Star Trek

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.