Tag Archives: parenting

“We Have a Bingo!” The Happiest Words at Bingo Night!

26 Sep

Although my grandparent’s bungalow colony was quite small, we were able to take advantage of many of the amenities provided by other Kauneonga Lake institutions.   One of my favorites was Bingo Night at the White Lake Estate homes.

Deep in the middle of the homes, between Hilltop Road and West Shore Drive, was the large round clubhouse, sitting next to a pool. The only time I usually walked by it was when we had to walk past it to get to Amber Lake.   We loved walking around Amber Lake. Before Donnefeld Drive was built up, it was a great place to find salamanders. But after houses were built there, Amber Lake was the place to go to discover all sorts of amphibians.

However, once a week was Bingo Night!!!   Anyone could go to the clubhouse to play. Or I assume so. But it might also have been the fact that my grandparents had many friends who lived in White Lake Estates homes. And now that I think of it, we usually sat near them when we went to play.

We walked along West Shore Road to Donnefeld Drive to West Shore Drive on our way to pay bingo. It was daylight when we walked there, but on the way home it was a very dark journey. At the time there were barely any homes on Donnefeld Drive, so we walked carrying flashlights to help on the way home. That was part of the adventure!

My brother often told us scary stories, as we walked, ones he had heard at Boy Scout camp. The scariest was about Cropsey. Oh my! He set my sister and I up for fear. He told us one day that Cropsey always came to get you after you saw a can swinging in a tree branch. Then, one day before we left for the bingo game, he hung a can on a tree on our path to bingo! As we passed the swinging can on our way, he pointed it out to us, to tell us it was a sign that Cropsey would come! That night when we got home and went to bed, he jumped up at our window with a mask and ax, screaming. I still cannot look outside into a dark night. I do not think I slept for a week!

But that was just an added and usual Catskills sibling event. The main attraction was Bingo Night.   My Grandma and Mom usually went with us for Bingo Night. Sometimes, just my Grandma. I think it was a time for my Mom to have a bit of peace and quiet. We were three very active children. And Grandma liked to go because she sat with her friend Nan. Sometimes one or more of our friends went with us as well. The more the merrier for bingo!

We carried our money carefully in our pockets. It was so exciting to enter the filled hall and stand on line to buy our cards. I cannot remember the price. But it was not expensive. We would buy a drink and a snack before we found seats. Now came the best part: the bingo games.

I remember the angst and excitement when we would be one away from bingo. Would we win? Or would someone else get the last number first? And what if two people won? We all knew not to move the see-through red buttons off our card until the caller yelled, “We have a Bingo!” That was the best call, especially if one of us was the winner. I will be honest that did not happen very often. But when it did! Wow!

The worst thing to happen was to accidentally move your card and have the red markers move. That was a disaster because it was really hard to recreate exactly what numbers had been called. Everyone would help, but it made for a sad game.

I always loved the last game of the evening, the all over board. You had to fill every single number on your card to win this one. And it usually had a bigger prize, perhaps $5.00 instead of the usual $1.00 or $2.00 prize. As I would get closer and closer to filling my card, my heart would begin to pound. I so wanted to win that prize! When a friend or a sibling won, I would be happy. But not the same type of happy I would feel if I actually won.

The joy of bingo stayed with me even as an adult. My mother-in-law, Lee, loved bingo. I remember going to St. Louis and going to her bingo game with her. It was always held in the same church, and was a fundraiser. Lee had a special bingo bag with colored markers and other paraphernalia.   By this time you would buy throw-away, thin paper cards that you marked with a colored marker. You no longer had to worry about the little round buttons moving. When Lee died, way too early at 59, I remember finding that bag and wondering what we should do with it. She loved bingo so much. I kept that bag for a while. But eventually the markers dried out, and I threw it all away.

In Kansas I never found a bingo game. But I have found that on cruises, there are often big bingo events. I actually won bingo on a cruise ship. The pay off is much bigger. I received $150 for winning! That was exciting!!

My daughter and I with our Minnesota bingo winnings. My friend and her son also won that night!

My daughter and I with our Minnesota bingo winnings. My friend and her son also won that night!

But it was not as exciting as taking my children to play bingo at a resort in Minnesota. We spent a week at the resort with friends and their children. There was a Bingo Night. It brought back so many happy memories. Between the two families we won four hands of bingo. I could not believe it. We even took a photo of the event holding up our winning bingo cards. This was the closest I have come as an adult to the excitement and joy of the Bingo Nights in the Catskills.

We always had something to do in the Catskills. It did not matter that there was not television and no transportation most of the week. Walking to Bingo Night, being with friends and family was enough to bring enjoyment in the Catskills.

 

 

http://cropseylegend.com/urban-legends

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The Moves of Summer Result in New Beginnings

23 Sep

With the arrival of autumn, I look back on a hectic summer. Four members of the next generation of my family moved this summer, while at the same time my siblings and I did the final cleaning of the Catskill home that once belonged to our grandparents and parents. It was a summer of change.

One nephew spent the summer in Tulsa, Oklahoma, training for the “Teach for America” program. After traveling from New Jersey, he meet up with 100s of other college graduates to begin this adventure in Oklahoma. On his way back to Indiana, where he is teaching, he and a friend stopped overnight at my home in Kansas.

He wanted to see his cousins, especially my daughter, who lives in Israel and was visiting. We had a great time. His presence helped my daughter as she frantically packed, and he quietly played the guitar.

But in the morning, before he and his friend left, there was a slight issue. Would they be able to fit everything back in the car? And still have room for two 6’3” young men. Before they left Tulsa, they had just thrown everything in. Now it needed to be a bit more organized.

My nephew's car before he left for Indiana.

My nephew’s car before he left for Indiana.

 

That was my job, and I was happy to help. My family would tell you that I am a bit OCD about having things fit in place. I have a map in my brain that cannot be stopped. Spatial relationships work for me. No one loads my dishwasher, but me. And when I buy groceries, no one puts them away but me. I have a program, a diagram in my mind.

In any case, when they drove off, I will not say with room to spare, because there was none. But they had some legroom.

Next was my daughter, she was flying back to Israel. She had come with two, basically empty suitcases, her carryon packed inside the other, larger bag. She was returning with three, all full. I did not have to help her pack. She has my talent for fitting things in, even more so! I just had to judge weight. I am really good at judging the 50-pound limit.

My daughter's room in the middle of the packing mess.

My daughter’s room in the middle of the packing mess.

Then she was off! When she returned to Israel, she was also moving into a new apartment. Some of the items she took back with her were to decorate her new home.

My other nephew called me a few weeks later, on a Thursday. He lived in Lawrence, Kansas, where he earned a master’s degree in math…with honors.   His request, the movers were coming on Monday morning, and he needed help packing. I was glad to assist. My husband and I drove out to his apartment of three years on Sunday.

“Do you have boxes?” I asked. His entire kitchen needed to be packed. He did not. We left my husband at the apartment while we went off to purchase boxes. On the way we had the following conversation:

“I might have to give some of my clothing away,” he stated disappointedly.

“Why?” I asked.

“Well in the three years I have lived here, I have purchased new clothing, and they don’t all fit into my suitcases,” he replied.

I did not laugh out loud. I kept calm and said, “That is why we buy boxes.”

“You can put clothing in boxes?” He asked.

“Yes, I will show you later.”

And we went into the store and purchased boxes, tape and packing supplies. I had bought lots of bubble wrap and newspapers with me, but I needed a few extra items.

My husband put the boxes together as I packed the kitchen. I had four boxes sitting on the floor as I analyzed where to place what items and how to pack most successfully without breakage. I gave my nephew four Tupperware containers to put in a box. He threw them in. “No,” I cried. “Put one inside the other. They take less space.”

“How do you figure out where to put what?” He asked.

At this point my husband looked up from his e-book and spoke out, “Think of it as a mathematical problem. That is what she is doing.”

One nephew taped boxes after I packed them.

One nephew taped boxes after I packed them.

It helped, that is when my nephew saw a little light in understanding on how to pack.

After I finished the kitchen, and we had packed other items, I had one large box left. “Bring me your clothes now.   Keep them on the hangers,” I told my nephew.

“ON the hanger?” He was stunned. “How will you fit them all in the box?

As I folded the clothes in half and put them in the box, I looked up at him. “Bring me more!”

He was elated. “They compress,” he said. And they do. The clothes compress and they all fit in the box.

“This is great,” he exclaimed.   “I can just hang them up in the closet when I get there.”

I was laughing at loud at this point. I even tried to text my sister, but I was laughing too much to send a coherent sentence.

He came and lived with us for a few days before driving to Florida with a friend. He is going to study for his PhD in math.   Before they left, I analytically loaded his car so everything fit including the two young men. Success.  My organizing talents were coming in to good use!

I left a few days after he left to visit my sister in New Jersey for a week. We went up to our Catskills home and met up with our brother. He had ordered a 20-cubic yard dumpster to be delivered. “We cannot leave till this is filled.” He said.

My brother filling the dumpster.

My brother filling the dumpster.

I thought, “No way.” But we filled it!

We emptied out the basement, garage and attic of all the junk accumulated over 52 year. What amazed me is that we had been slowly cleaning this house out for two years, in bits and pieces. But I never imaged we had that much more that needed to be ousted from the bowels and hiding places. Now the house is ready for life again. We will be spending more time up there. And all the junk is gone; the dumpster was filled!  (Do not worry, anything that can be recycled, will be.  The items that could be used were given away!)

I returned home from New Jersey and New York, to my son’s move. He left his small one bedroom apartment to move in with a college friend. This move was a little smoother. He and his girlfriend had been packing while I was gone. And he was just moving across the parking lot to a two-bedroom place.

Setting up the kitchen in my son's apartment.

Setting up the kitchen in my son’s apartment.

 

My son, three friends and his girlfriend did all the moving. I stayed in the new apartment and put the kitchen together; lined shelves, put away dishes, glassware, utensils and food. Then I loaded books, videos and games into bookcases. I also directed the boys and where to place the furniture. We got it mostly done in about four hours on a Friday. WOW.   His roommate moved in on Sunday. I was exhausted and did not have to help with his move.

Four moves and a house cleansing — sort of like four weddings and a funeral. The moves are all new beginnings for my nephews, son and daughter. Cleaning the house was, in a way, like a funeral. As we cleaned away the items in the attic, basement and garage, we found treasures that brought back wonderful memories. We sat and talked.  My sister, nieces and I shared memories.  My brother said we were doing the harder work, looking at all the memorabilia.

New beginnings for our children and for us as we celebrate a new year with sweetness and joy.

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Sometimes Rainy Days Were the Best Days In the Catskills

17 Sep

There is something special about a rainy day.

Perhaps it is my memories of summer time respites. On rainy days we were not expected to run around outside, we could stay in and read a book. I still love reading a book on a rainy day! It brings me such joy.

My friend and I were diehard Nancy Drew readers one summer. I remember wonderful rainy day afternoons lying on her bed near the window with our Nancy Drew books. We wanted to read every single one! I think we got close to accomplishing our goal.

Other days we worked on art projects. She wanted to be a dress designer and was always making paper doll dresses. Designing her own special dresses to fit the paper dolls we had. Hundreds of dresses were produced on the kitchen table during summer rains. And yes, she did study fashion design in college!

But for me the love was reading. I love murder mysteries and I am sure that this love started on those rainy summer days. I loved when our fathers came up on the weekends, especially if they brought along another yellowed-spine Nancy Drew book. However, I was not that picky, I read my brother’s Hardy Boy mystery books as well.

On those miserably cold rainy days that occurred in the 1960s in the Catskills, my grandfather would bake. That was a joy. The smell of fresh bread and cookies in the house was wonderful. He had an entire bakery shop set up in his basement, the remains of his bakery, which he had sold in the early 1960s. The giant mixer, the pans, the cooling shelves were all there. We would help him braid challah and shape cookies. Then we would run up and down the stairs with the pans for my Grandma and Mom to put into the oven. Sometimes we had three ovens going: in the house, in the bungalow and in the apartment where my friend stayed. It was a great rainy day event, especially since we knew we were going to have treats to eat!

My Mom did not always like rainy days, especially if there were clothes hanging on the line. We had no dryer then!   When the rain started we often ran as fast as we could to get the items off the line and hang them around the bungalow. This was especially important in summers when there was a lot of rain. We sometimes would run out of dry clothing.

One summer we actually did run out of clothes. I remember my Mom telling my brother to stay out of the lake! My brother was known for ‘falling’ in the lake. (Although one of my cousins admits helping my brother ‘fall in’ a few times.) Well you can imagine what happened. He was in the lake with his last dry pants. I do not really remember what happened. But I think he had to stay in the bungalow for a day or two in pajamas!

It was on rainy days that I learned to knit and crochet. I would sit with my Mom and Grandmas and all the other women knitting away in someone’s bungalow while having tea. While they knit sweaters, I and the other younger ‘girls’ had easier projects to work on. Those sweaters lasted forever. There are still some in the family.

Mahjong, gin rummy and canasta were important rainy day events for the Moms and Grandmas. While we played our board games, sitting on the floor; they played their games at the kitchen table. As soon as my sister and I were old enough, we were introduced to the importance of Mahjong.

It is true that on sunny days we were outside riding our bicycles, swimming, picking blueberries, running around, playing on the swings, and just having adventures. But sometimes a rainy day was really the best day in the Catskills. It gave us a chance to recharge and relax. Actually, I guess every day in the Catskills was truly the best day ever.

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A Day Like No Others; We Can Bring Back Light

9 Sep

It was my Dad’s 73rd birthday, ten days after the death of my father-in-law. I planned to call my Dad when I got home from the gym and have a nice long chat with him while my children were in school. But the day did not go as planned.

It was September 11, 2001.

I never made it to the gym, while driving there a special alert came on the radio. A plane had flown into the World Trade Tower. I turned my car around and went home. I grew up in New Jersey. My entire family, except for one cousin, lived in the metropolitan New York City area. So many worked and lived in Manhattan. I was a little scared.

My sister worked near to the Towers, and that was where her subway station was located.   It was about 9:40 am NY time. And I needed to hear her voice.

A photo taken by my father on 9/11.

A photo taken by my father on 9/11.

My first call was to my parents. They were watching the Towers from their apartment window. My father was beside himself. We had watched the Towers be built in NYC from the Jersey side. He loved them. In fact, my daughter thought my Dad owned the Towers, he talked about them so much when we drove to their apartment from Newark Airport.

But now he was watching in horror and fear. I told my Mom to give him a camera. The photo you see here of that day was taken by my Dad from their apartment. He never saw the photos he took. He gave me the unexposed film on the Thanksgiving after the Towers were destroyed. He said, “Here, I did what you asked. But I never want to see it again.”

As for my sister, I did not get to speak to her right away. She was in the City, trying to get home.   And all the cell phones were out since the Towers fell. I spoke briefly to my brother in law. He was beyond upset. His anxiety oozed through the phone lines.

So I sat in my house with a neighbor, another New York area transplant. We watched the news, and over and over again watched the Towers fall. We were united in fear, until we heard that both of our sisters were safe.

Then I called the high school where my daughter was a sophomore. “Are they watching this?” I asked the school secretary. “It is on in every classroom,” she told me.

“Then I need to get a note to my daughter. Can I do that today?” I asked. “Tell her that my sister is alive, she is fine.”

“I will send the note right away,” the secretary said.

It wasn’t till 11 that evening that my Dad called to say everyone in my family was accounted for and safe. Not all families had such good news.

A piece of metal from the World Trade Towers in Overland Park, Kansas.

A piece of metal from the World Trade Towers in Overland Park, Kansas.

In Overland Park we have a 9/11 memorial. It has a piece of a steel beam from the towers that were destroyed. Since it opened two years ago, I go on September 11 and sit there for a while and think about my Dad and the changes in NYC and in the USA since the attacks.

The 9/11 Memorial in Kansas tells the story.

The 9/11 Memorial in Kansas tells the story.

They have a ceremony there on September 11. I do not go for that. I wait till everyone is gone. Then I sit and think. I remember my Dad and his love of the Twin Towers, and I think about the changes in the world since the horrid events that day.

This past summer, when I made my annual visit to New Jersey and New York, I went back to the site of the towers. We have many good memories concerning the site, including eating dinner at the Windows on the World restaurant the night before my sister got married.

The imprint of one of the towers. A fountain of tears.

The imprint of one of the towers. A fountain of tears.

But as I looked into the giant fountains of tears, the footprints of the towers, as I read the names of those who perished, as I saw the beautiful white roses left in the names of victims, I was hushed like all the others who were there.

I did go into the Memorial Museum. I went by myself. It was a mistake. I really think you need to go with someone to be able to share the sorrow. And parents, do not take young children behind the glass doors into the area that advises you not to take children in. No child needs to listen to the voices of those who no longer live or to see the videos of people falling. It was almost too much for me to bear. I did not linger in that area.

As you go down, down, down into the bowels of the ground between the footprints of the towers, you can only imagine the fear of those who were there that day.

It was a day like no other, leading to a world that had changed in a flash of fire. September 11 will never just be another day.

While I add September 11 to days I will never forget, and I think of all those who perished, I also know that we need to stand united.

There are people in the world who are filled with hatred. But I do not believe we should bend to their will. We remember what happen, but we also reach forward to life.

As Anne Frank stated, ““Look at how a single candle can both defy and define the darkness.”

Freedom Tower

We must, in memories of the Towers and those who perished, be candles defying darkness. As the new Freedom Tower nears completion, we know that we can bring back light.

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Sharing Yiddish and Superstitions in Kansas

8 Sep

One of the most difficult adjustments I made when I moved to Kansas is to stop speaking Yiddish. In New York and New Jersey it seems even those who are not Jewish know the most important Jewish words: schlep, gonif, meshuganah, punim, shayna, tottale, madelah, gor nish, keppi, kibbitz, yenta, mishpocha and more!

I never had a problem slipping in a work of Yiddish when I was talking with friends. But then I moved to the Midwest. And I realized that even Jewish people here did not speak Yiddish. Not even the English/Yiddish I spoke.

The little bit of Yiddish I spoke to my own children was about all I heard most of the time, except when I made my yearly journey back East to visit family.

So when I discovered someone with my knowledge base I was thrilled. It was actually someone I knew for years, but we just did not speak about our childhoods and our American/European Yiddish upbringings.

We not only had the Yiddish in common, we had the superstitions.

One of the early indications that she and I spoke the same language had to do with a bindle. That red thread you wear to keep the evil eye, the ayin hora, away. We discussed bindles an entire evening. I told her about the red bindles I had placed on my children’s cribs. I told her that when I was pregnant with my first child, the only thing my Grandfather asked me to do was to put a bindle on the crib. And so I did. I also put one on the highchair, the car seat and playpen.

To this day I have bindles on our cars. There are the bindles I put on each of the kitchen chairs. One of my friends, who heard the conversation, said, “I thought those ribbons were for the cats to play with. “ Nope, there were all red. Whenever we get a gift with red ribbon, it goes somewhere in the house to act as a bindle. I figure if someone gave me a gift, the red ribbon has positive energy.

My friend made her son wear a bindle when his wife was pregnant. I carried a bindle when my husband had surgery. It doesn’t hurt! And I believe it helps. And for extra good fortune or ‘mazel,’ I tied 18 knots in to the red yarn, as did my friend’s son!

I told her that the one on my son’s car had fallen off, and I had not put a new one on yet. She encouraged me to do it soon. And I did. A few weeks later he had a tire problem. It started on the highway, but did not get bad till he got home. The bindle worked! So I am keeping it there.

But do not worry, even when his car did not have a bindle, my son’s car did have 18 cents to keep it safe. Now it is just double safe.

Which brings me to money in cars. Last summer my husband and I sold two of our cars to neighbors. Each car had multiples of 18 cents in them. In Hebrew the word for life are the two letters that add up to the number 18, so multiples of 18 are considered lucky. When we sold the cars, I left the money in the glove compartments. The boy next door brought me back all the things he found in my car that I did not get out before he took it, including the money. I gave the money back. I have known him since he was three years old. I want him safe as well.

The other neighbor, who bought my other car, I exchanged the ‘gelt’ (money). My parents had given me the 36 cents in that car. And since they are no longer alive, I wanted to keep their coins. I gave my friend an equal amount to keep in her car. My two non-Jewish, Kansas neighbors are happily driving around with good luck money in their cars!

Yes, we are a little superstitious in our Yiddish beliefs. But they are important!

Which is obvious about our next Yiddish/European Jewish belief. One day, at a holiday meal, my friend asked me, in front of her son, “What did your Mom do when you got your period for the first time?” My answer, “It wasn’t my Mom, it was my grandma and she slapped my face.”

”I knew you would know!” She exclaimed. “I knew it.” She then told me her somewhat sad story. I will not repeat it because it is her story. But I will say, I felt badly for her when I heard what happened.

Our conversation went downhill for her son. He left. Even though he is a doctor, he just did not want to listen to this discussion. But my friend and I had a great time talking superstitions and Yiddish.

Of course she grew up in New York and spent her summers in the Catskills. I grew up in New Jersey and spent my summers in the Catskills. We cannot help but share many experiences about growing up that people who grew up in Kansas and Missouri just do not understand.

We can spend hours talking about our childhoods. And we have! Our discussions bring back so many happy memories.

I think we need to spend a day speaking about Yiddish expressions. My grandparents would say, “Hock mir nicht ein Chinok,” to mean stop bothering me.   It really means ‘don’t bang the tea kettle,’ but it makes sense. My favorite was “Ge Loch in kupf in Vald.” I might not be spelling it correctly. But it means go bang your head against the wall. That was their favorite saying when we said we were bored.

As my children in their 20s and are dating now, I remember my grandfather telling me that there is a “‘lid for every pot.” And I say “From Your Mouth to God’s Ears,” to a friend who has just made a prediction that I would like to happen, when I want something good to happen.

The Jewish superstitions, Yiddish sayings and language will always be with me, wherever I live. But it is nice to have someone to share Yiddish and superstitions in Kansas.

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What a week! A Murder and a Campus Lock Down Impact My Life

5 Sep

I honestly thought that with my daughter living in Tel Aviv, Israel, that when the bombing and war there ended, I would be able to watch the news again and be calm when watching. But that did not happen.   This past week in the Kansas City area has been emotionally stressful.

On Tuesday there was a triple homicide in south Kansas City. A friend of mine said it happened on 107 and Wornall, I corrected her and said it was further south, because I knew the area well. Someone I knew lived there. But having said that, at the same time, I had no concern about this friend. It was not possible that something would happen to her.

On Wednesday, I found out that I was wrong. Another friend told me the horrifying news that the woman I knew was one of those murdered. We were in a store when she told me. I paid for my items, went out to my car and began to shake. I had just seen this woman a few days before at clothing store. We showed each other the outfits we were trying on. And gave opinions. Now she was dead. It did not seem possible.

I called another friend.   I needed to talk to someone before I drove; I was so shook up. And it was true. Thank you for calming me down so I could drive home.

Yesterday, Thursday, the college campus that my son attends went on lock down.   He was there in a class. When I saw on the news what was happening, I texted him. And yes he was on lock down.   He was okay.

His girlfriend also texted me to tell me where My son was and that he was okay.

But a few minutes later, my son texted these words, “I am very scared.”

At that point my heart broke and my panic started. But I knew I could not let him know that I was scared as well. And due to the shootings earlier in the week, I could not say ‘nothing will happen.’ I felt anxious.

I started sending him text with information from the news, from the police reports. I believe it helped calm him as there was no active shooter, just reports of a woman with a gun.  We could text, but he could not speak so I could not call him.

I texted him to come to our home immediately after he got out…not to go to his apartment. The campus was just two miles from our home.  We continued texting for two hours. But then there was silence.  I hate silence!

After a half hour of silence, during which I sent him six texts, he arrived home. He got a very big and long hug from me.  He then laughed and said,  “I have lots of texts from you!”  I glad my texting gave him some comic relief!

He told us an armed police officer in tactical gear came into their class and told them to barricade the room, turn off the lights, get on the floor and stay quiet, till the police came again. And there they sat for three hours.  Their professor gave them updates when he received them.

The police searched every building. When his class was released they had to go through other buildings. All students had to exit from the same place so the police could see them. And when he drove away, he had to stop so the police could look into his car.

We drove to his apartment and picked up his roommate, and we took the boys out to dinner. It was after 7 pm and we were now hungry.

My son told us what happened again during dinner. I think he needed to get it out of his system. He said, “I thought about every scenario that could happen.”  I told him that everyone was scared. As they interviewed other students they all talked about thinking about what might happen, just as he did.

After dinner, before my son left us, I again hugged him for a very long time. He told his Dad, “Get a crowbar!” I did not want to let go.

Now I am getting ready to go to the funeral of the woman who was murdered in her driveway. The week ends tomorrow.

I will go to synagogue and pray for the family of the woman who died. I will also pray and be thankful that the college campus only had an inconvenience and not a disaster; and that my son came home safely to me.

I never expected in one week that a murder and a campus lock down would impact my life!  I have always felt so safe in Kansas, but this year with the shootings at the Jewish Community Campus, and this past week, some of my beliefs and feelings of  calm have been impacted.

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The First Day of School is Exciting, Frightening and a Memory Forever

25 Aug
The 74th Street side of Robert Fulton Elementary School.

The 74th Street side of Robert Fulton Elementary School.

Last week, as I sat on my front stoop waiting for my walking partner, I watched as parents and children walked to school. The start of a new school year always has Moms and Dads walking with their children pass my home to the elementary school two blocks away. I love the first day of school. The children and parents are so excited. Perhaps for different reasons, but excited together. Dads stay home from work for an extra hour or so to be part of the first day rituals. Some moms cry, especially when their first or last child starts kindergarten. It is a glorious day. And this year the weather was perfect!

Whenever I see the start of a new year, I flash back to my older brother’s first day of kindergarten. I cannot help it. It was so traumatic for us all. My Mom had given birth to my younger sister on September 2. My brother and I were in the Catskills while this happened, and then we came back to North Bergen. I think my brother missed the first few days of school as we were with my grandparents.

In any case, he was only four; we had spent about a month away from our Mom; there was a new baby in the house; and now he had to go to kindergarten at Horace Mann Elementary. That first day my parents and I went with him. I still remember his screaming, “Please don’t leave me! I promise to be good! Come back!”

He was at the door of the classroom pounding, trying to get to my Mom, who was hysterical crying. All those hormones and my scared brother made for a very unhappy Mom.   My brother thought that they were trading him in because they had a new baby. It took a while for him to realize he would be coming home every day.

In fact for two weeks, Doris, a childhood friend of my Mom’s, came each morning to our home on Third Avenue to pick my brother up and take him to school with her daughter. And I mean pick him up. At first he fought so much she would carry him screaming out of the house. I never wanted to go to school if it was that bad.

Two years later it was my turn to start kindergarten. I was petrified. But a few days before school started my brother came over to me and whispered in my ear, “School is really not that bad,” he said. “You will be okay.”   And so I went to school without any screaming!

By the time my sister started kindergarten, she was more than ready. I had been playing school with her for years. She was the student and I was the teacher. She would read and write better than most first grade students. I thought I was a great sister because I got her prepared. Although she might tell you that I was a very mean teacher. But I disagree.

I spent my entire school career in one school district, North Bergen, New Jersey. I did change elementary schools when we moved across town. Some teachers I never forgot. I was in Mrs. Wall’s third grade class when President Kennedy was assassinated.   I will never forget that November day or the look on Mrs. Wall’s face when another teacher came in to tell her.

I went from Horace Mann to Robert Fulton in fourth grade. We would be moving in October, but my parents had us start the new school year at Robert Fulton. It seemed like a giant change at the time. I missed my friends. (Our schools went from kindergarten to eighth grade; then a separate high school.) But we were not so far away that I could not visit with them. And once I got to high school, we were reunited.

Most people stayed in one place then. But now it is so different. Families move around much more. Children start in new schools more often now. So the first day of school is a bit more stressful. New home, new city, new school, these can all stress a family and a child

My two children had easy starts to kindergarten. Their elementary school was in the same building as their preschool. So it was just a change in the building’s entrance. By the time my son started kindergarten, I was teaching in the same school, which made his transition even easier. We sometimes saw each other during the day.

Because I still work at a school, the beginning of the school year impacts me. I work throughout the summer on a limited basis. But the week or so before school starts everything amps up. This year my office moved, I got a new computer, so I had lots of changes as well. I felt the excitement I always feel when school starts, with a little extra because of my own changes.

My daughter is now done with school, so she is not impacted by this cycle. However, my son is still in college. I recently helped him move into a new apartment with a friend. He is back in classes now after a summer of just working at his fast food job. And his school cycle continues.

Besides helping my son, I also try to help others. For many the expenses of a new school year are daunting. I volunteered to help for our local National Council of Jewish Women, Greater Kansas City Section’s ‘Back to School Store.’ We provided school supplies and back to school clothing for over two hundred elementary school children. The names were provided to us from outside agencies that knew of children in need. It was a wonderful experience buying school supplies, sorting clothing and then helping children pick out the perfect supplies and clothing.

To be honest, when I helped sort the clothes the week before the event, I saw these bright pink jeans that I thought were a bit too bright. But the little nine-year old girl, I took through the ‘store,’ was in heaven when she saw them. And when they fit, Wow.  She told me that the entire event was like “a wonderful dream.”   It made my day!

It is such a magic time: students going to elementary school, high school and college. So many of my friends were taking their older children to away to college. Many were taking either their oldest or youngest to college for the first time. Others were taking their children for their senior year or graduate school. These children are ready to start a new adventure without the constant presence of their parents.

As the new school year starts, I think it is normal to glance backwards to our own time in school, our children’s time, while at the same time looking to the future. Another year of school impacts us all. I hope, in Kansas, and throughout the nation that spending for schools and children improves this year. And that everyone has a wonderful year free from bullying, able to learn with teachers who care.

And I hope that parents remember, the first day of school is exciting, frightening and a memory forever.

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I believe Mystically and Magically Great Grandma Chava Watches Over Me

22 Aug

Chava Amsterdam

Even though I was born long after the Holocaust ended, I have a connection that defies logic. I am named for my great grandmother Chava. She was hidden during the war and was murdered when she returned to the farm her family owned by the people who occupied and stole it. I have been told that she was shot in the head.

I learned about her when I was 11 years old. Before that I only knew I was named for Grandpa Nat’s mother. And that was all.

But when I was 11 years old, living in North Bergen, NJ, I had a major fight with my younger sister. I ran after her screaming, “I am going to cream you.”   As she ran away from me, I felt a giant tug on my pony tail. My gentle Mom was dragging me to the sink. “Never use that word in my house. Never. They burned your Grandpa’s family alive in the fires of the crematoria of Austzvitz. You will never use that word in my house.”   And then she put soap in my mouth. I have never, ever forgotten that.

I never even thought of the slang word, “cream” meaning ‘to kill,’ had anything to do with the holocaust. But in my mother’s mind it meant crematoria. And perhaps she was right. I have not found a reference for it. But it does not matter. What it did do was open up a conversation.

My Mom was the gentlest person around. For her to do this, something horrible must have happened. And so I learned about the Shoah. I learned about my grandfather’s family and how they died: some of it, not all of it. Some came later.

But mainly I learned about Grandma Chava.

I thought about her so much, I started speaking to her in my mind. When I was worried about something, I spoke to her. When I was scared, I spoke to her. I knew she had been through so much that perhaps I could gain strength from her. And she would not let that happen to me. One generation was enough. When I was worried, I imagined her near to me.

When my son was little and afraid to sleep alone at night, I once told him that there are angels guarding him. And I mentioned my great grandma. I will admit this backfired. When my son was about 8 we went to see a production of “Footloose.” When they sang the song with the lyrics, “Somebody’s eyes are watching you,” he had to leave the theater. He told me he thought about my great grandma and her watching him. So I changed that image for him.

But for me, thinking of my great grandmother was always helpful. I did not think about how she died or what happened to the family. I thought that she would never let it happen again.

Often my Grandma Thelma, who had spent six months living with Grandma Chava in Europe, would say, “You are so much like Chava. She also was shreier or a machshafer or chachama.” Whatever she wanted to compare me with that day.

But basically Great Grandma Chava was a strong-willed person, as was I growing up. And I think I still am.

Because I was named for Grandma Chava, I was given jewelry that was hers and embroideries that she made. I now have a picture of a bird she embroidered hanging in my dining room. I was given the matzah cover she made for Pesach, which I have since donated to a museum. (See my blog: “Watching Antiques Roadshow Inspired Me to Donate my Great-Grandmother’s Matzah Cover.”)

Recently we found a photo just of her. My Grandpa looked like his mother. My brother looks like her. One of my nieces looks like her. And I held her photo up to my daughter and there is a resemblance as well.

As for me, I look like the determination you can see in her face. She is staring straight at the camera, and in my eyes she is so strong.

My desk with Great Grandma Chava watching.

My desk with Great Grandma Chava watching.

I enlarged the photo and hung it by my desk so I can see her whenever I am working. Because I always have and still feel that she is my guardian angel. We share the same nechama, the same essence.

Almost all of her children and grandchildren died in the Shoah, except my Grandpa and his family because he was in the USA. There were no grandchildren till years after the Shoah. My older boy cousin was named for my great grandfather, who also perished. And I, the oldest girl, was named for Chava.

So I sit at my computer working. And I turn my head slightly to see her. The world of magical thinking makes me believe that she knows we survived. That she knows her great-great granddaughter has moved to Israel. That she is not only looking over me, but also over my daughter.

As rockets fall in Israel, I think, ‘never again.’ Another Chava cannot lose her daughter to the hatred of anti-Semitism. And I believe, mystically and magically, that Great Grandma Chava is watching my daughter as well. And I feel her ruach, her comforting whisper. All will be well.

 

Schreier: screamer/yeller

Machshafer: witch

Chachama:  Smart one/intelligent

Nechama: soul, essence

Ruach: wind, spirit

 

http://lyrics.wikia.com/Footloose:Somebody’s_Eyes

 

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I Am And Always Will Be A Jersey Girl

17 Aug

Lately I have seen lots of little ‘funny’ lists on what makes a woman a Jersey Girl. Some are funny, and some I find somewhat insulting. I hated the television show, “Jersey Shore,” because it showed people from NY/Long Island on the Shore. And people assumed that is what Jersey Girls were like. And it is so NOT true.

So here is my Jersey Girl/Woman list. It is not in any priority order because all of these are Number One to a Jersey Girl!

First Jersey Girls stand up for what is right and for other women. An example from my life:

My niece, who is now in her 30s, played baseball when she was in middle and high school. As the only girl with four brothers, including a twin brother, she never played softball. Instead she was one of the catchers on the elite team that her twin and next older brother played on. She was strong and she was fearless. Even though she was from St. Louis, she had some of the markings of a true Jersey Girl.

One year her team played in a regional competition in Kansas near where I live. I took my daughter to see the team play as much as possible that weekend. But the first game that was played stands out and remains a family legend. My niece was one of only two or three girls playing during that tournament. There were hundreds of teenage boys.

The first time my niece went up to bat, she was hit by a ball thrown by the pitcher. Of course she got to walk. But I was mildly annoyed. The pitcher did not hit any of the preceding batters. The innings went on. And eventually my niece was in the line up to bat again. And yes, she was once again hit by a ball. The only batter to be hit… and twice. I was sitting right behind the catcher. I could see the eyes of the pitcher. I knew he did it on purpose. I was furious!

None of the men said anything. Not the coaches, not the umpire, none of the other players. I stood. I walked to fence behind the catcher right at the field. And I yelled to the pitcher and to the coaches. “ If he hits my niece with a ball again. I am coming on the field. It is Enough!” Those might not have been my exact words. But they got the message. No one throws a ball directly at my niece! My Jersey Girl instinct went into full gear. And I was protecting her. Not something that happens in quiet Kansas so often.

She turned back and smiled at me as she walked to first base. Later she told me it happens all the time. Some boys do not like girls playing baseball. My standing up for her became a beloved family legend.

Second, Jersey Girls do not take fools and stupidity quietly. I recently had to help a nephew buy a car. I will not go into full details. Let’s just say the financial guy at the dealership was not very good and made several errors. I will admit he was young, but that was no excuse. Eventually I had the manager of the dealership called. And we had a little talk.   I explained my point of view and all that had gone wrong. I was angry.   I explain that my next step was Facebook, Internet and letters. And that this had to be fixed now. They had wasted my entire day with their stupidity because they had not checked their facts!

They let my nephew drive his car that evening.   We had to go back the next day to finish up the paperwork, since they had messed it up the first day. When we met with the financial guy again, I asked if he had learned anything from the experience. To be honest, I thought he would say that he would check his facts first. But no, his response surprised even me, “I learned never to cross a woman from New Jersey ever again.”

A good lesson, I am sure.

Third, Jersey Girls are very compassionate and will always help the underdog. We might seem tough on the outside. We might give all the air of confidence and competence, which is true to our nature. But when we see someone hurting. When we see a wrong being committed, we help.

I volunteer for an organization that works to help disadvantaged children and families in our community. This year we had a “Back to School” store where we provided school supplies and clothing for about 200 elementary school children. The day of the event, I was one of the volunteers who took the children around to pick out their supplies and clothes. My first little girl got to pick pink jeans, a pink top and a pink coat. She even got new shoes that had pink and purple stitching on them.

As we walked, holding hands, through the room and picking out her school supplies, she looked up to me and said, “This is Like a Wonderful Dream.”

We made the start of her school year wonderful. And I, the soft-hearted Jersey Girl, melted.

Fourth, we will always help a neighbor in need.   I am so tired of hearing that people in New Jersey are uncaring; that they don’t help people in need; that they could just walk past someone hurting. No, not true!

Years ago, when my daughter was a toddler, I was out on my deck when something unusual happened across the street. My neighbor was collapsed in her driveway, her five-year-old son was next to her, and the police and ambulance were coming down the block. I quickly crossed the street. The Mom was rushed to the hospital. The police locked the doors to the house and gave the young boy to me. I brought him home.

I called the school office, as he was in afternoon kindergarten, to tell what was going on. They gave me his Dad’s work number so I could call him. He was understandably distressed: wife in the hospital, son missing. I reminded him who I was, and that I was going to feed the boy lunch and take him to school, as I felt being with his friends and in his routine would be best.   And I told him how wonderful his son was, as he called 911. I told the school as well, when I walked the boy to the school two blocks away.

I have a special place in my heart for this boy. He is in his 30s now. And his Mom and I stay in touch. We Jersey girls never let a child or neighbor in need go unassisted.

Fifth, a Jersey Girl takes action when others are standing around not sure what to do.   My husband and I went on a cruise around the Greek Islands. When we returned to Greece, it took forever for the luggage to get off the ship. Suddenly a man collapsed. Some people went over, including a doctor.   I asked what was happening. “A diabetic who took his insulin but did not eat.” I could handle that. I reached into my bag and pulled out rice cakes covered in cinnamon and sugar. They melt in your mouth. I brought it over and gave the doctor the bag. “This will work,” he said. I knew it. The man recovered. His wife came to thank me. No problem. I had a diabetic Dad.   I would want someone to help him one day. Taking action is what a Jersey Girl does in times of crisis. We do not panic!

Six, a Jersey Girl is there for her family. (Jersey boys as well.) As my parents used to tell us, “Brothers and Sisters stick together.” To my brother, when we were little, that meant “No one but me can hit my sisters.” But as we got older, we work together as a team, which we did when our parents passed away and in dealing with other family events that were tragic. My siblings and I are a team. And my extended family is always there when we need them or they need us!

Finally, Jersey Girls never forget! Do something good for us, we will remember you with love and return the favor over and over. Do something mean and nasty to us or to someone we love or know, and we will never forget. Do not get on the wrong side of a Jersey Girl.

We Jersey Girls have learned to be strong, to stand up for the rights of others, to protect our families and friends. We take no gruff from people.  We teach our daughters and our sons to be strong, independent, proud and good people.  And we defend ourselves.

We might not be perfect, but as the song says: “Cause nothing matters in the whole wide world, when you are in love with a Jersey Girl.”

 

 

http://www.lyricsfreak.com/b/bruce+springsteen/jersey+girl_10051738.html

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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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