding Beaver Lake.

Who knew that I would meet up with my North Bergen childhood next door neighbor in Bentonville, Arkansas? We lived next to each other on Third Avenue for eight years, but remained friends even when I moved to 78th Street and Blvd.East. Strange that the two of us ended up just three hours away from each other. Even stranger, is that I have another North Bergen High School friend who also lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas, whom I have met up with a few times.

Three North Bergen High School alumni living in Kansas and Arkansas. Seems strange. But in the world we live in I should not be surprised.   We found each other on Facebook. Amazing what social media can do for friendships! I know others who moved to the Midwest, but for me it is always special to see one of these two women who share my childhood memories.

Looking down at the Crystal Bridges Art Museum. A lovely spot

Looking down at the Crystal Bridges Art Museum. A lovely spot

My husband and I were recently in the Beaver Lake area visiting our Kansas neighbors who have moved to their new home near Eureka Springs. Among our plans were to go to Bentonville and see the beautiful Crystal Bridges Art Museum. Another goal was to introduce my childhood neighbor to my adult neighbors because they now live just 45 minutes from each other. I had a great time making the introductions and combining two segments of my life.

We spent part the day walking the grounds of the museum and seeing the exhibits. I was amazed to find a large collection of paintings of George Washington, as well as six portraits depicting the Levy-Franks family. A Jewish family from New York City in Arkansas, besides me! Well, they have been deceased for a long time. But it surprised me that these six works of art were in Arkansas. However, my favorite paintings were by John Singleton Copley. His ability to capture life is amazing!

We at lunch at the museum and enjoyed all the sites, before deciding to go into Bentonville. We still had one more museum to see. But when my husband and neighbors went into town for an ice cream treat, my childhood friend and I went to see her 88-year-old mother. It is so strange to see someone I have not seen in over 25years; someone who was like a second mother, who had the right to yell at me if I misbehaved, but not to have my Mom with us as well. Seeing her made me happy, but also made me miss my Mom even more.

My friend’s mother knew who I was most of the time. At first she thought I was my mother. And at times she thought I was my sister. But we had a good visit, and she remembered so many things. Her daughter and I were amazed.

Actually she spoke most about my brother. “He was a buster!” She said. She remembered how my brother used to tease us when we played with our dolls.   We would try hiding on the outdoor staircase, but he would climb over the garbage house to get to us. “Mommy, he is bothering us!” She said as she remembered my brother, who is now such a respectable man, but then quite the active child.

We had a special time together, and I am glad we were able to get together.

Besides traveling to Bentonville and seeing my old friend, we also went to the Turpentine Creek Wildlife Refuge for rescued tigers, lions, cougars, panthers and bears. It seems, and I did not know this, that many states allow people to have wild animals as house pets. (To me this is a really ridiculous idea.)  Not only that, even in states where it is illegal, there are people who take on these animals as pets. They see a tiger cub as a good pet, until it grows into an adult and eats 1000 pounds of food and weighs up to 800 pounds. Then they do not want that pet any more.

One of the tigers that still has to be moved into his own habitat.

One of the tigers that still has to be moved into his own habitat.

What they do to these ‘pets’ is really sad. Sometimes they declaw them. For a house cat it is bad, but for a big cat it is really bad. Once the claws and first digits are removed, then the large cat cannot walk because their weight is too much, basically crippling the animal.

Sometimes people just abandon the cats in the wild. They cannot survive. So this sanctuary in Arkansas, rescues them. If someone brings them one of these ‘pets,’ the sanctuary does not press charges. They just want to protect and keep the once wild animal for the rest of its life. They are in the process of developing special habitats for each of the animals so they have room to roam.

Bam Bam the Grizzly Bear has his own pond and habitat at the Turpentine Creek Wildlife Refuge.

Bam Bam the Grizzly Bear has his own pond and habitat at the Turpentine Creek Wildlife Refuge.

Part of their mission is educating the public about these animals. Visitors can tour the site with a docent/game keeper and learn about these animals in particular and what happened and happens to them. For me it was an eye-opening experience. And I plan to add the Turpentine Creek Wildlife Refuge to my list of charities to support.

Finally we spent time on Beaver Lake, riding around in our friends’ boat and seeing the sites. It was not the same as riding around Kauneonga Lake in New York, where I spent my childhood summers. This is a much bigger lake created by the Corps of Engineers when they put in a hydro-electric plant and dammed a river, unlike Kauneonga Lake which is a smaller, natural spring-feed lake.

But being in a boat on a lake is always a wonderful time for me.   Having a long weekend; staying near the Lake was wonderful for so many reasons: spending time with friends, going to a museum, visiting an animal haven.

 

 

http://www.turpentinecreek.org/index.php/about-tcwr/visit-the-refuge

 

http://crystalbridges.org/

 

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Movie Night in the Catskills Was A Wonderful, Magical Night

24 Jul

It was our Saturday night tradition at the Ritz Theatre in White Lake, NY. In the late afternoon, early evening, we children would go to the early movie with our grandmas: Grandma Esther, Grandma Rose, Grandma Thelma, Mrs. Anoff. They chaperoned about nine or ten children and kept us safe.

Our dads would drop us off at the front of the theater with money for the movie and snacks. We were supposed to be very careful there as it was at the intersection of 17B and 55. So there actually was a bit of traffic.

I think our grandmas would collect all the money and pay. However, when we got a little older, we were allowed to buy our own tickets. If you were under 12 it was one price, over 12 you paid the adult fare. It was always sad when someone had a summer birthday and turned 12. They now had to pay much more!

Our parents, in the early 1960s. Kauneonga Lake, NY.

Some of the parents, in the early 1960s. Kauneonga Lake, NY.

Our fathers, in the meantime, would then go home to get ready for Date Night with our moms. It was their special time together.

We would watch whatever movie was showing that week. The movie I remember the most was “To Cast A Giant Shadow” about the Israeli War of Independence and Colonel David “Mickey” Marcus, the American officer who helped with ending the siege of Jerusalem. It actually had a major impact on my life choices.

For this movie, I sat next to my Grandma Rose.   Grandma Rose, was really my cousins’ grandma, but that did not matter. We shared grandmas in the Catskills. In any case, Grandma Rose lived through the siege of Jerusalem with her husband, Grandpa Asher, and my Uncle Jack.

While we watched the movie, Grandma Rose spoke to me throughout, telling me what happened to her in 1948. She told me what really happened during the siege. What in the movie was true, what was just fiction. She told me about the lack of water and food. She told me about the day they finally left Jerusalem and how difficult that day was for her and Grandpa Asher. How she looked back knowing she might never live in Jerusalem, her Jerusalem again. She never did. They moved to the USA.

I was eleven years old when “To Cast A Giant Shadow” came out in 1966. But this movie and the story of Jerusalem stayed with me my entire life. It was because of this movie and Grandma Rose’ commentary, that I went to Israel eight years later to spend my sophomore year of college at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. I lived in both the Givat Ram and the HaHasofim campuses.

I was able to go freely between both the old city of Jerusalem and the new city. I saw the places Grandma Rose had told me about, as well as, the places I saw in the movie.

While I was gone, Grandma Rose passed away. My parents did not tell me. They did not want it to be in a letter. In those days we had no cell phones, no computer, no Skype. I found out when I got home. I was heartbroken.  I wanted to tell her all about the Jerusalem, where I lived and how it had returned to one city.   But I never got the chance.

But I always remembered that one movie and Grandma Rose.

Movie night was always an exciting night. Without television, cable, VCRs, DVDs, Netflex, we looked forward to going to the movies one day a week. Even when we got older and did not need our grandmas to go with us, we would still go in a group to the movies. Then we would go to Poppy’s for ice cream after the movie ended. It was always a good time. Even on dates we went as couples with someone else. It seemed odd to go out with just one other person. Sometimes we even ran into our parents at the ice cream parlor. So strange, so different from when we were children.

Because when we were young, our dads would come to pick us up after the movies. When we were settled in back at our bungalows, the parents would go out. They were dressed up, looking fine. Many times they were just going to the movies as well. Sometimes, they went to a show at one of the many hotels or bungalow colonies to see a comedian or musical. It was a wild time in the Catskills.

We always knew when they went to a show because they came home with one of those keychain photo viewers. We loved them. I found some when we cleaned out my parent’s apartment and I brought one back to Kansas with me.

My parents always went out extra special on Fathers’ Day weekend because their wedding anniversary was June 17. They had spent part of their honeymoon at Grossinger’s before heading up to the Finger Lakes and exploring on their own. So a special evening out at Grossinger’s was often their anniversary celebration destination.

Movie nights changed after the Ritz in White Lake closed. We then traveled to Liberty or Monticello to go to the movies. But the magic still remained. Movie night in the Catskills was a wonderful, magical night.

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How 24-Hour News Turned Me Into an HGTV Addict

18 Jul

I stopped watching the news in 2008, during Operation Cast Lead. My daughter was studying in Beer Sheva, Israel, and I was on the phone with her when a rocket landed very close to her dorm. It traumatized me.  No mother wants their child in the line of rockets.

At that time the Iron Dome, which Israel is now using so successfully against Hamas rockets, did not exist. So when I watched the news, I would over and over again see rockets fired. See people running for cover. And then see the horrors of war for the people trapped in Gaza. I was immobilized by the endless stories repeating over and over again.

My husband and son said, “TURN IT OFF!”

And I did.

I started watching HGTV. No one ever dies in “House Hunters.” No one is ever hurt in “Curb Appeal.” The biggest issue in “Devine Design” is whether the family will like the new room, and they always do.   Sometimes the twin brothers argue. And on “Property Virgins,” the home searchers are not always realistic. While in “Income Property”, the home owners always make out really well with both new income and increased property value.

So I became an HGTV addict.

I learned so much. I realized that some of the remodeling I did in my own home could have been a bit better. I should have put heated floors in my bathroom when I had the carpet pulled out and the tile put in. In the basement, I should have put a subfloor in. But I still like what I have done.

This is the wall I painted before the accent color.

This is the wall I painted before the accent color.

And here is my accent wall with color!

And here is my accent wall with color!

I learned about accent wall colors. And even painted my front hall one weekend to address the need for a vibrant accent color in my house.

From Curb Appeal, I found out that we have done a great job making our house attractive from the street. I guess I already knew that because so many people stop me when they see me outside to compliment my gardens.

However, sometimes HGTV cannot keep me away from the news.

I have been drawn in to the news again the past two weeks. But the past two days have been especially bad. Not only is Israel now involved in a ground offensive in Gaza to destroy tunnels, but a Malaysian airplane, a 777, was shot down from the sky killing almost 300 innocent people.

I have watched the same reports over and over again. That endless news cycle is a killer for emotional stability.

Last night I was crocheting and watching CNN. Which lead to me eating brownies and watching.   When finally I told myself, STOP!!!

I went to directly to HGTV…Wow a family looking for a place to live in Barcelona on House Hunters International.   I really want to travel there. I have not been to Spain. They chose the place I liked. So I was happy. No stress. Sometimes, I do disagree with the choice a family makes, but that is okay.

Friends have been asking me, “How are you doing?” Knowing that my daughter is in Israel. Even my brother said, “Well, this time you really have something to be anxious about.”

To all of them I say, “On HGTV, everything is just fine.”

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Finding Salamanders and Relaxing in the Black Forest

13 Jul

One of my favorite activities during my summers in the Catskills was finding salamanders. I loved those little orange lizards that lived in the moss hidden in the forest of the Catskills. I have not seen any for years, but they were plentiful when I was a child.

My parents encouraged my interest in nature, so much so that my Dad built a terrarium outside of our bungalow. It was about three feet by four feet, built with wood and chicken wire, right underneath our kitchen window. My brother and I spent a lot of time catching toads, frogs and salamanders to put into our terrarium, but the rule was that they had to be return to the woods when the summer came to an end.

My sister, me, and my brother facing our bungalow. Behind us you can see Kauneonga Lake. About 1962.

My sister, me, and my brother facing our bungalow. Behind us you can see Kauneonga Lake. About 1962.

While my brother went for the frogs and toads, my favorite creature to find was the salamander. I would search in the moss along trails in the woods. They were difficult to find because they could change colors like a chameleon and match the plants that surrounded them. But usually they were a dull orange color.

Then I would take the moss and the salamander back to our terrarium to become part of our nature center. At night, when the windows were open, we could hear the sounds of the frogs coming from the terrarium. It drove my Mom crazy, but she did not complain too much. She knew that I loved to spend hours watching the lizards residing there.

When I was not searching for my lizards, my friend, Vicki, and I would often go on walks to what we called, the “Black Forest.” This was an area of the woods behind my Grandparent’s bungalow colony that was all pine trees. Vicki and I loved to go there and play imagination games.

Because of the denseness of the trees, there was not a lot of sunshine filtering through the woods, and the ground was covered with pine needles, so not many plants grew. It was a mystical place. So silent, with the shadows of the trees dancing on the pine needles, it was the perfect place for a picnic and imagining. It was so quiet, we were able to hear people coming down the trail and hide before they arrived. It was our private place and we did not want to share it when we were there.

To get to the forest we had to walk past the blueberry patch, past the last bungalow in the row, to a place far away from the parents and the swings. We entered the forest near a large growth of ferns and moss. It was here that I could often find salamanders. But that I could do on the way home, not when we were going into the woods.

After we entered the treed area, we would walk along a path that had been created by years of children walking to the “black forest.” I do not know who was the first one to go there. But there were many boys who were much older than Vicki and I. So I assume one of them taught us the way. I just know that traveling along that path and walking back to the pine forest was an important part of our summer adventures.

Most of the walk was through regular woods, but then we would come upon it — the area where only pine trees grow. In that one special place we would lie upon the bed of pine needles and dream. The mounds of pine needles were so comfortable. We share our inner thoughts and secrets. When we were there, we were away from all the boys: our brothers and all my boy cousins. It was a wonderful escape.

Sometimes some of the boys would go with us. But the atmosphere changed when the boys came. Honestly, I liked it best when Vicki and I went by ourselves.

When I look at maps now and satellite images, and I see how far we wandered into the woods, I wonder what our parents would have thought if they knew how far we actually went? It was a different time, but we did get in trouble sometimes. And there was no way to reach our parents, we just figured it out ourselves.

One time we walked out of the pine forest area into some fields. A man came running after us and told us to stay off his property. That was scary. Usually we did not see anyone there. The woods were large. But in reality we knew that if we kept walking, on the other side were those fields and other private property and then Horseshoe Lake Road. We could not get lost. I think I actually walked that way once. But after the man scared us away, we almost always went back through the woods to the bungalow colony.

We had wonderful times wandering on our own. Having picnics that we packed ourselves. Filling our minds with memories that can never be erased. I close my eyes and I can smell the pine needles, their sharp fresh scent. I can feel the crush of my body on the mounds of needles as I looked up to the sky shimmering through the branches. I am back in the ‘black forest’ planning my next acquisition of a salamander and just having a wonderful day with my best friend.

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It Happens Every Summer, Children Dying Alone in Cars

9 Jul

Every summer it happens. It gets hot; parents leave infants or toddlers in their car; the child dies. It has to be the most distressing news I ever hear. It drives me crazy. I understand that sometimes the police believe this is an accident. The parent honestly forgets that they have their child in the car and are overwhelmed with grief. But other times, parents intentionally leave them in the car…only for a minute, or so they say.

I have personal experience with a parent leaving two toddlers in a car for what they said was “only a minute”. I was furious. My daughter still remembers my anger.

I took my daughter and a friend of hers shopping. The girls were about 12 or 13 at the time. While my behavior during this incident totally embarrassed them, now as an adult, my daughter understands exactly why I did what I did. And she knows I did what I felt needed to be done.

We drove to a strip shopping center, where you can park directly in front of a store. Unfortunately we could not park near the store where we wanted to go, so we parked in front of a fancy linen shop.   As I got out of my car, I noticed two toddlers in car seats crying hysterically in the back seat of the car next to me. Their faces were bright red and they were in distress.

I looked at my watch and decided to wait for a few minutes. I did not want to over react, so I waited five minutes. It was obvious they had been there for a while. I was becoming extremely upset. So I marched into the store opposite of the car, assuming that the parent/guardian would probably park as close to her shopping destination as she could with two children in her car. The two girls followed behind me.

As I opened the door, I said in a loud teacher’s voice (I taught high school for a while), “There are two toddlers hysterically crying in a car outside. Is the Mom here?”

Everyone got silent. And then a woman spoke up. “They are my children. And I have only been in here a minute,” she declared.

“Not so,” I responded. “I have been waiting outside for five minutes. It is too hot for them to be stuck in a car. You better get out there now and take care of them or I am calling the police.”

“I am a nurse, and there is no problem,” she said.

Now I was enraged.

“If you are a nurse, you should know better,” I was yelling at this point. “MY husband is a pediatrician. Do you know how many children die in cars each year due to parents like you. Do you know if your children don’t die, they can become critically ill due to dehydration! If you are a nurse, you should know that!”

I pulled out my cell phone. “ You have one minute, then I am dialing 911.”

She was furious. But she handed her items to a sales woman and stomped out. I followed, phone in my hand ready to call the police.

When we got outside and she saw the screaming, crying, red and sweaty children. I think she might have been embarrassed and realized how bad it really was, because she got meekly into her car without saying another word.

But I was so mad. “Don’t ever do that again,” I said. “I have your license plate number. And If I ever see your car with children in it alone again, I will call the police immediately. I will not wait.”

She drove off. I felt like I had done my mitzvah, good deed, for the day. I hope I had saved those two children. But I had another issue to deal with now.

“Mom,” my daughter said. “That was really embarrassing. Did you have to yell at her in the store?” She and her friend were obviously uncomfortable.

“Yes, I did,” I told them. “Children can die in cars due to the heat. I honestly was concerned for the safety of those two children. And actually, perhaps calling the police would have been the right thing to do.”

We went on with our day. But it was an incident that stayed with us since then. Every summer it comes back into my mind. Did I do the right thing by not calling the police?

In the last few weeks we have seen the father leave his toddler son in a hot car. He is being tried for murder because it is alleged he planned it. Then there was a woman who called the police when she saw an infant in a hot car, unconscious. The policeman broke the window of the car to save the child.

And just recently when I took a road trip across Missouri, I noticed that the illuminated signs not only encouraged people to be careful drivers and not to drink and drive, but also to be aware of their children and not lock them in their car.

It is never a good idea to leave any age child alone in a car, even with the windows cracked. It gets extremely hot inside a car when the sun shines in, just like in a green house.

And leaving a child alone in the car with the motor running and the air conditioning on is just as bad. How many times do we hear about a car jacking with the child inside? Then an Amber Alert is issued. In most cases the child is found unhurt, but not always. It is just not safe!

If you need to go shopping, and cannot get a baby sitter…just take your child in to the store with you. Yes, it will take longer. Yes, they might fuss. But in reality a fussing child is much more easier to deal with than a dead one.

I might have embarrassed my daughter and her friend 15 years ago. However, I believe I saved those two children. And the fact that this is still happening makes me more adamant in the importance of everyone taking a stand and doing the right thing.

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A Strand of Pearls is Not Just Jewelry, It is a Circle of Love

6 Jul

 

To me wearing my pearls infuses them with love.

To me wearing my pearls infuses them with love.

I wear two strands of pearls to every family wedding. One strand, the longer one, belonged to my mother-in-law, Lee. She died when she was only 59, but I know that she would want to be at every wedding of her grandchildren and family members. The other strand, is slightly shorter, but has a lovely clasp. It belonged to my Mom, Fran. She also loved weddings and would want to be at every family wedding! Amazingly both strands of pearls have the same size pearls. And they look so good together.

Last night I wore the pearls to the latest family wedding, our niece. The pearls came up in conversation, and I told my brother-in-law, and another nephew and niece, why I wore two strands. My brother-in-law said, “I know they are here.” And my nephew and niece, who knew my Mom but not his own Grandma, said, “Your Mom would have loved the weddings.” And it is true.

It makes me feel as if these two wonderful women were there with us when I wear these necklaces. Pearls are so warm. And to me their glow sends off the warmth of love.

Pearls have much meaning in my family. My grandmother had opera length pearls. And my mother had them made into three necklaces, once for each of her granddaughters. As they turned 18, each girl was presented with the pearl necklace from my mother.

Unfortunately she passed away a few months before the youngest turned 18.   My Dad had us present the pearls to my niece in the hospital where my mother was soon to die. I know it was a difficult time for my niece. But I hope as time has passed she realizes how much her grandparents loved her and how important it was for my Dad, her Grandpa, that she get the pearls while Grandma was still alive.

My Great grandmother, for whom I am named, gave my Grandma a strand of pearls in Europe in 1932. They would have been mine. But another relative stole the pearls while she was in Europe. She always suspected who had taken them.

Over 40 years later he wrote her a letter. He had survived the Shoah, but his entire family had been killed, his wife and his children. He blamed himself. He believed that if he had not stolen the pearls, they would have lived.

I know this because I met him. I was living in Israel at the time. My Grandma Thelma wrote to me to meet up with “the goniff.” He was going to give me 400 lira…about $100 at the time. I was to take some of the money and buy myself something and give the rest of the money to my great uncle.

I met Zissel and he told me his story. He was a sad, sad man. He told me how his family had died and the horrible things that occurred to him. He told me how he had stolen the pearls.

“Your grandmother went into the bathroom to bath. When she came out the pearls were on the sink. I thought, she lives in America; she is rich. I can use these pearls more than she can. And I took them. Now everyone is dead, and it is my fault.” Zissel and I both cried as he told me the story. I was only 19 years old. The pain of that day lives with me. He believed if he paid my Grandma back, it would take away some of the guilt. I hope it did.

I began to visit him whenever I was in Tel Aviv. He worked in a bakery across from the giant shuk. I would meet him there, get a pastry and tea and talk to him Sometimes I would go back to his apartment.

When my parents came to visit me in Israel, I took them to see Zissel as well. His Yiddish was much better than his Hebrew. So when my parents came, he spoke mainly to them in Yiddish. He told more stories. And my mother and I cried along with him. I hope that his sad soul found peace.

The pearls were a bond between Zissel and me.

And so for me pearls, any pearls, have a story to tell. My mother-in-law’s
pearls and my mother’s pearls will be filled with joy as they experience only happy events. Every wedding will bring happiness to these pearls. And the sadness of the pearls that Zissel took will be wiped away.

The pearls my daughter and nieces have are also filled with love. And when I see them wearing my mother’s/grandmother’s pearls, their great-grandma, I know that the love of these two women are surrounding them.

A strand of pearls is not just a piece of jewelry, it is a circle of love.

 

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For Me the Fourth of July Echoes With Memories of My Dad and John Philip Sousa Marches

2 Jul

“Get up, get going, you are wasting the best part of the day,” my father would say early on a Saturday or Sunday morning. As teenagers all we wanted to do was sleep in on the weekends. But my Dad often had other ideas. He had chores he wanted us to do. If the talking did not work, he would play his favorite John Philip Sousa marches to wake us up. Heck, he would play marches all the time. He loved his Sousa marches.

I think we were the only children in North Bergen and the world who did their chores to John Philip Sousa marches. I can still see us lining up as a joke with mops and brooms marching around our house while the music blared. We would try to clean in time to the music. Well I would: vacuuming in time, dusting in time, ironing in time.

Dad loved his Sousa. Whenever I hear a march, I get the urge to clean. But I am able to resist. However, I do think of my Dad and his Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops collection (RCA Victor Label) of John Phillip Sousa marches. I can still hear “Stars and Stripes Forever” on an endless loop in my mind. But Dad had an entire collection of the Sousa marches. And we learned them all!

Needless to say, the Fourth of July was Dad’s favorite holiday. Those Sousa records would come out days before the Fourth as Dad prepared. You know my Dad could not sing at all. He tried, but he had no sense of pitch when he sang. But he would conduct along with the music, swinging his arms as if he was really in charge. I can remember seeing such joy on his face while he listened to the music.

His second favorite march was “Hail to the Chief.” Played whenever the President of the United States enters a room, with first the “Ruffles and Flourishes” introduction, “Hail to the Chief” made my Dad happy. In our house, he was the chief. And when he played that song he was letting us know who was boss. He would talk about his dream of one day having the song played for him.

And it happened. Dad served as president of his synagogue for 11 years. At a dinner honoring him, I mentioned his love of this song and his love of Sousa,   and his dream of hearing it played for him one day. When he came up to do his speech, the dance band spontaneously played “Hail to the Chief” in his honor. My Dad welled up with tears. He really was the President and he felt so honored.   I think my Mom, my siblings, our spouses and the two grandchildren there also cried out of pride and joy for Dad.

Dad did not only play his music on cleaning days. He brought his Sousa collection up to the Catskills. Since we had a very private four acres of land, he was able to play his Sousa as loud as he liked. And he liked to blast it out. I still have the sound of those brass instruments echoing in my mind.

And the times he got to see  any orchestra that played the marches live…Oh my!  That was the best for my Dad. Hearing the music live was even better than records or CDs. But I will say, his Arthur Fiedler records were his favorites.

When I think of his love of Sousa marches, I must also say that he loved the sight of a bald eagle.   Imagine my Dad, a proud veteran wearing an eagle or an American flag t-shirt, listening to John Philip Sousa marches on a relaxing weekend in the Catskills. Well he was relaxed, we were all wound up with the resounding booming music of Sousa.

Sousa wrote music for over 50 years! So there are quite a few marches to listen to over a weekend. He actually wrote almost 140 marches. And my siblings and I probably heard all of them at one time or another.

Among my favorites are the “Semper Fidelis March” written for the U.S. Marine Corps; “The Thunderer,” and the “U.S. Field Artillery,” which is the march for the US Army. (Sousa actually revised this melody, which was written by someone else.) Dad would ‘sing’ along with this last one, because it is the music to “The Caissons Go Rolling Along.” As a proud army veteran, he loved to sing this song.

For me the joys of the Fourth of July are not just the picnics, bar-b-ques,  the fireworks and the celebration of our country. For me  it is also time to listen to John Philip Sousa marches and remember my Dad.

 

 

Arthur Fiedler and Boston Pops “Stars and Stripes Forever’: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmdyobr77IA

Marine Band plays “Hail to the Chief.” : http://www.whitehousehistory.org/whha_exhibits/marine_band/audio_marine-band-03.html

John Philip Sousa’s Marine Band playing “Semper Fidelis March”: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:John_Philip_Sousa_-_U.S._Marine_Band_-_Semper_Fidelis_March.ogg

US Army Band plays, “The Caissons Go Rolling Along”: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Army_Goes_Rolling_Along

 

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