Inner Elder

Happy 2012!

2012-01-01T10:51:00.001-05:00

I came upon this old poem of mine quite by accident and thought it was fitting to post for the new year. May all your dreams and wishes come true in 2012!

The Broken Fence

The broken fence
calls to me
‘round the bend
’midst the trees
shading the path.
It moves me to tears.
I don’t know why.

This imperfect scene
would lose its appeal
should the fence
be made whole
I don’t know why.

It gives me pause.
It gives me hope.
I don’t know why.

On my cloud shrouded road
littered with broken dreams
uncompleted work
so much to do
the broken fence
along the way
is all I need
today.
I think I know why.

© E.M. Ramos 5/26/2009

Christmas Blessings to All!

2011-12-25T11:16:00.004-05:00

It's been awhile but I've been busy! You can read about it below.

Christmas Blessings to All!

I am grateful for 2011, a year that opened up new friendships and possibilities. I led a 5 part workshop on late life spirituality at Mariandale in the Spring, began training to become a docent at the NY Botanical Gardens in the Fall and have been volunteering there as well. The Spiritual Heart contemplative formation program began in February; we've had 3 weekend retreats and monthly small groups. I feel blessed to have found even more companions on the journey.

When my good friend Sister Noreen retired from her ministry at our parish in April, she invited me to lead the senior spirituality group she started. What an awesome gift this group has been to me! One of my Met Club friends introduced me to the Dobbs Ferry Women's Club and I am now a member, enjoying the monthly book discussions and other activities. Sadly, we lost a dear friend Terry, who was in our monthly Met Club circle of ex-Catholic Charities colleagues. Terry was also in my spirituality workshop and will be missed dearly.

Great news! My daughter Tina published her first book of comic strips and comments on homeschooling. Tina has had a blog for years and we are delighted to have her wise and witty art in old fashioned book form. You can get it on Amazon – No School Today? by Cristina Ramos-Payne. Marina continues to do well – honors – at college. Sierra's blog contains her unique 9 year old perspective on life – it's even generated a bit of controversy. Chase improves steadily on his acoustic guitar and learned Happy Birthday as a surprise for my 70th.

The year did have its share of losses. Aunt Grace and Uncle Steve, my Dad's brother, passed away this year. My cousin Cindy died in June after a long illness. Cindy was such a dynamic person and left behind quite a legacy. We visited our cousins in Pennsylvania in May and again last month when Lisa and family came for a visit to New York. I also got to spend some time with them this summer. It's always a treat to be in California. I even got to join in an old fashioned 4th of July parade with Jackson and Aidan!

My son Angel, Sylvia and Sam have all moved to their new home in Pittsburgh; I miss them and look forward to seeing them early next year. I see my sister Kathy often, though she is busy with her new grandbaby Hope, born June 2nd. We love seeing Hope and hearing her sweet laughter, along with her big brothers Braden and Dylan. Angel's nieces Guli, Damaris and Carolina visited from Puerto Rico – on the hottest day of the year!

I resigned from my part time job at the NY Citizens Committee on Aging. So doors close and windows open. But my dear family and friends remain. I am so grateful for you all. I look forward to even more adventures in 2012. May you enjoy a Christmas and new year blessed with peace, health and many moments of sheer delight!

Scribbles, R.I.P.

2011-09-19T11:35:00.002-04:00

Today is a sad day. Our pet cat, Scribbles died early this morning. His illness came on suddenly and we took him to the vet on Friday. They could not identify what exactly was the cause of his illness. We decided against expensive and intensive treatment that didn’t have any guarantees, and brought him home.

Suddenly I missed all the things about Scribbles that I used to complain about. Like when he would jump on the table. His uncanny ability to appear when I took out the can opener from the drawer or some Deli meat from the fridge. How he’d stand up, paws on the kitchen counter, head looking up expectantly. I’d have to keep a pile of turkey to feed him to get a little space to make my sandwich. I missed him chasing Shady around the house, galloping up and down the stairs, waiting at the door when he heard Angel’s car, sitting on top of the rocker while I did my crosswords. I feel so guilty for yelling at him. I didn’t realize how much I loved that little ball of orange fur. How much a part of our family he’d become.

When Scribbles was a kitten, the pattern on his side looked like the letters J-O-Y. Tina named him Scribbles; it was a good name for him. But he did live his life filled with “Joy”. And he brought lots of joy into Angel’s life. And mine.

Angel was so good to Scribbles. He cared for him when he was well and during the two week mysterious illness that claimed his life. Angel said that Scribbles was a good friend to him. Well, Angel was a good friend to Scribbles. He sat with him and comforted him to the end. That’s what friends do. And it’s hard.

What did Scribbles teach me in his brief life? That when you are free to be totally yourself - and he was! - no matter what old lady is yelling at you, then you live a full life, a life of joy. And you bring joy into the lives of others, even though you are a lowly furry creature.

I learned that what annoys me about others may very well be what I miss most when they are gone. So maybe I need to reassess all my relationships. They may not be what I think they are. They may mean a lot more to me than I realize. Thank you, Scribbles. Thank you for being you. For bringing joy into our lives. Thank you for annoying me - I needed that. I will miss you mucho.

Ecclesiastes and 9/11

2011-09-12T11:59:00.003-04:00

September 11th is a day of joy and sorrow for me. A time for dancing and a time for mourning. A time for celebration and a time for grieving. (Ecclesiastes 3)

I give thanks for my beautiful daughter Lisa, who was born on September 11th, 45 years ago. One of the greatest blessings of my life.

What happened on this day 10 years ago can never erase the beauty of September 11th for me. For it is Lisa’s birthday. So how can I stop from singing?

At the same time I mourn the loss of so many lives that day I remember so well. And I mourn the loss of so many more lives that followed because of the attack. I mourn the loss of freedom, trust and innocence that has permeated our world because of the attack.

I am sorry we could not have held together in unity for longer. I remember singing “God Bless America” with hundreds of strangers of every race and color and creed along First Avenue days after the attack. It was such a feeling of solidarity. But it did not last. Instead we sent troops to kill and die. And get even.

A time to be born and a time to die.

Today I choose LOVE, not fear.

Here is a reprint of a poem I wrote years ago that speaks to what I feel today.

ODE TO SEPTEMBER
for Lisa & Me

There are shadows in the rainbow
Did you notice?
You can hear the heavy silence.
It whispers to you of what was.

Come rain, wash away
the guilty tears of summer
with drenching drippling.

September has returned
Fair daughter of Virgo
Who dares to rip out her radiance
from your grieving heart

Her softest breath caresses
wounded memories
that wrinkle
the still surface
of your soul.

Her bountiful blue
and sultry perfume
shout to you
of what is.

Copyright E. Ramos 9/7/2002

The Hurricane

2011-08-29T12:39:00.003-04:00

The hours before Irene’s arrival were eerily quiet; I believe in the calm before the storm.

After so much worry and anxiety, it was as though nature was forcing us to rest before the big fight…. that she would win. And a poem came.

The Hurricane

Asleep, awaiting Irene,
dread drudged down deep
beneath a numbing calm.

Perhaps they’re wrong.
Perhaps she’ll pass us by.
Perhaps the storm of reckoning
is yet another day ….

Time, inscrutable time
races as slowly as death,
drawing incredibly near.

Irene will surely come
to claim her crown of victory
over mere mortals.

© E.M. Ramos 8/27/2011

Happily there was not much damage in our area. The media can sure make you crazy. Then again, it’s always wise to be prepared. As always, prayer helps. I kept thinking of the gospel of Jesus asleep in the boat and the apostles panicking. Help me, Lord!

Time to Slow Down

2011-08-11T11:01:00.002-04:00

Here’s a poem my spiritual director shared with us.

A Lazy Thought

by Eve Merriam

There go the grownups
To the office,
To the store.
Subway rush,
Traffic crush;
Hurry, scurry,
Worry, flurry.

No wonder
Grownups
Don’t grow up
Any more.
It takes a lot
Of slow
To grow.

The other day I called a dear friend. She’s 97 years old. She complained of being so tired, so slow. Summer is for slowing down - it should be conducive to contemplation.

But it takes a lot of slow to grow, as the poem says. We want to go, go, go. So we can forget the pain of who we are - deep, deep down. Where the real “me” is waiting to become all she is meant to become. Waiting to be discovered and embraced.

It’s summer. Slow down. Be “useless” as Henri Nouwen says. Hang out with God. It’s slow time, like the old age time of life. Grow time.

Legacy

2011-06-02T10:36:00.002-04:00

Many years ago, when I was 8 or 9 years old, my aunt gave me a little pendant. It was a lucite heart with a tiny pink rose inside. She had bought it to help out a cousin who was out of work and selling them to tide his family over. I loved this little heart and wore it all the time.

Last December, I lost the little lucite heart pendant with the rose inside. I was heartbroken. You see, I had planned to leave it to my granddaughter; it was to be her legacy.

Now it was gone. I discovered it missing when I got home from my walk in the Botanical garden. I felt for it and oh no! there was the open chain around my neck but no pendant. I searched and searched. When my husband got home I was in tears. I called Lost & Found and went back to the Café the next day to search, retracing my steps, asking the staff to search. But finally, despite my prayers to St. Anthony, I knew it was gone. I couldn’t even tell anyone at first - I felt the same dull gut feeling of loss, like after my house was robbed, like after the terrible diagnoses of the past years, like after deaths of loved ones.

Why did I feel so devastated about a “thing”? And I came to realize it was really about keep me alive. My memory would live on in Marina, my granddaughter. When she wore the pendant she would remember me, how I loved the little locket, how I loved her. I would not be forgotten. I would live on somehow, through her. Was this a way of avoiding facing the reality of my own mortality? Of avoiding looking at death, time running out, and choosing to live life fully whatever time I have left. What opportunity, what dangerous opportunity did this loss, this “stripping” bring me today in this NOW moment. Humility? I am who I am. Marina is who she is. The mystery of how we “live” in others, the connection - well it’s a mystery to me.

I know I hold Marina in my heart. As I hold my grandmother in my heart. When I pray each morning. When Christmas comes and I think on the old days of Christmas Eves at Nanny’s and midnight Mass. When I do the jumble and think of her at the table each night, calmly and quietly pealing her orange, doing the jumble. What faith and love she (and all my forbears) left to me. What a legacy! How beautiful is the faith and love in Marina. It lives on.

And there’s a wonderful postscript to this story!

On Mothers Day I received a new pendant and it was a gift of love. My daughter Tina, Marina’s Mom, searched for a pendant on the internet to replace the lucite heart with the rose that I had lost. When she couldn’t find one she made me a pendant with a rose inside! Poured the resin into the mold and placed a little rose there. (You can see a picture of it by linking to "my daughter's blog" on the sidebar - then go to "A Heart full of Memories" May 8, 2011.) Just her desire to replace the lost heart that broke my heart fills me with humbling awe. Now this new pendant has an even better meaning and legacy that the 60 year old one that I lost. This new one represents the pure unselfish love of daughter for mother. It is a new symbol to treasure. Legacy. What connects us to the past and to the future.

6/2/2011

Happy Birthday, Marina!

2011-05-15T10:37:00.001-04:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARINA!

I give thanks to God for one of the greatest blessings of my life - my first grandchild, Marina, 18 years old today. I was present at her birth and was amazed at how ready & raring she was to go. I have watched her grow in wisdom, beauty and grace. Seen her develop her many talents: art, knitting and poetry to name a few. I’ve marveled at her ability to devour books, to discuss all manner of topics. I am humbled by her kindness to others, delighted at her dedication to family and not at all surprised at her love of animals and nature.

We’ve shared so much over the years: museums and movies; religious ceremonies and family celebrations; outings and trips, especially Italy and California. We’ve laughed and cried together, comforted and counseled each other, learned together, shared the beauty of nature and wondered at the world.

I love Marina so much and am so proud of the young woman she has become. My heart is confident that whatever paths she chooses, the world will be a better place having her in it - it already is! I look forward to being her grandmother in the years to come.

May God send innumerable blessings your way, Marina. Happy happy birthday!

2011-04-24T10:07:00.000-04:00

CHRIST HAS RISEN, ALLELUIA!

HAPPY EASTER!

Where's My Feet?

2011-04-01T12:49:00.001-04:00

As I was walking in the Garden the other day, hurrying along, I wondered why I hadn’t been inspired to write any poems lately. And wouldn’t you know - a poem popped out of nowhere. Well actually it came from my feet.

Where’s My Feet?

I can’t feel my feet.
Now that can’t be good.
Oh Lord, please don’t take
away my feet.
I need them, you see,
to visit your precious
places;
to explore new paths.
You know how I love
to go go go
out out out.
Surely You don’t
expect me to
just sit still
and be
quiet
waiting
- You know how I
hate waiting -
for You
to speak.

© E.M. Ramos 3/29/2011

Now I realized that this poem was really about my resistance to sitting quietly and meditating. And since I had to sit on a bench to write the poem down before I forgot it, I took the time to spend a few moments in silence. Which is very hard to do. For just as my feet want to hurry along, my thoughts and distractions act like they have running shoes on too!

Of Gods and Men

2011-03-28T12:23:00.002-04:00

Of Gods and Men

It is a rare occurrence to come across a film that is like watching a prayer unfold. “Of Gods and Men” is that film and a wonderful choice for Lenten viewing.

The true story is about 8 French monks living in a monastery in an African country in the 1990’s. They are integrated into the impoverished Moslem community, serving their neighbors through a clinic and sharing their celebrations. They live an impoverished prayerful life, chanting, meditating, gardening, even selling their honey at the local market.

Then fundamentalist terrorists, at war with the government, change everything - foreigners are murdered; violence strikes. And fear takes over the life of the villagers and the monastery. The monks struggle with the decision - to stay or to leave. Their fear is palpable, the acting is that superb.

Finally after each one’s soul searching, the monks unanimously decide to stay. This is their home. They do not seek martyrdom; they take precautions. But … I will not reveal the ending because I strongly urge you to see this film.

What a tremendous lesson in faith! I really connected with all these men, each strong and weak in his own way. The stark landscape, psalms and chanting add to the artistry of this film. Most of all the facial expressions as the monks agonize over their situation - you feel the fear, the faith, the joy.

A powerful and moving story of faith and Christian living. I recommend it, especially for Lent.

PS You can google the website. Sorry, still don’t know how to do links.

SnowBound

2011-01-27T13:43:00.003-05:00

The unending snow and winter weather led me to search for my old winter prayers and poems. They help cheer me up when I am snowbound, which seems to be every few days….

In a Bronx Ice Forest

I walk in a magical garden
Immersed in God’s icy miracle
Jeweled icicles dangle from branches
Like frosty Faberge surprises

Star flies beam up to crystal forests
Dancing dizzily in
diamond dusted
tinsel tossed
tree tops

Frozen fringe frolics on ev’ry twig
Each tree has become a star catcher

What secrets sleep in silvered silence?
What wonders await in wintry webs?

Out of pain filled snow shadowed darkness
God gifts us with graced growth
Glist’ning in
the frigid
emptiness.

© E.M. Ramos 3/1996

Psalm 147: 12-20

Jerusalem, give glory!
Praise God with song, O Zion!
For the Lord strengthens your gates guarding your children within.
The Lord fills your land with peace, giving you golden wheat.

God speaks to the earth, the word speeds forth.
The Lord sends heavy snow and scatters frost like ashes.

The Lord hurls chunks of hail.
Who can stand such cold?
God speaks, the ice melts;
God breathes, the streams flow.

Prayer of the Season

Shall we praise you, hail-hurling God, in winter’s splendor,
in the grace of snow that covers with brightness
and reshapes both your creation and ours?

Or shall we curse the fierce cold
that punishes homeless people and shortens tempers?

Blessed are you in the earth’s tilt and course.
Blessed are you in the sleep of winter
and in the oncoming Lenten spring.

Now and then and always, fill these lands with peace.
Amen.

Winter Bench

2011-01-12T13:06:00.001-05:00

Winter always inspires me. Walking in the cold, snowy, quiet Garden, I see a lonely bench. Such a lovely sight. And a poem comes.

Winter Bench

What use a bench
alone in snow?

For long ago remindings?
Or far off summer yearnings?

Yet, to be is but a dream.
Ago, a faded mem’ry.

How serves this bench
in here right now?

To place its emptiness
near my crowded deep down dark.

Then sit awhile
and leave some stuff
upon its seat.

To rise again
in lovely light
upon my way.

© E.M. Ramos 1/11/2011

Christmas Letter 2010

2010-12-23T09:50:00.001-05:00

Merry Christmas to All!

2010 was a most challenging year, one that forced me to face my aging in a scary way. I was hampered by a cough and hoarseness all Spring. Then in June I suffered a stress fracture and in October a bout with diverticulitis. These maladies changed my life in significant ways, including my part time work in the city and my daily walking routine. But I learned much from the experiences – that I am not in complete control; that Angel, my friends and family provide generous loving support; and that perhaps it is time for me to slow down and dig deep. So off I am in new directions: leading a series of workshops on late life spirituality and looking forward to a Contemplative Formation program at Mariandale next year.

Many celebrations to report. In May we had a combo-gala for the 3 Payne grandchildren's birthdays, Chase's confirmation and Sierra's First Communion, plus Angel's 70th. And how fantastic when Lisa surprised us with a visit in time for the party! Marina started taking a class at the community college, while continuing her job at the library. Chase is pursuing film classes, along with tae kwan do. Sierra was a helpful companion when I was convalescing from my fracture. My son Angel got a new job in Pennsylvania, and grandson Sam took classes in the gifted program at Montclair State University. Now they will have to move. The California grandkids – Aidan and Jackson are now at the same school, and doing great with ice hockey lessons. I missed seeing them this year.

My sister Kathy is a great pal and we get together often. After a difficult pregnancy, my niece Audra had a healthy baby boy in February; Dylan's smile lights up my heart! We love seeing him and his big brother Braden. My Pennsylvania cousins paid a visit with their cousin from England in June. Like myself, so many family and friends faced health challenges this year: my cousin Cindy, brother-in-law Jose, my friends Arleen and Sister Pat. Happily all are on the mend. But it makes you stop and ponder.

I am so grateful for my friends, who I meet with often: Pat N.; Peter and Ann; John and Bea. Connected with Sr. Jean Canora and Pat Healey from Catholic Charities days. And my “Met Club” friends pushed me around the Garden in a wheel chair when I couldn't travel. I am truly inspired by all the wonderful people that God has blessed me with.

The book in which I contributed a chapter was published – Spiritual and Psychological Aspects of Illness (Paulist Press).

2010 may have been trying at times but it was also filled with blessings. And so I look forward with great hope to 2011. May you all enjoy a Christmas season and new year of peace, health and moments of sheer delight!

December Dreams

2010-12-12T11:30:00.002-05:00

In the midst of this cold Advent season, I feel grateful. Grateful for the peace and nourishment of Mariandale Retreat Center, for the cold clear nights when the stars dazzle my soul. Grateful for family celebrations - the happy birthday dinner for Tina last week. For the creativity and splendor of the Botanical Gardens Train Show and for the gift of sharing it with friends and family: Sister Pat and Terry, Angel, Kathy, Rich, Braden and Dylan.

And I am grateful for the gift of a poem which I share with you.

December Dreams

Am I the bright red leaf clinging
to the bare branch for dear life?
Why can’t I let go like Freddy the Leaf?

Am I the cold December sun sinking
fast into the dusk?
Why can’t I shine one more time?

Am I the silent Yuletide carol?
Why can’t I be the living bird
perched high atop the Christmas tree?

My spirit longs to soar free,
to snap the thoughts that chain me to
my self.

Oh let me rise on eagle’s wings
until You hold me in the palm of Your hand.

© E.M. Ramos 12/2/2010

Spirituality of Late Life - Part 4

2010-11-29T10:50:00.002-05:00

For other entries on Spirituality of Late Life see Spirituality of Late Life Part 1 below.

DEFINITION OF LATE LIFE SPIRITUALITY

So what is Spirituality of Later Life?

The second half of life offers many opportunities for spiritual growth. Late life is often a period of intense inner activity - a sorting out of decisions, relationships and commitments made during one’s lifetime. Psychologists call this process life review. Spiritual directors tell us that this looking inward can be a critical time of spiritual growth or crisis, as one comes to terms with the successes and failures of a life time. For one building on a lifetime of spiritual connection, it can be a period of great deepening of one’s relationship with God and others. As one nears the end of one’s journey, and realizes that much will be left incomplete, one can encounter the enormity of a God who accepts us and loves us unconditionally with all our faults and imperfections.

The many losses of aging - physical impairments, decreased mobility, chronic conditions, retirement from careers, empty nests, loss of loved ones - present a unique opportunity to reflect on the meaning of life and on one’s own life in particular. When one is stripped bare of material ambition, independence and even relationships, one faces one’s powerlessness in a very special way. The full reality of God’s love as gift can be experienced and the contemplative ideal of simply resting in God’s embrace may be realized. Of course, without spiritual guidance and support, this might well be a time of isolation and fear. The idea that older people are safely past spiritual crisis is a stereotype: each person grows or regresses in the spiritual life, at their own pace.

The spiritual odyssey of later life can be a challenge to those who are used to being productive; at the same time, it is an inner journey which can bear much fruit. For most Americans, interiority is a concept alien to our cultural bias for productivity. It is difficult to learn how to be still and silent, so one may discover God’s presence within. It is also painful and scary to look inside; older people, much like the young, seek noisy distractions to avoid the pain. Exploring Late Life Spirituality together in groups that foster faith sharing and reflection can be a help for us on this quest. Learning how to see God’s presence in one’s own life experiences, with the gentle support of companions on the journey, can be the greatest blessing of later life.

Spirituality of Late Life - Part 3

2010-11-28T10:47:00.003-05:00

For other entries on Spirituality of Late Life see Spirituality of Late Life Part 1 below.

While I worked for Catholic Charities for 25 years, I oversaw various programs for older persons. Ministry to Seniors was our finest hour, training volunteers in the parishes of the Archdiocese to reach out to their elder congregants in various ways including visits to the homebound. One of the parish programs we initiated were Senior Spirituality Groups, which are faith sharing groups for older adults who wish to grow in their spiritual lives. Facilitated by trained leaders, the participants:

Reflected on their life experiences and God’s presence throughout.
Discussed spiritual aspects of everyday life and concerns.
Shared their unique faith journey with one another.
Prayed for the needs of group members.

The senior years can be a very challenging time of life; perhaps a time to become aware of the “new life” trying to emerge, to seek new opportunities for prayer and union with God, to “meditate and search our spirit“.

We might take time to reflect on our own life experiences and God’s presence throughout, or perhaps reflect on the spiritual aspects of our everyday lives and concerns. We may have the opportunity to share our unique faith journey with one another. In the senior spirituality groups, guided sharing and prayer was an integral part of the participants journeys - a true blessing.

In my next blog I will give a definition of late life spirituality to help us reflect on this special time of life.

Black Friday Blues

2010-11-26T11:44:00.001-05:00

Black Friday Blues

Today has been dubbed “Black Friday”. It is dedicated to rampant consumerism and blatant materialism. It is hard to resist, especially this year with the intense media push and aggressive advertisements with tempting mouth-watering savings via newspapers, mail, TV, radio and e-mail. Many stores were even open on Thanksgiving. An American spiritual tradition - giving thanks to God for all the blessings we enjoy - is now converted into the new American faith in STUFF, buying with every last drop of money you have and then with the money you don’t have. Fill your life with STUFF. I think we the consumers are the new Thanksgiving turkeys and we are being stuffed. Saying this I must confess. If I wasn’t terrified of crowds I would probably be out there shopping for bargains instead of doing this blog. What do you think?

Spirituality of Late Life - Part 2

2010-11-24T10:11:00.001-05:00

Spirituality of Late Life Part 2 (Other entries on Spirituality of Late Life can be found below.)

The prayer below comes from my spiritual direction group. I used it in the first session “Becoming New in the Lord”. The image of “Grandmother God” came to me during Bio-spiritual focusing many years ago. It is an image that gives me great comfort and support when I am troubled. My grandmother was that kind of presence to me and I hope I have been the same for my grandchildren.

Grandmother God,
tender and compassionate,
understanding and forgiving,
cradle me in your arms this day,
balance me on your knee,
hold me in your lap
and never let me go.

Like your servants
Simeon and Anna,
even as I grow old,
may I never grow tired
of spending time with you in prayer.

Though I may become timid at times in my witness,
may I never limit the possibilities of the wonders
awaiting me around the corner.

I present my life with all its worries and wonders,
with all its scars and scary moments,
with all its hope and all its hurts
to you, my Grandma God.
You hold my life in your gentle hands.

Into your hands, I commend my spirit. Amen.

Stations of the Crib, Joe Hassah

Spirituality of Late Life - Part 1

2010-11-23T10:05:00.002-05:00

During the past months of blog silence, I had the privilege of offering a series of workshops on Late Life Spirituality. I finished the latest yesterday at a nursing home. In the audience of some 50 elderly residents, many in wheelchairs and pushing walkers, all burdened with the ailments of advanced age, I beheld the most tranquil, smiling faces. These wise elders surely understand spirituality. They have traveled to those deep places and found God’s presence - even in the most difficult of life’s challenges.

So this “offering” of mine has returned many more blessings to me. I have been truly inspired by the depth of the journeys that have been shared with me this Fall. And in my next several blogs, I will share segments of my presentations.

The first session I called “Becoming New in the Lord”. Because all of life is for living and changing and trying new things. Below are the meditations that accompany Spirituality of Late Life Part I: Becoming New in the Lord.

There is always new life trying to emerge in each of us. Too often we ignore the signs of resurrection and cling to parts of life that have died for us.
Joan Chittister

Older people, with the wisdom and experience which are the fruit of a lifetime, have entered upon a time of extraordinary grace which opens to them new opportunities for prayer and union with God.
John Paul II

I consider the days of old,
I remember the years long ago.
I commune with my heart in the night;
I meditate and I search my spirit.
Psalm 77: 5-6

September Remembering

2010-09-06T11:22:00.001-04:00

Ah, the beautiful month of September, my month. Remembering today how the little acts of kindness affect us and stay with us. Maybe our spontaneous acts affect others in ways we can’t imagine. Sometimes folks tell us, like when my friend thanked me the other day for encouraging her to go to school, supporting her, and reminding her of all her gifts. It feels good to see that you played a small part in setting someone in a positive direction.

I was remembering the teenage girls at the McAuley HS bazaar some 60 years ago. They took pity on desolate little 8 or 9 year old Eleanor, who had not won any prizes and had run out of money. And she was hungry - some things never change! The McAuley students comforted me and bought me hot dogs and soda. So many years later I still remember - not their names or faces - but their kindness to me. I believe that their act influenced my desire to attend McAuley HS, which led me on the many other paths that result in my life today.

I know that by myself I may not always choose to do unselfish acts of kindness. So I pray for the grace to be aware so I can reach out to others, listen, and perform those little acts of kindness that may make a big difference.

Happy Anniversary

2010-08-31T11:21:00.001-04:00

Happy Anniversary in Heaven, Mom & Dad. Seventy years ago today, my parents, John and Elizabeth, were married in St. Brigid’s Church. What love and faith and courage it must have taken to make a joyful commitment to the future, with the dark clouds of world war hovering all around. Yet they took the step and began a family, trusting that “all will be well”. Thanks to them - and their faith, so many lives exist today, including my own, my children, and my grandchildren. I am grateful for my Mom and Dad. And for this day.

Brooklyn Bluegrass in the Bronx

2010-08-20T11:31:00.002-04:00

I spent yesterday evening, a perfect summer evening, at the Bronx Botanical Garden for their summer concert series. What a delight! Enjoying a light supper with my friend Catherine amidst the trees, watching the sky grow dark.

The concert was astonishing. A Brooklyn Bluegrass group - the M. Shanghai String Band - came to entertain us in the Bronx. Bluegrass music is happy music. It plants a smile on your face, sets your feet tappin’ and your hands clappin’. The joy seeps right down to your soul. I kept feeling like my heart was laughing through the whole concert.

And what a great group! They played new songs about the big city and old Bluegrass favorites. They had banjos, fiddles, guitars, harmonica, even a wash board and a singing saw! What a wonderful gift these musicians have. Do they realize how much their music affects those who listen and enjoy it, the happiness it brings even if for only a few moments. However, for me, the magic of the evening lingered on, clinging like a happy cloud for the rest of the day.

Tech Support

2010-08-03T12:19:00.002-04:00

My 8 year old granddaughter, Sierra, just showed me how to add pictures to my blog! I am amazed at how easy it was, not that I could have figured it out myself. Thank you Sierra. The first picture I am posting is of you!

Forever Friends

2010-07-22T10:42:00.002-04:00

Last week my friends journeyed all the way to the Bronx to be with me. We got a wheel chair and they pushed me around the Botanical Gardens. Later that week, as I sat in the Gardens, I realized that I hadn't written a poem for awhile. I searched for "inspiration" and it came. After some tweaking and evolving, here it is.

Forever Friends

I have friends of every persuasion.

Two legged friends who wheel me about
when my heart's at low tide.

Green limbed friends that drape my
deep down dread
in shimmering stillness.

Anonymous friends who open new doors
when windows slam shut.

Furry friends testing true,
even though I yell
Get off the table!

Unseen friends whispering from beyond
when menacing mists swallow hope.

And I bow to the care of my friends.

Copyright: E.M. Ramos 7/21/10

Who Inspires Your?

2010-07-14T11:44:00.001-04:00

Last Sunday the gospel was the Good Samaritan. As I looked around at the faces in the congregation, faces of so many races and nationalities, I thought: “I am looking at a whole church full of Good Samaritans.” Because that is what the good people in my parish have in common: a profound sense of caring and concern. And they put their caring into action. They certainly do inspire me to be more caring about my “neighbor”.

My husband inspires me. During this episode of immobility, he has chauffeured me around, taken me out to see my family and friends, wheeled me around the Garden, and supported me when I get grouchy and depressed.

My family and friends inspire me. They do so much it takes my breath away! And they care enough in their busy lives to call, e-mail or visit to cheer me up. On Sunday my sister invited Angel and me to lunch with friends. We spent the day dining and gabbing and watching the World Cup finals - although we missed seeing the only goal!

Yesterday, my pals from the Met Club schlepped all the way up to the Bronx to join me at the Botanical Gardens. Although it was pouring rain, we had a happy time in the Café, chatting away.

It is wonderful how caring people can boost your spirits. I am not used to being on the receiving end, but it sure is nice!

Inspiration

2010-07-10T11:28:00.002-04:00

What INSPIRES us? What is there that might give us a “kick start” to live life to the fullest?

Last Spring the New York Botanical Garden had a wonderful exhibit on Emily Dickinson, the 18th century poet. Throughout the blossoming gardens were excerpts from her poems. At the entrance to the Children’s Garden was this thought:

Be inspired. Inspired: to fill with enlivening emotion; to stimulate to action; to motivate; to breathe life into.

What fills us with “enlivening emotion”? What stimulates us to action? What motivates us? What breathes life into us? And what do we do with this inspiration? How do we take action? How does this “breath of life” manifest itself in our works, our relationships?

I get inspiration from some very familiar sources and some that are a bit atypical.

NATURE - especially my walks in the Botanical Garden, Central Park, the Bronx Zoo, and vacation trips (the Pacific Coast, the German Alps, Florence, and Death Valley, to name a few).

BOOKS - and not just spiritual books or poems, although I am big on Henri Nouwen and Anthony De Mello. I’ve discovered that even novels sometimes provide the words or phrase that set my heart spinning and my imagination soaring.

TV and MOVIES - Star Trek has some very “spiritual” episodes that have clarified real life mysteries for me in a real way and helped to deepen my faith.

PEOPLE - Throughout my life I have been blessed to know good, ordinary, and extraordinary people who have inspired me. Some older, some my age, and some much, much younger.

Inspiration has enabled me to write poetry, to paint, to design programs and projects in my work, to start a blog, to look at my relationships in a new way. The list goes on and on. And changes from year to year. As it does in each of our lives.

What INSPIRES you?

Still Struggling

2010-06-27T12:54:00.001-04:00

Still Struggling

Well it seems that I have a slight fracture of the hip in the groin area - no wonder it hurts so much. What does this mean? I need to learn patience since I won’t be able to walk the way I’d like to for some time. I need to spend more time at home, inside, quietly. This really drives me crazy since I am an outside person. I am always ready to escape: to the Botanical Garden, to the city, to the mall, to the movies, to see friends. Anywhere but home.

What do I need to learn from this experience? More empathy with those who are challenged and cannot get around easily. I marvel at how people get around the city on wheelchairs and walkers. I’m afraid to cross the street at my new slow pace.

Maybe I need to learn to be quiet and meditate more, to explore that deep dark scary “inner me” that I try so hard to shut out. Maybe I need to learn new things: new tricks on the computer and internet? Maybe I need to work on my presentation for next Fall’s Wisdom Wednesday Workshop that I will be leading. Anyway, I can’t say I don’t have the time. Time is all I have right now. Time to learn, time to get well.

Spring Challenges

2010-06-17T10:29:00.001-04:00

It’s been a challenging Spring for me. Busy with happy things: my granddaughter Sierra’s First Communion and grandson Chase’s Confirmation in May. Plus all the May birthdays: Sierra - 8; Marina - 17; and Chase - 14 years old! A big party on May 1st to celebrate all of the above plus my husband’s 70th birthday.

And then I was struck by a persistent cough, tickling in the throat, and hoarseness. Went to the doctor several times but it would not go away. They attribute it to the terrible pollen season we’ve been having but I - true to my nature - began to worry. In the meantime my back went out and I pulled a groin muscle (like A-rod!). I had to get a cane and I could not do my usual hour walk each day; in fact, I could hardly walk at all. This was awful since walking is my main exercise and helps me work off stress.

I became so frightened and my imagination was working overtime. Thankfully, I trust my doctors and they were very reassuring. In fact, everyone was being so nice to me. My friends were concerned and full of stories and helpful hints. Angel was wonderful, doing all the housework and shepherding me around.

I learned a powerful lesson from all of this. My independence, which I value so, is fragile - as it is for all of us. Learning to lean on others, to accept their help is difficult. Through all of this challenging Spring, one thing pulled me through. Prayer. I do remember to pray and even when I pray in darkness, without much hope, the answers come. In the form of doctors, friends, loved ones. A lesson I needed to learn indeed.

Happy Mothers Day

2010-05-08T11:50:00.001-04:00

This month I’ve been attending a discussion group on Joan Chittiser’s book “The Gift of Years”. Yes, it’s about growing old and it is very positive. Here is a quote from the chapter on “Productivity”. “When we go on giving ourselves away right to the very end, we have lived a very full life.”

My Mom lived to the very end, despite her illness, being herself to the last. Her final “work”, hours before she died, was to order gifts from the Avon catalog for those she loved. This is how Mom expressed her love; she wasn’t a touchy-feely, huggy-kissy person. She loved to gift.

She was also a fighter, outspoken on issues she felt strongly about. Mom went down fighting, fighting cancer, even fighting the doctors who woke her that night to do a “procedure”. She was a lesson in living to the very end.

Thank you Mom for your courageous example, your generous spirit - a gift to me and to the world! Happy Mothers Day in Heaven and Happy Mothers Day to all mothers everywhere.

A Poem for Spring

2010-04-21T09:05:00.004-04:00

It's Spring! And I get inspired just strolling amidst the fresh new green of the trees. The feel of Spring this year brought back a memory of a park near where I grew up. When I was a kid, I was convinced there were fairies and woodland creatures in Forest Park, it felt so magical. And a poem came to me, which I share with you.

Along for the Ride

Who rides inside of me?
This fine Spring day
When trees blush
Prettily in pink
And grin frizzy green.

Who rides inside? My Dad,
His love of nature
Rooted deep in me.

Who rides inside? My
Grandfather’s garden
Where once I dug in delight
And now each bud and bloom stir
Smiles inside my heart.

Who rides inside
My deep dark woods?
A Forest Park elf
Behind an old stone wall
Up to some sweet mischief.

I feel the brush
Of fairy wings
Dusting me with mystery.
I hear the hidden creatures
Call from some faraway
Place … or time …

Spring takes the stage again
With a trumpet blast
And a drum roll.
Winter’s dead dread is
But a distant dream.

Spring ignites the great
White Way of my life
And makes her abode
Deep inside … for the ride.

© E.M. Ramos 4/11/2010

Secrets and Psalm 139

2010-04-04T09:59:00.003-04:00

Secrets and Psalm 139

In light of my aversion to having my “secrets” revealed, I wonder that Psalm 139 is my favorite. “O Lord you have probed me and You know me.” It does not disturb me; rather it comforts me to know God knows “when I sit and when I stand,” that He understands “my thoughts from afar.” Maybe it reminds me that I am not alone, that God is aware of little me, that He cares about me.

“Where can I go from your Spirit? From your presence, where can I flee?” Rather than fear being found out, these passages raise some deep down gratitude. Why? I am not sure. It is a paradox. But I trust the feeling. And my prayer “Sacred Heart of Jesus I place my trust in Thee” has gotten me through so many dark moments, how could I not be hopeful when His hand guides me and holds me fast!

On this glorious Easter day, it is no secret that I feel grateful to have the gift of my faith and l wonder at the mystery of the Resurrection. How blessed I am! Happy Easter to all!

Mysteries and Secrets

2010-03-29T14:40:00.001-04:00

Mysteries and Secrets

I love mystery novels. One of my favorites is the Victorian Mystery series by Robin Paige, which takes place in late 19th century England. Kate Ardleigh and her husband Sir Charles Sheridan are amateur sleuths. What is so interesting and educational are the real historical characters they encounter during their adventures: the Prince of Wales, Arthur Conan Doyle, Rudyard Kipling, and Chas. Rolls (of Rolls-Royce).

All sorts of new inventions and technology are explored in these novels: fingerprints, the camera, the motor car, etc. And the reactions of the people of that time to these new inventions and developments in crime detection. Change is difficult for people to accept. New technology is not always embraced at first. New ways of doing things are not trusted. Some things never change across the centuries! Like people’s attitudes.

One passage that set me thinking was Sir Charles’ explanation of how X-rays work to incredulous listeners. You can actually see inside the body, he says. Imagine the implications for medicine, says a local physician. We may one day even be able to observe the heart beating. And Kate replies: “And soon we will have no secrets at all”.

No secrets at all. That’s how I sometimes feel in the face of 21st century technology. All of these new wonders are robbing us of our secrets. Google anything, including your own name, and chances are you’ll find out more than you ever wanted to know. And when I go for a medical check-up to be scanned way beyond X-rays - blood tests, CT’s, MRI’s - discovering secrets I did not even know I had. Well, no wonder I and so many others distrust and fear these new fangled investigative devices. They take away our last illusion of control, shine an all-revealing light on our nice safe dark corners. No more secrets.

Running to Nowhere

2010-03-12T11:22:00.002-05:00

For some time I have felt so impatient. Like I want to hurry everything through and get on to the next thing. No matter what it is. If I’m reading, I want to hurry and finish the book and immediately start the next. I call it “Chain Reading”, much like chain smoking except it‘s not destroying my lungs. I read 57 books last year. If I’m walking I want to hurry and get to some destination, usually the café or some other place to eat. If I’m eating, I hurry to finish, hardly noticing the taste, never savoring.

I want the movie to be over so I can go on to the next thing. At work, I enjoy the planning but my goal is to finish and proceed to the next project -right away. I can’t stand to be without motion, to be still, to meditate, to focus, to pray. I want everything to be over and done with. Instead of breathing and delighting in where I am right now. And where I am right now is in flux. PS I hurried to finish this.

Memories of Dad #5

2010-02-27T11:42:00.002-05:00

Memories of Dad continued (See Memories in earlier blogs)

Dad was not as much of a fighter as Mom. He was resigned to a lot. Like living in the city. I asked him about that once and he said he loved New York because he had met Mom here and because we kids were here. When he was demoted (today it would be downsized) in his job after years of hard work, because of all the layoffs, he took it quietly but I know he was hurting inside. Life is not fair - Mom hated that and ranted and raved against injustice. Dad just sat and took it. Maybe it built up inside him, boiled, festered. Maybe that’s why his temper explosions were so scary.

Dad was conservative, too, in his politics. He was very patriotic. He loved America and he believed in everything this country did. He would have gladly fought in any war and died for his country. In fact he tried to enlist in WWII but was refused because of his age and his job at a defense plant. I wonder what would have happened had he lived through Vietnam. Would we have had terrible clashes about that war which I opposed? I wonder.

I appreciated that Dad could listen to me and share my problems and even confide in me about his own personal conflicts. Many times we walked and talked quietly. He listened and told me his problems too. He didn’t solve any but it was so good to be comforted and to know that he had problems too.

Born in Erie, Pennsylvania, Dad was the second child in a family of four boys and three girls. He grew up speaking Hungarian. When his older brother Joe started school at Sacred Heart Parochial School, Dad missed him so much that the nuns let him come to school, too, at age four. But he spoke no English and Uncle Joe had to translate for him. Dad remained bilingual all his life. Dad told me once that no one could trace the roots of the Hungarian language; it is not related to any of the Indo-European tongues. I was fascinated by the strange-sounding and mysterious-looking language that I heard him use with my grandparents and that I saw embroidered on the wall hangings in their home.

Young John or Janos (his parents called him “Yanch”) was an altar boy at the Hungarian church. He would go to two churches every Sunday, first to serve on the altar in the Hungarian liturgy, then to Mass in English.

Dad did not like high school at all and dropped out after two years. He would always be defensive about his deficient education; perhaps that was why he valued learning so much and like Mom, encouraged his children to get as much schooling as they could.

Aunt Elizabeth remembers walking home from the store when she was six or seven years old. She met Dad (he was 16 or 17 at the time) and he told her he was leaving, to say goodbye to Mom and Pop. He would up in Ohio and came home a few years later. Once again he encountered his sister Elizabeth , this time on the train. He was very ill with the flu. Later he went to New York because Aunt Anna and Aunt Helen, my grandmother’s sisters, visited Erie with stories of how it was easier to find work in New York City. Dad lived with Aunt Anna in NY. This was the time of the Great Depression and finally Dad took advantage of one of the programs of the New Deal; he joined the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) and traveled to Idaho and Wyoming to fight forest fires and plant trees. This experience shaped his life immensely and enkindled a great love of nature that he passed on to all of us.

Memories of Dad #4

2010-02-24T10:51:00.003-05:00

Memories of Dad continued .....

My Dad was the quiet, observing person who loved nature and sunsets and clouds and trees. He would rise at 5 a.m. and drive hours to a lake or river and fish quietly all day. He liked a buddy with him, whether it was Uncle Bill or his cousin Gene or a friend from work or me or Kathy or one of the boys.

He was also the one who couldn’t watch a sentimental program on TV or hear a beautiful song on the “relaxing” station WPAT, without tears coming to his eyes. I’m like him in that way, the least thing gets me all choked up and teary eyed. Mom never cried at a movie; at least she never let me see her cry.

Dad was concerned with our education but not in the same way as Mom: he was proud when we brought home good marks but I think it was more of a vindication. Dad was a high school dropout, while his oldest brother was a college graduate. Dad never got over this and would always let me know if he thought I was getting boastful or conceited about my academic achievements. And when I was in college, he resented my “know-it-all” attitude and took it personally. He must have “hurt” from his relationship with his older brother. So our marks must have proved in some way that Johnny Lovas was not so dumb after all!

Dad was a powerful teacher in his own quiet way. He taught me a lot about faith and beauty and constancy. He was the ultimate responsible person. He was the cool head in a crisis. He never panicked, you felt so safe with Dad. He could fix anything - around the house, and more importantly, when Jeff had all his accidents and Mom was hysterical, Dad knew just what to do.

Dad never missed Sunday Mass but he would go himself to the early Mass. He didn’t like crowds and often shared that he thought worship should be a private affair. Every night, he sat on the edge of his bed, head bowed, and said his prayers silently before going to sleep. His favorite spot to think about God was out in God’s creation. Dad had a picture of a Mass being offered on the shores of Jackson Lake in the Teton Mountains when he was in the CCC’s. That was the perfect church for Dad.

Memories of Dad #3

2010-02-21T11:36:00.002-05:00

Last Tuesday, February 16th was the 45th anniversary of my Dad’s death. I think I will continue my memories of him by starting with the basics.

My father, John James Lovas, Jr. (12/28/1909 to 2/16/1965)

Dad was tall, about six foot, well-built until middle age when he got a bit flabby around the middle. But he was so-o-o handsome, with his wavy dark hair (later silver at the temples), his piercing gray eyes that always seemed to be squinting, his long nose and perfect mouth. The pipe, perennially perched at the side of the mouth, was the final touch. It gave him a peaceful look and comforted me greatly. I thought he would never lose that terrifying temper while he had that pipe in his mouth.

Dad was the opposite of Mom in many ways. While her walk was hurried, her appearance a bit disheveled, her manner spontaneous, my father’s actions were slow, deliberate, carefully organized and planned, never in a rush.

His walk was slow, with long powerful, unhurried steps. The only time I remember him running was to pull Kathy and me from the lake when we almost drowned. I used to wait for him to come home from work - he’d walk, straight and powerful, up the block. I would run up to him, but he never altered his pace.

Mom was always in a rush, always last minute, often late. Dad was early to bed, early to rise, probably never late to anything in his life, absent from work only twice - for severe poison ivy and a burst appendix. He was on his way to work the day he died of a heart attack.

Dad went about his work on the job and at home in an organized, cool and deliberate manner. He planned a project at his workbench, which was always neat, clean and impeccably ordered. Everything in its place. Even the screws and nails in the baby food jars whose caps were nailed to the workbench so he could unscrew the right jar as he needed it. I think the only one of us kids to take after him is Kathy.

His appearance was always just right. Not a hair out of place. Well-groomed. He never left a piece of clothing on a chair - everything was hung up, in its place.

His speech was reminiscent of the Pennsylvania twang of Erie where he grew up. I didn’t realize this till later in life when I heard some people from Pennsylvania talk and realized how much their accent sounded like Dad’s. His voice was a deep bass, very masculine. He usually spoke slowly and calmly but that temper would cause a roar that could be heard “all the way down the block”.

That Hungarian temper was the tragedy of this gentle man because it could flare up so suddenly and unexpectedly. It made me fear him, which is sad because I loved him so and because he was really such a teddy bear at heart.

In fact, I often compared Dad to a bear. When he hugged me (till I thought I would smother) it was truly a “bear” hug. He was a big old lovable bear, ferocious at times, funny, lumbering, overwhelming, dangerous, but oh, so cute.

TO BE CONTINUED ---

January Poems

2010-01-31T10:11:00.002-05:00

I don’t know what it is about winter that inspires the poet in me but it does. Maybe it’s being able to see through uncluttered bare branches, to see what I didn’t notice during the distraction of Fall. Anyway I am just grateful for the gift of another poem.

Winter Whine

This is not your gentle January.
This month means business.
Freeze drying the brain
Shoving shiv ‘ring bones within
To seek refuge nigh
Desiccating hearth,
There to brood on shortened days
To cry dry tears for dead dreams
And look back in anguish.

Or perhaps, January says “go out”.
Sip in the icy breath of life.
Dance merrily on the slippery way.
Dare to fall and rise again.
And look ahead in awe.

© E.M. Ramos 1/8/2010

The next poem was inspired by my dear friend Mary, 95 years young, who says that she seems to be sleeping most of the day. I have long connected late life with winter. And so ….

Winter Waiting

Winter time’s for sleeping.
That’s just the way it is.
All the world appears dead,
Draped in dried, drab reminders
Of Autumn’s harvest.

Yet just below the surface
Life lies in quiet repose.
Renewing energy
Dreaming of Spring
Hoping for rebirth.

© E.M. Ramos 1/17/2010

Memories of Dad #2

2010-01-19T11:29:00.001-05:00

Here’s some very early ones. The story of my naming. During my Mom’s first pregnancy, they made a trip to my Dad’s hometown of Erie, PA and visited his 8th grade teacher, Sister Mary Eleanora. They told her that they were hoping for a boy, but if they had a girl, they would name the baby after her. And Sr. Eleanora replied: “I’ll pray it’s a boy, but I hope it’s a girl!”

I was the youngest in my class when I started kindergarten at St. B.’s school. In those days, Catholic schools had 2 graduating classes a year - January and June. I was slated to stay in kindergarten another 6 months because I was so young. Dad (kiddingly?) remarked one night: “Tell your teacher to put you in 1st grade or else!” And of course, I told her what my Dad said. When I was promoted to 1st grade in January, I was convinced it was because of Dad’s “threat”.

Dad would wake me up early in the morning for fishing trips, carry me asleep to the car. It seemed like we drove hours to the lake, listening to 40’s music on the radio, songs that warm my heart to this day. I loved baking in the sun, sitting in the row boat, waiting for a nibble, and watching the dragon flies dance romantically on the tip of my rod. Or just be mesmerized by the sun reflected in the water’s ripples. Dad taught me to appreciate silence. And his greatest gift to us: a deep love of nature.

Remembering Dad

2010-01-11T11:50:00.003-05:00

As I said in my last blog, I am extending my celebration of my father over the next several weeks and months. Here's installment #1.

My fondest memory is Dad coming to our rescue in an upstate lake. How old was I? 9? 10? 11? I swam out with my sister, Kathy behind me and found I couldn't touch bottom. She grabbed on to me - I knew how to swim and she did not. But I could not move with her hanging on. The bathers on shore just looked and made no motion to come to our aid. But Dad saw what was happening, kicked off his shoes, and came out, clothes and all, pipe in his mouth, to save his girls. I will never never forget the expression on his face as long as I live. My savior! It gives me great hope for any other trouble I will face the rest of my days. Kathy remembers Dad drying out his money after the rescue. I remember that he changed into his bathing suit and wanted us to have a swim lesson. Kathy did. But I wouldn't go near the water for quite some time. Hmmmm...

Celebrating Dad's 100th Birthday

2009-12-31T12:46:00.002-05:00

Monday December 28th would have been my Dad's 100th birthday. My brother Jim had the idea of the five of us - me, Kathy, Jim, John, and Jeff - getting together to celebrate him and share memories at a gala dinner. Some of us started the day by visiting the cemetery and laying a wreath on Mom and Dad's grave. Then Jim and Michelle, John, and Angel and I went to visit the old neighborhood in Ridgewood. Big mistake! The block was dowdy, not the bright sunny street of my memories. The old three story brownstone looked all beat up. The stoop that Nanny had once scrubbed with a brush weekly was gone - replaced by brick steps. The old gate and fence looked frail and sad. The entryway was unwelcoming. I peeked into the hall from the vestibule, at the stairs to Nanny's apartment, my once upon a time safe haven. They looked naked and empty, devoid of the anticipation and love that filled little Eleanor as she climbed them so often to the peaceful grandparent nest. Maybe the worst was the cascade of cable wires hanging down the outside of the building, along with all the garbage bags in the gate. Even the little bush was gone. Overall we all felt it was depressing. I guess you can't go home again.

Happily, our celebration at Koenigs was just that - happy, relaxed and enjoyable. In a private room with Christmas decorations and a fireplace, we traded memories,enjoyed good food and celebrated Dad. The five of us were seated up front of the two tables of family. I am proud that my sister and brothers love and respect each other and keep in touch. In the days and weeks to come, I will post my memories of my Dad.

Christmas Letter 2009

2009-12-24T10:45:00.003-05:00

Merry Christmas to All!

As another year speeds to a close, I am grateful for many blessings: family and friends; new adventures and opportunities to grow. My health continues to be stable and I get plenty of exercise walking to my part time job in lower Manhattan and in my beloved Botanical Gardens.

What a glorious time my granddaughter and I had in Italy on the Cathedral HS trip in February, thanks to my pal Sister P. We toured Rome, Pisa, Venice and even San Marino; but our favorite city was Florence. I will never forget the early morning trek over snow slicked cobblestones in Assisi to attend Mass at the basilica. In August I visited my daughter and her family in California and was there for the big fires. Scary! We also took mini-trips to San Francisco, Ft. Ross, the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose, and Legoland.

My daughter Tina is still home schooling and doing her amazing comic strips on her blog (you can get there by clicking onto "My daughter's blog" on the sidebar). Chase is 13 and growing taller and handsomer by the day, with his curly dark hair and dimples. Sierra has enjoyed more time with us; one day she accompanied Angel to the Senior Center plus trips to the Zoo and Gardens with me! My son coaches Sam's Little League team and we went to a game to see Sam pitch. Also enjoyed Sam's Celebration of Learning Day in May and a minor league ballgame in July.

We spent lots of time with my sister Kathy and family and her new grandson Braden. Kathy and I took a trip to Pennsylvania on Halloween weekend to visit all of my H. cousins' new houses. It is a joy being with them and their families. I am looking forward to being together with all my siblings - Kathy, Jim, John and Jeff - to celebrate the 100th anniversary of our Dad's birth on December 28th.

A theme of 2009 - friends. I even wrote a poem, "Shoes". From the past - got to visit my dear friend Mary, 94 years young, in California and was surprised by a visit from the H.'s, Ann and John. Frequent friends - Pat N. and I saw South Pacific on Broadway. Wow! My Met Club pals meet faithfully every month. Phone friends A. and cousin Jan call often. New friends from my job and from my Spirituality Group.

Just like me, my "toys" are aging, so I bought a new car and a new laptop - thank you Reed for setting it up. I co-authored a blog about elder poverty on inforumusa.org, and have a chapter in a book to be published next Spring. Happily many poems came to me this year. Click on the sidebar to read a few.

Although 2009 was a challenging time economically for many of us, it gives you an opportunity to put things in perspective, to understand what really matters in life. And to realized you don't really need all that much stuff. And so I look forward with great hope to 2010.

Technology overload

2009-12-13T10:11:00.003-05:00

Haven't posted for awhile. I got a new computer and have been trying to get used to it. Thankfully my son-in-law Reed set it up because I am clueless with all this new technology and wish to remain in a state of ignorance - in that realm anyway.

Does anyone care that the new technology, especially communications technology, evolves before one gets a chance to learn how to use it? In my case I don't even know about the existence of new thingys and they are already obsolete! Is it only me who wishes for a law that would do away with one form of communication before a new one is permitted to be invented?

Right now I still love old fashioned snail mail and hand written Christmas cards (another reason I haven't posted lately). I will tolerate voice mail and I do love e-mail. But why do we need faxes anymore?

Finally, I refuse to twitter, tweet, facebook or blackberry. I think I'd even give up my cell phone. I guess I'm really getting old. Good for me!

Colors of Joy

2009-10-30T09:32:00.002-04:00

I think that Autumn is my favorite time of the year. And this year the colors are so vibrant it makes me shout for joy. As I walked in the NY Botanical Gardens the trees inspired a poem, which I share with you.

Colors of Joy

I can’t be sad in autumn.
The trees won’t allow it.
They roar in red faced glee
‘rousing my eyes awake.
They dance delightful
orange jigs in my soul.

Fiery shrubs, sienna
burnt, shout out as I pass
‘neath golden canopies,
‘midst magic magenta,
through the last gasp of green.

They yell oh so loud
my heart explodes in song
as I grovel in
glorious gratitude.

© E.M. Ramos
10/20/2009

National Parks - The Best Idea

2009-10-23T10:37:00.001-04:00

A few weeks back, I watched all six episodes of Ken Burns PBS epic on the national parks. Many parts of this series relate to Michael Moore’s film "Capitalism" (See my blog below). "National Parks" covered history, conservation, natural science and the politics of launching and maintaining our magnificent National Parks System. So many Americans were involved in that struggle: ordinary citizens and wealthy businessmen, politicians and conservationists, young and old. A true coalition. Some like John Muir faced personal attacks in the quest to save our wilderness areas of incredible beauty from blatant exploitation.

The war is never won. If you lose a battle, that valley – like the one in Yosemite – is lost forever; if you win, you know that future generations will have to fight all over again. Greed goes on.

One episode focused on the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC’s), one of FDR’s New Deal programs to help America out of the Great Depression. The CCC was aimed at helping young unemployed men, and at the same time, sprucing up the National Parks System. It gave them structure, an army barracks style discipline, and job training. They fought forest fires, built ranger stations, planted trees. For many, it was their first glimpse of the natural wonders of the West and they developed a deep love of nature. The interviews with three CCC veterans were poignant. But I know personally how great this program was because my Dad was in the CCC’s and told us how it changed his life.

And here’s where the National Parks series touches on the "Capitalism" film. The CCC was the kind of "win-win" project I had hoped the president would promote to get us out of the current economic decline. Not a bail out of the villains who got us into trouble in the first place! FDR’s New Deal put Americans to work and helped the nation in innumerable ways. Why haven’t we learned this history lesson?

By the way, you can still catch re-runs of the Ken Burns National Parks series on PBS. It’s worth a watch.

Capitalism: A Love Story

2009-10-18T10:07:00.004-04:00

Last week we saw Michael Moore’s latest film, which addresses the economic crisis in America and the system of Capitalism. Now I know that Moore is controversial but he comes across to me as passionate about ordinary hard working people, who believe in the American dream, and who are suffering. He is also an outstanding film maker: funny, confrontational, and thought provoking.

I found myself chuckling at times - like when he strung yellow criminal tape around the headquarters of the big financial institutions: Chase, Citigroup, AIG, etc. And I shed tears at people losing homes that had been in their families for generations, or their jobs, leaving behind veritable ghost towns. There were also moments of real hope: the grassroots opposition to the bailout of Wall Street. I had almost forgotten. Probably because the Congress backtracked and sold out after all. I believe it when Moore points out the scare tactics that were used to pass the bail out bill. And I agree that democracy is under attack by vested interests – within our capitalist system. There’s plenty of blame to go around – for Democrats and Republicans alike. And while I don’t believe that unions are all that innocent, my heart goes out to working people.

At any rate, the film clarified for me a lot about how we got into such an mess. I remember thinking not long ago – when did monopolies become legal? What would Teddy Roosevelt say? I was surprised, but not really surprised, at the insidious way that corporate greed has taken over. It is outrageous that most of the wealth of America is in the hands of one percent of the population. And the gap widens. The rich did not suffer from the economic decline – we bailed them out! But the rest of us sure did! I also liked how Moore looks into the teachings of Jesus - they don't support the Capitalist system as it has evolved today. Tell it like it is, Michael. Meanwhile, why not see the film and decide for yourself. If nothing else, it will spark discussion.

Prayer Always Works

2009-10-09T11:39:00.001-04:00

Prayer always works. When I’m feeling "murky", I thank God for everything I can think of – from my grandkids to the brilliant blue sky. And suddenly, I feel whole once more. I was diagnosed with cancer in 2008. Monitoring appointments fill me with anxiety. On the day of a recent appointment, I was feeling very sorry for myself – like no one knew or cared that I was facing this ordeal alone. I prayed "Lord be with me", and as I walked to the doctor’s office, something made me check my cell phone. There was a message from my sister that I hadn’t noticed the night before. I listened to her voice reassuring me about my appointment and of course, she remembered. I felt so grateful to God for being present to me in my sister that day. I was not alone.

Recently I had a disagreement with a friend. Knowing I had done nothing wrong, but desiring peace, I decided to apologize and prayed for the right words to say. Next day I saw the person and began my apology, only to have her apologize to me instead! Our relationship was healed instantly. What a surprising answer to my prayer. I truly believe that God is a God of surprises. And prayer always works.

A Rainy Sunday

2009-09-30T10:18:00.002-04:00

Last Sunday I waited and waited for the rain to stop. I was desperate to get out, to walk in my beloved Gardens. Finally, I just put on the rain gear and went. Somehow the Garden in a gentle cleansing rain is a blessing. The usual Sunday crowds don’t materialize; in fact it was kind of deserted, the way I like it. You see things you would not notice were it not for the rain. And a poem came….

A Rainy Sunday

Softly, the rain invades
my worried world,
its whispered touch washing
whatever’s in its wake:
Sated trees, shining
with sweat laden leaves.
Dainty droplets dangling
off pine needles
and holly berries.
The once anemic Bronx
River swollen into
hyperactivity.
Even Le Sportsac is
soaked to the skin
mindless of my efforts.

September Sunday rain
doesn’t ruin
a garden walk.
It brings the path
into focus.

© E.M. Ramos 9/27/2009

California Treats

2009-09-16T11:05:00.001-04:00

Spent a few weeks in California with my daughter and her family last month. California is fascinating and I can see why people love it despite the fires, earthquakes, smog and mudslides. Each road brings a new adventure and unique beauty –breathtaking ocean views from twisty mountain roads, giant Sequoia forests, the awesome wonder of the desert – and so much more. I discovered some new places well worth a visit on a trip north from LA with my daughter and grandsons.

Fort Ross, about 100 miles north of San Francisco, was once a Russian fort, a stop off on the way to Alaska. It’s on an inlet of the Pacific that was deep enough to load their ships. I liked the photo ops through decaying fences, the Russian Orthodox chapel and the museum displays of 19th century artifacts. A fairy tale-like kitchen, workshops to make all the metal and wooden tools the fort dwellers needed (no malls in those days) and a room for spinning and making cloth. An arsenal plus cannons intrigued the kids; there was plenty of room to run around too. And trails down to the beach.

On our way back to Burbank, we stopped at the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose. This is a Victorian mansion with a fascinating history. In the late 1800’s, Sara Winchester, married to the heir to the Winchester rifle fortune, lost her only child and was widowed 15 years later. She consulted an occultist who told her that she needed to buy a house (with her millions) and keep building on to it to quiet the spirits of those killed by the Winchester rifle. So she kept hundreds of workers and craftsmen busy night and day for 38 years! The result is windows facing nothing but walls, doors that open to a three story drop, and tiny winding steps to accommodate her arthritis. There’s even a staircase to a ceiling. The genuine Tiffany windows, vintage wall coverings, floors and fireplaces are worth the price of admission. And there are many strange stories about the recluse who lived there. Like the SF earthquake that toppled the top three stories of the mansion and trapped her in her bedroom.

These “treats” can be enjoyed by young and old alike. If you are in the vicinity, look them up.

Grandparents as Resources

2009-08-09T10:55:00.003-04:00

When I first heard that my daughter wanted to home school, I thought back to the New York City teachers strike in the 70’s, my only attempt at home schooling. I lasted less than a day. But hey! My daughter is at a different place than I was and I respected her decision. What I could do, and what our family does so well, is help.

My career has been spent as a gerontologist, working with older adults. So I know that today’s grandparents are very different from my own grandparents. They are often better educated – both my husband and I have Masters degrees – and many have been professionals. They have so much to offer to the home schooling experience. I also believe that all grandparents have talents, gifts, knowledge, skills – whatever their educational level – that can be turned into a resource for the home schooler.

At the turn of the 20th century, my own grandmother, who finished 8th grade and went to work in NYC’s garment industry, had longed to be a teacher (maybe that’s where my daughter gets her skills.) She taught me to sew. My husband grew up in Puerto Rico; his native language is Spanish. What a help to home schooled grandkids learning a language. Plus he can fill them in with a first hand account of what it was like growing up in a culture so different from their own.

My bachelor’s degree is in Math so I sometimes help out when an algebra problem proves a bit too challenging. Having worked for non-profits for over 30 years, I was able to give my granddaughter an experience of social service work. She helped at one of our Harlem soup kitchens one year, giving out Thanksgiving turkeys. And she was able to observe and participate in the process of the event every step of the way. What a lesson in organization and planning, transferable to a multitude of real life situations!

My favorite home school resource role is enhancing my daughter’s lessons. Many retirees have the time and desire to take grandchildren on learning excursions, whether day trips or longer vacations. I enjoy bringing my grandchildren to the Bronx Zoo and Botanical Gardens for onsite nature and science lessons. They really read all the descriptions of the plants and animals! When I take them to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, they recognize many masterpieces and artists from their Mom’s lessons.

Last February, thanks to my connections to the traditional school community, I was delighted bring my granddaughter to Italy on an educational trip with a Manhattan high school. There is no greater education than experiencing history and culture on the spot. I was so proud of how she prepared for our trip, learning Italian phrases and studying about the museums and cities we would visit. A win-win for both generations.

And of course, grandparents are the source of living history. The end of World War II, air raid drills during the Cold War, the early days of television, the Mc Carthy hearings, the Rosenberg trial – I lived this history as a child and can talk about it from that perspective, growing up in the 40’s and 50’s. As a young adult, I lived through Vatican II and Vietnam protests, Civil Rights and the Women’s Movement, assassinations and the first man on the moon. I remember my grandmother telling me how hard it was during the depression; it made that time come alive for me. I’ve left a written record of my memories – "Grandma’s Story" – for the next generation. I add chapters on everyday life way back when – which is my idea of history. Each of my grandkids receives the chapters in old fashioned book form but it’s also posted on my blog.

There’s much more that grandparents can offer as resources. Ask your own elders what they can share. But, of course, the best gift we grandparents can give is our love and support to both the home schooler and home schoolee.

Humidity

2009-08-05T10:07:00.001-04:00

I’m not complaining. We’ve had a delightfully cool summer this year. But when the heat and humidity returns, it doesn’t take long to be frazzled and fried. Anyone who’s lived through a New York City summer doesn’t need this poem explained.

Humidity

I know I’m not a
plant.
I feel like a fish
breathing in a bowl of
liquid air that
drenches and drains.

While my green
friends soak up
the drippy atmosphere
and party.
I look
melted.
They look marvelous.
Guess that’s the upside
of humidity.

© E.M. Ramos 7/31/2009

Unfinished

2009-07-31T10:03:00.002-04:00

Since last Fall, six of our relatives have died: brother, sisters-in-law, cousins, aunt. These deaths plus my own aging get me thinking scary thoughts about my own mortality. And as I focus on this, I realize that it’s not only death I fear, but maybe even more all that I leave undone. A constant refrain across my life: never enough time to get it all done the way it "should" be. And instead of working on my unfinished business, I give in to distractions or obsessions that give some semblance of familiar comfort: like cookies and reading mystery novels compulsively. After all, then I don’t have to face the fact that I will never be perfect and never be finished. It’s a life long struggle, a life long issue.

My reflections brought back a memory from long ago. My grandmother had told me the story of how my Mom had gotten a perfect report card in fifth grade: 100% in every subject, 100% in average. Although I had gotten my share of 99%’s, I’d never achieved perfection and I was definitely aiming for it. So here I was in fifth grade, taking a test – a minor subject at that – taking my time to make it absolute perfection. When my teacher announced: "Five minutes left". I panicked. I wasn’t nearly finished. Flashes of shattered dreams raced through my head. Not only would I not get the perfect report card, I might fail! I was audibly panting; kids turned to look at me. And I scribbled desperate answers all over the page.

I don’t remember the outcome of that episode; I am sure my teacher made some concessions. But the memory of all this inspired a poem. Here it is.

Unfinished

Fantasy filled fifth grade
dreams – my quixotic quest
to be the best of all -
forever forgotten
eternally lost.

Terror still stalks
the memory of
no time left to score
the perfect percent
as panic racked breath
screeches its zig-zag
path across the page
of the unfinished test.

So deeply rutted still
in well worn ways
which never worked
the fuzzy feel
of friendly fear
and lazy anger.
So stuck in not to
be I cannot see
the treasure that is me.

© E.M. Ramos 7/30/2009

A Gift from all the rain

2009-07-17T09:35:00.002-04:00

We have had lots of rain this summer. I am a true believer in the "every cloud has a silver lining" theory. Both in nature and in life. Last week as I sat outside the Botanical Gardens café, under their awning, a summer storm rose up out of what had been a sunny sky a few moments before. And I received the gift of a poem.

Summer Storm

I love to watch a summer storm
- from a safe dry space, of course -
Pounding the pavement.
Creating instant rivers.
Filling the awning above
me to drip-right-throughness.

In just a blink the sun
regains control. Its steamy
breath sends will-‘o-the-wisps
slithering skyward.
Brooding clouds evaporate.
Rain-made rivers disappear.
The path is dry and I can
walk embraced by cool breezes,
inhaling grassy air,
holding the storm in my heart.

© E.M. Ramos 7/9/2009

Lessons I've Learned

2009-07-12T10:59:00.001-04:00

In one of her blogs last week, my daughter posed an interesting quiz on learning and self-education and challenged her readers to take the quiz themselves.

What is a memory you have of learning with your Mom?

My Mom took a very active role in our education. She "heard" our lessons every night. My memory improved dramatically under my Mom’s tutelage because if we did not recite the catechism or history answers back to her "perfectly", we were sent off to study "until you know it!" My sister can attest to many homework papers that were torn up because she had crossed out or erased. OK in fairness, a few times she had erased holes in the paper. Maybe my success in school was a direct result of Mom’s encouragement, because she would not settle for less. She taught me to always strive to do my best.

I also learned many other life lessons from her. Like how to be a savvy shopper, hunting out bargains way before it became stylish. I will never forget the trip in-between dress racks to a remote corner in Bloomies to find a lone hidden rack of sales items. Now in those days, it was pretty awesome for us to find something affordable in Bloomingdale’s but Mom managed to find bargains in the classiest places. Just to negotiate her way around that store was admirable to me, who, like many others, finds it a major challenge just to find the exit out of Bloomies!

What is a memory you have of learning with your Dad?

On the meandering car vacations, which brought American history and geography alive for me, my Dad taught me a love of traveling, visiting new places and reading maps! I was not geographically challenged, as many Americans are today, because I had personally visited capitals of states or spent many car hours searching for them on road maps.

Dad also taught me to appreciate and reverence nature. He would point out interesting cloud formations and instruct me to take pictures out of the car window as we traveled the highways to some vacation destination. He never failed to point out sunsets, whether on a fishing expedition upstate or looking out the window from his easy chair. We spent many quiet hours in row boats on lakes, waiting for fish to bite. Now I realize I was learning to observe nature; in a way it was my first lesson in meditation. And it felt so peaceful.

What kind of education do you think you gave yourself?

Like my daughter, I loved to draw when I was a kid. It certainly spurred a lifelong love for art. In school, I did not enjoy history – it seemed to be all about dates and wars. Ho Hum. So after I graduated from college, I took on a project to find out about everyday life in other times. I was especially interested in medieval times and Barbara Tuchman’s classic "A Distant Mirror" got me started. I discovered that history was very interesting indeed and found a different perspective. I especially enjoyed the book by Bonnie S. Anderson and Judith P. Zinsser, two Columbia University professors. "A History of Their Own" approached history from a woman’s point of view, not chronologically but categorically: Women of the Fields, Women of the Churches, Women of the Castles and Manors, etc. I learned that women did yield power even way back when and my love for history was born. As a result, I have a sizable collection of history books, especially Medieval History focusing on everyday life. Any one can get an education by reading. Just ask my granddaughter, Marina!

America the Beautiful

2009-07-05T10:34:00.003-04:00

This Independence Day I feel very grateful for being an American. I am so proud of my beautiful country and so grateful that I have seen so much of it. I have fond memories of childhood vacations when my Dad piled the kids in the car and took us on adventures in upstate New York, to Pennsylvania, to Florida and once to Kentucky. I learned so much about the history and geography of America on those travels.

Later I spent vacations in the majestic Adirondacks, meditated on the Hudson and thrilled to the sounds and sights of my hometown, New York City. I know every inch of the Bronx Botanical Gardens and the Bronx Zoo and have gotten lost too many times in magnificent Central Park. My daughter and I traveled the Pacific Coast Highway from San Francisco to San Diego, explored the back roads of California, discovering a new wonder around every bend: Josiah Tree, Yosemite, Mt. Whitney. We stopped our car in Death Valley and got out to experience the sound of silence; it was also on a back road in Death Valley that I witnessed a parade of tarantulas.

Lisa and I once drove up and down the Atlantic coast to the Everglades, seeing the aftermath of Hurricane Andrew, driving through rice paddies in the Carolinas, and watching the moon rise over the ocean from the N.C. shore. In Maine I tasted my first lobster, laughed at puffins flying around their little island near Acadia National Park, and saw a moose along the road.

How blessed I am to have seen so much of this beautiful land! And there’s so much more to see!

My De Mello Retreat: The Statue

2009-06-21T10:11:00.003-04:00

Two weeks ago I spent a week at Mariandale Retreat Center on a retreat based on the writings of Anthony De Mello, a Jesuit from India. His books – Sadhana, The Song of the Bird, Awareness – contain wisdom from Eastern religions as well as Christianity and exercises that are a great help in self-understanding and in meditation. I am amazed at how quickly I seem to come down to earth after a retreat, diving right back into busyness and "too much to do". Yet I am so grateful for having had the "time apart" to refresh body and spirit.

Today I share my favorite "fantasy" exercise from the retreat. It’s called "The Statue". There is a statue of you in a museum. Which museum? Where in the museum is your statue? How big is it? What’s it made of? Title? You enter the museum and find your statue. You converse with it. Is there something you want to tell it? Then you are in the statue and hear people’s comments as they look at it; your friends stop by and you hear what they say. Then Jesus comes. He knows you are really in the statue. What does He say?

My statue is in the Met. In the rooftop garden overlooking Central Park. It’s a marble statue, bigger than life, of me walking. The wind is tossing my hair gently, my arms swing out, my trusty Le Sportsac around my neck. Clad in jeans, T-shirt and walking shoes. The caption is "She Who Loved to Go Out and Walk".

I find this statue of me easily. I love this statue. It’s when I am happiest, feel free. Walking, saying little cheers to myself, meditating, focusing. Walking to stay fit, lose weight, be healthy. The only exercise I ever enjoyed. And it had to be out of doors. I always want to be OUT. Even as a child, I would gaze through the kitchen window to look at the back yard and my grandfather’s garden. So this is the perfect location for my statue, atop the Met overlooking Central Park, where I began my walking in earnest, where I was gifted with poems and marvelous insights. No wonder the expression on my statue face is of quiet joy. I never realized before how happy this combination of nature and walking makes me. It’s where I’ve experienced some of my most profound spiritual gifts.

Now I jump into the statue. Passersby wonder what the silly pocketbook is doing there. Well I do have my baggage, don’t I? I am still "attached". I know it. Not ready to "let go" of everything yet. But someday, maybe it will chip off. The people notice the statue is of an older woman. Wouldn’t a younger person be more aesthetically pleasing? But this is not about external beauty. This is ME when I finally came to discover the most important lessons in life – the decade of my 50’s. When I was truly blessed in the midst of suffering and pain.

Now my friends pass by. Especially my Met Club. Well she sure belongs here, they say. They know me. They know this statue puts it all together: my love of nature, art , walking and my "stuff" (in the Le Sportsac). Yep, they say, the sculptor really captured Eleanor.

Enough for today. Maybe I will share more of my retreat next time.

Grandma's Story - Chapter 5, Part 2

2009-05-28T09:57:00.002-04:00

Chapter 5, Part 2

My sister and I had favorite TV shows. There was Serial Theater, which consisted of episodes of old movie serials, a different one each day. Flash Gordon was a sci-fi space serial; Tim Tyler’s Luck took place in a jungle, with the Jungle Cruiser; Gene Autry combined westerns, mystery and sci-fi; and a serial about the navy at war with a nurse named Mercedes. We also watched lots of Westerns on early TV: we liked Crash, Dusty and Alibi, and Hopalong Cassidy. Channel 13 in those days was a kid’s channel, all old cartoons and westerns from the movies. After school we watched original made-for-TV programs like Howdy Doody with Clarabel the Clown, a nasty creature, and Buffalo Bob – I was envious of the kids who got to sit in the "Peanut Gallery" and be on the show. Kukla, Fran and Ollie, a puppet show, was a favorite. My friends and I liked a kids game show called "Sense or Nonsense" and we desperately wanted to be contestants. Later, our favorites were the space themed shows like Tom Corbett Space Cadet and especially Captain Video, with the video ranger and the alien Spartak. These were very low tech indeed compared to Star Wars and Star Trek. But they were great fun!

My Grandpa also had his favorite shows but no television set; he and Grandma lived across the street from our church, only a block away. He would come to our house to watch the Lone Ranger and the Groucho Marx quiz show "You Bet Your Life". Only he had listened to the Groucho Marx show on the radio the day before and tell us the answers and the jokes.

Of course, we did many things – even 50 or 60 years ago – that you and your friends still do today. Like the movies. On Saturday mornings, the Parthenon Theater was turned over to kids: cartoons, serials and double features. Too bad you couldn’t hear a thing with all the noise and screaming. I liked to go to the movies with my Mom on Thursday nights, the night they gave away free dishes. In those days there were always two films, a double feature, with newsreels and cartoons in between and of course, coming attractions. My Mom and I always got there late, in the middle of a picture. We’d see the second half, the next movie and then stay until Mom announced "This is where we came in." Knowing how the movie ended did not spoil the fun for me.

We may not have had video games or computer games, but we had lots of board games, some that you still play like Clue and Scrabble . When I was 11 years old, we spent the summer at Rockaway Beach. My summer friends and I played one Monopoly game that lasted the whole summer. Mainly because Joey Hannigan, who was always winning, would throw us money when we went bankrupt. We also loved to play cards and the games were ones you know: Old Maid, Go Fish, Rummy, War and Knuckles- if you lost at Knuckles, you got "knucks" on your knuckles with the edge of the card deck. Ouch!

Grandma's Story - Chapter 5 - for Chase

2009-05-25T10:12:00.004-04:00

Last Wednesday was my the birthday of my first grandson, Chase. He turned 13 and I look forward to spending time with him today at the Mall, hunting for his birthday gift and eating lunch at one of the cafes. Things we like to do together. This year I wrote a chapter of Grandma's Story dedicated to Chase.

CHAPTER 5

What Did You Do for Fun?
For Chase

Today young people have so much to keep them entertained – like your SPORE game on the computer, television and DVD’s. Some of your friends probably have I-pods and Wii’s and other techy play things I haven’t even heard of. So maybe you wonder what kids did for fun way back when Grandma was a kid.

There were no computers in those days. Not even TV, at first. I remember the first time I even heard the word "television". It was at the dinner table and someone mentioned that a kid in the hospital had gotten a television set. I wondered what is that? and imagined it was like an erector set. The first time I watched TV was at my cousin’s house; all of the kids gathered around this little television set with a tiny screen to watch a cartoon show.

Meanwhile, my family listened to the radio. We liked Jack Benny, Amos n’ Andy, Fibber Magee and Molly, and Fred Allen – all comedy shows. We listened to the "Inner Sanctum", a scary program that opened with a squeaky door. And there were radio shows just for kids. I would imagine what the characters on those shows looked like. Once my Mom took us to see the radio show being broadcast; we were in the audience. How surprised I was to discover that the radio personalities looked nothing like I had imagined.

We got a television set when I was 7 or 8 years old. It was a big tube, with lots of smaller tubes, in a wooden square box. My father would try to fix it by fiddling with the tubes in the back, while I told him if the picture had stopped jumping or if it was in focus. When that didn’t work, he gave it a whack on its side and very often that whack did the trick. Television in those days was a test of patience. Many were the days that the studios’ signal went out and we would just sit in front of the set, staring at a test pattern. Which was kind of like a target that didn’t do anything.

To be continued .....

Marina, Mom and May

2009-05-16T11:49:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was my granddaughter’s 16th birthday. And Marina is the epitome of Sweet Sixteen! Our whole family is grateful for the blessing of this beautiful young woman. But I’d like to talk about a special gift I received just from her May birth.

As a teen and young adult, I loved the coming of Spring. When I smelled the fresh new growth, saw the trees begin to swell with budding life, felt the soft rain, and heard the cheery chirping of the birds – my heart would overflow with happy memories associated with this season of life: baseball season back, playing outdoors, school term coming to an end.

Then one year, my Mom was so sick, dying from breast cancer. She died on May 17th. The next year when I smelled and saw and felt Spring approach, I was overwhelmed with sadness. I burst into tears at times. My body knew, before my mind figured it out. Spring and the month of May were now sadly linked with Mom’s death. This continued year after year. May was ruined for me.

In 1993 my first grandchild, Marina, was born – on May 15th. And to my astonishment, the joy of Spring and May returned to me with this wonderful gift of Marina, and later, two more May grandkids. Now when I smell the trees and see the colorful Spring flowers, I once more experience joy and excitement. I like to think my Mom in Heaven had something to do with this gift. Like it was her way to give me back Spring and May. That would be so like my Mom. Always giving. Thank you Mom. And thank you, Tina and Reed, for the gift of 3 beautiful May grandkids.

Star Trek

2009-05-16T11:43:00.002-04:00

What a treat my 2009 Mothers Day was! Dinner at Weight Watchers’ friendly Applebee’s and a huge azalea from hubby; a box of delicious, nutritious fruit, and 2 gorgeous bouquets from my kids. And then my son-in-law treated us all to the new movie – Star Trek.

I have already confessed what a Star Trek addict I am. I’ve seen all 5 TV versions over and over again. In fact, I watched 5 episodes of TNG this week and am currently renting DS9 from Netflix for the second time around. But I never really got into the Star Trek movies; one or two I’ve never even seen.

So how happy I was to be absolutely enthralled by this new Star Trek movie about the early history of Kirk, Spock and crew. From the action packed opening blast that treated of birth and death, I was totally hooked. The villain was nasty enough, the action was non-stop, the story flowed. Even the time travel didn’t give me a headache. And this film was funny; in fact, it was great fun! Enjoyed by 3 generations in our theater row alone. I know from the reaction of my 13 year old grandson who was sitting next to me.

But what really worked in this film were the characters of Kirk and Spock. To capture their individual personalities, and then to develop their unique relationship, was a gem of filmmaking. These young actors made the old beloved characters come alive and blossom for me once more.

I loved the ending, which is the opening of the first Star Trek TV series. I hope it means much more to come. Star Trek – Live Long and Prosper.

I Remember Mom

2009-05-10T09:41:00.003-04:00

This Mother’s Day I feel very grateful for the legacy that my Mom gave to me. Her strength, courage, perseverance and dreams have inspired me and shaped my life. Elizabeth (Betty) L. was a stay-at-home Mom who was definitely not your typical ‘50’s homemaker. She wasn’t much for cooking or housecleaning. She loved shopping – always for everyone else – and going to the movies. Mom was very involved in our schooling, "hearing our homework" every night and demanding near perfection – just ask my sister! She attended a two year high school and made it clear that I would go to college. I think she would have liked to go to college and have a career herself. I believe that it was this desire of hers that helped me achieve so much academically, including a B.S. degree in Math and an M.S. in gerontology. Plus a career serving older adults. Thank you Mom for your faith in me and your not-so-gentle pushes that I sorely needed.

When Dad died suddenly at age 55, Mom was already working and now had 4 children still at home, including my youngest brothers aged 13 and 10. She never felt sorry for herself but did what needed to be done. I have often said that I inherited my "bouncebackability" from my Mom. She never gave up. Her battle with cancer is a lesson in how to deal with illness and dying. How lucky I am to have been blessed with such a Mom!

I am also grateful for all the wonderful mothers who have been part of my life: my grandmothers, aunts, sister, cousins and friends. And the next generation of Mommys: my daughters, daughter-in-law, nieces, including Audra, the newest Mommy in the family. And on and on. Happy Mother’s Day!

Friends and Feet

2009-04-26T12:56:00.002-04:00

Four retired Catholic Charities colleagues and I get together monthly to visit the Met or other cultural attractions in the NY area. I call it the Met Club. Of the group, two are long time friends; now the others are friends as well. The other day we were chatting about foot problems, experiences with physical therapy and podiatrists, and the "right" shoes to wear. All of us had had some foot complaint recently. So I got to thinking and got inspired. This poem is dedicated to all my dear friends: young and old, old and new, family and non-relation. This poem’s for you.

Shoes

When you find that pair of shoes
The ones that fit so sweet
That feel like walking in a cloud
No matter how rocky the road
You never want to lose them
However old or worn
They are your true companions
through the years

Then you spy a brand new pair
That liven up your feet
They make you feel like dancing
To such a different tune
So chic, so colorful, so now
Strolling down exciting paths
You never walked before

And so you set these newer shoes
Beside your well-worn friends
gratefully

© E.M. Ramos 4/26/2009

Resurrection and Central Park

2009-04-15T10:33:00.002-04:00

When I worked at Catholic Charities on the east side of Manhattan, I would walk through Central Park every day on my way to work. This jewel in the center of the city has twisty trails and lots of forks; it’s very easy to get lost. It took me many trips to learn my way and then, off I would go to explore a new trail.

The most daunting part of Central Park is the Ramble, a wild quiet area with rambling streams, waterfalls, and a surprise around every turn, like a hilltop gazebo under the trees. It takes courage to enter since it is really a maze and it’s kind of isolated. I would get so lost in the Ramble that I’d find myself climbing over boulders to find my way out. Once I encountered a questionable character – I really walked fast that day! The Ramble proved such an enigma to me that I wrote a poem about it.

But after retirement, my part time job way downtown precluded treks through Central Park. I really missed the park. Which brings me to Easter 2009.

The day after a joyful Easter celebration at my sister’s house, I overslept and got a late start to work. I missed my commuter train by about 3 seconds or 10 steps. So out with Plan B, a 10 minute walk up to the subway. This route allowed me to make a detour and visit my beloved Central Park. As I entered the park, I noticed an unsettling feeling deep down inside: was it fear? anxiety? sadness? But I also noticed that Spring had come to the park. Happy daffodils everywhere and all the trees sprouting their new leaves. I discovered that all the long time renovations to the lake had been completed; the fences were gone that had closed off my usual entrance to the Ramble. Should I venture in? What if I get lost? What if I don’t remember the way? It still looked pretty deserted.

So I took a chance and walked right in, climbing familiar trails, getting a view of the surrounding city skyscrapers and the wooden benches at the foot of a waterfall, hearing the birds sing happily. It all came back and it was even better than before. And then I realized that the deep down feeling had turned to gratitude and hope and even joy. Yet another rebirth of my spirit, and another day to savor the gift of life. How appropriate in this park that experienced its own resurrection from deterioration and fear in the 1970’s to the glorious gem it is today! Thanks to a great public-private partnership, the Central Park Conservancy. This is one non-profit I support with an open heart because the results of my donations are so crystal clear for all to see.

Grandma's Story - Chapter 4 - Easter

2009-04-11T13:01:00.004-04:00

I decided to add another chapter to Grandma's Story, a story for my grandkids about life in the olden days. And since it is Easter, this chapter is all about how our family celebrated Easter. By the way, Happy Easter!

CHAPTER 4
Easter

You come from a very devout Catholic family – both on my side and on ‘Buelo’s. Buelo was even going to be a priest and was in the seminary for several years before we met. And I once gave a thought to becoming a nun. Many of my school friends did enter the convent.

Nanny, my grandmother, and her sister Kiki, my great aunt, had an uncle who was a priest. August A. was the youngest brother of their mom and he studied at the American Seminary in Rome. He was pastor of a church in Poughkeepsie, N.Y. and later he became a monsignor, a rank in the Catholic clergy just below bishop. My Dad always had him bless any new car that the family got; the blessing was better than a St. Christopher medal. Nanny and Kiki took Aunt Kathy and me to visit Msgr. A. every year. I loved going way up to the "country" on the train. But Msgr. A. was gruff and a bit scary. I remember the dark furniture in the rectory with its carvings of angels and gargoyles that added to the feeling of mystery that he had about him.

Nanny and Kiki also had a cousin who was a nun. They visited her in California in 1947, traveled all the way across country by railroad. How I wanted to go with them! Kiki would take me to the Miraculous Medal novena every Monday at St. Brigid’s, our parish church. Aunt Kate, the sister of my grandfather Pop-Pop, wanted to be a nun but her mother refused to give her permission to enter the convent. Many years later her own daughter Florence asked to become a nun and Aunt Kate told her to wait, to work for a year and then see. A year later Florence still wanted to be a nun and when her mother said "no", her father, my Uncle Val reminded Aunt Kate of what had happened to her. So Florence became Sister Mary Alma, a Sister of Mercy.

My parents sent us to Catholic schools and we had religion class every day. Even Dick and Jane in our readers were Catholic. And I remember my Dad sitting on the edge of his bed, his head bowed in prayer, before he went to sleep each night. My favorite photo of Dad is one taken when he was in the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC’s) during the Great Depression. Dad and the other young men are gathered around an altar, located in the great outdoors in front of Jackson Hole Lake, the majestic Teton Mountains towering in the distance. That was his kind of cathedral. My Hungarian grandmother had statues of Jesus and Mary with lighted candles in her home. They fascinated me along with the embroidered religious wall hangings, with Hungarian writing.

With this history, is it any surprise that Easter is one of my favorite holidays. In those days, Lent, the 40 days before the feast of Easter, were days of fasting and sacrifice. For us kids, that meant giving up candy or cookies for Lent and saying extra prayers or rosaries. My friend Ellen and I went to daily Mass at St. Brigid’s during Lent. I loved the liturgy of Holy Week. There was a procession on Holy Thursday, with girls dressed in white throwing flower petals before the Blessed Sacrament, which was carried by the priest in a golden holder called a monstrance under a canopy. Then it was placed for adoration on a side altar decorated with flowers and drapes. The next day, Good Friday, the day Jesus died on the cross, my friends and I visited the decorated altars in the churches in our area – I think we were supposed to go to seven. Afterwards we attended Good Friday services and listened to talks on the seven last words of Jesus. We spent the whole day in church. And we did not listen to the radio or watch television on Good Friday in remembrance of the cross. One Lent, Kathy and I were watching a movie on television "Arsenic and Old Lace". At midnight it was Good Friday and my Mom turned off the TV in the middle of the movie – to our dismay! I can still see the look on her face, sort of a sheepish grin.

On Holy Saturday I loved to go to the Easter vigil liturgy. It was so beautiful but back then it was held in the morning and hardly anyone was in the congregation. I would sneak into the vestibule of the church to try to watch the priests doing the blessing of the Baptismal font and the holy water – they chased me away. Now the people are part of these liturgies that I treasure. My eyes would tear up when the bells rang out at the Gloria -–for the last 2 weeks of Lent there was no organ, no music and all the statues were covered with cloths. This was to show how sad it would be without Jesus. But during the Easter vigil Mass, all the coverings came off the statues, the organ played out, the bells rang, and the gold drapes of Easter were raised. It was a wonderful experience for me.

On Easter Sunday, my Dad gave my Mom, sister and me corsages to go with our new spring outfits. Mom got an orchid, Kathy got carnations, and I got a gardenia corsage; I love the smell of gardenias to this day. On Easter Saturday my family colored Easter eggs, which were hidden by the Easter Bunny. I believed in the Easter Bunny more than Santa when I was a kid. On Easter morning we hunted for the eggs and our Easter Baskets, filled with Chocolate bunnies, jelly beans and fancy non-edible eggs with a little peek-a-boo window – when you looked inside you could see a mini-Easter scene. After Mass on Easter morning, we would go across the street to my Hungarian Grandma’s house for her scrumptious pastries; my favorites were the apricot pastries. We got to see all our cousins there too.

Easter is a very special day in our family. April 11, 2009

Family Gatherings

2009-04-05T11:03:00.003-04:00

My brother just e-mailed my sister, brothers and me that he would like to celebrate what would be my Dad's 100th birthday this year. Although Dad died suddenly of a heart attack at age 55, he is very much with me and I was very aware that 2009 is the 100th anniversary of his birth - and wow, does that make me feel old!

Anyway, I love my brother Jim's suggestion. To have a big family getogether at a restaurant - he suggested New York even though he lives in California. This is my idea of paradise - sharing a special meal with those you love. It was how we were raised: birthdays, holidays, especially Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter were family affairs. Lavish dinners cooked by my grandmother. The whole family sitting around one - or two tables. Later we gathered at my house or my sister's or brother's to celebrate, as older family members passed on and new ones were born. And with Holy Week here, I am thinking that the Last Supper was Jesus celebration with his family and friends.

My dream is to have everyone and all their families - brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, cousins, grandkids - around one glorious dinner table. In the last scene of "Raising Arizona" there is such a feast; they are gazing into their future and imagine all their children and grandchildren celebrating a meal together. The scene brings tears to my eyes. I know why.

Grandma's Story - Chapter 3 Part 2

2009-03-22T10:33:00.002-04:00

Chapter 3, Part 2

My best friend when I was 13 was Ellen B., who was in my class. Ellen had those 50’s style glasses with blue plastic frames; she had bunny teeth and straight hair with bangs. Ellen was a great writer, loved Elvis Presley (I didn’t) and in the early days of TV, we both loved “Captain Video”, a program about space. Even then, I was destined to be a Trekkie! Ellen’s family had a bungalow in Rockaway Beach for the summer. We would write each other long (20 pages!) letters during the summer. I would write her all the episodes of Captain Video that she missed since she had no TV set at the beach.

During Lent, Ellen and I went to daily Mass and then we would walk up and down Linden Street talking. We talked about school and boys and deeper things. Like God and life and growing up things. Ellen became a nun, a Sister of Mercy. After many years, she left the convent and was going to write a book about her adventures there.

We also liked to read Nancy Drew books. The first book I read was my Mom’s. You probably know that Carolyn Keene, the author of Nancy Drew, wrote way into her 90’s. Ellen and I also play acted Nancy Drew. I was Nancy, Ellen was George, Aunt Kathy was Carolyn Keene, and our friend Mary was Bess.

Mary W. was another good friend who lived on our block. She was Kathy’s friend first. Mary was Protestant and went to public school. Her Mom and Dad were divorced, which was very unusual in those days and her Mom had to work (also unusual) cleaning house for the S. family. Mr. S. was our druggist. His wife was great at getting things out of your eye and taking out splinters. By the way, Kathy and I are friends with Mary to this day and still write to her.

Finally the BIG day was coming. A week before graduation, my Mom went to the hospital to give birth to my brother Jeffrey. She vowed she would be at my graduation no matter what! And she was. I did win lots of prizes at graduation plus surprise gifts for winning the essay contest and the scholarship. I had to carry them in both hands walking down the aisle. I tried hard not to feel proud but I was proud. My face broke into a wide open mouthed grin as I bit back the happy tears. It was a wonderful day and a great start to being a teenager.

May 2006

Grandma's Story - Chapter 3, Part 1

2009-03-20T11:09:00.003-04:00

Now that I’ve finished my Italy blogs, I want to continue with blogging “Grandma’s Story”, the ongoing saga of my life that I am writing for my 6 grandkids, in "grandkid" language. Chapter 3: Grandma the Teenager was written for Marina almost 3 years ago when she turned 13. And it is about my 13th year. To see the other chapters, go to the sidebar under "Grandma's Story".

CHAPTER 3

Grandma the Teenager

For Marina, Age 13

Being a teenager in my time was very different (but not really different) from the way the world is for you.

It was 1954 when I turned 13 and I was in my final term at St. B.’s School, the grammar school where I had spent eight years of my life. I was looking forward to graduation the next January. In those days, Catholic schools had graduation twice a year; they changed it when I was in high school, which is why I graduated from high school in three and a half years at age 16. But that’s another story.

Graduation was a big deal to me and my family. Since I was the “smartest in the class”, I figured I would get lots of prizes at graduation. It was hard being top of the class and I’m not only talking about the pressure to study and get high marks on tests. Some of the kids didn’t like “smart” kids. Maybe they were jealous. Or maybe I acted a bit “stuck up”. Whatever. Although I had friends, I was definitely not Miss Popular. I used to wish that God had made me “dumb” so the other kids would like me and my parents and teachers wouldn’t expect so much from me. Passing was good enough for most students but I was supposed to get 100%! Once when I got 99% in average on my report card, my Dad asked what happened to the other point. Can you imagine! No wonder I became Miss Perfect. It was a hard burden.

But it had its rewards too. In my last term, the Holy Name Society held an essay contest for the whole diocese. The topic was “What the Marian Year Means to Me”. 1954 was a year dedicated to Mary by Pope Pius XII. Sister Mary Fides (we called her “Fido”) was my 8th grade teacher. She would pick an essay from the class to enter into the contest. First time around, my friend Margaret R.’s essay was best but Sister said it was not good enough to win. So she gave us some pointers and told us to re-write. This time mine was the best. Sister sent me out of the class so she could explain to them why she would choose my essay and not Margaret’s. She was a wise teacher. And I won the whole contest! I got a huge statue of the Blessed Mother that sat on my dresser for many years.

Of all the prizes at graduation, the one I wanted most was “Perfect Attendance”. There was a scholarship test at McAuley H.S. that Fall. If we went to take the test, we were marked present. I felt so sick that day, but went to take the test because I didn’t want to mess up my perfect attendance. I just rushed through, putting down the first answers that came into my throbbing head. I didn’t care about the scholarship; I just wanted to finish, go home and go to bed. As a result, I did not outsmart myself by over-analyzing the questions. One morning my grandmother’s phone rang (my family didn’t have a phone.) It was the principal. I had won the scholarship! It really helped my family not to have to pay tuition - $12.50 a month. I told you that times were different. With four kids and one on the way, money was spread thin.

I was very happy to go to McAuley High. The same nuns, Sisters of Mercy taught there. And I liked their uniforms: maroon jumpers and gold blouses, with saddle shoes. Plus the McAuley girls were very sweet to me when I was a little kid in 2nd or 3rd grade on a class trip to their bazaar. I had spent all my money and hadn’t won a thing. So I was sitting at a table looking sad and hungry. The “big” high school girls came over and asked what was wrong. They brought me hot dogs and soda and made me feel so much better. I still remember their kindness more than 50 years later.

I also began to love Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” when I won that scholarship because it set me off on such a different path, never to turn back. If I had not wanted “Perfect Attendance” and stayed home, I would have gone to another school and maybe would never have wound up in Catholic Charities, where I met “Buelo”. And you wouldn’t be here to read this story! I am so glad I took the test.

My Trip to Italy - The Last Days

2009-03-11T10:14:00.002-04:00

The last days – Spoleto and home

On Wednesday after we left Assisi, we stopped at a ceramics factory and picked up last minute unusual and authentic Umbrian souvenirs: pottery, pasta seasoning, olive oil and chocolate. Then a stop in medieval Spoleto; unfortunately our climb to an ancient Roman aqueduct found it closed. We learned that the aqueduct still works – ah, those Romans could really build! Driving back along the autostrada, drinking in the tiny towns atop the mountains and the lush patchwork hillsides, I knew I would really miss Italy. It was hard to say goodbye to Andreas, our superb bus driver. I felt so safe with him, even on the mountain roads in the snow. I feel that my friendship with Sister Pat has deepened on this trip and I treasure the Florentine mini-ceramic picture she gave me, which remind me of our good times together.

On our last night, the hotel outside of Rome appeared to be the most luxurious so far. That should have been my red alert. Despite “adjustments” to the heater, it was the coldest sleep of all. In my clothes under the blankets, I was counting layers instead of sheep and finally got up onto the icy floor to get my snow jacket and hood – it was like a comforter. I think I will only come to Europe during warm seasons.

We arose very early on Thursday and drove through traffic (Rome’s LIE?) to the airport. Margaret, our good shepherd, was there until the last girl got through security. Marina and I exchanged e-mail addresses with our new friends. Finally we were flying home. It was hard to imagine that our adventure was over. Bouncing around in turbulence like a ship in choppy seas, as Marina observed. I am extremely grateful that I made this trip. Marina is the perfect traveling companion.

My Trip to Italy - Days 6 and 7 - San Marino and Assisi

2009-03-10T12:27:00.002-04:00

Day 6 and 7 – San Marino and Assisi

When we left Venice on Tuesday we traveled through the Apennine Mountains – it was exhilarating! The twisted beauty of these mountains, pushed and pulled by earthquakes and geological forces, remind me a little of California’s landscape. But in Italy you see medieval towns atop and spilling down the hillsides, a castle tower here, an ancient basilica there. I will miss this wonderful country with its bright green fields and tall cypress trees. And I love tunneling through the mountains.

We visited the republic of San Marino atop Mt. Titano; a country within a country, it dates back to Roman times. It has its own government, stamps, taxes, flag, etc. Very medieval with hills that challenge, twisty alleys, cobbled streets and wonderful shops. We ate at a cave-like café where Marina tried the local cuisine, a rondido – sort of a panini. Oh, I must mention the glorious cioccolatta falda I had in Venice. It was melted chocolate heaven!

We arrived in Assisi after dark. Now it was really cold – we had driven through some brief snow showers. The Hotel Giotto, located in the middle of Assisi atop a hill, treated us to a view of the new town in the valley and its twinkling lights. It took me back 50 years to a college retreat I made at Mt. Alvernia Monastery in Duchess county; I remember a similar view from that hilltop. The Franciscans chose their site well. Back to the hotel: all our hotels have had their good points and their lows. This one had excellent food, lovely rooms, fluffy towels (so welcome after the “kitchen” towels in most bathrooms)….But no heat! I slept in my clothes and a sweater plus 2 blankets but it was not a restful night.

Next morning we rose early to go to Mass and found snow outside our door. After a wrong turn– these medieval towns are hard to figure out in the dark – we found the Basilica of St. Francis. The monks were chanting the morning office in the lower church at the tomb of St. Francis. What a blessed way to end a special trip! I thanked God for such a joyful journey in Italy and prayed for all my family and friends at the resting place of this beloved saint, who lived 800 years ago.

After Mass, the cobbled streets had turned icy so we picked our way very carefully back to the hotel. With the group we returned to the Cathedral to meet our guide, Roger. He was very special, like all the guides, natives of the towns and cities they led us through, all of them so knowledgeable and passionate about their hometowns. But Roger was spiritual as well, a true son of Assisi, a blessed town. The basilica, restored and re-built after the earthquake of 1997, dates back to the 13th or 14th century. Its special features are the frescoes, especially those by Giotto depicting the life of Christ and the life of Francis. I love the Byzantine-like decoration along the gothic arches. How different these Italian gothic cathedrals are from those in France and Germany. Then a tour of the town and the very square, in front of a Roman temple turned church, where Francis stripped naked and cut off his ties to his earthly father.

We saw the cathedral built to honor St. Clare, founder of the Poor Clares, the feminine branch of the Franciscans, and heard the remarkable story of this wise, beautiful, intelligent and deeply spiritual saint. A strong woman, with excellent administrative and organizational skills (could be my patrona), she got what she wanted from the powerful rulers of her day, including popes. We saw on display the original rules of her order, the first written rules of a religious order by a woman. The cathedral also had the original San Damiano cross. Even in the chilling cold, this was a very worthwhile experience. I would love to return to Assisi for a retreat.

My Trip to Italy - Day 6 - Venice

2009-03-06T11:21:00.001-05:00

Day 6 – Venice

On Monday we were off via bus to the pier, where we joined other EF Tours on the ferry to Venezia! We sat with another group that turned out to be from Harrison HS in Westchester. One girl even attends the same church as Marina. It’s a small world after all …

I love Venice. No cars or bikes on the cobbled streets to run you down. Many romantic bridges to cross over the canals – we actually walked over 7 of the 118 islands that make up Venice. And perfect weather: sunny and cold and dry, no flooding in Piazza San Marco today. We had a tour of Venice with Carlo, who pointed out a palazzo that his grandfather had once lived in but missed an opportunity to purchase. It was lovely with its Byzantine, Medieval and Renaissance features: windows, columns, etc. It is so expensive to live in Venice that the population of residents has decreased from 160,000 to 60,000 in a few decades. But there are hundreds – thousands during Carnevale – of tourists that flood Venice, a city rich in culture, history, art and fun. I liked the Venetians – of all ages – dressed in costume and masks, strolling through the streets and squares, and posing serenely for photos. The costumes were gorgeous (you can see pictures on “my daughter’s blog”) and couples were color coordinated. Even some silvery prehistoric “birds” or raptors on stilts came by to delight us.

Of course, the main feature of Piazza San Marco is the basilica of San Marco, the apostle Mark; his bones supposedly reside there. A tall column with his symbolic winged lion atop is at the entrance to the piazza. The basilica is beautiful with mosaics on the exterior and dozens of columns to show off Venetian conquests throughout the ages. We shopped for masks – so many to choose from, some are works of art. We saw a glass blowing demonstration at the Murano glass works and got genuine Murano glass souvenirs, with certificates of authenticity.

Then a highlight of our day – Marina and I took a gondola ride. It is so peaceful, quietly gliding along narrow canals, under arched bridges, reflecting the glimmering light of the water. You can see the high water erosion of the walls. Most of these buildings have peeling facades; you see the bricks peeking out. Then you emerge into the Grand Canal. Wow! But the decay is real and Venice is sinking. They have plans – the Moses project – to stop the flooding. But who knows? Venice, a proud, powerful state for many centuries and contributor to so much of civilization: glass, shipbuilding, government, commerce, etc. Who knows if one day it may disappear to the bottom of the lagoon. How lucky I am to be able to experience this city.

In the afternoon we toured the Doge’s Palace. We had plenty of time to view the extraordinary art work – the golden staircase, paintings, a Titian fresco of St. Christopher. And the institutional halls which housed the councils and senate that ruled Venice in its glory days. At the end of the tour, a visit to the prisons, or should I say dungeons, where Casanova was once interred. Before we left Venice, Marina had a chance to call her Mom and Dad and tell them about her adventures. Wish we could call home every day but most hotel phones would not accept our calling cards. The next morning Marina and I walked to the beach and saw the Adriatic. I hope that one day she will have a chance to return to Venice – in the summer!

My Trip to Italy - Day 5 - Traveling through Tuscany

2009-03-06T10:48:00.001-05:00

Day 5 – Traveling through Tuscany

Sunday, February 15th was a travel day – restful and rewarding. It is lovely, even in winter, traveling through Tuscany with its stately cypress trees, villas and olive groves. Then suddenly you see the Alps on the horizon and soon you have these ancient snow capped mountains as a traveling companion. A surprise stop in Verona, a cute little town with narrow streets and alleys, a large town square surrounded by medieval and renaissance buildings and an arena, dating back to Roman times, though smaller than the Colosseum. The big attraction here is Juliet’s balcony. Under the arch leading to the small square with her statue and balcony, hundreds of lovers have left their names, with felt tipped pens. Similar to Florence near the Ponte Vecchio, where they leave locks on a chain and throw the key in the Arno to “lock up their love forever”.

We arrived at our hotel, located on a seaside Adriatic Beach. Our hotels have all had their pluses and minuses. This one was a 4 floor walk up to our room. It was hard even with Marina’s help. No tub, just a shower stall. No soap, lucky I brought my own. But it was warm! And this hotel had the best restaurant so far; I enjoyed the dinners with fresh salads and green beans! The next day we would be off to Venice.

My Trip to Italy - Day 4 - Pisa

2009-03-02T13:05:00.001-05:00

Day 4 – Pisa

Good news - the new room was warm and toasty. I love the deep European tubs – what a treat to take a relaxing soak. Another delightful day, with bright blue skies and crisp cool air for our short ride to Pisa – on the west coast. Our guide Luisa showed us the field of miracles, the cathedral, bapistry, cemetery, and of course, the famous bell tower, the leaning tower of Pisa. All of these structures date back to the 11th, 12th, and 13th centuries. Unfortunately, most were destroyed by fire or bombed and much of the original art was lost. However, out of suffering comes blessing. When the frescoes in the cemetery building were destroyed in World War II, they removed them and discovered original sinope – sketches by the artists, not their students.

We also got a science lesson on why the tower leans: first it is too heavy – all these structures are built of marble; columns, stairs, walls. Second, the ground, near a river, is too soft. They actually straightened the tower by 36 cm a few years back. It is rather impressive and great fun. (See Marina’s pictures on “my daughter’s blog). The cathedral was so beautiful; I loved the baroque ceiling, which the Medicis donated after the fire. Actually, they conquered Pisa and took responsibility for restoring the cathedral.

The gypsies in Pisa were especially troubling. One came up to me and when I ignored her, she grabbed my arm and my pocketbook. Luckily I have my New York smarts. We’ve discovered, with Margaret’s guidance, cafeterias where there are delicious choices (veggies and zuppa) for lunch.

After Pisa, we returned to Florence and visited the Academie des Fines Artes, where we saw Michelangelo’s David, the real thing! This exquisite work of art, with its beauty, hugeness and detail, was overwhelming. I felt grateful for the gift of such genius (despite his cantankerous personality), and that so many artists and architects were able to use their gifts to create such masterpieces. And now, I have the opportunity to appreciate their work and to grow from the experience. It is humbling.

I do feel rested, restored and relaxed here in Florence. We went to Mass in the Duomo and I had another chance to soak in the wonder of this magnificent cathedral – inside and out. The angels around the portals have expressions of such terror. The trimmings are curly and scallop-like but just a delight. Even the columns are decorated this way. All the space is covered with marble decorations, coats of arms, stylized flowers, etc. Superb. Loved Florence and felt so fortunate to have come on this trip, and especially to share it with Marina. And with my good friend, Sister Pat.

My Trip to Italy - Day 3 - Florence

2009-03-01T10:47:00.003-05:00

On Friday the 13th we left Rome and began our journey to Firenze, Florence: city of flowers, city of the Medici’s, Michelangelo, Puccini, Da Vinci, Giotto, Galileo and so many other geniuses of art, literature, music and science. It was a lovely ride on our new bus, passing medieval towns on hilltops, savoring the beauty of Tuscany, even in winter repose. Florence is a gorgeous city on the Arno River. It gives one a sense of calm and tranquility, especially after the immense grandeur and bustle of Rome. The river was smooth under a bright blue sky. A view from the Ponte Vecchio disclosed mountains in the background and cream and rust colored terra cotta homes on the banks. All buildings must be painted in earth colors and it gives a perception of comforting order and security, not to mention being aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

We began our tour at the Piazza della Signoria, site of the famous clock tower of the Palazzo Vecchio and Galleria degli Uffizi, an art museum to end all museums, home of the great Renaissance masterpieces. And this is the downside of a tour – no time to explore a treasure like the Uffizi. Some day … Also in the piazza were brilliant sculptures: the Neptune Fountain (no matter what Michelangelo thought, to me it was awesome), Roman statues, Perseus with the head of Medusa, etc. Then on the way to lunch, a young man invited us to a cafeteria, where we enjoyed a nutritious lunch (I was missing my veggies!) and a pleasant chat with him about New York. A local tour guide took us to the Duomo. I am in awe of this cathedral. So simple inside but look up at the dome (designed by Filippo Brunelleschi in the 14th century) with its frescoes! Wow! But outside is another story. I have not seen a cathedral so decorated on the exterior – like a decorated cake. I loved the colorful exterior and the terra cotta color of the dome, so different from other cathedrals.

Next we witnessed a leather demonstration at the Leonardo Leather Works. Florence is noted for a leather jewel box given to Caterina de Medici for her wedding. Marina and I got some souvenirs there. We wandered along the river as she took hundreds of photos, which you can see on “My daughter’s blog” (link on sidebar). Seeing the modern day artisans at work seemed so right in this city. We are connecting with the Cathedral HS girls, who are great fun and today attracted some local Italian teens in the piazza for giggles and a photo op. At dinner Marina usually joins the teens, especially Charlene and Maria, and I sit with Sister Pat, Margaret, Kathy and Sr. Eileen – new friends for me. Our room at a nearby hotel was big and lovely but COLD! Woke up freezing, despite 2 blankets, a heavy sweater and the spread. Couldn’t work the Italian shower either and it was cold in the bathroom. So we spoiled Americans changed rooms, hoping that the heat works better in #116. Anyway, I slept well in the cold and had some very vivid dreams. I end this account waiting to leave for Pisa. It seems the brand new bus broke down. Ah, adventure.

My Trip to Italy - A Poem

2009-02-27T11:08:00.001-05:00

Some thoughts upon leaving the hotel enroute to Vatican City: I love these old buildings with their peeling facades, broken yet still standing, with years and years of living packed into their walls. There is beauty in their decay; strength in their crumbling; wisdom in their silent reflection of past glory. And all this while hosting yet another new generation of tenants, who will add yet another chapter to their story. Of course, it inspired a poem.

Old Walls

I love old walls
draped in greenery
their peeling faces
squinting out of past pain
broken but never vanquished.

Smothered in stories
heavy with hope
they smile indulgently
at another new age.

History lies buried
beneath their feet.
Layer after layer
speak volumes of
glory and despair.

Yet old walls survive
as witness
to one more
display of
magnificence
that is
Rome.

© E.M. Ramos 2/27/2009

My Trip to Italy - Day 2 - Roma

2009-02-24T08:49:00.003-05:00

Day 2 - Roma

After the Vatican, we were off on a tour of the center of Rome: the Colosseum, the Piazza di Venezia, with its ornate (wedding cake) monument to Victor Emmanuel II, the first King of Italy. Every city in Italy has 2 statues: one of Victor Emmanuel II and one of Garibaldi. But Rome's monument is immense, like everything about Rome. I loved Francesco’s tour of the Forum, especially the story of the Vestal Virgins’ temple – they were powerful women; and how hard could it be to keep a light burning? I enjoyed his explanations of our words and their derivations from right here in Rome, especially the origin of the word “forum”. Francesco had so many great stories: e.g. why the Pope has Swiss Guards and the real story of the history of Rome. After dinner, we went on a night tour of Rome, so beautiful all lit up. Especially the dome of St. Peter’s illuminated and softly floating above, reflected in the light, a flock of birds.

There are great photos of our trip on "my daughter's blog" - click on to the link on my sidebar.

My Trip to Italy - Day 2 - Vatican City

2009-02-22T11:15:00.002-05:00

Day 2 – Vatican City

The second day we were on the go from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. An exhausting and exhilarating day! I love Roma and its ancient feel. Everything is so huge – maybe it’s the presence of thousands of years of civilization – one after the other: Etruscans; Romans: Republic and Empire; Christian Rome; kingdoms and finally, very recently, the united Italian nation. I am learning so much about Italy’s heritage, which is our own heritage.

And what stories! Thanks to our remarkable guides, Margaret and today, Francesco, we are grasping what a proud history this country has. So through the walls (I love how Rome and Vatican City are surrounded by ancient walls) to Vatican City, the smallest country in Europe. The Popes used to control a much larger country through the middle ages till very recently – 1929. In fact the other day on February 11th they celebrated the 80 year anniversary of the agreement that established their present territory.

Francesco took over as we entered the Vatican Museum. This is the advantage of a great guide. So informative, he made all the works of art, as well as the history of the Vatican, come alive. Our “whispers” (techy listening devices) enable us to hear the lecture in the midst of buzzing crowds. Marina took lots of pictures of the priceless artwork the Church has collected over the centuries. There were times I shuddered over the apparent rampant materialism of so many popes, so un-Christlike. But who am I to judge? The good news is so many commissioned masterpieces (like the Sistine Chapel) and so many works of art preserved and now shared with us all to appreciate and savor.

Francesco explained the stories behind the Greek statues, the paintings, the mosaics, the tapestries and the frescoes. I felt overwhelmed by such a wealth of creative genius. He spent a lot of time on Michelangelo (who lived to age 89!) and Rafael who died tragically at age 36. Both were prodigies and recognized early in life by wealthy patrons. And we inherit their magnificent work as a result. What a treat to view the Rafael rooms – I think he is definitely a favorite for me. You can see his evolution in style. My favorite Rafael is the painting of the risen Christ, softly glowing in white, surrounded by saints – so hopeful and such a contrast to Michelangelo’s last judgment in the Sistine Chapel which shows his progression from youthful idealism to older pessimism, colored by the sad suffering of the times. That fresco is very scary – not many are saved in this “last judgment”. Interesting detail: Michelangelo paints the face of one Hell dweller with the likeness of a Cardinal who gave him agita when he was not so powerful an artist. Payback is rewarding.

I liked the Sistine Chapel much more than last time I was here – Francesco’s insights make a big difference. He pointed out that God is painted in against a background like a “brain” showing his gift of intelligence to his creation – man. But I saw something more. Encasing the “brain” is a red shape, which to me symbolized a palate: creativity, another gift to man.

After the museums we visited St. Peter’s Basilica, which knocks me out by its huge space, colossal statues, and remarkable mosaics. Marina took many photos of the Pieta. One thing, I feel too rushed. Sometimes I don’t have time to breathe, much less spend time savoring all these treasures. Lucky teens who are traveling to Europe so early in life and will be able to come back and spend more time with these treasures.

Memories: the Holy Spirit window in marble that acts like stained glass; the Bernini columns embracing St. Peter’s Square; the fountains backlit by the afternoon sun. A gorgeous Roman day, unlike rainy yesterday. Loved lunch in the Vatican cafeteria – had zuppa and artichokes and a Coke Light. Bought lots of medals which they blessed at the Vatican and sent to our hotel.

My Trip to Italy - Day 1

2009-02-20T11:17:00.002-05:00

My Trip to Italy

This blog starts with an ending. Marina and I returned home from Italy yesterday. And what a wonderful experience it was. Starting today my blogs for the next week or so will be all about our trip, as taken from my journal.

Feb. 11th Well here I am in Rome. With Marina. After hectic packing and re-packing we got to JFK in plenty of time. Sister Pat introduced Marina to Charlene and Maria; they hit it off immediately, chatting and giggling. The CHS girls are so curious about Marina’s being homeschooled.

It was a nice flight via Alitalia although no room for feet or to rest your head – so I got no sleep. Arrived very tired but we were off on a tour of Rome right away. Crazy weather: sun, clouds, rain, hail – like a cold April. Noticed how the cars are so much smaller here. (Those Smart cars are so cute!) Beautiful piazzas and ancient buildings where people live in apartments. Our walking tour included: Piazza Navona with Bernini’s spectacular fountains, the Fontana del Moro and the Fontana dei Quatro Fiumi (Fountain of the Four Rivers). You can check out my daughters blog (see sidebar) for pictures. I loved the church of St. Agnes in this square with its fantastic artwork and decorated ceiling.

Margaret, our tour guide, is so good, leading us through back alleys and clueing us in on bargains and practical advice. Visited the Pantheon and this is just awesome. A 2000 year old structure, completed by the Emperor Hadrian in A.D. 128, it is in great shape and simply breathtaking. It has the largest domed ceiling, larger than St. Peter’s and is a masterpiece of Roman engineering. I liked the opening hole in the center of the dome that lets in light.

Visited the Spanish Steps and thought of my last trip here with my friend Arleen back in 1992. I even went back to one of our old haunts – McDonalds, with a classic Roman motif. Still the only free toilet around! Memorable moments of our first day: Lunch guy giving us a “break” and a gelato; the girls taking pictures with the local carbonieri (state police); the obelisk and Trevi Fountain. All the sculptures are so gorgeous…and huge. My impression of Rome: ancient, beautiful and huge!

My Trip to Italy - Anticipation

2009-02-09T11:11:00.004-05:00

Tomorrow we are off to Italy! Thanks to the invitation of my good friend Sister Pat and the Cathedral HS Travel Club. When I return, I will have lots of stories to share. Here is the itinerary:

Rome - A tour as soon as we arrive of the Spanish Steps, which I remember well from my first trip to Italy. Next day, a visit to Vatican City, St. Peter's, and the Sistine Chapel. Then a tour of Imperial Rome and the Colosseum, plus the Trevi Fountain and the Pantheon.

Florence - A guided tour of the Piazza della Signoria, Uffizi Palace, the Ponte Vecchio and the Chiesa di Santa Croce. How exciting to see the Duomo, Giotto's campanile (bell tower), and Ghiberti's famous bronze doors, the Gates of Paradise.

Pisa - Of course we will see the Leaning Tower, as well as the cathedral.

Venice - Off to Venice and St. Mark's Square, the Grand Canal, the 324 foot campanile, the famous clock, and the Doges' Palace. We'll also see a glass blowing demonstration. By the way, it's Carnivale!

Assisi - So happy to be visiting the birthplace of St. Francis and St. Clare. We'll see the Basilica of St. Francis with Giotto's wonderful frescoes.

Spoleto - We explore a medieval town and then back to Rome. And next day, we fly back home!

Winter Blahs

2009-02-01T10:05:00.003-05:00

This winter is really getting to me. Last week I had trouble opening my car door. The locks freeze when we have a wet snow and de-icer doesn't work. Finally got the passenger door opened and began driving to the train station, when the door flies open. I pulled over and discovered that now, the door wouldn't close! Until I locked it again. When I parked, I couldn't get the door open from inside. I was trapped! So I climbed into the back seat with my heavy coat and boots. It wasn't easy. I am getting too old to be climbing over seats. At last I got one of the back doors open so I could escape. I was so afraid I would not be able to get back into the car that I left it unlocked.

Then I thought. I am really sick of winter and there's still two more months to go. Now I know why seniors (like me) retire to warm climates. Happily, I got the car started for a trip to see "South Pacific" with my friend Pat and her Bronxville senior group on January 21st. More about that later. And even better, I am looking forward to my Italy trip with my granddaughter next week. Hope it's warmer there!

Star Trek

2009-01-07T11:00:00.003-05:00

I am a huge Star Trek fan. I search the cable channels for reruns. I joined netflix just to view old episodes. And not just the original - I love Star Trek the Next Generation (TNG), Deep Space Nine (DS9) and Voyager. The only series that didn't thrill me was Enterprise but I watched it all anyway.

Star Trek has helped distract me during times of stress. The writing on most episodes was so superior to what is on television today. They dealt with social issues, intolerance, and much more in a way that maybe helped some of us look at our prejudices. And Earth (if not the Federation) had actually achieve peace in the 24th century!

But the episodes I really enjoyed were the "relationship" ones. Like "Companion" in the original series where an alien being sacrifices "her" immortality to take a form that Zephraim Cochrane (the inventor of warp drive!) can love with. I guess his love wasn't as unconditional as hers. And the TNG episode where Captain Picard lives a whole other life with a wife and family on another planet that has been destroyed for 1000 years. Or when the hologram doctor in Voyager creates a family for himself and then learns what it is to lose a child. Very strong stuff!

Star Trek has also touched on some very deep spiritual issues. More about those in later blogs.

Doubt

2009-01-03T10:21:00.003-05:00

The first film I've seen this new year is "Doubt". It took me back to the "old Church" days of the fifties, when nuns wore habits and priests faced the altar during Mass. Nice to reminisce and see familiar Bronx scenes. Meryl Streep was the composite of every kid's worst memory of a nun. As usual, she did an outstanding job. In fact, all the acting was superior. And it was a good story - you just don't know: "Did he or didn't he?" It's interesting to observe suspected child abuse by the clergy from our 21st century perspective. Also thought the power conflict between priest and nun was pretty accurately portrayed. I liked this movie and recommend it - especially to us old timers who remember the pre-Vatican II days. It will make you think.

Holidays Over

2009-01-02T09:53:00.003-05:00

Can Christmas be over already? Where does the time go? Has anyone else noticed that time passes more swiftly these days? Not that many are sad to see 2008 behind us. Yet, today for my first blog of the new year 2009, I prefer to dwell on the positive.

Lets see .... Christmas was hectic but happy this year. Dinner was at my house and we worked hard, especially Angel, to make it delicious and welcoming. It was great to see my sister and brother-in-law, my brother Jeff and his family and of course, my daughter Tina and family crowded into our tiny living room. But we all got to enjoy our meal - buffet style - and open presents. There seemed to be so many bags and boxes that it took me several days to discern who gave us what. So many lovely thoughtful gifts - especially the homemade knitted variety and the home baked yummy ones! The company and warmth of family - that's what mattered most.

After Christmas we joined my son and family for lunch and a movie. It's always a joy to be with Sam, growing so strong and handsome. The celebration continued yesterday at Jeff's and we got to see Claudia, Rob and Adrian and more family.

So I start 2009 grateful for family, for the hope of a new president and hope for the economy. I pray that this year will be a healthy one for us all.

December Poems

2008-12-14T10:06:00.003-05:00

It's time for the "December" poems. One is from long ago .... must have been a very wet month that year. Or maybe it was my "too much to do" blues talking.

DECEMBER DAYS

D defines DECEMBER,
DISMAL DAYS beyond DESPAIR
DROWNING me in DANKEST DEW.

DRENCHING DREARINESS abounds,
DRIZZLING DARKNESS deep within
my DREAD-full hidden DUNGEON.

WHERE is my S? my SEPTEMBER.
WHERE is my SUN? my SALVATION.

© E.M. Ramos December 23, 1996

I was on jury duty this week. One thing, jury duty gives you lots of time to wait, and to write. So I finished a poem, the first I've written in many months. Enjoy the pre-Christmas frenzy, but take time to slow down and contemplate the reason for the season....

December ‘08

December’s sun burns cold.
It comforts not at all.
Christmas trees snicker at
malls making merry
while wintry Wall Street
winds wail.

Advent’s vigil turns up
the volume, squeezing
the last drop of silence
down the drain.

STOP sprinting and slow down.
LOOK deep within for warmth.
LISTEN for Him born
homeless and poor.

Breathe in the Light of the world,
the ultimate Christmas presence.

© E.M. Ramos October 9, 2008

More Old time memories .....

2008-12-07T10:41:00.003-05:00

More about Holiday Time in the olden days.....

I think it was good luck to eat pickled herring on New Years Eve but why, I have no idea. I never questioned superstitions when I was a kid. I figured whatever might help, go for it! I never stepped on cracks in the sidewalk or walked under ladders either. And I ran when I spied a black cat ( now I know why you shouldn't let them cross your path!) The only "bad" luck I had with a good luck charm was a rabbits foot that I lost. When I found it many months later under my bed, all the fur had fallen off and it was a skeleton foot. Yuch!

Yes, Tina there was a fire in the house 2 doors away on Christmas eve many many years ago. It was scary. Lisa probably remembers more about that family, which had a boy her age and a girl your age. The father was a fireman, which was ironic, because I think it was all the extra Christmas lights that caused the fire. Happily, no one was hurt and the fire did not spread to the other homes. Sadly, the family moved shortly afterwards. Happily, Linda moved there! Another strange thing that night of the fire. Suddenly Uncle Jim appeared at our house, a surprise visit from Florida or California.

Yes, kids. There were Salvation Army bell ringers way back then. The musical "Guys and Dolls" was based on a Damon Runyan story that featured a romance between a Salvation Army worker and a gambler. I remember the Salvation Army bell ringers outside Macys when Nanny took me Christmas shopping. Just like Chase and I met them at the mall last week. When I worked for Catholic Charities, I understood the very good social work that the Salvation Army does and I always try to support them.

Grandma's Story - Chapter 2 Part 2 "Christmas"

2008-12-03T08:45:00.003-05:00

Continuing the story of the holidays back when I was a kid ...... the first part of this Chapter is on my November 23rd blog. "Grandma's Story" is being written for my grandkids in "grandkid language".

Chapter 2, Part 2

Our family celebrated St. Nicholas Day on December 6th. We hung up our stockings, actually they were Kiki’s long nylons, with our Christmas list attached. And the next morning, the stockings would be filled with fruit, German cookies, candy and toys, their toes bulging with oranges and apples. But the list would be gone!

We always bought our Christmas Tree and trimmed it on Christmas Eve, which was a very special day in our family. One of my favorite smells is Christmas tree; don’t you love the smell of Christmas? I loved seeing all the old familiar ornaments each year and adding to our collection. I remember when we bought the little wax ornaments: snowmen, Santa, angels – now there’s only one left. And how excited we kids were when Dad bought the first bubble lights. We all helped Dad decorate the tree. My sister Kathy would put the statues of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, angel and wise men in the stable with the blue light.

We would hear Santa’s jingle bells in my grandmother’s house and then run into her living room to open our presents. Afterwards, we’d go down to my house and open more presents. My Mom would usually finish her Christmas shopping and wrapping just minutes before we opened our gifts. One year Santa showed up and we got to see him in person in our own house! Boy, were my brothers surprised. I remember a very special Christmas gift: a Sparkle Plenty doll, that drank from a bottle and wet! Sparkle Plenty was a character in the Dick Tracy comic strip when I was a kid. But the best surprise gift ever was a Hi Fi Stereo from my Dad. It played records and had speakers. That was long before ipods and CD’s and even tapes. I spent many happy hours listening to my music on that stereo. What was your best Christmas gift ever?

Before my cousins moved to Pennsylvania, we would go to their house for more presents. All the gift giving was done on Christmas Eve. Christmas day was for church to celebrate the birth of baby Jesus. I remember how grown up I felt the first time I was allowed to go to Midnight Mass with Nanny and Kiki. After Mass on Christmas day, Dad took us to visit relatives and friends who lived nearby. When I got older, I would visit my friends on Christmas morning, see their trees and presents, and exchange gifts.

We always ate at my grandmother’s on Christmas and we always had turkey. Back then no one made turkey except on Thanksgiving and Christmas. But the very special treat for my family was Aunt Kate cookies - Aunt Kate was Pop-Pop’s sister and she lived 4 or 5 blocks away. She baked her famous cookies only at Christmas and we have passed down her recipe from generation to generation. I will make sure you have the recipe to pass on to your kids!

On Christmas afternoon, we went to visit Grandma and Grandpa L. and all my L. cousins. After Grandpa retired, he went to live with Aunt Anna, my Dad’s sister. She lived on Long Island and driving back from her house was the first time we saw houses decorated with Christmas lights. It was so beautiful and so exciting. I used to paint Christmas scenes on our windows facing the street but it was a long time before anyone put lights in city windows.

Later on, Grandma and Grandpa moved to New Jersey to live with Aunt Elizabeth. On the way to the George Washington bridge I liked to see the giant ships on the Hudson River and dream about taking a cruise to Europe. When we saw Palisades Amusement Park (it’s not around anymore) across the river, we knew we were almost there.

Let me tell you about the Christmas of 1947. That year I prayed and prayed for a white Christmas. Well, it began to snow the day after Christmas on December 26th. It was a blizzard! It snowed and snowed and I thought it would never stop. The snow hills were higher than me and I was scared. I asked my Mom why it wouldn’t stop snowing and she said that maybe some kids were still praying for snow. I couldn’t understand that at all.

But snow was so much fun for us city kids in those days. We would “ski” down the snow hills in the street and make dams of the icy, slushy water. Our woolen snow suits would be soaked and freezing when we came in from playing. And do you know what happened to all the Christmas trees afterwards? When the people threw them away on the street? On my block the teenage boys would gather them up and light a giant bonfire – right in front of my house, where the fire hydrant was. One day I was in Nanny’s living room and saw the orange flames leap up to the second floor. That was really dangerous! I am very glad that no one thinks of doing that nowadays.

In the old days, Nanny’s sister Annie and her family would come to our house on New Year’s Eve. There were a lot of those cousins too. We always had to eat pickled herring on New Year’s Eve – it was good luck or something. On New Year’s Day my Mom got to cook and we all gathered at our house to have ham and Mom’s famous pineapple ring and cottage cheese salad, with a cherry on top.

So you see. Holidays for us were always about family and friends. Just like today in your time. Some things don’t change.

December 10, 2005

Grandma's Story - Chapter 2 Part 1 "Thanksgiving"

2008-11-23T10:08:00.003-05:00

Now that Holiday Season 2008 is upon us, I think it’s a good time to continue with blogging “Grandma’s Story”, the ongoing saga of my life that I am writing for my 6 grandkids, in "grandkid" language. Chapter 2: Holiday Time is all about the holidays when I was a kid. Today I will start off, appropriately enough with Thanksgiving, one of my family’s all time favorite holidays. Have a very Happy Thanksgiving 2008!

Grandma's Story: Chapter 2 Holiday Time

Another great thing about my house was that my Dad fixed up the basement so we could have big family dinners there. There was a huge table and every Thanksgiving, my cousins came from Pennsylvania to have a feast with us. When I got older, there were 28 people around the table: my Mom, Dad, brothers, sister, Nanny, Kiki, Pop-Pop, my Aunt Alice and Uncle Ed, and my 6 cousins. And me! Nanny always cooked the turkey and stuffing, her special turnips, cauliflower with bread crumbs, carrots, cranberry sauce from a can, and lots of other veggies. You had to fill the plate more than once for everything to fit. For dessert we had Nanny cake and Kiki made chocolate cream and lemon meringue pies. My Mom didn’t like to cook but there was so much food, we had to use her stove. My Dad always carved the turkey – that was his job. My favorite food was the turkey and the turnips. But the best thing about Thanksgiving was seeing my Pennsylvania cousins.

In those days nobody went “trick or treating” on Halloween. Instead we dressed up for Thanksgiving and went from house to house yelling “Anything for Thanksgiving!” And we would get fruit and candy and nuts – they didn’t have mini packs of M & M’s in those days. I’m not sure that M & M’s were even invented yet. All the goodies were mixed up together in our paper bags. On Thanksgiving afternoon the Christmas season officially began and neighbor boys would sing Christmas carols in the back yards.

After Thanksgiving, my Dad and I set up the model trains on the same huge table in the cellar. I was in charge of scenery. While we worked, we listened to Christmas songs on WPAT, my Dad’s favorite radio station. I love Christmas music. Jingle Bells, White Christmas, and Joy to the World are my special favorites. But I remember the year “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” was brand new! I am so glad you get to hear those same Christmas songs I heard. What’s your favorite Christmas song?

To be continued......

Comment on Comments

2008-11-09T08:27:00.003-05:00

I am so happy to get comments on my blog that I need to blog about them.

First of all, Angel, about Nanny. Maybe I didn't tell you this at the time because I didn't want you to feel bad towards Nanny. I don't remember. What I do remember is one morning Nanny came into my room and sat down on the bed next to mine. She was all teary, crying in fact. You and I were getting very serious then. She pleaded with me not to marry you. She said that if we married she would drop dead at our wedding - or something to that effect. I was concerned. I don't know what I told her but I do remember going to a priest at St. Francis of Assisi to talk about it. I loved you and wanted to marry you. But I also loved my grandmother and did not want to cause her death. The priest was very wise. He asked me if my parents were opposed to our marriage. And of course, they were not. He said that it was my parents' opinion that I needed to consider. He didn't think that Nanny would die if we got married but if she did, he told me that it would not be my fault. That was good enough for me. And of course, that part of our story worked out just fine. I think it shows how much she grew to love you that you didn't even suspect her initial "misgivings". I wonder what others thought and said that they never even told us.

I have received some other wonderful memories of Nanny from family that I will post soon.

And that brings me to my other blog and how far we have come as Americans. I loved the poem that my daughter Lisa wrote in her comments so here it is.

*President Obama*

We dared to hope...And hope smiled back.
We shared a moment in history that none of us thought would ever come except in a dream.
We stood together, faces of every color, reaching out with open hands.
We healed a nation wiping away the tears of pain with tears of joy.
We dismissed the fears, the prejudice, the ignorance in favor of the change, the intelligence and the passion.
We dared to dream...
And the dream came true.

Lisa O. Nov. 5, 2008

Proud to be an American

2008-11-05T17:08:00.002-05:00

Today I am very proud to be an American. Last night history was made. We elected America’s first African-American president. This is enormous. To me, it is remarkable that so many ignored the “race” issue and voted for the candidate that they thought would do the best job. I am amazed because .…

I remember the 20 year old me in the early 1960’s, full of hope for the civil rights movement. It would be hard but my generation would change the world. So many of my friends were in interracial marriages. My Jamaican friend married a Jewish man and his parents refused to attend their wedding. My Irish-American friend married a Phillipino and both families were dismayed. My Mom and Dad were very accepting of my relationship with my Puerto Rican boyfriend but my grandmother threatened to die if I married him. I did marry him and she didn’t die but learned to love him. My husband and I would discuss our future family – how our children would be enriched by having 2 cultures. And they were!

But in my wildest dreams, as I witnessed the march on Washington, Dr. King’s speech, the eventual breakdown of segregation and movie stereotypes – I never imagined that hearts would be converted to the degree that America would elect a man of color to lead the nation. How wonderful! How extraordinary!

We voted at 6 a.m. yesterday and it was already crowded. For the first time in years I was voting for someone I was excited about and not the lesser of 2 evils. People came out of the voting booth smiling. The demonstrations in Times Square, Harlem, Grant Park and all over the country were inspiring. It was truly one of America’s best moments.

Now our new president faces unprecedented challenges. But what drew me to Obama first and foremost was his calm, intelligent, compassionate vision. His community organizing skills, his willingness to listen to all sides of an issue. His deep desire to bring people together. This is what my friends in the 60’s wished for – “C’mon people now. Smile on your brother. Everybody get together. Try to love one another. Right now.”

We have a marvelous opportunity. To face bleak times together and use all of our talents, gifts and creativity to come up with the answers. To walk a new path. We’ve taken the first step.

Thanks for the Memories

2008-10-31T11:20:00.002-04:00

I want to thank my daughter Lisa for adding her memories of Nanny in the comments on my "Tribute to Nanny" blog. That's why I love people to read my "memory" blogs and add their recollections of the same person or events. We all retain different parts of shared experiences - the whole story is enhanced when we put our memories together. I certainly will add her beautiful comments to my finished portrait of Nanny for "Grandma's Story".

But I must say something about Lisa's comments on Nanny's soft fluffy arms that she loved to play with. When I was about 10 years old, Nanny and Kiki would take me to Rockaway Beach on the subway. It was a long ride and I would rest my head against her soft arm like a pillow. It is a part of a prayer I composed to my God as "Grandmother God". "...... let me rest my weary head against your pillowy arm....."

Tribute to Nanny

2008-10-26T10:36:00.002-04:00

This time of year brings back memories of my maternal grandmother: she was born in 1892 and died at age 90 on All Souls Day November 2nd. Nanny grew up in a tenement on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Her father was a furniture maker. The story goes that he got a splinter from some exotic wood he was working with, and the infection led to blood poisoning. He was stubborn and wouldn’t take the medicine the doctor prescribed; in fact he threw it out the window. And he died leaving my great grandmother with 3 small daughters. She was a hard working single Mom, who took in laundry to support her family. And they were staunch Catholics. Nanny spoke lovingly of “Third Street Church” (Most Holy Redeemer, which is still there, the German cathedral of NYC). Nanny attended MHR school, where she learned German. Her uncle was a priest and a monsignor, who we went to visit every year in his parish in Poughkeepsie, NY.

Nanny spoke of her mother as a stern disciplinarian. When little Nanny tore her apron, she would go to her aunt, who would mend it. They lived in poverty but did not think of themselves as “poor”; but there were regrets. Like having to walk all the way uptown because they couldn’t afford the streetcar. But the worst was that Nanny was not allowed to go to High School, even though she had a scholarship and graduated top of her 8th grade class. Her mother insisted she go to work in the garment industry to help support the family. Even in old age, Nanny spoke bitterly of her disappointment that she could not study to be a teacher. She encouraged us to become teachers. Only my daughter, who homeschools, became a teacher. I hope Nanny is smiling down at her today. I think she is.

I am grateful for Nanny’s presence in my life. She was my refuge, my anchor, my inspiration. Perhaps because of the contrast of her personality to my Mom’s, her daughter. Nanny evoked an aura of calm, quiet, orderly and slow, deliberate movement, while Mom’s space was chaotic, her pace frenetic, and the decibel level in our quarters – way up there. From my earliest memories, I would escape to my grandparents’ apartment on the 2nd floor of our three-story brownstone. Especially when it got too noisy or crowded at my place. I would creep quietly down the “private hall”, out the door, up the stairs and see the entrance to their apartment. It was a promise of peace and tranquility, still an image of heaven to me.

Nanny would be sitting at the table reading the Journal American, or doing the Word Jumble, while peeling an orange. Pop-Pop was dozing in his easy chair and Kiki, Nanny’s younger sister, was busy cleaning up in the kitchen. When my Mom tried to toilet train me at age 1, because my cousin supposedly was toilet trained, Nanny let me “go in my pants” behind the chair in her living room. She accepted me for what I was, just like most grandparents do with their grandkids. Like I try to do with mine.

I can see her walking slowly up the street with her shopping cart. She had her daily routine. Her unconditional acceptance of me and calm, orderly manner was what drew me to her – and to all older people. It determined my choice of career in aging services, work I love and treasure.

Oh yes, she had her anxieties and prejudices as well. But as I got older and exposed her to new fangled 60’s ideas, she grew as well. At first she was dismayed at my Puerto Rican boyfriend, but as time went on and she got to know the man I married, they became great buddies. Even when I got older and didn’t spend as much time with Nanny, I tried to support her, especially when Pop-Pop developed dementia. Later I tried again so hard to help my Mom take care of Nanny when she got Alzheimers. When Nanny died, I couldn’t mourn. I felt she had died long ago and I didn’t know when I had lost her. But I still miss her today. She would be 116 years old! Boy does that make me feel old!

Poverty and the Elderly - Part 2

2008-10-19T10:38:00.003-04:00

The first part of my blog on Poverty and the Elderly is below - October 15th. The following is a continuation of excerpts from "Under the Radar: Poverty Among Older Adults in New York City" (May 2007 New York Citizens’ Committee on Aging, Inc.)

With such low incomes, many seniors have a difficult time covering even their most basic expenses. Nearly half of all renters age 65 or older in New York City spend at least 35 percent of their household income on rent. In addition, research shows that on average older Americans spend 19 percent of their total income on “out-of-pocket” medical expenses annually, with more than half of these payments going toward prescription drugs and dental care (despite Medicaid coverage for many). (Crystal, S.; Harman, J.; Sambamoorthi, U.; Johnson, R.; And Kumar, R. "Out of Pocket Health Care Costs Among Older Americans." Journal of Gerontology: Social Sciences 55B, no. 1 (2000): S51–S62.) As a result, debt has increased substantially among the senior population. Debt held by families headed by a person age 75 or older increased to 40.3 percent in 2004; this is up from 29.0 percent in 2001.12 A recent study by the Food Bank of New York City has shown that nearly one-fifth (18 percent) of older people in the City are without savings and “would not be able to afford food for themselves and their families immediately after losing only one month of income.” (The Food Bank for New York City. “Hunger: An Aging Issue,” 2005.) Seniors disproportionately rely upon emergency food pantries and soup kitchens in New York City. While only 12 percent of the City’s total population, New Yorkers age 65 or older account for 24 percent of all emergency food participants.

Generally speaking, there are three groups of seniors who descend into poverty (i.e. experience a large and ongoing discrepancy between income and expenses). These three groups include: 1.) those who have been economically insecure throughout their lives and thus have few resources; 2.) those who had limited resources for retirement (such as pensions) but experienced a diminution of them; and, 3.) those who undergo a crisis or other unforeseen event that rapidly plunges them into poverty (such as the death of a spouse). For a good number of these seniors living in poverty, the prospect of a golden retirement simply does not exist. As a result of various factors, seniors most at risk of experiencing poverty brought on by one of the situations described above include: women; those over age 75; individuals with disabilities or chronic health problems; immigrants; ethnic and racial minorities; those who live alone; and those less formally educated. Moreover, individuals with more than one of these characteristics are at increased risk.

The Future Outlook
New York City’s elderly population, which stood at 937,900 in 2000, is projected to increase to 1,352,000 by 2030 – this represents a 44.2 percent increase. If poverty were to remain at the City’s current 20.3 percent level, (actually more like 32% according to the NYC Center for Economic Opportunity’s more realistic poverty measure) over 274,000 older New Yorkers will live in poverty by 2030 -- this represents a 70 percent increase from 2005. The problem of poverty among New York City’s older population must be addressed now to assure quality of life is protected and enhanced for both the current and future generation.

This report was completed by Board Members of the New York Citizens’ Committee on Aging: Jessica Walker, Senior Policy Analyst at United Neighborhood Houses of New York; with Mary Mayer, NGO Representative of the United Nations’ International Federation on Ageing and Former Deputy Commissioner of the New York City Department for the Aging.

I am happy to say that the organization I work for, the New York Citizens’ Committee on Aging, has made this a priority project – using our resources and reaching out to the community to help us make a difference in lifting NYC's seniors out of poverty. For a copy of our full report and information on how to get involved e-mail me at info@nyccoa.org or call 212-353-3950.

Poverty and the Elderly

2008-10-15T11:13:00.004-04:00

Today is the day we blog about poverty, a world wide issue, even more scary in the current economic climate. In my retiree job as part time director of a small NYC advocacy organization, the New York Citizens’ Committee on Aging, Inc., we took on the issue of elder poverty when we discovered an alarming statistic. According to the data from the U.S. Census Bureau, "2005 American Community Survey", over 20% of New York City’s older adults were poor! And this in a city with such a high cost of living. We have made elder poverty our project for over a year, holding a May 2007 forum with seniors and key leaders in aging services, and following up with our colleagues to find ways to address this issue.

Needless to say, over the past year things have gotten a lot worse. Sometimes I feel that even older New Yorkers, like myself, lucky enough to have savings and a pension in addition to Social Security and Medicare, are just a step away from “poverty”, if that means being unable to afford housing, food and health care. So imagine how much harder the struggle is for our older neighbors on fixed incomes and such limited funds. What follows is an excerpt from our report, Under the Radar: Poverty Among Older Adults in New York City (May 2007 New York Citizens’ Committee on Aging, Inc.)

Poverty is more than a lack of financial resources; it is a serious threat to health and well-being, dignity, and the ability to participate fully in our society.(Economic and Social Council of the United Nations Commission on Population and Development. “Monitoring of population programmes, focusing on the changing age structures of populations and their implications for development, Report of the Secretary-General,” December 28, 2006.)

Unfortunately, in recent years the problem of poverty amongst older adults has become increasingly invisible. Many people believe that the vast majority of seniors are affluent – or at least receiving adequate assistance. The major cause behind this misconception is the success of programs such as Medicare and Social Security, which have greatly alleviated economic insecurity among older adults. In fact, poverty among Americans age 65 and older has fallen from one-in-three persons in 1960 to one-in-ten today. (Whitman, D. & Purcell, P. (2006). Topics in aging: Income and poverty among older Americans in 2005.)

These successes cannot be denied and our country should be proud of this progress. Work remains, however, for too many seniors have been left behind. While poverty among persons age 65 and older in the United States has decreased, it has actually risen in New York City. (New York City Department for the Aging. “Annual Plan Summary, April 1, 2007 – March 31, 2008, For Older Americans Act and New York State Community Services for the Elderly Program and Expanded In-Home Services for the Elderly Program,” September 2006.)

In 2005, the U.S. Census Bureau set the poverty threshold for
individuals age 65 and older at $9,367. (U.S. Census Bureau. “Poverty Thresholds 2005.”) If a senior’s annual pretax income falls below this amount then he or she is considered “poor.” While updated annually, this threshold is the same throughout the contiguous United States and does not reflect regional differences in cost-of-living. According to this measure, 9.9% of older Americans lived in poverty in 2005, which represents a continued decline of poverty among this age group nationwide. Yet, the poverty rate among older adults living in New York City was twice the national rate: 20.3%. (U.S. Census Bureau, 2005 American Community Survey.) This is a significant problem that is not mirrored in all urban areas. In fact, among the twenty most populous cities in the United States, New York is second only to Detroit, Michigan in the percentage of its seniors living in poverty.

New York City is home to over 943,000 people who are age 65 or older. Approximately 191,653 of these seniors live in poverty, but what is known about them? According to the U.S. Census: 68.3 percent of these seniors are female; 37.3 percent are male. 47.9 percent are age 65 to 74; 52.1 percent are age 75 and older. 59.8 percent experience one or more physical, mental or emotional disabilities.

Poverty is most prevalent among racial and ethnic minorities …. The poverty rate among the City’s Hispanic elderly population is three times the national average, while the rates for Black and Asian elderly are more than double that rate.

Disability can be either a cause or consequence of poverty. In New York City, the percentage of seniors who are both poor and disabled is over twice the national rate: 5.5% versus 12.1%

In basic terms, poverty results from the discrepancy between income and expenses. A person is “poor” when his or her income is woefully inadequate to cover expenses that meet basic needs, such as food, housing and transportation. In New York City these expenses are immense. In fact, New York City is the most expensive city in which to live in all of North America (NNMoney.com. “World’s Most Expensive Cities,” June 22, 2005.)

Since this is such an important topic, to be continued.....

Remembering Ramon

2008-10-10T10:09:00.002-04:00

One week ago, my brother-in-law Ramon died. He was one of the first of my husband’s relatives that I met – so many, many years ago. And he won me over immediately with his warm smile and sparkling personality. He was a “people” person, always welcoming, always ready with a joke.

At his funeral, his many friends and family testified to a life well lived and a man well loved. I will miss him but his memory will forever make my heart happy.

My husband and daughters wrote much better tributes to Ramon. Click on to my daughter’s blog on the sidebar for her tribute. My daughter Lisa’s tribute follows.

Co-mess-TAH?

October 7, 2008

Pío, pío, pío my Tío Ramón sang, telling me the story of myself as a two-year old chasing chickens in Rincón by Agapito’s house. He danced and bent his knees becoming me for a moment, the room filling with squawking chickens and hot feathers and dust. His smile filled the room with light. His whole face beamed with joy, kind of like a Santa who had grown up on a tropical island. His cheeks stood out prominently and his nostrils flared above his thick mustache. His eyes moved fast drinking up your whole face under thick eyebrow awnings. I couldn’t help but laugh and remember with him even though it was only the faintest memory for me. I lived it again and again through his storytelling.

My Tío was always handsomely dressed. Quite dapper, GQ I would later say since taking a picture of him in a garden conservatory. He stood facing me, hands in pockets, long coat hanging off of his shoulders. He looked taller than he was in that coat. Muy guapo, Tío! He looked so strong, so powerful, so bigger than life to me. His words were quick and could bite if you weren’t ready, but always love flowed from him to me. He always greeted me with, “Como está?” but it always sounded like Co-mess-TAH to my ears, staccato and fast. I always answered, “Muy bien. Y usted?” and he would laugh and answer, “Bien. Mi que linda, Lisa.” My attempts at speaking Spanish were such a happy time for him.

When I got married, Tío was there watching out for me. My husband, Wes, told me later that my uncle came over to him and said, “Lisa is a very special girl. You take care of her.” Then he held up his index and middle fingers pointing to Wes’ eyes and raised one eyebrow as he said really slowly, “Marriage is for-EVER.” Tío smiled and walked away. Wes wasn’t sure who Ramón was, but he said he felt like he had just gotten a Puerto Rican hex by a little old man in my family. I laughed. We just celebrated eight years, Tío, so I guess your “PR hex” is working for us.

My last memory of you was the day before you died. I was in yoga class thinking of you. I had been looking at your picture for the past week and praying that you would be okay. We did a little prayer asking God to give us what we need because everything else was irrelevant. And when I laid down to rest at the end of class, I saw you surrounded by a bright white light. You were looking up a little to your right and had a little smile flickering under your mustache. Your eyes were black gems, like a charcoal drawing on a cloud. You were bigger than life and I sent all my thoughts and prayers and calm to you. You looked so happy and handsome, Tío.

Give Titi Carmen and Ramon Jr. a big hug for me. I miss you very much. Te amo mucho, Tío. Vaya con Díos! Make Him laugh too.

Lisa

The Great Depression, the New Deal and Today

2008-09-24T16:57:00.003-04:00

I was thinking about the comment from Vicki on my blog about history affecting ordinary lives. How her mother-in-law won't eat spaghetti because that was what they got during the depression. Speaking of the depression, my Dad joined one of the New Deal programs - the CCC's (Civilian Conservation Corps)- when he was a young man. He was sent out west to Wyoming and Idaho, where he fought forest fires and planted trees - and developed a deep love of nature which he passed along to us. As I noted in my September 11th blogs, unexpected blessings can come from difficult times of pain and suffering, such as the crisis of the Great Depression. How wonderful that America had such a great leader in F.D. Roosevelt to push through programs that gave people meaningful work, helped build America's infrastructure and energy capacity (Tennessee Valley Authority), and had such an effect on ordinary lives. Maybe our current economic crisis is another opportunity for great leadership and creative programs to come to the rescue of the real victims: ordinary everyday people and their families.

History and Ordinary Lives

2008-09-19T10:08:00.003-04:00

When I was in school, I didn’t like “history” class much. It was all about dates and wars and stuffy old men. Much later, long after I had graduated from college, I developed an interest in Medieval History. The books I read, books like A History of Their Own by Bonnie Anderson and Judith Zinsser, were mostly about ordinary life in those times, especially women’s lives. Of course, the wars, plagues and other disasters of the time affected ordinary lives in terrible ways.

A few weeks ago there was a news story about the Rosenberg trial of the 1950’s, how some evidence given by witnesses against Ethel Rosenberg may have been tainted. My daughter asked me to write about my memories of that time. And I was struck about how much that trial affected my life.

In those days, when I was about 10 or 11 years old, my family’s television set was still pretty new. I remember watching the McCarthy hearings and the comedians’ imitations of them. I sort of got the idea that “Communists” were bad but even that concept was mixed up in my 10 year old brain. I remember my Mom saying once that she was going to write to her congressman and I wondered why she would write to someone who was an enemy of America. Obviously, I got the two terms confused.

The cold war of the 50’s meant that we had air raid drills in school, where we would crouch under our desks or stand in the hall, saying the rosary. Once there was a sonic boom (probably a jet breaking the sound barrier) and my Mom came running into the room yelling “Those lousy Russians!”

But I certainly knew what the Rosenberg trial was about. It was a top news story in the early days of TV and the media milked it for all it was worth. What it meant to me was that a mother and father were going to be executed and that children would lose their parents. I was terrified, especially as the day approached for their death by the electric chair at Sing-Sing. I believe that this event contributed to my phobia about electricity. Shortly after the Rosenbergs were executed, I got a slight shock from an intercom in my house and spent a sleepless night thinking I would be electrocuted at any moment. It was downhill from there.

Now, of course I would have been plagued by phobias anyway. But it is interesting how newsworthy events change our lives, even in small ways. And who can deny how everyone’s life has been changed by the events of September 11th. Or Hurricane Katrina. Or Vietnam – but that’s another blog entirely.

Grandma's Story - Chapter 1 Part 2

2008-09-10T09:31:00.002-04:00

Let me tell you what my house looked like on the inside. When I was five, I lived on the first floor of 1675 Linden Street with my Mom, Dad, sister Kathy and baby brother Jimmy. Later on I had two more brothers, Johnny and Jeff. Our apartment was called a railroad flat because all the rooms were connected in a straight line that looked like a train. There was a little kitchen off of the dining room, which was also our living room. My Dad turned the real living room into a bedroom because there were so many of us. I shared the big bedroom with my sister and brother for awhile. My Dad took all the doors off the rooms to get air and there was no privacy. I had to walk through all the bedrooms to get to mine. When we went to bed at 9 o’clock, I would talk and laugh with my sister and brother. That made my father very angry and we’d get a smack!

Our house had one great thing. My grandma Nanny, grandpa Pop-Pop, and great aunt Kiki, lived on the second floor. So if it got too noisy or crowded, I could sneak down the long entry way or “private hall” into the big hall and up the stairs to my grandparents house. It was so peaceful there. Nanny would be reading the Journal American, a newspaper, at the big dining room table and peeling an orange. Pop-Pop would be sleeping in his easy chair. He could fall asleep as easily as ‘Buelo. He loved to tell us corny jokes but he would laugh so hard, he would be crying and we couldn’t hear the end of the joke. Sometimes Pop-Pop would sit in the living room. My cousins, sister, brother and I would sit around him and beg him to tell us stories about Jack the Giant Killer. They were scary and we loved them!

I even remember my great grandmother, Granny. She was your great, great, great grandmother. She would show me black and blue marks on her wrinkly hands. She said the marks were from being old. I’m not so sure. She lived in Nanny’s house and died when I was five years old. I had to be very quiet, my Mom said, because Nanny and Kiki were very sad.

My other Grandma and Grandpa (my Dad’s Mom and Dad) lived down the block on Linden Street. Grandma had beautiful embroidery hanging on the walls with Hungarian writing. She had statues of Jesus and Mary on her dresser, with lighted candles in front of them. I loved to go to her house and stare at the pictures and candles and smell the delicious smells coming from her kitchen.

Grandpa was a carpenter. He built a wooden staircase outside our dining/living room window. When we wanted to play in the backyard, we would climb out the window and go down the steps. My Pop-Pop took care of the garden. His specialty was roses: white, pink, red and yellow rose bushes. My favorites were the yellow roses because they smelled so sweet and they were short, so it was easy to sniff them. Pop-Pop made us a dirt box at the end of his garden with a little seat. I loved to play bakery and make dirt pies and cookies and cakes. But I didn’t taste them!

There were no clothes dryers back then. There was a tall pole at the end of the yard and a clothes line attached. My Mom hung the clothes on the line from the kitchen window. In the winter, the shirts would come in frozen stiff with their arms sticking out, like invisible people.

It was lots of fun being five when I was a kid! (June 15, 2005)

Grandma's Story - Chapter 1 Part 1

2008-09-07T10:10:00.004-04:00

Before you read this, go to "Grandma's Story - Introduction" (September 7, 2008).

Chapter 1 - For Sam, Age 5

Once upon a time, Grandma was five years old, just like you are now. I lived in a house that was very different from yours. It was in a place called Queens in New York City. My neighborhood was Ridgewood. It didn’t have big buildings and “too many people”. The streets were called blocks and had sidewalks and brick houses, three stories high, all stuck together.

I remember my block being a long, sunny street with three skinny trees across from my house. Each house had a gate and a stoop, four fat cement steps that led to the outside door. In the summer, we bounced our Spaulding balls (the best bouncing balls!) against the stoop. The big boys played stick ball in the gutter, where the cars drove by. Only there weren’t too many cars back then so we could even draw in the gutter with chalk and make games. I liked to play Potsy, which is like Hopscotch.

We didn’t have air conditioning either. On summer nights everyone sat in the gate on benches or on the stoop and waited for the Bungalow Bar truck to come with its ice cream pops. It was a white truck that looked like a little house and its bells were music to my ears.

It was fun living on Linden Street, my block. We rode our bicycles and scooters on the sidewalk or roller skated. Those roller skates were metal with metal wheels and you needed a key to tighten them to your shoes. I liked the feel of my tingly feet after I took off my skates. One time I was riding my bicycle and I saw a neighbor kid, Dennis W., coming up the street. It was too late to stop and I hit him and knocked him down. I fell off my bike. Later his big sister came to my house and yelled at my Mom. I was so scared. I learned a good lesson – don’t ride bicycles on the sidewalk.

When I was five, I started Kindergarten in the Catholic school down the street called St. Brigid’s. My Mom had also gone to St. Brigid’s. I was so excited to go to school. It had a sandbox and see-saw and jungle gym right inside the classroom. One day my cousin Joseph and I were playing on the see-saw with another girl. We thought it would be funny if we sat on one end and kept her up in the air. She didn’t like it at all. And we soon got tired of the game, so we got up. To our surprise, the girl came crashing down with a bang! She started crying and told the teacher, Sister Rita. Joseph and I got punished. We had to sit down and skip recess. We were also supposed to tell our mothers what we had done. I felt very sorry but I learned another lesson, a Physics lesson. I knew what happened when you take a weight off of one end of a balance. The other end comes down really fast. Oh yes. I did tell my Mom what had happened but Joseph didn’t tell his mother. I guess I learned another lesson that time.

Grandma's Story - Introduction

2008-09-07T10:03:00.001-04:00

A few years ago I began a project for my six grandchildren called “Grandma’s Story”. In honor of Grandparents Day, I’ve decided to share this with you on my blog for several reasons. First, it will be another place to save my story and give my own family a chance to read all about it again. Second, it may give grandparents and older relatives another idea on how to share their own stories. It is also a wonderful opportunity for educating a new generation about ordinary life in extraordinary times: World War II, the Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam, etc. Finally, I hope that by blogging I will be encouraged to continue writing – there’s a lot more to tell.

I began writing my story for children and tried to write in that style. I will post the introduction today and then continue with short segments from Chapter 1. I welcome your comments.

Introduction to Grandma’s Story (June 2005)

This book will be all about life in the times when Grandma was growing up. Since I was born in 1941, that was a long, long time ago! The first chapter will describe my adventures when I was five years old and since Sam just celebrated his 5th birthday, this is Sam’s chapter.

Later there will be special chapters for all my precious grandkids. And the best part is every one gets to share the whole story and read about how it was to be a kid 60 years ago! I look forward to writing chapters for Marina, Chase, Sierra, Jackson and Baby Punkin’ (who turned out to be Aidan!) Maybe you can give me ideas about what you’d like to hear about. Or even interview me. We will see.

When it’s all finished – a long time from now – you will all have a story to show to your children and grandchildren. A special story that you can add to with your own stories. The story of our family!

Summers on Wheels: part two

2008-08-26T09:27:00.002-04:00

When I had my own family, summer car vacations were more about the journey than the destination. We stopped often along the way and discovered all sorts of surprises. But another reason for long meandering car trips was the many lemon cars we owned. The kids will never forget our “Fred Flintstone” VW 411 – they had to keep their legs up on the seat in the back because there was a hole in the floor, where they watched the road roll by.

Once my husband and I visited the Montreal Worlds Fair in a car that barely did 20 mph on hills – and we had to drive through the Adirondacks! On the way home on a Sunday night, we couldn’t find an open gas station. We ran out of gas on the Northway near midnight as huge tractor-trailers whizzed by. A kindly truck driver stopped and drove us to a small town gas station he knew, then proceeded to wake up the proprietor to pump us gas, which was probably under $1/gallon back then.

But our most memorable adventure was spending a night sleeping in one of our junkier cars in an upstate New York gas station. After the mechanic got it running and we were on the way home, the car conked out for good and we hitched hiked on Route 17 with the three little ones. A man who was moving from Binghamton to Poughkeepsie – his car packed with possessions – picked us up. Enroute we witnessed a nasty motorcycle accident and just avoided running over the victims. After stopping to help, we barely made it to Poughkeepsie in time to catch the last train to NYC. We arrived in Harlem at midnight and walked across 125th Street to get the subway home.

Still later, I took many trips on wheels with my daughter Lisa. We traveled back from the Florida Keys along Route 1 - stopping at Cape Kennedy; driving through rice paddies, sometimes via ferries, in the Carolinas; and discovering the outerbanks and Kitty Hawk along the way. When we explored the back roads of Maine, we came across a Mama moose and her baby. Lisa and I had many wonderful California adventures on wheels. Each road presents a more magnificent vista - earthquake tortured rock formations; Dr. Seuss-like Joshua Trees in the desert; breathtaking mountain views; tarantulas crossing the road on a back route out of Death Valley; and of course, the Pacific Coast Highway PCH 1, with its unobstructed view of the Pacific.

For us, it’s all about the journey.

Summers on Wheels: part one

2008-08-14T10:09:00.002-04:00

Many of our summer vacations were spent in the family car. My Dad always had a well-planned itinerary in mind. He would pack my Mom and the 3, 4, and then 5 kids in the car – no seat belts or A/C in those days – and off we’d go for two weeks of adventure. It’s funny the memories that stick. Like the accident we had in Erie, PA when a car’s brakes failed and plowed into us at an intersection. Or the trip to Cleveland, OH that resulted in a pen pal relationship with one of my distant Hungarian cousins. Or meeting another Hungarian cousin, Tibi, a gifted commercial artist in Ottawa, Canada.

We took a long trip one year to St. Petersburg, FL to visit my Aunt Helen; I can still taste those Hungarian crepes she made. On the way, we stopped at cabins or the early version of motels. I remember one evening in the 1950’s on the lawn of a South Carolina motel. I was listening to a conversation about segregation that my Dad and the motel owner were having. His argument for “white only” motels was that integrated motels would lead to interracial marriage. He pointed at me – “You wouldn’t want your little girl to marry a colored boy!” And at my tender age, I just couldn’t understand how a motel that welcomed all races could lead to my marriage; I couldn’t even imagine getting married! Later I noticed the separate hospital entrances and water fountains – “Whites only”. It made an impression and seemed strange, sad to me.

Those trips were so educational. Geography comes alive when you actually set foot in a capital city. My love of maps began on those trips. Having grown up in New York City, the other “big” cities of states paled in comparison. “This is a city?” was my reaction. But I discovered that each city was unique – like Charleston, SC so beautiful and clean, and Lexington, KY with its wonderful horse farms. When we finally made it to Florida, after several nights in sweltering cabins, I was so looking forward to a swim in the Gulf of Mexico. To my disappointment, it was not refreshing at all – more like soaking in a hot tub! Another disappointment – I so wanted to see the legendary Fountain of Youth that led Ponce de Leon to St. Augustine, FL. When we arrived, it cost too much money for the whole family to visit, so we just stared at the gates. I made up for this with my credit cards when I took my grown up vacations many years later.

At some point during every summer car vacation, we kids would get on Dad’s nerves (how many games of license plates can you play!) and he would scream at us, threaten beatings when he stopped the car, and vow “No more vacations!” Lucky for us, it never came to pass. And the next year, we’d be off on another adventure.