Ecclesiastes and 9/11

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

Legacy

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!

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!

Christmas Letter 2010

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!

Tech Support

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!

Inspiration

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?

Spring Challenges

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.

Memories of Dad #5

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

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

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 ---

Christmas Letter 2009

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.

Family Gatherings

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.

Holidays Over

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.

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

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"

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......

Thanks for the Memories

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

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!

Remembering Ramon

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

Grandma's Story - Chapter 1 Part 2

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

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.