Monthly Archives: June 2019

THESE THINGS I KNOW TO BE TRUE

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The more love you feel and give to others, the more you receive in return

It was 1976. Bob and I had been residing in California for one year. When we first arrived, I found a job as a chairside assistant at an oral surgeon’s office in Santa Barbara. We were living in Lompoc. Which is about a half hour drive to Santa Barbara.  Doctor Snyder, the oral surgeon I was working for had a habit of calling me at home at the last minute to tell me the patient for the morning had cancelled. Sometimes I would arrive at his office and he would tell me to go home. Gas was $.59 a gallon in 1976 and I was making minimum wage which was $2.30 an hour. Which wouldn’t have been that bad except sometimes I only worked ten hours a week. I lasted six months at this job.

My next position was at Robinson’s Department Store in Santa Barbara. I worked in sales, selling hats and wigs. If there is a more boring job in the world, I hate to think what that might be. I had to stand at the counter and look busy. Doing what I have no clue.  On a good day I had one maybe two customers per day. I started looking for another job after the first month. A fellow employee at Robinsons told me about St. Vincent’s School on Calle Real Drive in Santa Barbara. It was a residential school for mentally disabled children.

I found my way to the school, and filled out an application. Did I mention that I have absolutely no sense of direction?

No one contacted me. I began a campaign to get hired there. I called St. Vincent’s two, three times a week. I sent letters. After a month and a half, they called me in for an interview. They called me back within the week and hired me.

St. Vincent’s School was run by The Daughters of Charity Catholic nuns. I was hired as a houseparent in the Laboures Group to take care of and assist sixteen girls ages twelve to seventeen.

My kids participating in Special Olympics

My kids participating in Special Olympics

I was assigned a split shift. I arrived at the school before the girls were awake about seven in the morning. I woke them up and supervised them until it was time for school to begin. I walked them to school which was on the same grounds as the residence. I came back when they were dismissed at three pm.

The children that resided at St. Vincent’s had a multitude of disabilities, Down’s Syndrome, Autism, Prader Willie Syndrome and mental retardation. But to me, they just became my kids. I don’t think I could have loved these kids anymore if they were my own. I didn’t look at them as disable kids. I looked at them as children who needed an adult’s love, care, guidance and acceptance.

I taught them self-care, table manners, how to make their beds and personal hygiene. I helped them with their homework. I taught them how to make their beds. I ate all my meals with them.

At night I watched TV or played games with them, helped them write letters to their families. I took them on outings for picnics, shopping for new clothes, the movies. I enjoyed every minute of the time I spent with them.

On Saturdays, which was my day off my husband Bob and I would take one of them out for the day to the mountains, or swimming at our apartment pool or into town. The same kind of activities that you would enjoy with your own children. A few girls wanted to learn how to sew so when it was there turn to spend a day with me, I taught them the basics of sewing.

I have had many jobs since those days, but I can tell you in all honesty that working at St. Vincent’s with those awesome kids was the best position I ever had. I experienced all the good things with them, love, acceptance and being needed, respect. I was making a positive impact on their lives. Whatever I gave to them they returned to me tenfold.

When my husband completed his education at Brooks Institute. I gave my notice. It had been seven years since I had lived in my home state of NJ. And my parents were getting older and I wanted to spend time with them. I wanted my future children to know their grandparents. I have never had a day I felt so sad, as the day I said good-bye to those wonderful girls, and the staff of young women and men that worked at St. Vincent’s School. I wrote the kids for many years until they left St. Vincent’s.

Picture of me and one of my co-workers Stacy Smitter

I look back on those days in California with gratitude and happy memories. Bob and I had the opportunity to be young and free. Live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. And get to know those children. It was a blessing. I often wonder what became of them. But I can only hope that they went on be happy in their lives. And were on the receiving end of all the good things in life, which they so richly deserved.

It’s A New Day, A New Dawn

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As I step out the front door, I put one foot in front of the other. I tell myself just to take one day at a time. I see Roger, my neighbor in his front yard, picking up his newspaper sans pants again. God, no, not today. Please don’t let him see me, not today.

I rush towards my car, pushing the unlock button. Unlock, unlock, I scream inside my head. He is a nice enough old man but somewhat senile. Sometimes he forgets to put in his teeth, and then there are the days like today when he forgets to put on his pants. Roger goes commando, which is unfortunate for everyone who lives in the immediate neighborhood.

Luckily, he has forgotten to wear his glasses as well, so he doesn’t see me, and I make a clean getaway.  I‘m off to my first day at my new job. Never mind that this is the third first day of a new job that I have had to endure in the past five years. Each job is a step down from the job that preceded it. Not to mention a cut in pay. Oh, I meant not to mention it, but I did. Whoops!

I keep reading and hearing on the radio that the economy is turning around, but I don’t see any evidence of that in my life or in the people I know. But there is no point in dwelling on it.

My new job is as a cashier at a car dealership. I have been working in the automobile sales business for thirty years. I started at the bottom as a secretary and worked myself up to vice-president of the new car sales department. I was the only female to reach that position within my company. The auto sales business, especially in a Japanese-owned company, is highly misogynistic. You know, the old boys club, the glass ceiling and all that.

When the economy took its downturn, the auto business went bust. I was the first to be laid off. Actually, I took an early retirement package. I really didn’t have a choice. It was early retirement or fired with no package. This included keeping my pension, one year of health insurance, and one year’s pay.

It took me one year to find another job.  You know something, and there aren’t a lot of vice president jobs for a sixty-something woman. My next job was manager of Internet sales job at one of the dealers I used to audit in my old job. He called me and offered me the position when he heard I had been laid off. I took a $60,000 a year cut in pay, but I didn’t have much choice, no more unemployment left. No other job offers.

After a year there, I was laid off because I kept complaining to the owner that all the car salesmen started drinking after he left for the day. They weren’t the happy drunks you don’t mind being around. They were the other kind, the nasty drunks.

Laid off again and got another Internet manager position, which lasted six months. They decided I wasn’t bringing in enough leads, so they hired an outside company to take over my position.

And that brings you up to speed. I’m driving on the Roosevelt Expressway in the early morning rush hour to my new job as a cashier at another dealership. I hope I will be able to impress them with my years of experience and knowledge of the auto business. Moving quickly up the ladder of success until I once again reach the soaring heights of middle management.

Ah, I see the dealership is coming up on my right and make a sharp right turn. I almost missed the entrance. Unfortunately, someone else is making an equally sharp left turn out of the driveway, and just like that, two cars become one.

My airbag deploys, and I am hit with such force that it knocks the wind out of me. I hope I have not cracked my ribs or some other vital organ. I finally catch my breath, and I see a very furious-looking woman headed my way.

She is wearing a very grim smile on her face. Well, perhaps it’s more a grimace than a smile.

I reach for my cell in case I have to push 911. I look into my glove department for my insurance information. I roll down the window. She immediately starts screaming at me. “It’s your fault. You hit my car. I just bought it last year. Now, what am I going to do? You stupid… ” Well, you fill in the blanks.

I take a deep breath and wait until she runs out of steam and calms down. Finally, she says,” Well, this has turned out to be one of the worse days of my life. First, I get fired with no warning at all, and now you crash into my car and destroy it, No car, no job, what next?”

“I’m really sorry. This is my first day here, and I guess I am a bit nervous and wasn’t watching as carefully as I should have. Let me give you my information.”

“Really, you were starting here today. I didn’t know they were hiring anyone or that there were any openings. What position were you hired for?”

“The cashier position.”

“What the… that’s my job.”

She then lets out a string of expletives that would make a longshoremen blush. I quickly push the button to roll up my window and decide now would be the perfect time to push 911. Before any blood is shed. My blood.

The woman is still ranting and raving and having a full-on tantrum when the cop arrives, and he tries to talk her down. She finally stops screaming but is still shooting me evil looks. Well, you know that expression if looks could kill? Well, it’s true if looks could kill, I would be lying here in a puddle of my own blood, riddled with bullet holes.

The cop talks to me and the lunatic, and everybody cools down. We exchange information, and she heads off on her merry way. Well, not merry, but you know what I mean.

I pull into the parking lot and look for employee parking. I see there is one spot left and pull in. As I walk into the dealership, two sales types come racing towards me, mistaking me for a customer. “Sorry, I’m not a customer. I’m the new cashier. Can you point me in the direction of human resources?”

“Yeah, sure, it right over there, but you’re late, and Z doesn’t like that. Z, that’s the owner, has kind of a bad temper, so try to stay on his good side, if you can find it.

So begins my first day at my new job.

I KNOW THESE THINGS TO BE TRUE

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Things I Know To Be True

The smallest act of kindness can have a tremendous positive impact on other people and on your own happiness.

Bob and I were married in 1974. We were living in Jupiter, Florida. Bob’s lifelong dream was to become a professional photographer. He had recently been discharged from the Navy. He served during the Viet Nam War. As a vet he knew he would be able to get Veterans Benefits to help pay for his education to attend school.

He applied to and was accepted into Brooks Institute, a photography school in Santa Barbara, Ca. We had only been married a couple of years. We were poor. We had to wait two years for an opening at the school. During those two years I saved every penny we earned except for living expenses.

I was working at a The Collandes Hotel on Singer Island in the Spa giving facials to wealthy people. The Colonnades was owned by Douglas MacArthur the second richest man in America. When I knew him, he was in his late seventies. Bob was working third shift as an electronic technician.

We needed money for the traveling expenses to travel from Jupiter, Florida to California. And to rent an apartment. Brooks Institute required students to own a View Camera, and a tripod as part of his curriculum too. It cost almost $600.00. Which was a fortune to us.

We owned so little in fact, that all of our world belongings fit into Bob’s van and my 1970 yellow VW. We had brought our two dogs Bogie and Ulysses with us. We drove the van and towed my Volkswagen. It took us ten days to travel from Florida to Santa Barbara. It was an amazing trip. In the 1970’s much of our country was still undeveloped and there were hundreds of miles of unspoiled land. I had never fully realized how enormous our country is, until then.

We were unaware that most apartment owners in the Santa Barbara area did not allow pets, especially dogs in their rentals. In addition, we decided that we wouldn’t bring all our savings with us. Since, I was concerned that it would be stolen or lost. And so, when we started looking for apartments. We didn’t have enough cash to pay for first, last months rent and a security deposit. Apartment rents in the Santa Barbara area were much more expensive than Florida.

We began looking outside of the Santa Barbara area. And ended up looking in Lompoc, Ca. Which was about an hour’s drive from Santa Barbara. It’s is located near Vandenburg Air Force Base. The rent was more affordable. Unfortunately, we still didn’t have enough money to put a deposit down.

We approached a local bank in Lompoc. The people at this bank never saw or spoke to us before. They took my husband and I under their wing. We explained that we had more money in our Florida savings account. But it would have to be sent to us in order to rent an apartment.

Temporarily, we had been living with our two dogs Bogie and Ulysses in a run-down hotel room in a somewhat scary neighborhood. The bank manager loaned us the money to rent an apartment. They didn’t charge us any interest, or ask anything in return. We were complete strangers to them. In addition, they put us in touch with people in the area who owned apartments. We were able to rent one of the apartments and move in with our dogs.

I never forgot this experience, or the generosity of the manager of the bank. I promised myself that if I was ever in a position to help someone else out, I would. And I have tried to do just that whenever an opportunity presented itself to me. I consider it a gift to be able help a person in need. This experience really changed my view of the world. I realized that there was kindness and generosity in the world. And that as a fellow human being I had the obligation and the opportunity to make the world a better place. And I was blessed by this opportunity and have grown as a human being because of it.

Strawbridge Lake

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Today is one of those muggy August mornings when your upper lip starts sweating the moment you step out the back door. You know what they say about NJ, it’s not the heat it’s the humidity. Well, let me tell you something, it’s the heat too. But that has never stopped me. I grab my bike that’s lying on the ground next to the back step. And hang my lunch off the handlebars.

I ride as fast as I can down to my best friend Joanie’s house. I jump off and hit the kickstand. It’s precisely eight AM sharp when I bang on the door. Mr. Gioiella doesn’t look like he’s happy to see me when he jerks his front door open. 

“What the hell are you knocking at the door for this early in the morning? Don’t you have a home of your own?”

“Hi, Mr. Gioiella, Joanie, and I are taking a bike ride down to Strawbridge Lake this morning. We’re going to bring our lunches and look at the sunfish and… Before I can finish my sentence, which I uttered in one long breath, Mr. Gioiella slams the door closed. I don’t let his gruff manner deter me. He’s kind of a grouch, but then so is my father, so I’m used to it.

I hear him yelling at the top of his voice, “Joanie get your butt down here. Susie is at the door waiting for you.” I had to wait for her for fifteen minutes. But I don’t let that bother me either. Joanie is kind of slow in the morning. She has trouble waking up. And she always takes a long time to get ready. Joanie finds me looking around her yard when she finally comes out.

“What are you doing?”

“Hi Joanie, I was looking at your mother’s flowers. I love the yellow and purple ones they look like butterflies. What kind of flowers are they?”

“I don’t know. They’re my mother’s flowers. I don’t pay any attention to them. You’re really weird sometimes Susie always looking at flowers and petting Mrs. Collin’s cats. “Come on. I put my lunch on the back porch and my bike is back there. Let’s go before my mother changes her mind.”

Joanie drags her bike out from under her porch. It’s covered in cobwebs. She starts screaming at the top of her lungs. She detests mosquitos. But she’s absolutely terrified of spiders. I start laughing and knock off all the spider webs. I love her screened-in back porch so much. We play out there a lot. Sometimes we write letters to the movie stars. Other times we play games like checkers, or dominoes or, Submarine.

My Mom knows if she can’t find me that I’m probably on Joanie’s back porch. She doesn’t come over to get me, she just yells at the top of her lungs. “Susie, time for dinner, time for dinner.” We only live two houses away so, she stands out in our back yard and yells until I come home.

I come home right away; otherwise, my father will come and get me and nobody wants to see that happen. Like I said, my father’s kind of a grouch. He works at night and doesn’t like being awakened during the day until it’s time for him to get up and go to work.

My father is the head dispatcher for the Philadelphia Transportation Company. It’s the bus company. Everybody he works with calls him Smiley. I know I told you he’s a grouch. They call him Smiley as a joke because he never smiles. His nickname in our family is “The Old Bear.”

Joanie grabs her lunch off the back step and shoves it in her basket. And then we’re off. We cross her front yard and cut across Mrs. McFarland’s yard and pass Dougherty’s house. We all but fly up to the corner across from Schuck’s. Schuck’s is my favorite place in the world. It’s a store that sells Penny candy and ice cream and hoagies. I live to eat candy. Oh, and drink root beer floats. And it has another room with a jukebox and booths. And teenagers dance in there.

As we speed by Shuck’s, I see Harry Fuelle. He owns the store next to Schuck’s. He lives in the rooms above his store with his wife and three children. It’s a food store. But mostly they sell lunchmeat. He’s walking slowly around his backyard in his pajamas. He is staring at his Dahlias. I think he loves them more than his own children.

We turn right on Main Street like we were told to. We keep on the right side of the street. The police came to our school and taught all the students bike safety. It’s about a twenty-five-minute ride to Moorestown. It is the town right next door to Maple Shade where we live. And get this, there’s a McDonald’s on the corner. It’s the first one in this part of New Jersey. I can’t tell you how much I love French Fries. I would kill for them, well almost.

Joanie and I turn right onto Lenola Road and ride about a mile or so and make a left. And there’s Strawbridge Lake. By the time we arrive at Strawbridge Lake we are so hot and sweaty, our clothes are sticking to us. I can taste the salty perspiration as it drips down my forehead and across my lips.

I yell over to Joanie, “Let’s leave our bikes here and walk down to the waterfall.”

When we arrive at the waterfall, Joan and I take off our sneaks and socks and wade into the deliciously ice-cold water. It’s so clear you can see the sunfish swimming over the waterfall.

“Come on, let’s try to catch one,” I scream, so I can be heard over the rushing water.

We look down at our bare feet and squish the mud up between our toes. Joan lets out a squeal, and so do I. “I have an idea. Let’s try and walk across the waterfall past all the fishermen to the other side.”

“Oh, I don’t know.’ Joanie says.

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a chicken, Joanie.”

Joanie isn’t really a chicken. She just needs encouragement to do fun stuff. Once she starts walking across, she forgets how afraid she was and practically hops and skips across. We stop in the middle and stare down over the waterfall. It looks like a long way down. I have an urge to jump and lean forward a bit. But Joanie grabs my arm. “What are you doing? You don’t even know how to swim?”

I smile at her and shrug my shoulders. “Come on, let’s go back to the stream near the Honeysuckle Bush and try to catch some sunfish.”

As we get closer to the stream, I start running at my top speed, and Joanie chases me. By the time we get there, we are both out of breath and soaked to the skin from sweating. We take a good look at one another and start laughing our heads off. You know the laugh that ends up snorting and hiccuping. Which makes us laugh that much more.

We step down into the stream and watch the golden fish swim across our feet. It tickles, and that makes us start laughing again and the fish disappear. As I stand in the ice-cold stream, I see young couples walking hand in hand. And mothers with their young children sitting on blankets.

Suddenly, I hear honking and, a huge goose comes rushing at us. Joanie and I are momentarily frozen. Then we realize that there are little goslings swimming right next to us. “Hey Joanie, we better get out of here. Remember the last time that goose bit you right on the butt.”

Joanie’s eyes get as big as saucers.  I grab her arm and pull her out of the stream. And we run until we are out of breath. Joan’s face is red as a beet. She looks at me and says,” your face is red as a beet.”

” My face, you should see your face.” This brings on the laughing again. We fall to the ground. We are laughing so hard. People are staring at us, but we don’t care. We can still hear the goose honking.

After I catch my breath, I say,” Hey, let’s go get our lunches, I’m starved.”

“Yeah, me too.” Joanie gasp.

We take our time getting back to our bikes. “Jeez, I think it is even hotter out. Is that even possible? I’m dying of thirst.”

“Me, too. But guess what my mom put a thermos in my lunch.” Joanie smiles.

I shrug my shoulders. I detest guessing games with Joanie. They can go on forever.

“Oh, you’re no fun, it’s cherry Kool-aide.” She sticks her tongue out at me.

“You’re kidding, that’s my favorite.”

“I know Susie, that’s why I brought it.” We ran the last few feet to our bikes laughing, all the way. And then we flop on the ground. Joanie pulls out her lunch. “What do you have?”

“Peanut butter and jelly.”

I open mine. “Me too. It’s my favorite. Well, that and Lebanon Bologna.”

“Mine too.” She says as she shoves the last morsel in her mouth.

I hand her the lid of the thermos with ice-cold Kool-Aide in it. “Oh, wow, this taste so good.”

I smile and think this is going to be the best summer of my life.

These Things I Know To Be True

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THESE THINGS I KNOW TO BE TRUE

It is essential to have some space for yourself, even if it is only inside your head and heart.

I was a daughter. I am a wife. I am a mother. I am a sister, aunt, friend and neighbor and citizen.

My parents passed away within eight months of one another when I was thirty-four years old. I took care of my parents through the final moments of their lives. My father died of lung cancer and my mother had dementia. At the time that my father was diagnosed with cancer my older brother came to me and said, “It’s up to you Susan, to take care of them.” My brother was nineteen years older than I was. He was a psychologist whose practice centered on family therapy. He passed away a year ago.

I believe that he felt that as the youngest in my family of origin and a stay at home mom that I was in the best position to care for them. I would have done it without his words. But none the less, there is an expectation in our society that women are and should be the caretakers.

It was a difficult time, stressful, unbearably sad. It was an isolating experience. I learned during that time, that if I was going to take care of my parents, I had to first take care of myself. And so, I tried to get enough rest, eat properly and ask for help from family members when I felt overwhelmed. In fact, I sought counseling because I was suffered from depression.

After my parents passed, I began to think a great deal about life, and how swiftly time passed. My mother had told me before she developed dementia that her regrets in life had to do with all the things she didn’t do. Not any mistakes she may have made. I took my mother’s advice. Not to let fear stand in the way of doing anything I wanted to accomplish.

I considered the regrets of my life up to that point. What I wish that I had done and hadn’t been able to do up that point. My biggest regret was not going to college. When I was senior in high school in 1969, my father, who was an old school kind of guy said,” girls don’t need to go to college they are just going to get married and have children.” I went to work instead as a dental assistant after I graduated.

Consequently, after my parents passed, I kept my mother’s regrets in mind. I decided to go to college.

Two years after I lost my mother and father I applied to and was accepted into Temple University at Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia.  My kids were three and six at the time.

It was very difficult juggling two young children and going to school full-time. But I did it, I graduated with a degree in Graphic Design and Art Education. It was the best experience of my life. I realized I was intelligent, motivated and worth the investment of time and money. I gained confidence in myself. Both of my children grew up being exposed to art and creativity. They went on to Art School and became artists. Creativity is an essential part of my psyche and theirs as well.

In addition to painting, I write. Writing and painting are both forms of storytelling.  Until recently, it was something I did only for myself. Writing is an outlet for expressing my thoughts and feelings when it doesn’t always feel safe to express them to anyone else.

You are more than the roles you play in other people’s lives. You are more than someone’s mother, daughter, sister or wife. Try to remember you are unique, you have value. You have much to contribute to the world. Do not ever let anyone take that away from you. Make it your goal to find that little space inside your heart and your head just for you.

Lost And Found

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I decide to spend the day at the Philadelphia Central Library. I‘ve been working on my family history for the past ten years. I wanted to search the census records for the period of time between 1900 and 1920. I’m in the process of researching my father’s side of the family.

I know that my father was an only child and had been raised from the age of seven until he was sixteen at Girard College. During that time Girard College was a residential boy’s school. The only requirement being that one of their parents was deceased. His father had passed away when he was five from uremic poisoning in 1916.

It’s a beautiful crisp autumn day, so I decided to take the high-speed line over to Philly.  I arrive about a half hour before the library opens. I  walk around the corner to grab something to eat for breakfast at Whole Foods first.

I buy a small container of yogurt, and green tea. Whole Foods is a fabulous food store but they’re  pricey. It cost almost six dollars for these two items. I eat the yogurt quickly as I hadn’t eaten any dinner the night before. The tea is very hot so I sip slowly. It’s delicious. I’m something of a tea connoisseur. At any given moment I can name fifty different brands and types of teas.

Unfortunately, very few people seem particularly interested in hearing my list. Although some have suffered in silence as I listed them in alphabetical order. I know that they don’t want to hear it, but somehow, I feel compelled to tell them. I see first their eyes shift from right to left looking for a way out of the conversation. It isn’t really a conversation more of a monologue.

I give them very little chance to break away. I keep talking at break neck speed. I see their eyes glazing over. I know that they aren’t listening anymore. But still I persist naming my favorite teas, or pies, or ice cream. I have a list for just about any subject.

I decide to walk across the street to the Book Corner a used bookstore operated by the Central Library. It’s filled with used and donated books. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I also collect books. Books fill every inch of space in my two-bedroom apartment.  They are stacked on and under tables and chairs.  They also live under my bed and on the side of my bed, that I don’t sleep on.

People have told me that I’m a hoarder of books. I disagree, I‘m a bibliophile. I love the feel, smell and touch of old books. My favorite books are art books with full color plates of art, every type of art and every period of history.

I’m a collector of many things, mostly useless facts that no one wants to hear or know about. I almost purchase a book on Jasper Johns one of my favorite abstract expressionist artist. But I talked myself out of it. Since I already had this self-same book at home in one of my piles.

I start walking up the street behind the library and I see something on the sidewalk. I quickstep up to it and lean over and pick it up. It is a watch, a beautiful watch.

I don’t own valuable jewelry myself, but I certainly recognize quality when I see it. It’s gold, a women’s watch, with a mesh watchband. There are twenty-eight small diamonds surrounding the watch face. There is a small stone on the stem of the watch. I think a blue Topaz. I turned over the watch and looked on the back there is an inscription.

It reads: To BLJ, from JPO, and then some words in French. My high school French is somewhat rusty. I graduated quite a few decades ago. I decide to type the French phrase into Google translator when I finally get into the library.

I arrive at the library. I fly up the wide steps and push open the beautiful ornate bronze doors. I’m never disappointed when I enter the library. It has been recently remodeled. The first floor is amazing. The new entry floor is gleaming marble. There are all new showcases. I look in each one and study its contents. This one contains the most beautiful African sculptures. They are like Haiku to me, so few words, but they speak volumes.

Oh, and I see a notice that declares that there is going to be a visit from an author. I definitely will sign up for that. I’ll purchase a copy of her book and have it autographed by her. I feel slightly buzzed being around all this beauty, and the thousands upon thousands of stacks of books, on every subject.

I should have been a librarian, but I wouldn’t have gotten any work done. I would have been reading all day instead of whatever librarians are supposed to be doing. Besides I have observed that librarians are a bit on the strange side. They are either very quirky or annoyed by visitors. If I worked here, I would be probably a little of both and get fired after a month.

I check my pocket to see if my treasure is still there. It is, but I know that I will check my pocket many times just to be sure. It is one of my quirky traits, excessive checking on things. Checking to see if I really locked the door or turned off the iron or didn’t accidentally run over a cat that I thought was a bump in the road. I ‘m just cautious that’s all.

I enter the main book room next to the entrance. I rush over to the computer and go onto the Internet, Google translator. I type in the phase Mon amour éternel. It means my eternal love. God, that is so romantic. The poor soul that lost this must be heartbroken. Imagine losing such a wonderful keepsake.

I almost start to cry right there in the middle of the library. I imagine what it must be like to have someone promise their eternal love. I have never had that. I want it. It is almost a physical ache. And now I know it is probably too late for me.

Still, I keep my eyes open you never know what might happen. I want to find a way to return the watch to the owner but I don’t know what to do.

I approach the man who works at the main information desk. He’s one of the standoffish types, very formal. I ’m not certain but I believe he has some type of vision impairment or he just can’t endure looking into anyone’s eyes.

“Hello, could you tell me if there is a lost and found ?”

He doesn’t look at me or acknowledge my presence in any way. He starts typing on his keyboard. Perhaps he has a hearing deficit as well. I repeat my question only louder. Nothing.

Then somewhat abruptly he says, “No book by that name but several containing that subject matter. Let me print it out for you. ”

“What? No, no you misunderstood. I am asking if the library has a lost and found? You know you find or loose something and check to see if anyone turned it in, or you find something and turn it in. ”

“Go to service desk they might have an answer for you, I do not. ”

“But isn’t this the service desk?” I roll my eyes to the heavens. It’s lost on him. He has dismissed me from his mind. I no longer exist in his world. In my opinion the library has made a poor choice when they placed him in the central hall information desk. He should be sitting in the subbasement somewhere filing something.

I walk over to the main room again and over to a librarian. There are only two librarians now, since most of them were replace by an automated check out system. I wait patiently in line, until it is my turn. I repeat my question. “Do you have a lost and found department?”

“Sir this is the check in or check out department. You need to go to the service desk and ask Mr. Beaumont he will be happy to assist you.”

“But I did speak to Mr. Beaumont. He didn’t assist me. He sent me to you. What do you suggest now?”

“Perhaps you could ask Charles, at the exit to the library. He is the guard that checks all books as you exit the library.”

“Charles, thank you I will speak to him.” I walk over to the library exit and Charles is sitting looking through a large stack of books that an older gentleman is checking out.

I have seen this man before. He looks like an aesthetic or perhaps the English actor who is tall and thin who plays some sort of magician in Lord of the Rings. He has very long shiny gray hair, down to his waist.

I have often seen him when I visited the art department of the library. He always keeps to himself. He is surrounded by books. He spends the day taking notes in a leather notebook. I patiently wait my turn. Finally, I step up to Charles.

“Hello, can you tell me if the library has a lost and found?” As I’m waiting, I check my pocket again to make sure the watch is there.

“Yes, what are you looking for?”

“I am not looking for anything, I found something.”

“Well I can’t help you with that, other than you can write it down. Here write down what you have found on this form and a contact phone number or email. I will give them your information.”

“Alright, let’s do that.” I finally feel like I am making some headway. I give Charles my information. “Thank you, Charles, you have been very helpful.”

I head over to the elevator, push the button for the second floor and wait as it slowly makes its way down from the third floor. The doors slide open. They remodeled the elevator too and it looks like it belongs in a luxury hotel. I step inside. Somehow it has not lost that urine smell it always had. I hold my breath until the doors open to the second floor.

I make a right turn down the first hall, through the literature and find my way into the art department. Oh crap, I think what am I doing here I meant to go to the records department and study the census. I head to the elevator and back to the records department.

I arrive safely, I step up to the desk and ask the librarian to help me find the census for 1900-1920. She is very helpful. I look at the records which are digital copies of the original census books. However, the books were all hand written in script and somewhat difficult to read.

I spend the next three hours looking through them, meeting with some success. I find the record where my father is listed as an inmate of Girard College. An inmate, as if he were a criminal in prison. This upsets me so much, that I turn off the machine and decide to head home.

I buy a hotdog from the vender on the corner, such a cheerful fellow. “Thank you.”

I walk towards the bus stop that will get me to the high Speedline. I arrive at the Speedline intact.  I believe I checked my pocket about fifteen times, before I get on the train.

I notice that my stomach is starting to feel a little queasy and by the time we get over the bridge to the Camden stop, I know that I have gotten some kind of food poisoning from the hotdog. I rush off the train and am forced to use the public facility.

Dear god I hope will I be able to make it home! I do, but just barely. I take some medicine for my stomach. It doesn’t really help. I spend the next ten hours in the bathroom. Finally, I start to feel better. I go in the kitchen. I feel so empty. I decide to have some Earl Grey tea, and dry crackers.

I check my email, to my surprise I have five hundred emails. I open the first one. Bill declares it is his watch and he wants it back. I open the next ten. They are all the same. I realize that I have made a mistake in describing the watch. Chivalry has died and so has my trust in humanity. I will put the watch away or perhaps donate it to some worthwhile Charity. I think of the woman who lost her watch and say a silent prayer for her. She has lost something that was close to her heart and so have I.

It’s All In A Day’s Work

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The school bus arrived a little early this morning and I got up a little late. So, I sent the kids off to school without any lunches. That’s life. Shit happens. I was about to go back into the house and grab a cup of coffee. But I thought what the hell I’m sick of this.

I started walking down the street with no real destination in mind. But I just was sick to death of all of it, the cooking, the cleaning, the wash, my husband and the damn kids. Always wanting something, “Mom, Mom, Mom.” all day long. I haven’t really felt like dealing for a long time.

I kept walking and thinking. I realized it all started after I was in that car accident about eight months ago. My back was whacked. I ended up going to a pain clinic because nothing the regular doctor did helped with the pain. I even tried a chiropractor, nada.

Anyway, the clinic doctor gave me a script for oxy. Yeah, that really helped but soon I needed to take more to get the same effect. I tried Percocet. The doctor refused to give me anymore so I had to find another source.

I talked to one of the other Moms at my kid’s school. She told me about a guy that lived in a small trailer park in Gloucester City. So everyday I hump my way over there and get some.

Sometimes I don’t have the money so I have to make some money. So, I start going on some dates. Man, if my husband ever found out he would knock the crap out of me. That’s his problem I got to take care of myself.

After about forty-five minutes of walking and thinking I realize that I was headed towards Camden. I guess it was always in the back of my mind. People can really loose themselves there. You can be really free. Free to do whatever you want and nobody gives a damn.

I stick my hand out and hitch a ride with some old geezer.

“Where you headed honey? You know it ain’t safe for a pretty lady like you to be hitching a ride? You could get picked up by a serial killer or something.”

“Yeah thanks. I can take care of myself. Can you drop me off on Broad Street in Camden?”

“Broad Street, wow lady that’s really not a place for you to be hanging around.”

“Yeah don’t worry. I have a friend there. He’s waiting for me. “The geezer drops me off at Broad and Martin Luther King Blvd. I take a look around. The place is literally buzzing with energy. People up and down the street are talking and jiving. Music is blaring from speakers on the corner Bodega. I check my pockets. No money. I’m kind of hungry and I need some painkillers. I’m really starting to feel bad.

I see a guy staring at me. I nod at him. He comes walking over to me slow like, walking his walk. He’s big, with a mouth full of brilliant white teeth. “Yo, what’s up?”

“Nothing, I just need to get fixed up. You know feeling kind of sick.”

“Oh yeah, sorry to hear that Little Mama, have you got the scratch?”

“No, I don’t. Can we work something out?”

“Hey no prob. Let’s go I’ll show you the ropes around here. You don’t need to be hurting no more.”

That was eight months ago. I’m still here. Walking Broad Street, hell I own Broad Street. I think about leaving and going home, but I just can’t picture me there.  Dealing with the cleaning, cooking, the kids and the angry husband.

Leo Cardelli- Photographer

Leo Cardelli- Photographer

No not yet. Oh wait, here comes a date. I need some extra money today. He looks like an easy roll. I’ll lay him out and take everything he has. He won’t know what hit him. I sidle up to him. He didn’t even see me coming. I purr in his ear, “Hey baby, want a date?”

He looks me over, “Yeah, how much?”

I tell him. We head over to the room I share with some of the other ladies. Next thing you know we’re in the alley outside the building. I look at him real close. I notice he looks familiar. “Hey do I know you?”

“Well you do look like somebody I knew in high school? Where did you go?”

“I went to Gloucester Catholic Senior High School. How about you?”

“Me too, what year?”

“I graduated in 1996.”

“Wow that’s weird, me too.” That was about as far as we got, cause I was feeling worse by the minute so I just cold cocked him, down he went. I ran his pockets; took everything I could find. You know it’s nice to see somebody from the good old days, but you got to take care of business.