Author Archives: Susan

SOMETIMES TO LIVE IS AN ACT OF COURAGE

I have to admit I have a unique personality—one which many people take an immediate dislike. What, you may ask, is the problem? Am I hideous, racist, stupid? Or any of a million other negative personality traits I could have?

At first blush, I appear to be a self-confident, intelligent, normal-looking person. But, after meeting me for the first time, you may have thought, wow, she is really a cool, intelligent person. Not only that, she has an amazing sense of humor.

But then, after spending some time with me, you start to notice some odd quirks. I overreact to ordinary events. For instance, one day, we were out walking in the park. It was a beautiful day. The weather was perfect. The sky was blue, and the sun was shining. There was even a light breeze. It was early in the morning, and the only people in the park were older people, most of whom looked old enough to be my grandparents. They often said good morning and said, “What a beautiful day.”

Outwardly, I appear to be a friendly and confident person. But as you well know, things aren’t always the way they appear at first blush, so to speak. I do not like talking to strangers. I’m not all that comfortable talking to people I’ve known for years. I’m terrified that if I talk too much, I will reveal who I really am. And that will be the end of our somewhat tenuous friendship. You will realize exactly who and what I am.

And here’s the god’s honest truth: I am without a doubt the most phobic, fearful, anxiety-ridden person that you ever had or ever will meet. Let me explain how this came to pass. It all began one day when I was quite young. I believe I had just turned ten years old. My family lived in a small row home in North East Philadelphia. One time in the late evening, one of my neighbors had a fire that started in her kitchen. Apparently, she had left the gas stove on and a pan sitting on top of the burner that had oil in it. She had fried some potatoes for dinner that night.

Anyway, at some point, she decided to lie down on the living couch and take a nap. She had a tall glass of wine with her dinner. The wine had a tendency to make her sleepy. And within ten minutes, she had fallen fast asleep. One of her neighbors smelled something burning. She rushed over to her next-door neighbor’s house and banged on the front door. No one answered. She tried to break the door down to no avail. She grabbed her cell phone, dialed 911, and told the operator to send the fire department.

By the time the fire company and the police arrived, most of the neighbors who lived in the apartment building and were at home managed to get out of the building. And warn all of their neighbors about the fire. Unfortunately, not everyone made it out safely. The neighbor who had inadvertently started the fire had died from smoke inhalation. I was standing outside along with my family when my neighbor who started the fire was brought out on a stretcher. She was covered from head to toe with a white sheet.

I looked at my mother, and I could see tears running down her cheek. I grabbed my mother’s hand and said, “Mommy, is Gammy alright?” That’s what I called her, Gammy, because I didn’t have a grandmother, and Gammy had asked if she could be my grandmom since she didn’t have any grandchildren of her own. At least once a day, I would go over to her house to talk to her, and sometimes, my mom would give me some cookies or cake to share with her.

Gammy would give me some cold milk, and she would drink green tea., We would keep eating until all the cookies or cake were eaten up. Gammy told me stories about her childhood. She grew up on a farm in New Jersey a long, long time ago. Her family raised peach trees and blueberries. And sometimes pumpkins and corn in the Fall. I loved hearing her stories. It sounded like she had such fun on her farm. She used to help by feeding the chickens and the cows. I asked her if she could take me with her to visit the farm. And I saw tears in her eyes. And she said, “I’m sorry, I can’t. My family’s farm isn’t there anymore. There are apartments there now.” I could tell she was still sad about it. So, I took her hand and held it, and she hugged me tight.

Some of her stories were about the animals on her farm, and I loved to hear about them. I wanted to have a dog or a cat so bad. But my mother said, “We are not allowed to have pets in this apartment building. So, that was that. Even when I begged just to get a pet hamster, she said,” No, they will stink the place up, and people will complain about the smell, and we’ll get thrown out.” And that was the end of that conversation.

The next day, my mother called the hospital where Grammy was taken yesterday and was told, “I’m sorry she didn’t make it. She inhaled too much smoke and passed away during the night.” My mother didn’t tell me what happened right away. Even though I kept asking her over and over if we could go to the hospital and see Grammy. And finally, the next day, my mom held my hand and said, “I’m sorry, Kimmy, Grammy passed away last night. Try to remember that she lived a long and happy life. I’m sure she will be looking down from heaven and watching over you.

I stared at my mother for a long, long time, and then I started crying and whaling like I lost my best friend. Because that is exactly what happened. I had lost my best and only friend. And that was the beginning of me being afraid of every little thing. Because I never knew when or what would happen. And something could steal my mother away. And I didn’t think I could bear that.

I missed Grammy for a long, long time. I didn’t talk about her anymore, but I thought about her every day for years. I became afraid to make new friends because I couldn’t imagine ever losing my best new friend again. I just couldn’t take it. From there on out, I felt so alone in the world. And I watched over my mother like a hawk. I followed her everywhere she went up until I started school. All day in school, I was afraid that the principal would come and tell me something terrible happened to my mom. I felt sick all the time with fear.

The more fearful I became, the quieter I became. I started biting my fingernails and pulling my eyelashes out. I was afraid to answer the phone for fear of bad news. I wouldn’t look at the mail for the same reason. The bad news was all I thought about. I wouldn’t talk to strangers at first, and then I stopped talking to other kids in my school, including my friends. I decided it was easier not to have friends and family. Then, I could avoid their loss.

At one point, the school counselor contacted my family. So they could discuss my behavior. My parents thought I was acting out in class. They hadn’t realized how withdrawn I had become. I couldn’t help but believe that they didn’t care about me anymore. They should have noticed how thin I had become and how little I ate, but they didn’t. And things only got worse from that point forward. I develop twitches and tics. Kids at school started making fun of me all the time. Which only made me even more upset and obsessed.

Every morning, it took me a long, long time to get ready to go to school. I had to go through a whole series of behaviors before I could go out the front door. And then, once I did go out the front door, I had to hop, skip, and jump all the way. I didn’t know why I was doing all of this. I just knew I had to, or something terrible would happen to someone I loved. And I could not tolerate another loss.

By that time, my parents realized I was in a bad way. Every time they noticed me behaving strangely, they would sternly say, “Stop doing that now. That’s enough.” Of course, their lack of understanding and their negative reaction toward my tics just made it worse. I didn’t want to attend school anymore. All the kids made fun of me all day long, from the time I got on the bus to go to school and throughout the school day. It wasn’t just my schoolmates. All the kids from kindergarten up. I felt like I was running a gauntlet from the bus ride all through the day and then again on the bus ride home.

My parents took me to one therapist after another. None of them were able to help me. Because I wasn’t able to tell them why I was acting the way I was. I didn’t really understand what was happening to me either. I couldn’t stop myself. It was like the tics were taking over my body and my life. I was always depressed. I didn’t know how to be happy again. This particular doctor believed in talk therapy. He kept asking me how I was feeling today. What are you thinking about? It will help you to express your fears with me.

After many years, I went to the therapist, and I made slow progress in returning to acting like a “normal” person. I was able to finish school and get a job. I had difficulty keeping jobs even though I was intelligent and learned quickly. The main problem was my inability to interact with people and hold up my end of the conversation. My employers decided it would be best if I worked alone in one of the back offices. I was able to do any job they asked me to do up until I had to talk to people. Although, I had no problems talking on the phone or by correspondence. I did well. In fact, I excelled at any task they set before me.

I could have moved up in the corporation, except for my inability to interact directly with customers. Then there were my personal problems, in that I had great difficulty making and keeping friends. I was living a lonely and isolated life. And then, one day, it all changed. The company hired an employee, and they told me that he was going to work with me. I freaked out. I started feeling overwhelmed and terrified. I thought for sure I was going to lose my job as soon as this person started working with me.

As it turned out, it was a young man about my age. Just an ordinary guy. Someone you wouldn’t notice on the street. He wasn’t particularly good-looking or ugly. As soon as he walked into my office, he came over and introduced himself. He tried to shake my hand. I tried to pull it away. He held onto it for a couple of minutes. He said, “My name is Henry Fitzpatrick. I’m going to be working with you from now on. I’ve heard great things about you. I think I will learn a great deal from one another.’

I looked at him for a moment and then looked away. I started twitching and blinking my eyes rapidly. He continued talking to me as if nothing unusual was happening. He kept up his quiet dialogue. He never mentioned that I was acting weirdly. I started to relax. After a few weeks of working with him, I felt more at peace with myself than I ever had. One day, he asked me if I would like to go out to lunch with him. I said, ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m not very good in public situations. I don’t really feel comfortable in the public. I start twitching. “ I know all about that, and I think you will do fine. Don’t worry about what other people are thinking. Just try to relax and have a nice lunch. I would really enjoy going out with you.”

When it was time to go out to lunch, I started feeling nervous. But he took my hand and said, “How about we walk to the restaurant? It’s just down the street.” He kept up a quiet dialogue the whole time. In fact, he managed to eat his lunch and still talk. He told me some interesting stories about his childhood. I sat there eating my tuna salad sandwich and listened to him. He had a calming demeanor, and I listened to him quietly at first. And then I asked him a question or two, and before I knew it, we finished our lunch, and we were on the way back to our office. He looked over at me when we were within a few feet of our office building and said,” I had a great time. How about we go out to dinner sometime soon?”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“Of course you do. It will be fine. And we can go out to a movie after if you like. What do you say?”

I looked at him, and I thought, “Why not?” And that is exactly what we did. And the next time, he asked me to come to his house for dinner. He said I’m a great cook. How do you feel about Italian food?” I said, “ I love Italian food.”

Now, I’m not saying that from that point forward, I acted like a normal person. But I was a whole lot calmer, and I tried not to focus on my own behavior when I was interacting with other people. I focused on what they were saying instead. And over time, my tics all but disappeared unless I got upset. And now, my co-worker and I are the best of friends, and I think I may be falling in love for the first time. Life has never been better. And the best thing that has happened is that I have begun to feel more comfortable in my own skin, and I feel confident. I don’t know what is going to happen between Joe, my co-worker, and me, but I look forward to a happy life no matter what happens.

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LIFE ISN’T ALWAYS A BED OF ROSES

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Did you ever hear the expression that life is not always a bed of roses? Well, I did throughout most of my childhood. Anytime that I complained about something, it didn’t matter what it was, my father would say, “Life is not a bed of roses, so you better get used to it.”

Somehow, I never felt that this was helpful advice. Obviously, I already knew that life was not a bed of roses since I had already encountered many obstacles in my way. Often, I had the impulse to respond to my father. “Dad, a bed of roses is full of thorns, so isn’t it what life is about? Beauty with hidden dangers?”

Camden, NJ

But I never said that because my father did not like anyone expressing an opinion that was oppositional to his point of view. In fact, woe to anyone who had the nerve or the temerity to argue with my father about anything. His response would be how would you like a Fat Lip? One day, I said, “No thanks, no fat lip for me today.” That was a mistake because he sat up straight and leaned forward as if he were going to grab me by the neck. And that was my cue, to say I said, “I’m finished, I’m going out for a bike ride.” Then, I took off on my bike ride until I knew my father would have left for work. He worked the second shift and didn’t get home until after midnight.

Time went by as time does, and I eventually grew up and decided to move out on my own. My parents were not happy. But I was over twenty-one and earning my own living, and I didn’t have to live at home anymore. One of the lessons I learned when I started working full-time was that although my father wasn’t telling me what to do, my boss was filling in for him. Although he cared about me one way or the other, he was looking out for his business and how well I fulfilled my job.

One of my first jobs was working at a high-risk auto insurance company. There were two bosses, they were brothers, Harry and Evie Ellis. I have to say they weren’t good role models. They came from a wealthy family and, didn’t feel any real ambition and didn’t need to work. There were three young women working in the office. And if truth be told, we did all the work.

The brothers went out for breakfast and lunch. Sometimes, they invited us along, too. I have to admit I loved going out for breakfast and sometimes lunch as well. One of the brothers was married and had children, but he had a girlfriend on the side. And several days a week, he would take off from work and visit her for most of the afternoon. He was quite open about it. I had never experienced any older adult telling me about their sex life. And if I knew that what was good for me, I should keep my mouth shut. But I have to admit I disapproved of what he was doing. But it didn’t bother me that much. I didn’t think it was any of my business. This wasn’t surprising, considering I spent twelve years in Catholic School. And didn’t have a great deal of life experience up to that time.

It was an interesting place to work for several reasons. The first, of course, was the brothers, and the second reason was that because the Insurance Company sold only high-risk auto insurance, I met a great many people that I had never interacted with before. After twelve years of Catholic School, where my interactions with people were highly scrutinized and controlled, I found it refreshing to meet people who grew up in different neighborhoods than I did and who had different views of life than I did. I experienced a broadening of my life experiences. And I learned that regardless of how much money people had or how little money people had, they were still human beings. Who had their own experiences and beliefs that were just as valid as my own. It opened my mind up and allowed me to think in a more global mindset.

I realized that for these people, life had never been a rose garden. They had to struggle to survive from the get-go. Their families were living in poverty. They didn’t always have the money or the means to survive from one day to the next, let alone be able to afford luxuries in their lives. And it was not long before I had the opportunity to find out what real struggle was about.

After working at 101 Haddon Avenue Corporation for several years, I decided to try something different. I always wanted to help people in some way. So, I found a job that fit the criteria for the kind of work I was looking for at that time.

I applied to and was interviewed for a job in Camden, NJ. It was a non-profit called The Center for Family Services. The office that I worked in was at the Antioch Church on Ferry Avenue in Camden, NJ. They were partnering with Big Brothers and Big Sister and five of the churches in Camden. I would be the contact person who would go out to the at-risk children’s homes who had a parent or parents who were incarcerated in prison and match the children up with volunteers from the five churches. In addition, I visited all the prisons in New Jersey and the Philadelphia, PA area. And spoke to the female prisoners who were from Camden and were interested in having a Big Brother or Big Sister matched with their children.

At first, I was somewhat concerned for my safety going into some of the worst neighborhoods in Camden, but as it turned out, I never had any difficulty with the families or in the low-income areas in Camden. The families and the neighbors were always welcoming and friendly. The children looked forward to having the opportunity to go out with mentors, have fun, and participate in different activities in the area.

St. Mary of the Angels Academy in Haddonfield, NJ

My own experience growing up was in a middle-class neighborhood in South Jersey. It was located two houses down from the Catholic Church and the Catholic Elementary School that I attended for eight years. When I went to Saint Mary of the Angel’s Academy in Haddonfield for four years. So, my experiences up until then did not include going into high-risk areas with gang activity, murders, or drugs. At first, I was somewhat trepidacious going into the Camden neighborhoods. But as I became more familiar with the neighborhoods and the people, I felt more at ease. I always treated everyone I met with respect. And they treated me the same way. Regardless of their economic level, these parents wanted the best for their children. And did the best they could with their limited resources.

Working at the Center of Family Service was a valuable experience for me, and I learned a great deal from it. I learned that all people, regardless of their race, ethnicity, religious affiliation, or their economic standing, want the best for their children and community. And in general, people attempt to do their best in their lives.

But, sometimes, there are so many barriers in their way that it is almost impossible at times to move forward. Sometimes, people need assistance. People who have been fortunate and whose families had more resources have to step up and step out of their comfort zones. And lend a helping hand to those who are struggling from one day to the next.

And I have made every effort in my life to assist people I met along the way. It has been a long time since I worked for the Ellis brothers’ company and the non-profits I worked for after Center for Family Services. I learned a great deal through these experiences and the people I met over the years. And I am a better person because of it.

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Family Consists Of A Safe Environment And A Loving Family

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Watercolor painting of my childhood home

As far back as I can remember, my parents had to struggle to get by. I’m talking about my entire life from my early childhood forward until I moved out when I was twenty-one. My parents were hard-working people. They never took a vacation or a day off, for that matter. We had a large family with a lot of mouths to feed. My mother would clean houses and do laundry for extra money.

My father worked the third shift as the Head Dispatcher at PTC, The Pennsylvania Transportation Company in Philadelphia, PA. On his days off, he worked at Johnny’s Auto Supply Store, which was located on Main Street in Maple Shade, NJ. The auto supply store was within walking distance from where we lived.

As a child, I was completely oblivious to my family’s financial situation. My siblings and I always attended Catholic Schools. I was the youngest, and as in most large families, the clothes were handed down from the oldest to the youngest. I didn’t really care about clothes that much, so it didn’t bother me. After school, I would change out of my uniform and get in my play clothes and go play with my friends, or ride my bike all over town.

On weekends my friends and I would go to to the Roxy Theater and watch the latest movies for a quarter or take a bus to the Riverside roller rink and spend the afternoon there roller skating. Or I would ride my bike all over town and visit my friend’s house. I would skate around the roller rink until my legs started hurting me or until I fell down one time too many. And I would sit on the floor next to the wall until it was time to take the bus home.

Roxy Theater in Maple Shade, NJ 1960’s

You may be curious about how I had money to go to the movies or the roller rink. I had money because, after school, I would take long walks downtown Maple Shade and look for lost coins and empty soda bottles that could be returned and get the deposit returned.

I would often go to the Roxy Movie Theater on Saturdays when there was a new movie playing., if I wasn’t going roller skating. It only costs twenty-five cents to see a movie. My friends and I would bring our lunches with us. In that way, we didn’t have to spend money on candy. I always brought Lebanon Bologna sandwiches, which was my favorite food at that time.

One time I asked my parents if I could get a bike for my birthday so I could ride around town with all my friends. And sure enough, my father gave me a bike. It was a used bike, but he cleaned it up, painted it, and put new tires on it. And I loved that bike and rode it for years. It didn’t matter to me that it was used.

Gerard College Philadelphia, PA, in the 1920-s

My father was a man who pinched a penny until it cried. He was born in 1911, the only son of a widowed mother. My father spent his childhood growing up in a residential school in Philadelphia called Gerard College. It wasn’t a college but was a live-in residence for boys who had lost their fathers. He lived there most of his childhood until he was about sixteen years old. He only saw his mother once a year at Christmas.

My father worked hard his whole life, and he spent most of his working years working for the Pennsylvania Transportation Company. He started out as a Trolley driver, but his mother decided it was more prestigious to work in an office. My father loved driving a trolley and the bus, but his mother insisted that he apply for an office job. And so he did. He spent the next forty years working as the head dispatcher until he retired.

As a child, I don’t recall ever feeling that I had less than any of my friends. That is until Christmas time. When my mother would ask me what I wanted. We were allowed to ask for one gift. And I would receive it and be content about it. Until I went over to my best girlfriend’s house, and under her Christmas tree was a mound of gifts two feet high or more. And then I would feel bad for a while, but I got over it. It made me realize that “things” are not as important as having a good home and caring family. And a dog, if possible. I always loved animals.

When I was in high school, my mother got a job cooking for an employee’s lunch room at the Wanamakers Department Store in Moorestown, NJ. She did this so that my sister and I could attend a private girls ’ school in Haddonfield, NJ. Many of the students who attended Saint Mary of the Angel’s Academy came from wealthy families in Haddonfield, but as far as I was concerned, I fit right in and made friends there. It was a good experience for me.

My parents were examples of people who worked hard their entire lives and were role models for their children and grandchildren to follow. Nothing came easy for them, but they continued to do the best that they could for all of us. They were not perfect humans; they made mistakes, as we all do. My mother never complained about anything. She took one day at a time and put forth her best efforts. I never saw my mother lose her temper, no matter what happened. My father could and did show his anger at times and would say hurtful things. But, as I look back on my life with my family, I know I am the person that I am today because of their example. They taught me to work hard, not to complain, and to make good choices over the course of my lifetime.

I have made every effort to do good in my life and show kindness towards the people that have come into my life over my many years. I don’t know if I was as good and loving as my mother, but I know I did my best. My father, who was a highly intelligent man who was an example of someone who rose up from being an orphan living in a boy’s school, got a job in management for the PTC—and had a long-term marriage of over fifty years. He fathered six children and supported them in every way possible. And had seventeen grandchildren.

Because of my father’s setting such high standards as an adult and later as a parent, I hope my own children learn to have faith in their own abilities and work hard for what they want to achieve in their lives. And most of all, to do the right thing. That’s all a parent can hope for in their lives. Our children will ultimately make their own decisions. They will make mistakes, as we all have, and hopefully, they will learn and grow from them. And that they, too, will experience happiness, success, meaning, and live a life of integrity.

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A RUN OF BAD LUCK

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Did you ever have a run of bad luck, and no matter what you do, everything you touch goes wrong? Well, that is what is happening to me. It’s just one thing after another. I no sooner get one mess straightened out than something else happens. I’m at the end of my rope.

It all started about six months ago. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I thought, well, that didn’t go the way I had hoped, not even close. I had been recently laid off from my dream job. A job that I had worked hard for, one that I had planned over a long period of time. And then finally, I got the call it was my bosses boss that called me. He said, and I quote, “Jerry, this is Mort Thalman. We are considering you for the upper management position that just became available. Please come to my office for the corporate interview. It’s just a formality, but still, we would all like to have the opportunity to talk to you personally about what we have in mind for you. Are you interested?”

I almost jumped up and down. I was so thrilled. And then I heard Mr. Thalman say,” Are you still there?” “Yes, yes, I’m here. I’m on my way up right now. “ And I practically flew out my office door and up three flights of stairs. When I arrived at his office, I knocked madly at the door about five times, and then I heard Thalman’s secretary say, “Come in, come in. For heaven’s sake.”

I tried to calm down a bit. I took a deep breath and tried to walk calmly into Thalman’s office, and I said, “Good morning, Mr. Thalman asked me to come up to his main office.”

“Yes, I know. Just go straight through the door right there. They are all waiting for you.” And then she put her head down and continued working on her computer. I headed towards the door. As I knocked on the door, I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. I heard a gruff voice say, “Come in, come in. We’re waiting for you.”

I walked through the door and, low and behold, sat all the big wigs of the company, and they looked at me, and I said, “Good morning.” And one of the corporate bigwigs whose name I didn’t know said, “Please take a seat at the end of the table. We will try not to make this too difficult.”

And what followed was nothing short of an inquisition. I kid you not. They asked me about every job I ever had, starting with my high school job of delivering newspapers in the small town I grew up in, which was Mt. Ephraim, New Jersey. After at least forty minutes, they arrived at my current position of Account Executive for new accounts. And then Mr. Thalman said, “Let’s take a few minutes break. I had my assistant order some coffee and donuts.” “We will be discussing with you what opportunity we have in mind for you. Oh, here comes the coffee and donuts. Relax for a few minutes.” They all started eating the donuts as if they hadn’t eaten in a week, and gulping coffee like it was the last cup they were going to get. My mouth was dry, and my stomach was turning. I sure wasn’t going to eat donuts. I sat down and took a couple of deep breaths. And I waited for them to go forward. I took several drinks of water and tried to swallow it without choking. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous except when I was applying to Temple University, and I was interviewed by the Dean of the School.

I tried to maintain a calm demeanor. But, that couldn’t stop my hands and forehead from sweating. My throat felt dry and raspy. Finally, I asked if I could have a drink of water. I gulped it down so fast that I started choking. The secretary handed me a napkin and smiled down at me. Somehow, that smile did the trick, and I started breathing more normally and calming down. After all, I told myself this wasn’t the only job in the world. If I didn’t get this one, I had confidence that eventually, I would be hired, and I would excel at whatever I set my mind to.

After about twenty more minutes of questioning me, they asked me to step out of the office until they called me back. It seemed like a lifetime before that happened. Finally, the secretary said, “They’re ready for you now. Please follow me.” And so I did. When I reentered the office, I looked at each of their faces, but no one gave anything away. And then Mr. Thalman said, “Congratulations, we have all agreed that you are the man for the job. And he stood up and shook my hand. It was the best day of my life.

And so, I started my new position the following week. And for five years, I worked from morning until night. And I was successful. I received raises in my pay grade every year. And in the fifth year, I was offered a new position at the corporate headquarters. And I accepted it, thinking I’ve had the world at my feet, and that nothing was going to stand in my way to the top.

And then suddenly, without any warning that I can ascertain, little things started to go wrong. At first, it seemed inconsequential. My computer developed some weird glitches, and the IT department couldn’t find the problem. In the end, they decided to provide a new computer. So, for a little while, it was smooth sailing.

The next thing that happened was one morning, I was running late, and the traffic was heavy and unbelievably congested. It was bumper to bumper. And then, out of the blue, two cars ahead of me, a guy driving a Volva hit his brakes. And the car in front of me did the same, and I rear-ended him. It was awful. And just when I thought, oh, it’s not that bad, a car rear-ended me. Now, my car, one that I loved with all my heart, was ruined front and back. I started crying right then and there. I was still crying when the state trooper came over to my driver’s side window to see if I was injured. He found me crying like a baby. I couldn’t even manage to calm down enough to answer his question. I just sat there and cried as if I just lost my best friend. About a half hour later, a tow truck came by and towed my car, with me sitting in his front seat, crying the whole way.

A couple of months after the CAR ACCIDENT, That’s how I always referred to it in all caps, THE CAR ACCIDENT. I was finally ready to buy a new car. I had been carpooling with a co-worker of mine. I was still somewhat trepiduous about driving, but I was somewhat confident in my ability to drive again. For the most part, I was right, but if anyone got too close, I would start hyperventilating and break out in a sweat, and my heart would start beating like a snare drum.

The next unexpected event was that my immediate boss quit because he found a better-paying position with a competing corporation. It took a while for my group to come together again and work as a team. I eventually was moved up to a higher position. Which was great, except I was now working twelve-hour days, and I was totally exhausted mentally and physically worn out.

As a result, my health started to fail, I started having asthma, and I hadn’t had any symptoms in years. It was just awful. I decided perhaps it might be psychosomatic and made an appointment to see a therapist. The therapist listened to my whole tale of woe and decided I had developed PTSD. He put me on Seratonin. It evens out my behavior, so I don’t overreact to any event that might occur.

There was a peaceful lull that lasted about four months. And I thought, oh thank god, that’s over. And things can finally go back to normal. And for a while, it did. And then, late one night, I received a call from my mother’s neighbor. She told me that my mother, who was in her mid-seventies, had taken a fall and was taken in an ambulance to the hospital. Either I come and take care of her, hire someone to stay at the house with her, or put her in a nursing home. She wouldn’t be able to live on her own anymore.

So, I had to take time off from my job and go down to Florida to take care of my mother. I hadn’t been there in over a year. My boss tried to be understanding, but he told me to please come back in a week’s time, or there was going to be a big problem.

I flew to Florida to save time. It was a short flight considering how far Florida is from where I live. I had called several Home Care companies in the area where my mother lived and arranged to meet four possible home caretakers. I was sure I could handle the whole issue and be back to work in less than a week. But, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I had contacted my mother’s physician to see if it was possible for my mother to go home two days after I arrived in Florida so I would have time to interview the possible caretakers. He said, “Yes, of course. We wouldn’t be able to release her unless there was going to be a family member or a skilled caretaker in her residence. I thanked him and gave him my contact information.

I interviewed two women and a young man. I was surprised when a man showed up because I guess I never really considered a man would want to care for an older woman. And when I put some deeper thought into it, I realized that there are men who are nurses and caretakers and doctors. So, of course, there would be men who would work as caretakers.

That afternoon I waited for the first woman to show up. I hoped that she would be willing to do some housekeeping and laundry because my mother’s house looked like a bomb had hit it, literally. There were clothes, dirty towels, filthy sinks, and food that was spoiled sitting on every surface from the kitchen to her bedroom. I kid you not. It was absolutely disgusting. My first impulse when I walked through the front door was to turn and run back into my rental car and back to the airport.

I spent the first several hours cleaning the kitchen from floor to ceiling, changing the filthy sheets and bedspread on my mother’s bed, but worst of all was her bathroom. It looked like the bathtub and the shower hadn’t been clean in, well, forever. The more I saw, the quiltier I felt my mother only had me, and obviously, she hadn’t been able to depend on me. I had failed her completely. She had been living in a pigsty. I cried for the first half-hour I was there. I had to stuff tissues in my nostrils to keep the stink out. Because the smell made me want to throw up, I vowed that I would never allow this to happen to my mother again, I was going to have to get a full-time caretaker or have her move into a facility for aged people who could no longer live independently. I knew my mother would hate it, but anything was better than how she had been living up until now.

That afternoon I interviewed three people for the caretaking position, two middle-aged women and one young man named Joseph, who looked to be about twenty years old, but told me he was twenty-nine and he had amazing references and had done this kind of work since he was twenty after he had taken care of his own mother who developed early onset Alzheimers. I hired him after checking all his credentials. He said he would arrive the morning of my mother’s release from the hospital and was even willing to go and pick her up from the hospital.

All that night, I tossed and turned in the hotel bed. I kept waking up and having flashes of the condition of my mother’s house when I first saw it. At one point I started crying. I felt so ashamed of myself for not keeping in contact with my mother and being completely unaware of her circumstances. I vowed once again that I would never allow such a thing to happen again.

The next morning I slowly rolled out of the fold-out bed and stood up. I felt hungover, even though I didn’t have anything to drink. I was just exhausted from no sleep and worry. I took a quick shower, threw on my clean clothes, turned on my GPS, and headed to the hospital to pick up my Mother. Steven, the new caretaker, promised that he would be at my mother’s house and make sure everything was in order. And I believed him.

I took a deep breath, and when I arrived at the hospital, I spoke to my mother’s physician. And he assured me that, luckily, my mother was not injured physically, but was quite frail, since it appeared as if she hadn’t been eating properly. And probably skipping meals since she stated that she didn’t like eating alone. I felt a tear run down my face, and many more followed. The doctor put his arm around me. And that made me cry even more. And I kept apologizing for the state my mother was in and what had happened to her. And I was lucky she hadn’t died. He kept saying,” Now, now, you’re here now. And I know you will do everything you can to make sure nothing further happens to your mother.”

The nurse followed me into my mother’s hospital room and said, “Mrs. Taylor, your son, Jerry is here to take you home. I’m sure you are more than ready to get out of this hospital bed and back in your own bed. You have my number, or you can call your personal physician if you have any problems or if you have questions. I hope you are back to your own self asap. And with that, he turned his back and was gone. I stood there next to my mother, who I hardly recognized since she had lost so much weight. I started to cry again. I tried to gain control of myself. I wasn’t a crier, but the guilt of my mother’s condition and the condition of her home was overwhelming. My mother said in a low tone, “Please, Jerry, it’s alright, you are here now. Please, please, can you get me out of here? I hate hospitals. I was so afraid I was going to die here alone in this room. I’m so happy to see your handsome face.”

These were the kindest words that my mother ever said to me, and once again, more tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I said, “Yes, yes, let’s get you home now. I want you to know that I hired a wonderful young man to help take care of you and your house until you have fully recovered. And maybe you will decide that you would like him to continue staying with you after you feel better. But, I let you decide.

About twenty minutes later, I had my mother checked out and taken in a wheelchair out to the car that I had waiting at the curb. We had a quiet ride home to her house—neither one of us knew what to say. Finally, my mother said, “Oh, Jerry, thank you so much for coming. I love you so much and have missed you with all my heart. I’m sorry the house looks so terrible, I just haven’t had any energy to keep up with it, and maybe I didn’t care anymore. I felt so alone in that house, and I couldn’t think of a reason to go on anymore.”

When we arrived at my mother’s house, my mother said, “Yeah! We’re home. I awkwardly helped my mother to the house, and when we got up to the door, Joseph was standing there with a wheelchair and said, “All aboard.” My mother looked at me and then looked at Joseph and laughed. And Joseph easily lifted her up and placed her gently onto the wheelchair. “Here we go, hold on, Madam.” My mother said, “Oh my, two young men taking care of me, how wonderful.”

And that, my friends, was a wonderful new beginning for my mother and me and an end to the “Bad Luck.”

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SO APPARENTLY, IT’S BACK TO SQUARE ONE

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About a month and a half ago, I received a notice “in the mail.” It was from my husband’s lawyer. My husband had filed for divorce. We had recently celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary. To say it was a shock is the understatement of all times. I had no idea, none, that he was unhappy or discontent. He was away on a business trip, and I had expected him to come home by the end of the week. He hadn’t contacted me since he left four days ago, which wasn’t unusual. He traveled quite often. He didn’t always know exactly when he would be getting home.

I called him on his cell phone. He didn’t pick up. There was a message saying he would be unavailable for the next several weeks. Leave your number, and he will get in touch with you.

I slowly placed the phone back, I had an impulse to slam it down hard, but I didn’t since I could already feel the beginnings of a migraine headache in the top of my head. I felt a tear run down my cheek, followed by an avalanche of tears that followed it.

I sat there frozen in place, unable to think clearly. It felt like the end of the world to me. I could not comprehend that my husband, whom I loved dearly, did not love me anymore and wanted a divorce. This is the man I had intended on spending the rest of my life all the way to our golden years.

I kept going over in my head everything that had happened between us recently. I couldn’t think of a single word or event that would have given me some warning that Howard was discontent or unhappy in our life together. But, obviously, he was, and somehow I had remained blissfully unaware of his feelings and his intentions.

It just blew my mind. And even on the evening of our twenty-fifth-anniversary party, he never let on. It almost feels as if I’m living in some alternate reality. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next. Do I get a lawyer, should I ask my husband if he’s willing to see a marriage counselor? I don’t know. I talked to several of my woman friends who have experienced divorce, and they all gave me the name and number of the divorce lawyers they had used. Sally, my best friend, cried along with me. And told me she would be with me every step of the way. And she was. What would we do without our woman friends?

My husband’s lawyer and my lawyer scheduled a meeting for us all to get together and discuss the details of our divorce. Who gets what etc., etc. It was brutal. My husband sat across from me and never looked me in the face. It was like he was negotiating one of his real estate contracts with a total stranger. His face was without expression, and he never made eye contact with me. He looked through me as if I was invisible to him. I was having a difficult time paying attention to what was being said. I hoped my lawyer was doing his job because I felt like I was in some other dimension.

The next thing I knew, my lawyer touched my shoulder and said, “These are the papers you have to sign. You keep the house, and the two of you will evenly divide the investments and any monies that remain in your joint bank accounts.” I stared at him and shook my head up and down a couple of times. And then he shoved the contracts in front of me and held a pen up in front of my face. Since I wasn’t reacting to what he just stated. I took the pen, and my lawyer pointed at the decree and said,” Sign, here, here, and here. It’s final. We can be on our way.”

My husband got up from his seat, shook his lawyer’s right hand, and then turned and left the room without a word said to me at all. It was almost as if I didn’t exist in his reality anymore. And I guess I didn’t. It was surreal. I tried to take it all in. I guess it was going to take a long time for me to accept my new reality, even if that reality was a complete and unbelievable nightmare.

After we had signed all the papers, the lawyers shook each other’s hands. I stood up and immediately felt dizzy. I sat down again, and my lawyer gave me a glass of water to drink. He said, “This is a difficult experience. Many people have a negative reaction to divorce. I promise you that in time you will adapt to this change. You know how to contact me if you need to for any reason.” He shook my hand, and I think I shook his as well, but I couldn’t sware to it. I felt lightheaded. I slowly rose from the table, picked up my purse, and headed out the door and into the foyer. I didn’t even bother to look back at my husband, I mean, my former husband. I didn’t know how I would take my next breath, let alone continue on with my life like nothing happened. When I couldn’t think of a single reason to keep breathing or living. I somehow made it home safely. I don’t know how. I don’t even remember driving home.

But, one good thing did happen I decided that I was going to get a dog as soon as possible. I couldn’t bear the idea of living alone. I wasn’t ready to think about selling my house. But, it was in there at the back of my mind. Selling the house I had lived in for the past twenty years with my “husband.” And starting over, somewhere new. I had always wanted a dog. But, my husband said, “What for?” Unfortunately, we were never able to have children, and doctors were never able to diagnose the fertility problem. It just never happened for us. He didn’t want any part of adopting. And he even rejected getting a dog.

So here I am at the husk of a new life. Where I alone determine what is right for me, it has given me hope that, under my own power will make myself happy and eventually content. I will bring myself to my ultimate goal. And that is happiness and contentment. Is this too much to ask, you may say? “No, no, it is not.”

After weeks of vacillating about what I should do to turn my life around, I finally made the decision to hire a realtor and sell the house. I no longer considered it to be “my” house. It was just “a house.”

At this point, I wanted a complete change of scenery. And the night I woke up from a dream and realized that what I wanted to do was buy a house on the beach and get a dog. And spend the rest of my days in a warm climate walking my dog or perhaps dogs on the beach. At some point, I would have to find a job to help pay the bills. But, not right away, I wanted to have to accustom myself to the new home and perhaps make a friend or two.

As soon as I found “my” house, I would get myself a dog. And then my new life would begin. In the next three weeks, I spent all my time going from one house to another with my realtor, looking for that perfect home. About three weeks in, my realtor took me to a two-story home in Wildwood, NJ. And I immediately fell in love with it. I realized that it was big enough that I could rent part of the house out to make some extra money and still have plenty of room. I would live on the lower floor. Once I went to the settlement, I started hitting the local shops looking for furniture and everything else I would need. And within a month, I thought it was absolutely perfect.

The following week I took a trip to the local pound to get a puppy. There were quite a few dogs to choose from. But once I saw the little ball of fluff, I knew I had found my dog. The woman who worked at the animal shelter told me that he was actually a grown dog and he wouldn’t get any bigger. He was a must, but she wasn’t sure what kind of mix he was. As soon as I met him, I fell in love. And I knew he was the dog for me. I took him home that day. I named him Buddy because he had quickly become my best buddy. It took him a few days to become accustomed to my house. But, soon enough, he felt at home. Oh, and he absolutely loved walking on the beach and letting the waves wash over his feet at the shoreline. We were a match made in heaven.

Every day we started the day with a walk to the beach and back, and then we had a light breakfast. I had fenced in the backyard and put a doggy door in the kitchen door so he could go out back to the yard when he needed to relieve himself. He soon befriended our neighbors, who all turned out to be friendly, but not too friendly, if you know what I mean.

As a matter of fact, I began to make friends with some of my neighbors who had befriended Buddy. I started planting a garden in the front yard. And my neighbors came over to admire my handiwork. Some of them even asked me for gardening advice. I was happy to advise them, although I informed them that I, too, was a novice gardener and just learning myself.

Before I knew it, I had been living there for six months. And I couldn’t remember a time when I had felt more content and relaxed. In my free time, I decided to start writing some short stories about what was going on in my local area. And one of my neighbors suggested I send some of my stories to the local newspaper. Believe it or not, the paper said they would pay me to write stories about what was going on in the local area. And I was a little reluctant at first, but then I thought, “Why not?”

And so, now I am a paid writer for the local newspaper. I’m not making a lot of money, but every bit helps. Who knows what I will do next? The skies are the limit. I am quite content living in my house with my Buddy and so happy to live in a neighborhood where people care about one another. So, I guess my divorce wasn’t all bad. And who knows what good things are coming my way? I look forward to the future and what it will bring.

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SISTERS

Tyler School of Art, the best experience of my life and the biggest challenge

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As I look back over my life, I realize that the best advice I was ever given was spoken by my mother. I had just lost my father to lung cancer. I asked my mother if she had any regrets in her life. And she said, “I never regretted anything I did, I’ve only regretted the things I didn’t do because I was afraid. I wished that I hadn’t let fear stop me.”

The Tyler School of Art in Elkins Park, Pa.

My mother passed away eight months after my father. She had a complete cardiac and respiratory arrest. From that moment on, I knew that I would no longer allow fear to hold me back from the things I wanted to accomplish in my life.

At the time, my children were seven and four. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that what I had always wanted to do was to go to college. When I graduated from high school, my parents did not have the means to send me to college, and I didn’t have the high grades in high school to attain any scholarships. Later, I found out that I could qualify for some financial assistance because of need. And so, I made a decision at that time that what I always wanted to do was to become an artist or a writer. I applied to all the local art schools in the Philadelphia area. I had to prepare a portfolio of my most recent artwork. I spent several months doing that.

I was contacted by Temple University, Tyler School of Art, the Hussian School of Art, and Moore College of Art. I was interviewed and eventually accepted by the Hussian and Tyler School of Art. I made the decision to attend Temple Tyler School of Art because they offered me a full scholarship for the first year. It was located in Elkins Park in Pennsylvania, which was about a thirty-minute drive from where I was living in Pennsauken, NJ.

I started attending Tyler the following September. It turned out I was the only adult student in the Freshman Class. There were other adult students in the school, but they attended the graduate classes. I was thirty-six at the time. And although I looked young for my age, I certainly didn’t look eighteen years old, which was the age of all the other Freshman students.

Noah’s Last Voyage

Before I started school, I had to arrange childcare for my two daughters, who were six and three years old at the time. I talked to a friend of mine, and she said that if I took care of her daughter during the summer and on school holidays, then her husband would take care of my older daughter after school. I enrolled my youngest daughter in daycare at First Baptist Christian Day School. And so I started my new life as a college student at the grand old age of thirty-six. Saying that this was the greatest challenge I had taken is an understatement.

The Tyler campus was beautiful, and the buildings were older but full of character and ambiance. It was fourteen acres and had been donated to Temple University fifty years before I attended it. I have to admit that I was nervous that first week of school. That first morning I met an older man who was outside of the main building, and I asked him where the main office was located. He told me that he was the groundskeeper. He had an Irish accent which immediately drew me to him. Since my family originated in Ireland. We remained friends throughout the four years I attended Tyler. I walked over to the Main building and found the Main Office. I spoke to the office clerk, and she gave me a copy of the classes I would be taking this semester. And where the classes were located. I headed to my first class, which was a graphic design class.

Of course, I was the first student to arrive, as I have always been early for everything. I sat in the back of the classroom and waited for other students to arrive. Every student that came into the room asked me if I was the teacher. And I said, “No, I’m a student.” Apparently, I was going to be the only adult student, and I was. But, after a while, all the students accepted me as a fellow student, disregarding the age difference. I didn’t tell them I had two children for a long time. And so my art education began. To say it was challenging would be an understatement. It was more than challenging. It was like climbing a mountain every day. In my Freshman year, I had to take Drawing, Design, 3-D Design, Art History, and Intellectual Heritage.

The Race, one of my pencil drawings

The first year at Tyler was more than difficult, and it was time-consuming. I only got four to five hours of sleep during the school year. During the Spring Break and Summer, I took care of my kids, my house, and my friend’s daughter. I had no time for extracurricular activities. The teachers at Tyler had adult students in their graduate classes but were unaccustomed to one in their undergraduate classes. I’m sure teaching me was a challenge. I was the first student to raise my hand with a question if I didn’t understand whatever concept they were teaching. At first, this annoyed them, but at some point, they realized that if I didn’t fully comprehend some aspect of whatever concept they were teaching, then other students didn’t either.

I have to admit that I put every bit of energy I had into excelling in every area I was studying. But, I would have to admit there were many younger students who were naturally talented than I. I had to learn the hard way by repetition and mistakes.

One of the things I learned right off the bat was that if I didn’t put everything I had into my artwork and studying, I wasn’t going to make it. I had every intention of excelling. I have to admit that I was not the most talented student, but I was the one who worked the hardest, and through hard work and diligence, I finished the first year at the top of the class with a 4.0 average, which is comparable to an A plus.

The Trinity

You may wonder how I assimilated into classes full of seventeen and eighteen-year-old students when I was thirty-six. Well, the absolute truth was I fit in just fine. I made many friends in the four years that I attended Tyler. Some of the students that I became friends with didn’t have driver’s licenses yet, and none of them owned a car. As a result, whenever one of our classes was visiting a museum or an artist studio, I would carry as many students as I could in my white Suburu wagon.

It was hard to believe how quickly the time went by while I was attending Tyler. I have to say that I enjoyed the experience tremendously. It was challenging, to say the least, but I came to love my fellow students and most of the teachers. And the sense of satisfaction that I was accomplishing something I always wanted to do my whole life but didn’t have the opportunity to do before this time.

In my junior year, I had to declare my major. I decided that I wanted to get a Bachelor of Arts and a teaching certificate. So, I had a double major. The final two years were exhausting. In addition, to the classes I took, I had to do student teaching. I ended up being placed at the Hancock Elementary School in North East Philadelphia and at the Conwell Middle School in Kensington, PA. I have to say that the students at these schools were challenging and lived in neighborhoods that were not altogether safe. But, overall, it was a rewarding experience for me.

I graduated in 1992 with a B. F. A. Degree and teaching certificate with a 3.40 average Summa Cum Laude. I was forty-one years old. And I was offered a Membership to the Golden Key National Honor Society for four years.

I was recommended for Graduate School but decided I wasn’t interested at the time since I was somewhat burned out with attending school five days a week and taking care of my home and children.

As I look back, I can’t help but feel that going to college was one of the best decisions of my life. And I had excelled, and it was a great experience for me. And I knew that whatever challenges I faced in my future, I would be able to handle them, and I have. I don’t know what my future holds for me. But I know that I will do my best to excel at whatever I do in the time I have left on this planet. My only advice is to have faith in your ability to succeed in your life. And put all your energy into whatever you do, and don’t ever give up. No matter what anyone says to you. Believe in yourself. Because if you don’t have faith in your ability to succeed, who will?

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ONE TOOTH TOO MANY

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Throughout my lifetime, I have had many jobs. My first job out of high school was working as a dental assistant for Edward G. Wozniak in Haddon Township, NJ. In the second semester of my senior year of high school, I had enough credits to graduate early. So, the school allowed me to work part-time after school. The school found a position for me with Dr. Wozniak, a young man who practiced dentistry out of his home. His wife attended Saint Mary of the Angels Academy as a girl. That is why she called Saint Mary’s, asking if one of the students was looking for a job.

His practice had two patient rooms, a small lab where he repaired dentures and partial plates, and a very small room where I, as his dental assistant, developed xrays. Dr. Wozniak didn’t schedule patients on Wednesday as it was his day off. He went golfing which was apparently a traditional habit among dentists in the early 1970’s.

Wednesday, I spent the majority of the day in the dark room developing xrays, cleaning the patient exam rooms and the lab, and typing notices to patients that they had overdue accounts and also reminders of their next appointments. The phone never stopped ringing all day. I would answer the phone and say, “Good morning, Dr. Wozniak’s office. How can I help you.”

Dr. Wozniak and I had a cordial relationship. We worked well together. He was a young man who was married and had two children during the time I was working there. I have to say, overall, I found that I enjoyed working and earning money. Since I was, for the first time, able to buy myself things that I wanted or needed. Before working there, the only way I had to earn money was by babysitting for my older sister’s young children. In fact, I liked taking care of their little kids, but the pay was not great.

On Wednesday, Dr. Wozinak was playing golf, or so I thought. I finished my work early and walked over through the office door exit to the Wozniak’s kitchen. I didn’t see Mrs. Wozniak, so I called out to her.

She didn’t answer, and then I heard a voice say,” What’s going on?” It was Dr. Wozniak, standing there in his underwear. I was so shocked to see him without his usual attire or any attire other than his underpants. I ran out of the house altogether and out to my car. And I went home. I lived about a twenty-minute drive from Oaklyn, NJ, in Maple Shade, NJ, and when I got home, my parents were surprised to see my home so early. They were sitting at the kitchen table. And my mother said, “Is everything alright, Susan? You’re home rather early.”

I stood there, unable to think of what I could tell my parents. I knew there was no way on earth that I could ever go back and face Dr. Wozniak again after seeing him practically naked. And then the phone rang, my mother answered it, she kept saying, “What? What? Over and over again?” Then she said hold on, she said, “Susan, it’s Mrs. Wozniak said that you ran out of the office. What happened to make you run out of the office.” I said,”

I saw Dr. Wozniak in his jockeys. I can’t go back, and I won’t be able to look at him.” My mother repeated to Mrs. Wozniak what I said. My mother said to me, “ Mrs. Wozniak said, “You have to go back. They need you.”

My father sat at the kitchen table, looking at me. And then he said, “You’re going back tomorrow.” My mother picked up the phone again and said, “She’ll be there tomorrow first thing. And I did when my father told you that you had to do something. You didn’t argue, you did it, and there weren’t any ifs and or buts. My first day back was awkward, but I forgot about the whole incident after a while. Dr. Wozniak and I continued to work together for years.

In fact, there weren’t any further incidents. But, occasionally, something odd or weird would occur. One day a new patient came in to have her teeth examined. She was the first patient that morning. As soon as I saw her, I realized that the day was going to have a rough beginning. The reason was that this woman was highly unusual-looking. Dr. Wozniak had a hair-triggered laugh, as did I. Plus, laughing is contagious sometimes. As I was saying, I accompanied our new patient into the room with the X-ray machine. I put the plastic bib around her neck. I asked if there were any problems she wanted to address today or if this was a check-up. And as I was talking to her, I couldn’t help but notice that she was not your everyday middle-aged woman. She was quite tall, so much so that her long legs extended past the footrest on the dental chair. She had high heels on her feet, which were quite large. Her fingernails were extremely long and painted bright, bright red. This was long before fake nails or extension nails were available. They were so long that they curled under at their tips. Her make-up was exotic and almost appeared somewhat like a mask. Since her own features were hidden, she was dressed to her teeth. I suggested that she wear a dental bib so that her clothes wouldn’t be damaged. And she agreed. Her hair was jet black and was parted in the middle, and she had her hair in two braids that extended to her waist. She had silver earrings hanging from her ear lobes that touched her shoulder blades. The longer I gazed at her, the more I realized that Dr. Wozniak would have difficulty keeping a straight face.

I told her that the doctor would be with her in a few moments. And I went back to the desk in the office and continued taking out the dental files for the patients that were going to come that day and the next. The phone rang, and I answered it. It was a patient canceling their appointment for the next day, so I rescheduled it for the next opening we had available. I was still talking on the phone when Doctor Wozniak came through the office from his house and continued into the front exam room. I hung up the phone, and the next thing I knew, Dr. Wozniak came out of the exam room and motioned to me to follow him into the dark room where I developed the x-ray. He closed the door behind us. I thought, “What in the world?” And then he started laughing, I knew he was laughing at the woman’s appearance. And unfortunately, I found laughter contagious. And then we were both laughing. Finally, we regained control of ourselves, and Dr. Wozniak regained control of himself and went back into the exam room. I waited outside the room until he was finished, and then I took the xrays and developed them. At the same time, he was cleaning her teeth. I brought the exams into the room and returned to the office. Then, the woman came out of the room, and I scheduled another appointment for her, and she was on her way. After she left, Dr. Wozniak came out of the exam room and acted like nothing unusual had happened.

Dr. Wozniak came into the office one day while I was typing renewal notices. He asked if I would park my car on the side street rather than in front of his office and house. At first, I thought he was concerned that I was taking up a parking space that a patient might need to use. But, as I thought about it, I realized that he was never that busy at any one time. However, he was busy all day. And I finally realized that he was embarrassed by the car I drove. My father had given me and my twin sister, who worked not too far from me, his old car when he bought a newer one. He had handpainted the car. There was a chain holding the back trunk in place, and he had collaged several pictures from magazines or books on the trunk since it was lacking paint. It was colorful, to say the least. My sister and I were so happy to have a car at all. Otherwise, we would have to take the bus back and forth to the town where we lived. And that would mean we would have to change buses in Camden, NJ, which is not a good place for two young women to go alone. So, needless to say, I, for one, was more than happy with the car, regardless of how it looked.

But then, one day, Elaine Wharton, a girl that we went to high school with, stopped by our house as she saw us sitting on our front step. She told us that she had bought a new car. She had saved a downpayment and took out a loan that was going to pay it off in five years. We were astonished. We had no idea that we could do that. And before you knew it, my sister and I had each bought and took out a loan to pay for the new cars. I bought a 1970 yellow Volkswagon. And I can not tell you how much I came to love that car. And all the trips I took to Atlantic City, Wildwood, and all over South Jersey and Philadelphia. And eventually, I decided to move to Florida and then several years later to California.

One day Dr. Wozniak had a patient, whose name was Mrs. Pinto come in to have an extraction. I didn’t know she was having all her teeth extracted on the same day. As I was assisting Dr. Wozniak, I realized that he was extracting ALL her teeth, one after the other. As I stood there, I started feeling lightheaded, and every time he took out a tooth, I felt worse and worse. The next thing I knew, I was waking up on the couch in Dr. Wozniak’s living room. Apparently, I had passed out. I’m not sure why I passed out since I had seen many extractions in the past. It seemed overwhelming to me to stand there and watch someone have all their teeth out at once. Apparently, Dr. Wozniak had to carry me while I was unconscious into his house. Yet, it is another experience I had to get over. I felt bad for Mrs. Pinto and Dr. Wozniak, but mostly for me since I was way past embarrassment to humiliation.

I worked for Dr. Wozniak for several more years until I decided that I would like to change jobs. The next job I took was working for Harry and Evie Ellis in Collingswood, NJ selling high-risk insurance. And that my friends I will write about in my next memoir story.

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I’d Rather Eat My Hat

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“There’s about as much chance of that happening as me eating my hat. Said, Stella.

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.” Said her friend and neighbor, Helen.

“Not that bad, Well, I hate to know what could be worse.”Said, Stella

“OK, five things that could be worse than having to drive your beat-up old car that doesn’t have a working air conditioner all the way to Florida and back again. And then having to pick up your mother-in-law and bring her back to your house to live with you. Well, I can think of a hundred things. Have your teeth pulled out one at a time, all in one day. Or having burnt popcorn kernels stuck between your teeth permanently, falling down the cement steps at the Art Muzeum in Philadelphia with a whole crowd of people watching you. Going out to lunch with your boss, and he hits on you. I could go on all day. Your mother-in-law can not be all bad. I bet you could think of several positive attributes about her if you tried.

“No, none of those experiences outdo living with my mother-in-law for the rest of my days. Absolutely nothing is worse than that. Dear god, I’m sure I will lose my mind. She will no doubt talk non-stop all the way home about how I should be making a lot more money, getting a better job, and living in a bigger house. And to top it off, she absolutely hates all my cats.”

“OK, so that doesn’t exactly scream you’re going to have a great time on the eleven hundred and eighteen-mile drive, which will take approximately seventeen hours if you go non-stop. But you never know; things could get better once you get used to living with her. Maybe she will mellow as she gets older. You never know. Maybe deep down, she is a decent person. Give her a chance, why don’t you?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve known her for over thirty years. I know her inside and out. And there is no way in hell that I’m going to suddenly realize that she’s not as bad as I thought. She criticizes everything I do and say. And beyond her god-awful personality, she is a cleptomaniac. I kid you not. Every time I went shopping with her, she stole everything she could get her hands on.

One time I took her food shopping. She opened food packages, bite big chunks out of them, and then put them back on the shelf. When we went to the department store, she once pocketed a one thousand dollar gold watch and stuck it in her purse. I wasn’t aware of it. As we were leaving the store, alarms went off, and five store security officers ran over to us and dragged us back to the security office. I had no idea what was going on. They made us strip and empty our pockets and our purses. And low and behold. They found the gold watch worth thousands of dollars in her purse, wrapped up in her hanky.

When they found it, she acted like an innocent little lamb. She said, “Oh my, how did that get in my purse? And then she said, “Helen did you put this in my purse? How could you?”

I said, “What? How dare you accuse me? Sir, my mother-in-law is a cleptomaniac. She could snatch the teeth right out of your head, and you wouldn’t notice it until you tried to eat a steak dinner. I kid you not.”

“Oh, Helen, how can you say that? I’m as innocent as a newborn baby.”
“A newborn baby what? “Peranna?”

“Look, officers, she’s an old lady. She’s out of her mind. She didn’t know what she was doing. Can you forget this happened? Since you retrieved the watch. She doesn’t have a clue. It’s all a game to her. She already has a watch. She’s nuts. That’s all I can say. She’s out of her god-forsaken mind. I promise I will keep her out of the store from now on. Can we please go?”

After the officers went back to speak to his boss, they came back in and said, “You can go, but you may never come into this store or any of our branch stores ever again, and if you do, you will both be arrested. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, we understand. Don’t we, Mom?”

My mother-in-law shook her head up and down. But I could see she had her fingers crossed behind her. I felt as if I might go to go out of my mind. The next day I took her back to the airport to send her back to Florida. I hoped never to see her again. When she was going through the security check, the alarms went off. She was surrounded like she was the Unabomber. They had their weapons drawn and were pointing them directly at her. I screamed at the top of my lungs,” What the hell is going on, Mom? What did you do now?

They took her into the security office, and she had to strip down to her skivvies. By the way, you won’t believe this, but she was wearing bikini underpants and a purple and gold bra. This woman is nearly eighty years old and dressed up like a Playboy Bunny from the 1970s. I have never been so humiliated in my whole life.

And here’s the kicker, she had a small revolver in a secret pocket of her purse. It was a pocket inside of another pocket. When she went through the scanner, it lit up like a Christmas tree. When they asked her why she would bring on board an airliner, she said, “Well, what do you think to protect me from hijackers? What kind of fool do you think I am?”

“She was barred from ever using that airline again. I don’t know if she is just loco, or she has dementia, or she’s just plain stupid. Or, and this is what I really believe, she doesn’t think that rules and laws apply to her. Do you really believe that, at any level, I would be willing to spend the rest of my life with her??? I rather spend my life in a prison with hardened convicts and murderers. I kid you not. Why don’t you offer to pick her up and let her spend the rest of her life with you? Or better yet, why don’t you take her in for a couple of weeks? And if she doesn’t cause any problems like blowing up your house or robbing your neighbors blind, I’ll reconsider taking her in?”

“OK, I’ll do it. But what do I get out of it?”
“Well, you get to say, “I told you so. And I can’t think of anything else because I know in my heart of hearts that there is no upside with this woman. You will be pulling the hair out of your head in two” days, if not on the ride home.”

“OK, you’ve got a deal, but you have to pay for my expenses for picking her up and driving her back here. I’m not made of money, you know.”

“No problem, but I’m sure by the time you get home with her, you will be more than willing to give me your last dime just so you never have to see her again. When can you go get her?”

“ I can go this Friday, It’s a holiday, and I’ll be back late the next day.”

“ Take my advice and get plenty of rest the day before you go to Florida. You’re going to need it. And bring food with you. She eats like a horse, and she likes to stop at every restaurant she sees. And as little as she is, she eats like a starving horse.”

“Well, that’s fine, I love eating at roadside restaurants. I haven’t taken a road trip in years and years. It will be fun. I’m looking forward to it.”

I just stared at her and said, “I wish you all the luck in the world. You are going to need it. Let me give you her full name, address, and phone number. Whatever you do, do not give her your cell phone number. She will start calling you all night and day. “

“Oh, you always make a big deal out of everything. You have a tendency to exaggerate even the smallest thing. And blow it out of proportion.”

Two days later, Helen left me a message to let me know she was on her way to pick up my mother-in-law. I crossed my fingers and hoped that Helen wouldn’t murder my mother-in-law on the way back. But, somewhere in the back of my mind, I had a little voice saying, “ I hope Helen doesn’t murder my mother-in-law, but then again, it would not be unheard of an old lady dying from a heart attack because my neighbor and friend, Helen is one of the worst drivers that I ever had the displeasure of riding in a car with. I only went on one trip with her driving, and I was praying the whole way that I would make it out alive. She rarely kept her eyes on the road, and she would fiddle with the radio and look in the mirror at her reflection over and over. She would eat a sandwich with one hand, drink a coffee with the other, and steer with her knee. I kid you not. It was truly a terrorizing experience—one which I will never repeat. Maybe the two of them were meant for each other.

So, I let my mother-in-law know that my friend Helen was coming to get her and that she was going to spend part of her time at Helen’s house since I was still working from home and needed quiet and isolation. I gave her the pertinent information about Helen, what she looked like, Cruella Deville. That might be a slight exaggeration. Because compared to my mother-in-law Helen was a raving beauty.

The next couple of weeks went by quickly, and before I knew it, I received a call from Helen telling me she was leaving tomorrow for Florida. And she would give me a call when she arrived. She was going to stay at my mother’s house overnight and leave early the next morning.

I didn’t hear from Helen or my mother for three days. I wondered if something bad happened or if Helen got lost or she tried to kill my mother or vice versa. A couple of days later, Helen called to let me know they were almost home and would call me again when they arrived at her house. She didn’t say anything about my mother, the long ride, or anything. I was gobsmacked to tell you the truth. Oh, gobsmacked is an Irish expression for shocked.

Helen called me the next morning and asked if I would like to come over and say hello to my mother. To tell you the truth, I had to think about it for a few minutes. Because, in all honesty, I had no real desire to see my “dear” mother any time soon. But, all the same, I changed out of my pajamas and into the cleanest clothes I owned. This doesn’t mean that they were actually clean, but they were the only clothes that didn’t have stains on them. To tell you the truth, I’m a bit of a slob. I hate cleaning, doing wash, yard work etc, etc. I love my stay-at-home job. That’s the one thing I like about my mother is that when she visits me, my house is immaculate. But the flip side of that coin is that she never stops nagging me about what a slob I am. But it’s my house, and if you don’t like it, you are welcome to leave any time.

I thought about running all around and straightening up the house, but I didn’t. About twenty minutes later, they arrived at my door, and they actually rang the doorbell. I walked over to the door nonchalantly and did my best to give them a big smile of welcome. But, to tell you the truth, my stomach was in turmoil. And then I saw my mother’s face pressed to my back door window, and she had a big smile on her face. And get this, she had a bunch of red roses in her hand. And what looked like a casserole dish with a cover on it. I could see steam rising out of it. She was holding it with oven mitts.

I opened the door and said,” Wow, you two look great, What have you been up to?”

“Well, we both went to the hairdresser this morning and had the works. And then, when we came back, I made this casserole for you so that we could make lunch. I knew you probably didn’t have time to cook. Since you are working from home, can we come in?” I looked at Helen, and she looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. I looked at her like she must have lost her mind, and maybe a few days with my mother pushed her over the edge. I let them in.

“Why don’t you two have a seat, I’ll get you some iced tea and put out some dishes for lunch.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble, Mom. Have a seat.” I stared at Helen, and she still had that look of a cat that ate my canary.”So, how’s it going? How was the trip? What have you two been up to?”

Helen said the trip was fine. We stopped along the way, ate lunch and dinner, and stopped at a couple of local tourist places. And then we drove straight here to Helen’s house. We are having a great time together. We like the same food and the same TV Shows. And Helen is so neat her house is neat as a pin. She’s like the daughter I never had.” Helen looked at me after my mother said that, and what she saw was a tear running down my face. Because my mother still had the power to hurt me to my core. Helen said, “she doesn’t mean that. She did talk about you the whole way home, how much she missed you, how she was so proud of you. And she couldn’t ask for a better daughter.”

“Is that true, Mom?”

“Yes, it’s true. But I always thought that you didn’t love me. So, I guess I have always tried to protect myself from all the negative things you said to and about me while you were a teenager. And how you never wanted to visit me or rarely called me.”

“Mom, I always loved you. But I never felt loved by you. I guess we were never really good at understanding one another. It didn’t help that you lied and were a cleptomaniac etc, etc. “

“ Well, I have been seeing a therapist for the last year, and I feel like I have resolved most of those issues. I haven’t stoled anything for over eight months. And I stopped buying things I don’t need. In general, I’m trying to be a better person. And if you give me a second chance, I will try to be a better mother.”

I looked at my mother with disbelief. And then she came over and hugged me tight. And then we both started to cry. And Helen stood there with the biggest smile on her face that I have ever seen. And that my friends became the beginning for me, my mother, and my dear friend, Helen. We became a family. And that was the best day of my life, bar none…

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MY FIRST BEST FRIEND, MRS. MCFARLAND

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I grew up in a small town in New Jersey, South Jersey, to be more specific. The town I grew up in was called Maple Shade. I always assumed it was called Maple Shade because of the many Maple trees that grew there from one end of Maple Shade to another.

I believed that Maple Shade was a great place to grow up. Of course, my life experience at nine or ten was somewhat limited. But, as far as I was concerned, it was heaven on earth. Especially in the 1950s through the 1960s when I was growing up.

I clearly remember my mother standing on the street curb outside our house with me by her side, and she was teaching me how to cross the street safely. She said, “Before you cross the street, look to the right and then to the left, and then to the right again. If no cars are coming in either direction, it will be safe to cross the street. She practiced with me several times, and then she said, “You are on your own, be careful. Before you go anywhere, let me know where you are going. Understand?”

“Yes, Mom, I understand, right, left, right, then cross the street.”

“OK, now keep your eyes open, and most of all, don’t be late for lunch or dinner.” And then she went back into the house. I guess she was going to clean the house. That is what she did most of her days unless she was cooking. She did a lot of cooking. We had a big family.

After I crossed the street, I went directly across the street to Mrs McFarland’s yard. She was our neighbor, and I loved her so much. She was really, really old. She lived alone because her husband had died a long time ago. And if she had any children, they had all grown up and moved away. I never met them.

I walked up her path to her side door and knocked. I could hear her walking towards the door. When she opened the door, she said, “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise? Would you like to come in for a snack??? Or we can sit outside on the swing and have our snack?

“Oh, let’s eat on the swing.”

A couple of minutes later, she came out with a tray of milk and cookies. Oh, how I loved her cookies. I hope they were chocolate chip. Mrs. McFarland sat down on the swing and said, “Here we go, your favorite chocolate chip. I smiled from ear to ear. Mrs. McFarland had one whole arm and one-half arm. What I mean is her left arm only went down to her elbow, and the rest of her arm was missing. I was always amazed that she never let that bother her at all. She managed to do everything she had to do with one and a half arms. And her cookies were delicious. Sometimes, she brought her doll outside that she had since she was a kid. And She would let me change her clothes. She told me the doll was made from china, which I didn’t understand. When I asked my father what china was, he told me it was a country very far away. Sometimes, I would bring my doll over and play dolls together. Other times, my best girlfriend brought her doll, and we would all play with dolls.

But what I loved to do the most was walk around her yard, which had flowers growing all over it. But, my favorite flowers grew in the Spring, and she called them tulips. She had red tulips. And they were so beautiful. Sometimes, she let me cut a tulip and take it home to my mother.

While we sat and swung back and forth on the swing, she told me all about herself when she was little. I wished I was little when she was so I could play with her every day. But I guess I was lucky to have her as a friend now. The fact is I really loved Mrs. McFarland. And I didn’t care one bit about her only having one half of an arm. Anytime I saw Mrs. McFarland out in her yard, I went over and visited her. She was my best friend. One day, she said, “How about we walk out to the corner of my yard, and you can try climbing up the tree?”

I screamed at the top of my lungs,” Yes, yes, yes. Let’s”

“Well, I can’t climb the tree, but I’ll stand next to the tree and keep you safe.” And she did. After that, I took every opportunity to climb that tree and any other tree I saw around town. Sometimes, I fell, but I just got black and blue marks on my arms and legs. My mother would say, “What in the world have you been up to?”

“Nothing, Mom, just playing in the tree.”

My mother said, “Well, you have to be more careful. My father said, “Let her be. Kids will be kids.” And so, after that, she would say, be careful. When I was a kid, I would tell my mother that I was going out for a bike ride. She would say, be home in time for lunch. I would listen for the church bells to ring at noon time. We lived two doors down from the Catholic church, and then I would run as fast as I could home. Because if my father was home, it wasn’t a good idea to be late for lunch or dinner. When I got home, I would rush through the front door, and my mother would say, “Go wash your hands and face before you sit down. We almost always had the same thing for lunch every day: Lebanon Bologna sandwiches with chicking noodle soup or sometimes Alphabet soup. I loved making words in the soup with the noodles that were in the shape of the alphabet letters. My father would say,” Stop playing with your food. And my mother would say, “Oh, leave her alone. She’s just a little kid.

As time went by, I grew up and visited my friend Mrs. McFarland less and less. I was always busy with my neighborhood friends and my school friends, who came over after school. There was never a shortage of kids around town to play with after school and during the summer.

Eventually, I graduated from elementary school and went on to high school. We had to take an entrance exam to get into Catholic High Schools. I was sure that I failed, but as it turned out, I passed both tests, the one for St. Mary of the Angels Academy and Holy Cross High School. My parents decided that I would attend St. Mary of the Angels Academy. I had to take a bus to go back and forth to high school. As time went by, I didn’t see Mrs. McFarland anymore. She didn’t come outside since she was having difficulty walking, and I didn’t see her working in the garden anymore.

Then, one day, I was sitting at the kitchen table, and someone knocked at our front door. I got up and opened the door. It was an older man, and for some reason, he looked very upset. My mother came to the door and said, “Can I help you?” He said, “ I was just across the street at Mrs. McFarland’s house. I am her insurance man. And she had a heart attack and died right in front of me.” And then he started crying. I never saw a grown man cry before. My mother told him to please sit down. He did. The tears were streaming down his face. I looked at my mom, and she looked at me. And then we both started crying. I felt really bad because I hadn’t visited her for a long time. And I wish I had. I never saw Mrs. McFarland again. Someone else bought her house and rented out the top part of the house to someone else. They took Mrs. McFarland’s swing down, and about a year later, they cut down her Weeping Willow tree one day. I’ll never understand why. I cried all over again.

I will always remember Mrs. McFarland even though I am now the age she was when she became my first friend.

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Writer's Blog by Susan A. Culver

Author Archives: Susan

SOMETIMES TO LIVE IS AN ACT OF COURAGE

LIFE ISN’T ALWAYS A BED OF ROSES

Family Consists Of A Safe Environment And A Loving Family

A RUN OF BAD LUCK

SO APPARENTLY, IT’S BACK TO SQUARE ONE

SISTERS

Tyler School of Art, the best experience of my life and the biggest challenge

ONE TOOTH TOO MANY

I’d Rather Eat My Hat

MY FIRST BEST FRIEND, MRS. MCFARLAND

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