As I was walking up to the Siena College Chapel for 12:30PM Mass today I started singing a song I often sing to myself as I walk. It is a song that always makes me think of my Mother. She really liked this song; I believe it was popular in her youth. I started liking the song more and more when I began to listen more closely to the words and I came to realize that they basically contained a good summarization of my mother's philosophy of life. Rita was noted for her smile. She was always smiling even when she was smiling in essence through her tears. Life wasn't perfect for my mother just as it isn't perfect for any of us, but my mother never gave up smiling. And no, it wasn't a superficial sort of thing that she plastered on her face. Rather, it was born of a deep realization of, and gratitude for, the many blessings in her life. My mother loved people, loved a party, loved a Manhattan, and loved going out for dinner. She also loved to cook for family and friends and even people who were little more than strangers. If you happened to be in the neighborhood or stop by at dinner time, you were welcome to stay for dinner. Mary, she'd say, set another place at the table. Some times there would be a mish-mosh (is that a word?) of tables snaking through the downstairs rooms due to the fact that my Mom could not turn away a single soul. For a moment or two, it would drive me nuts as I envisioned all the extra work involved. But, once the guests started talking and laughing, I, too, was happy to have a crowd. It was wonderful fun - a celebration of life and love. Many days as I walk along singing - and especially when I need it the most - I happen to look down at my feet and there lying in the dirt I see one of these pennies. I know it is from heaven and I always lean over and pick it up. I say, Thanks Mom, and I smile. Although I don't have all the word or have them in perfect order (remember life isn't suppose to be perfect) here is a little bit of the song: Don't you know each cloud contains, pennies from heaven. You'll find your fortune falling all of the time, make sure your umbrella is upside down. If you want the things you love, you must have showers, so when you hear it thunder don't run under a tree, they'll be pennies from heaven for you and for me. When the clouds came along in her life, my mother kept looking and hoping for the pennies from heaven that were sure to follow. She would always make sure that her umbrella was upside down; she had faith and she wanted to me ready when the good stuff arrived. Love You Mommie
I worked on the NYS DOH Nursing Home Complaint Hotline Friday and it was a slow day. Better to be slow than hear too many horror stories about the care in nursing homes across the State. Also it is always nice to see my old friends on the Hotline – they are a nice bunch of people. The last call I received before leaving for the day was concerning a 65 year old man who had had a stroke (aka a CVA or Cerebral Vascular Accident). He was aphasic (unable to speak) as a consequence of his stroke and his cognitive abilities were impaired. Believe me, when you are one month short of your 65th birthday, you don’t like hearing this kind of story. It does however give me more incentive to get on my treadmill and follow my cardio-fit diet a bit more closely. See, working once in awhile has its benefits.
On Saturday Bob and I took our grandson, Connor, to his ski lessons at Maple Ski Ridge. The slops were practically empty and only 3 out of 8 kids in his class showed up for the lesson. Can’t say as I blame them. Considering the wind chill, the temperature was about 10 degrees below zero. Connor didn’t bat an eye. Typically the kids sit out in the snow and have their mid-lesson break of animal crackers and water but this Saturday the instructor brought them inside the ski lodge for snack. I’m sure they wanted to take extra care to avoid any cases of hypothermia. Connor’s class is just one of many classes and it is amazes me to see all these tiny people moving around on skis. I guess four and a half years of age is a good time to begin skiing. Connor seems to love it and in spite of the sub-zero weather hung in there for the entire hour and a half lesson. But Connor's Mema isn't as resilient as her grandson. Even though I stood outside in this bitter cold and watched my dear, sweet grandson for most of his lesson, it was a mighty struggle. I succumbed to the temptation of an indoor hot chocolate break and a couple of bathroom excursions. Near the end of the lesson, I caved and left Bob all alone to wait for Connor's dismissal. I could no longer feel my toes and my fingers felt like icicles. I ran back to the car and struggled to get the car door opened. My fingers were so cold I could hardly maneuver my keys even though all I needed to do was click the lock open symbol. Finally, I slid into the front seat and took in the beautiful sun streaming through the car windshield. The car felt wonderful to me. It blocked the bitter wind and it was pleasantly warm after having sat directly in the sun for two hours. Eventually, Connor and Bob walked back to the car hand in hand. Connor was all smiles and no worse for the wear. I had packed a lunch and we ate and visited in the car on the way back to Diane’s house. I noticed Connor’s hands were toasty warm. Mine were still freezing. It took me the rest of the day, the rest of the evening and far into the night to finally warm up again. I now have a much better understanding of the resiliency of youth and what it actually means to be chilled to the bone. Mema Mary Beth PS Connor is the little guy in the big white helmet
Well a rare thing happened last night. I actually slept straight through the night- just short of 8 hours. And believe me, at this point in my life, this is truly unheard of. So this morning when I woke up, I luxuriated ( is that a word?) in my bed for awhile. As I laid there enjoying this extravagance some thoughts started flowing. I said to myself, Why not write in your Blog in the morning for a change? And so I shall.
I was thinking about how certain songs and sayings have glued and cemented certain events and people into my memory. For better or for worse whenever I hear a certain song or a certain saying, I remember that time in my life and more importantly the people connected to me at that point in my history. There are so many stories tied to each of these songs or sayings that I would be doing them an injustice by trying to cover them all in one Blog entry. It would be impossible to do it anyway, so I won't even try. Rather, as I recall a particular song or a particular saying I'll share some of the stories that this song or saying brings to mind.
For example,these two songs - Sixteen Candles, and Your Sixteen, Your Beautiful and You're Mine - came out at an ideal point in my life - at the time I was turning sixteen. Now is that perfect or what? How did they know I was celebrating my 16th birthday that year? Even today after 49 years, if I happen to hear the song, Sixteen Candles, I am slow dancing once again with a guy from Brooklyn (not my choice) the night of my Sweet Sixteen party. Right now I can't even remember his name ( I remember it later as I write), but it was my party and I was the guest of honor and I was just coming of age and it was a special night for me. See all the things that one little song can do for you.
I had invited a crowd of people to my Sweet Sixteen birthday party much to my parent's chagrin - Mary, how can we possibly fit all these people in our house?, they say when they hear the number of people I've invited. See, even back then I wasn't as organized or didn't think things through as well as I should have. I guess I just assumed it would all work out somehow. Anyway, my Mom and Dad and I scurry around town looking for a room large enough to hold this number of guests. We traipse through a few bars with rooms for rent in the back only to be turned away when they hear the event is a Sweet Sixteen. Back then we also didn't have catered affairs in fancy hotels when one turned 16. At last, we end up at the YMCA on Jamaica Avenue at the bottom of Snake Hill in the Cypress Hills section of Brooklyn. The room on the second floor of the Y is available the night we need it. The price is bearable, the room is big enough and there is no liquor to worry about. So, my parents rent the room for me, God Bless them. I buy a modest (remember this is 1961)blue dress (pretty color) for the big event and my Mom and I start to plan the food (all homemade - no caterers). The day of the party I go to a hair salon (very rare for me) and have my hair done up in a french twist so I can look old and sophisticated.
--> (What was I thinking!) I even purchase one blond curl and attach it to the front of my own hair. I am in my glory.
I remember certain things about that night.
The contingency of guys that came from the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn were a bit older and a bit wilder than the people I typically hung around with. I hear that Williamsburg is quite classy nowadays. But my party took place way before the neighborhood underwent a revival and back then when you heard that someone was from Williamsburg, you knew they were tough. I met this group of older, wilder "men" sometime in my 15th year when James, the Leader of the Pack, happened to be visiting his married sister who lived up the street from my home on Interboro Parkway. My friends and I had taken a walk one day and James and a couple of his buddies were on the lookout (think boring time at married sister's house) and "realed us in". Anyway, I became casually acquainted with this exciting crowd of " older men" and decided to invite them to my Sweet Sixteen party. They showed up in a rather large group (guys like this are typically toughest when in a big crowd), and I became a bit nervous. Although they were initially relatively well-behaved for tough guys, at some point during the evening I realized that they had stashed some beer somewhere accessible and were slowly getting loaded. I can't remember every last detail but I do remember a couple of my friends and I convinced them that this party was way too tame for them and perhaps they would find more excitement elsewhere. So they left early. The only wild thing that I remember happening that night was toilet paper rolls being unrolled into steamers out the windows. But I can't even remember if it was the tough guys that did it. Somehow it doesn't seem like their style. That night I also learned that guys did the choosing and the girls were only given the opportunity to say yes or no. Tony, one of the wild guys from Williamsburg, choose me for his dance partner and "girlfriend" that night and although it was a definite "no" for me, I wasn't given the choice of who to pick in the first place. Why is that? Don't worry, I still had fun anyway and after that night I never had to see Tony again.
Mary Beth
I have so many things I want to get done each day and then I literally run out of energy. I guess when you are almost 65 years old this starts to happen. I still wonder how Hillary does it - being Secretary of State and traveling all around the world, etc. I can't even keep up with the ordinary, every day activities. Plus, I got a call today asking me if I'd like to work this Friday on the Nursing Home Complaint Hotline. I said yes, but the days I work I really don't have an ounce of energy left for much else. Tomorrow I will work a bit on the Class of 1965 Power Point as I'm too tired to do it tonight. I just put together a Web Album with photos from my weekend with cousins Sharon, Susan and Jack. That was more tiring and time consuming than I expected because I wanted to write an explanation on each picture in order to preserve a bit of the history that Susan shared with me. Also I don't always know the most efficient way to do things and oftentimes I take much longer than the average person to complete a task. Oh well, as Bob often reminds me, Life isn't perfect. I wish, however, that I was a bit more perfect than I am. I also wish I had a bit more energy and a bit longer day. MB
I have been a member of the Mohawk Chapter of the DAR(Daughters of the American Revolution) for some time now. My mother was very much into genealogy and had researched our roots back to pre-Revolutionary times. In the process of her research, she was extremely excited to discover that one of our ancestors, Amos Northrup, was the Aide de Camp to General Washington. A few years before she died, she convinced me to drive her to Stevensville, PA to look for Amos Northrup's grave even though she had no other details and wasn't even completely sure this was the town where Amos was laid to rest. As we drive through the main road of town, we see a cemetery right alongside the road. Stevensville Cemetery the sign announces. Should we stop here ?, I ask my mother, thinking that it might make more sense to have a little more information before we go on a wild goose chase. My mother says, Of course we should stop, and at her insistence I stop and park in the grass alongside the cemetery. It was a quite a large cemetery for a rather small town and as I look out the car window at row upon row of tombstones, I announce loudly and with exasperation, this will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. She completely ignores my statement and I know there is no way in hell that my mother is going to agree to leave that spot. So, I take a deep breath, say a prayer for patience and another one to St. Anthony, and exit the car. (For those of you who may not know St. Anthony, he is the guy in charge of finding anything that is lost.) I say to myself, Please St. Anthony come around, Amos Northup's grave is lost and can't be found as I step onto one of the many path between the rows of gravestones. I am expecting to be in that cemetery all day and all night long looking in vain for some guy who has been dead for over two hundred years. Nonetheless, this is my mother and I know her pretty well at this point in my life. I know she won't give up without a battle, so I figure I might as well begin the long, drawn out search. As I start walking in the uneven grass I look down at the first tombstone and there at my feet and before my very eyes is none other than dear old Amos. Is this a miracle or what?, I say to myself. My mother grins from ear to ear; she is so excited she can barely contain herself. Now almost 20 years later, as I struggle to decide whether or not to resign my membership in the DAR, I remember my mother's determination, I see that excited smile and I hear her say, Of course you should be a member.
Sharon dropped me off at my house at a little after 2PM today. Our trip to Easton, PA. to visit our cousin, Susan, was truly an excellent adventure and I have many tales to tell you about the weekend. But, right now I want to tell you about something else instead. This evening Bob and I went over to Anita and Bruce's house for a special birthday dinner for our friends, Rose and Anne. Rose and Anne were both born in January and Anita and Bruce were kind enough to host a get-together. Before dinner the "Fabulous Five" stood around the kitchen sipping wine and reminiscing about how and when we first met each other. Rose, Anne, Jean, Anita and I have been getting together for many years to celebrate each others' birthdays and more importantly our friendship. A few years ago, we decided to let the men in on the deal, if they promised to behave themselves. They don't always behave too well, but we invite them most of the time anyway. Actually they can be quite a lot of fun when they misbehave. I met Jean in September 1976 when we first came to Albany. We had moved from Binghamton, NY to an apartment on Commodore Street when our son, Brian, was a few days old. A wise friend who had relocated from Downstate to nearby Massachusettes advised me that I'd better meet some people before the snows started flying or I'd be alone in the house all winter and would very likely loose my mind. For several days after moving I peaked out between the curtains and noticed that at approximately the same time every afternoon all the young Moms in the neighborhood would congregate on the street as they watched their kids ride up and down the block on their hotwheels and tricycles. After watching this pattern for a few days, I rehearsed my lines many times - Hi, I'm Mary Beth and this is my son, Brian - before I finally mustered up the courage to grab my baby, leave the house, and walk up to a young woman holding a little boy of her own. This young woman happened to be Jean and the little boy was her son, Paul, and that day was the beginning of an amazing friendship and the start of the Fabulous Five. Mary Beth
Cousin Sharon and I are leaving shortly for Easton, PA for an all girls weekend at cousin Susan's house in Easton, PA. This is very exciting for us since we only recently reconnected with Susan in Sept. 2008 at the O'Donnell Family Reunion. Prior to the Reunion we hadn't seen each other in close to 60 years! Back then Susan and her family lived on Putnam Avenue in the Bushwich section of Brooklyn and our families would meet up in Highland Park (which was just up the block from my house) for Friday night picnics. I remember we would usually have tuna fish sandwiches with sliced tomatoes because it was Friday and you weren't allowed to eat meat on Friday's back then. We didn't care what we ate because we were just so happy to be sharing some fun together. The weather was nice (or else we wouldn't go) and the adults were in a good mood because there was no work the next day. I am certain I will have some great stories to tell you when I return as we have a heck of alot of ground to cover. Wisely, Susan's father relocated the family to PA before the Bushwich section deteriorated. Nowadays, though, I hear that Brooklyn is the place to be and little tiny condos go for a million dollars or more. Who would have guessed. Sharon rang the bell. See you later! Mary Beth
