Author Archives: Susan

IN LIFE YOU LEARN AND GROW THROUGH PAIN, STRUGGLES, LOVE AND JOY

I find it hard to believe at times, but I’ve gotten to that stage in life when I realize my most valuable possession is the time I have left to live and what I do with it. It seems like a blink of an eye since the day I sat in the church auditorium waiting for my name to be called as one of the graduating Seniors at St. Mary of the Angels Academy high school. This was an all-girl academic Academy in Haddonfield, NJ. It was June of 1969. My graduation marked both an ending and a beginning for me. The end of my Catholic School career and my childhood, and the beginning of my future as a working adult.

To be perfectly honest, I had never given any real thought about what I would do when I graduated from high school. And no one ever asked me what my plans were. And if they asked me, I would have had to say, “I have no clue, honestly.” That is until one day at the end of my final semester at SMAA (St. Mary of the Angels Academy). Sister Eileen Marie, the principal at SMAA, called me to her office and told me that she had a job for me. Apparently, Sister Eileen Marie found jobs for students who were not going to go to college. She informed me that she had recommended me for a job as a dental assistant for Doctor Edward Wozniak, who lived in and practiced dentistry in Haddon Township, New Jersey. It was about a thirty-five-minute drive from where I lived in Maple Shade, NJ.

Sister Eileen told me that Dr. Wozniak’s wife had attended SMAA back in the day, and she wanted to hire a graduating student from St. Mary’s to come and work at her husband’s dental office since she had two small children and couldn’t work in the office. I was told I should arrive at Dr. Wozniak’s office on time, dress properly, speak up, and make a good impression. I recall having the interview with Mrs. Wozniak, but not how I got there since I didn’t have a car. I have to assume that either my father drove me there or I took public transportation. It was a short interview, and Mrs. Wozniak explained what my duties would be and my hours, and my pay. The only money I had ever earned previously was babysitting which I probably made about a dollar an hour. Mrs. Wozniak ended her description with the question,” So when can you start?” I told her my graduation day and said,” Any day after that.”

I can’t say I remember being nervous about starting my first job, but I probably was. But, as it turned out that although I never had any work experience, I was a quick learner. And in no time, I was learning how to be a dental assistant, develop dental xrays, answer the phone and make appointments, and call patients to confirm their appointments. I also was a chairside assistant, cleaning the rooms and setting up the instruments for each patient. I escorted each patient into the room where their dental work was going to take place. I talk to each patient and try to calm them down if they were nervous or just past the time of day with them. I also had to clean the rooms, including the lab, at the end of the day.

It was a challenging job. But I have to admit I really liked it. Dr. Wozniak was a kind man and always thoughtful to both myself and his patients. I worked there for about four years. I believe that working at Dr. Wozniak was an excellent experience for me. I became more confident in my abilities and more outgoing. Since I had to talk to all the patients and reassure them, answer all the phone calls. I learned to be organized, efficient, and friendly to the people I came in contact with me.

In fact, every job or position I have held over my lifetime has been of benefit to me. I enjoyed some jobs more than others. But, overall, every experience prepared me for the next one. I was no longer shy and reticent. I was outgoing and confident. Life, after all, is full of learning experiences that benefit you from that day forward if you are open to them.

I have to admit that I have had and held many jobs over the years. And that not every job was a dream job; some I downright hated. But, still, I learned something along the way. And I met many interesting people. After I stopped working at Dr. Wozniak, I decided I wanted to do something more challenging and different. And I did just that. I applied for a job as a psychiatric aide at Ancora State Mental Hospital. It was a good hour and a half drive from where I lived. My brother, who was a psychologist, had at one time, early in his career, worked at Ancora. He gave me the contact number of one of the people he worked with at Ancora. And so, I called her and got an appointment for a job interview. I did well at the interview and was hired. I was informed that I would have to take several weeks of training before I could work with the patients in the active psyche ward. I said, “But I told you I wanted to work with children. And she told me not at this time, but perhaps at some point in the future.

So, I had to take a thirty-day training with several other candidates. We had to take a written test at the end of the training. It turned out that a young woman named Joan Hall and I were the only ones who excelled in the test. The instructor told us we should both consider getting further formal education since we had both stood out from the crowd. Joan was assigned to a different ward than I was, and I never came in contact with her again.

I was assigned to the Active Psyche Ward. And I have to admit that “active” was not the best description of the behavior I observed in the first couple of days I worked there. You have to remember that this was in the early 1970s, and few medicinal drugs were available to treat mental illness. Most of the patients I encountered were taking Thorozine. They often walked around like zombies, or they slept all day. In the children’s ward, I often saw young children running around without clothes on. I have to admit I was shocked since my own life. I had always been sheltered to some extent by my parents.

At one point, I was assigned the duty of supervising women’s showers. There really aren’t any words to describe that experience. Seeing so many females, young and old undressed and standing in the showers. I was told they were not allowed to share showers with other patients. So, the first time I supervised the female patients in the shower, I spent my time separating grown women who kept trying to shower with other women and kept touching one another. This was not a good experience for me, and I informed my immediate supervisor that there was no way I could do that anymore.

In addition, I had to accompany patients from one part of the hospital to another. In inclement weather, I would take the patients through a system of underground tunnels. It turned out this was a place where many patients would arrange clandestine meetings with one another to have sex. I learned to avoid looking at these interactions and tried to block them from my memory.

It turned out that I was put on the three to twelve shift. And because I had to drive for nearly an hour to return home, my parents didn’t want me to continue working there. I requested to be assigned full-time to the children’s wards since their work shifts were during the day. At one point, the doctor in the ward where I was working told me he wanted me to observe an electroshock treatment that was being done on a young woman.

I never observed such medical treatment before since I was only out of high school for three years. I was somewhat terrified as I stood there and watched the young woman being treated. Since she was strapped to the table and had no recourse, she started reacting negatively, crying and asking them to stop. The doctors laughed and kept going. They made fun of her. It was just awful. It turns out that patients treated with electroshock treatment suffer memory loss. I’ve never been able to forgive those “doctors” for degrading the poor woman. Who was supposed to be treated with kindness and understanding and be on the road to recovery?

At this point, I decided this was not my job. Because my core beliefs would not allow me to stand by and let another person, one that was struggling with life, be treated with such disregard. I gave them two weeks’ notice and quit. It was a learning experience for me. I quickly realized who I was and what I was and was unwilling to do to earn a living for myself.

I never told anyone what I had observed while I was working at Ancora. Because I didn’t really have the words to express the horror I felt at how my fellow human beings who were supposed to be helping this poor miscreant treated the people they were supposed to be supporting to a return to mental health. I felt the system had totally failed these people. And I could not imagine spending any more time working there. So, it became apparent that I was going to have to get busy looking for another job. And I was successful in doing just that. I applied for a job at Ellis High-Risk Auto Insurance Company on Haddon Avenue in Haddon Township, New Jersey. And it turned out to be a good choice. But, I will speak to that experience in my next memoir about jobs I have had over my lifetime.

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CREATE A LIFE THAT HAS PURPOSE AND MEANING

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I’ve always been a bit of a loner. Even as a child, I seemed to be content to sit at home and watch TV or read a good book. In fact, I spent much of my free time at our local library. I could spend hours and hours going through the book stacks to find that perfect book to read. For many years I read mystery books and Horror. Stephen King and, Kean Kootz, John Grisham were my favorite writers.

I have to say I preferred my own company. I was not adverse to the company of cats, my dog, birds, and my hamster. So, I suppose that seems a little odd. I guess most people who knew me knew that I was not a run-of-the-mill kid. I liked taking long walks by myself around town or to a lake that was located in the town next to where I lived. I had a wild imagination and told people stories that they often found hard to believe.

I always had plenty of things to keep me busy, reading, watching cartoons, riding my bike all over the place, drawing, and making things. I was always a highly creative person. Reading is what eventually drew me into writing and telling stories. Anyone who is lucky enough to be born with an active imagination is unlikely to be bored or lonely. At least, that has been my experience.

It’s not that I didn’t have friends. I had school friends and neighborhood friends. And yet I always had a desire to spend a large portion of my time alone. As I grew up, I found that my desire to spend time on my own creative pursuits outweighed my desire to go out with friends as often. And believe it or not, that desire to create art is what drove me to eventually make the decision to go to art school at the grand old age of thirty- six. I had two children at the time, who were six and three.

I was the only adult student to enter as a Freshman at the Tyler School of Art, which was part of Temple University of Philadelphia. I made a decision that while I was going to college, I was going to make every effort to befriend every student I met along the way. I looked young for my age, but by no means did I look eighteen. I also decided that not only would I complete my college education, but also that I would excel in every way possible. And to some degree, I did just that.

Tacony Bridge

I had to drive from Pennsauken, New Jersey, to the Tyler Campus, which was in Cheltenham, Pa. This was about a forty-minute drive from where I lived. And I had to cross the Tacony Bridge from New Jersey to Pa. That was my first hurdle since I was terrified of crossing bridges. And the reason for my fear was that I had a scary experience when I was little. My father took me and my mother with him to Philadelphia, and I was sitting on my mother’s lap. I think I was about five years old. And I was leaning against the car door. We were temporarily stationary as a bridge opening backed up the cars. And the passenger door flew open, and I fell out the door onto the bridge. Luckily we were in the far right lane, and no other cars were to the right of my dad’s car. And from that day forward, I was afraid of bridges. So, as I was saying, that was my first hurdle to overcome my fear of bridges since I had to go over that bridge at least two times a day. And fortunately, I did just that.

It turned out that I was the only adult student in my Freshman class. During that first week of school, I was always the first student to arrive in each class. Since I always had a phobia of being late. As soon as the other students started arriving in the classroom, they would ask me if I was the teacher. And I would laugh and say,” No, I’m a new student.” And then they would stare at me for a couple of minutes. I didn’t let this bother me. By the end of my first year at Tyler, I had befriended nearly every student in my class and a couple of the teachers.

By the end of my senior year, I knew all the students in the school and had become friends with them. On the afternoon of our graduation, I graduated with a Bachelor of Fine Art and Teaching Certificate with a 4.0 average and in the top ten percent of the entire graduating classes at Temple University. I have to admit I was proud of my accomplishment. It wasn’t easy going to college with two young children. At times it was really difficult. During the Spring and Summer Break, I took care of my children and the child of a friend whose father babysat my children after school during the school year. I wouldn’t have been able to complete my education without their help in caring for my daughters.

When I graduated from college, my oldest daughter was ten, and my youngest was seven. And then, I began searching for an Art teacher’s position in the public school system in New Jersey. And after months and months of applying to every public school in South Jersey and Pennsylvania, I found that the public schools were no longer providing funding to Art programs in their public schools.

I can not describe how disheartened I was when I couldn’t find employment teaching art. So, after months and months of looking for a job that didn’t exist, I decided that I would have to create my own job. And so, I began a search for a house that was big enough to be our new home and also had room to teach art to the students who lived there. And finally, I did just that. I found a home that had formerly been the home and office of a doctor Dr. Sooy in Pitman, New Jersey. He was a Neuroo psychologist. And apparently, he only saw patients at nighttime.

The house was large and had been empty for almost ten years. It was in need of a new roof immediately. There were seventeen rooms in the house, including a third floor and an attic,, and two basements. It was built in 1910. It was an amazing house but needed repair from the roof down. And over the next twenty-four years that we lived there, we did just that. We did all the repairs ourselves except for putting on the new roof and new heater.

There were three rooms and a bathroom in the section of the house that had been the doctor’s offices. And upon seeing it, I knew I had found the home for my family and my art classes. After a year of renovating the house and the offices, I launched The ART ROOM. It wasn’t easy by any means. I had to notify everyone in the town via the local newspaper. And I had to appear before the township counsel to explain exactly what my plans were for the Art Room. And how I envisioned that it would be of benefit to the children and adults in the local community.

Several of my new neighbors were kind enough to speak before the township leaders on my behalf. One of my neighbors, in particular, Doctor Bob Batten,, and his wife, Marie Batten, were my biggest conrads in arms if you will. And finally, my plan and my classes were approved, and I could launch my business and my school. I was lucky enough to teach art to many children and adults over the years that I lived in my home in Pitman. It was a wonderful experience, and I became friends with many of the town folk and watched my students grow as artists and move on to go to finish high school and on to college.

My oldest daughter Jeanette attended my classes for years and applied to and was accepted at the three of the best Art Schools in Philadelphia and ultimately attended The Hussia School of Art in Philadelphia. And she has become an extremely talented artist in her own right, including designing and making her own clothing. My youngest daughter is a gifted ceramic artist and, to a large degree, self-taught. She had taken some basic ceramic classes in college but has taken it to a much higher level of competency because of her innate artistic talent.

Not all the students that attended my classes became artists, but their lives were enriched by their experience in learning how to express their imagination through painting, drawing, and three-dimensional art. As a matter of fact, two of the Pitman administrators took night classes for several years at The Art Room.

In addition, I was blessed by getting to know and spend time with many of the people that lived in Pitman and their children over the years I lived there. I can’t tell how much their friendships enriched my own life. I found watching people grow as human beings and be able to express their own creative drives regardless of their age inspiring.

And finally, I can say that my experience of putting myself out there in public view was certainly a positive experience. One which I can not put a dollar amount. I look back on that time as a happy and positive experience of which I am proud. It was an enriching experience and a memory that I will always cherish. It imbued me with a new understanding of my fellow human beings and how many people have an innate desire to grow and continue learning as humans. These experiences improve their quality of life.

As for myself, even though I have reached the twilight years of my life, I still want to continue learning and growing both as an artist and a writer. And as a human being, I continue to engage with all the people I come in contact. I hope that contact has a positive effect on them in some way. I have realized over my many years that doing good in your life, it will give your life purpose and meaning. And hopefully inspire people to do the same.

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Each New Page Is A New Day In The Diary Of Your Life

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I never considered myself to be naive. I’ve lived in the world for a long time. And I’ve had my share of life experiences to make me even more aware that not everyone you meet in life is trustworthy. But in addition, there’s the old maxim, “Don’t Judge A Book By Its Cover.”

Unfortunately, I’ve always been succor for a beautiful smile falling. My mother always told me to ensure a person’s smile reaches their eyes. If it doesn’t, their smile is fake, and therefore don’t trust that person.

Unfortunately for me, about six months ago, I found myself in somewhat of a pickle. I decided to go down to my basement to look for a book that I had read years ago. I looked everywhere upstairs and even went so far as to search my attic. Oh, but that was a mistake. I spent three days going through old newspaper clippings and furniture that I no longer needed or wanted. But, still, I was unwilling to throw it away. I even found some of my father and mother’s memorabilia, including some of her silver. I realized I definitely needed to clean out my house from top to bottom. It was a mess.

It was really too much for me to do on my own, so I put a small ad in the local newspaper for a part-time person to help me clean out my attic and basement. I was offering five dollars an hour, and for some reason, I only got two responses. One was a teenage boy who looked about ten years old to me. But he insisted that he was sixteen. He looked at my attic and said, “Oh, you got to be kidding me. I’m not cleaning out this mess for only five dollars an hour. And then he gave me a cold stare. And the other one was a woman who looked about thirty-five years old. And was thin as a reed and looked like she hadn’t eaten a good meal in a long, long time. She also seemed really nervous and jumpy.

She came into my house like a stormtrooper. She rushed around like the house was on fire. And then said, alright, “I’ll take a good look at your attic. And then I’ll give you an estimate for the whole job. I will clean the house from top to bottom, including the basement and the attic. When she returned to my living room, she handed me a small piece of paper that said $500.00. I looked at the paper, and I said,” Are you out of your mind? I told you the pay was five dollars an hour. Do you plan on working more than two weeks here??”

Lady, you have clearly underestimated how long it will take to clean up this mess you have created for yourself. You won’t find anybody else who will do this job for less. Take it or leave it. I don’t have all day. I have other fires to stoke.”

“Other fires to stoke. What in the world are you talking about?”

“ It’s just an expression, meaning I’m a busy woman.”

I stared at her for a minute or two, unsure what to do. I decided I wasn’t going to find anyone else to help me. So, I would have to bite the bullet and pay the piper. So, I said, “OK, when can you start? And how long do you think it will take? And also, I’m not going to pay you until you complete the entire job. And I’m satisfied.”

“OK, I’ll start Monday. You must order a dumpster to put all the trash in.”

“What? I’m not getting rid of everything I own. I’m just getting rid of things that I don’t need anymore. On the first day, we will walk through the house and make a list of all the things that have to go and those that won’t. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I understand. I’ll be here first thing Monday morning at 9 AM sharp.”

And with that, she went out the front door and slammed it shut. The whole house shook. I hope I wasn’t making the worse mistake of my life.

I guess I have to give her credit. She did arrive at 9 AM sharp on Monday morning. She banged on the front door as hard as she could. I opened the front door, and I said, “Oh, for heaven’s safe, you don’t have to bang on the door so hard. The whole house shook. By the way, I realized after you left that I didn’t get your personal information and references before you left the other day.”

“ My name is Thelma Rice; I’ll give you the names of a couple of people I have worked for recently and their phone numbers. I see you got a small dumpster, and you’ll probably have to have it emptied a couple of times. It would have been cheaper to get one big one, but that’s on you, not my problemo. Where do you want me to get started?”

“Let’s get started with the cellar. I’ll go down with you and tell you what has to go and what I want to keep. I got a new light in the stairway and in the basement. I feared you would break your neck going up and down the steps in the dark.”

“ Oh wow, how thoughtful of you to put a light bulb in the stairway for me.”

She looked at me with such disdain, I had to look away. I felt like we started off on the wrong foot. But my intuition told me there was no right to this woman. “OK, why don’t we go down and start making a list of what has to go and what will stay.”

“Yeah, let’s. I’ve really been looking forward to it all weekend.”

I didn’t realize she was being sarcastic immediately until I looked at her face. “OK, let’s go. I’ll lead the way.”

We made it safely down the steps. I rarely went into the basement except to put the wash in and take it out. It really was a pit down here. But what can I say? Basements are not supposed to be a place where you spend a lot of time after all. We walked from the front of the basement to the back, and I wrote down a list of what absolutely had to stay and what was going in the dumpster. I guess I didn’t realize how much crap I had saved over the years until now. I even found an old washboard that was my grandmother’s. It might be something of value just because it was an antique. But I put it on a list of the stuff that had to go.

About four hours later, I said, Thelma, that looks about it for the basement. Let’s head upstairs. I made some fresh coffee and bought a couple of Danish for us to eat for a snack. What do you say?”

“ I say, it’s about time. I”m starved. I didn’t have anything to eat this morning. And a cup of strong coffee would really hit the spot. Let’s head up.”

I looked at her, and I thought that was about the nicest thing she’s said to me since I first met her. “Sure, let’s go and take a little break. It will do us both good. I have to admit the basement is really a pit.”

“So, we made our way up the stairs. And I said, “So, how do you like your coffee?”

“Black, two sugars, and hot.”

“Really, Thelma? That’s the way I like it too.”

For the next five minutes, we ate and drank the coffee in silence. And then Thelma said out of the blue,” This reminds me so much of Sunday morning after my parents and I came home from church and ate breakfast. Except, we always had bacon and eggs and toast and hot coffee. But this was really nice.”

“My family used to do the same thing. Sunday was always my favorite day of the week. It was the only day I saw my day. He worked all the time. We had a big family, and he rarely took a day off. My mother would make a cake on Saturday morning, and we used to eat it after Sunday breakfast if we still had room in our stomachs. She made the best cake in the world. My favorite was vanilla cake with chocolate icing. It was delicious. I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee, so I drank tea or hot chocolate.”

“Well, that’s something we have in common. I still miss my mom and dad. However, they have been gone for many years. I would give anything to see them one more time. A tear ran down Thelma’s face as I said this. And my tears followed soon after. It was ridiculous for two middle-aged women t cry over the loss of their parents so many, many years ago. After a few minutes, we stopped crying, and I offered Thelma another cup of coffee, but she said, “Better not, or I’ll have to use the lady’s room sooner rather than later. I’ll have one later if that is alright?”
For the rest of the afternoon, we carried stuff out of the cellar and went up and down the steps and brought boxes and boxes of stuff I didn’t even remember having out to the dumpster. I kept asking myself, “Why, oh why did I keep all this stuff for so long?”

When it was time for me to leave, Thelma said, Thank you for all of your help. And then she stopped talking and said, “I’m sorry, but I forgot your name. What is it?”

“Well, you’re probably not going to believe this, but my name is Louise. So, together that makes us the team of Thelma and Louise. And I believe we do make a good team. We work quietly but efficiently. We got a lot done. And we shared a pleasant meal together. You probably won’t believe this, but I don’t really get along with many people. I guess I tend to pre-judge people, or maybe I’m just a big grouch. My family always told me I was a grouch, so maybe I am.”

“Well, Thelma, I think we get along fine. It was somewhat of a rough beginning. But now we are really rolling forward and getting a lot done with no difficulty. So, I’ll be here first thing tomorrow. Maybe you should call the company that brought the dumpster over and ask them to pick it up and bring an empty one over.”

“Good idea, I forgot all about that. Thanks for reminding me. I do really feel like we got a lot accomplished. I feel good about it. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. How about if I stop by the donut shop on the way and pick up some treats? I have to admit I really have a sweet tooth. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow, Louise.”

The next morning I woke up with a start and realized I had forgotten to turn on my alarm clock. It was eight o’clock. I would have to skip my shower and throw on my clothes and stop at the donut shop on the way. I bought hot coffee for two and four donuts. I wouldn’t ordinarily eat so much junk, but I felt justified because we were doing all the heavy lifting and running up and down the steps”

As I walked up to the front door, Thelma said, “Oh, it’s so nice to see you again. I didn’t realize how lonely I get here at home by myself until you started coming here. Well, today, we’ll be working in the attic. It is hot up there, so I opened all the windows and turned the big fan on. So, at least we get some fresh air. I also stopped at the food store and picked up boxes to put all the stuff in rather than climbing up and down the steps so much.”
We spent the next four hours going up and down the steps carrying boxes. Unfortunately, we didn’t find any hidden treasures or anything valuable. One unusual find was a speaker from a drive-in theater. Thelma explained that when she was a kid, her family used to go to the drive-in theater. And once, her father forgot to take the speaker off the car window and drove off with it. And he never took it back, and he put it up in the attic. It was a somewhat valuable object for her because it was probably the last time her family went to the drive-in and saw an outdoor movie. And it had always been a good experience for her. And reminded her of her father, who she still missed after all those long years ago.

The good thing in life is that memories can stay with us for our entire lives, and they do not take up space, and there’s always more room for more memories. Thelma hoped that after Louise was finished helping her clean out the clutter, she and she could become friends and make some new memories. And much to her surprise as Louise said, “ I hope I am not over-stepping, but I was wondering if you would like to go out on Saturday to breakfast with me. And perhaps go to a local Farmer’s Market to pick up some fresh veggies and fruit and then later go to lunch together?”

“Really, I would love that. I haven’t been out to eat for years. And going to the farmer’s market would be such a treat. I haven’t done that in years. Do you want to pick me up, or do you want to give me your address, and I’ll come get you?”

“Well, how about I pick you up this time, and next time you can be the driver. I know we are going to have a great time. And the weather is supposed to be beautiful. How about at 9:00 Saturday morning and bring some shopping bags for the fruits and veggies. They both smiled at each other and said, “See you then,” at the same time. Then they laughed again. They gave each other a big hug. Who would have thought that two such different people would become friends? But the fact is life gives you many opportunities to find happiness and friends. You have to be ready to grab it while you can.

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KNOCK THREE TIMES

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Someone must have seen and recognized him because the police and what looked like Homeland Security were at his front door. His first impulse was to run out the back door. And run as fast and as far as he could. But, it occurs to him that they probably have people surrounding the house.

As he walks toward the front door, he glances in the mirror next to the steps and glares at his reflected image. He sees a reflection of himself that looks like an old man with white hair and a white mustache, and white stubble on his face. The lines on his face look deep and ancient, as if they had adorned his face for a long, long time. He hoped that his present appearance would throw them off. He had a reputation for being the best man for this particular job of concealing his identity.

The men at the door began to bang harder and louder. Then he hears someone shout. “Open the door. We know you’re in there. You have thirty seconds to comply, or we will knock on your door. Take your pick.”

He walks ever so slowly to the front door and then begins coughing as hard as possible. He says, “I’m coming as fast as I can.” He grasps the door knob and unlocks the door, and pulls the door open. He sees before him what looks as if two men are standing there, glaring at him and brandishing weapons. They look like they meant business. And they weren’t going to put up with a whole lot of bologna. He puts an expression of absolute terror on his face. And put his right hand over his heart as if he would die of a heart attack at any moment.

The man at the front door was armed and looked dangerous as hell. The man said as loudly as he could?“Drop your weapons down, and put your hands over your head. Your under arrest.”

“Who are you looking for? I just moved into this home a few weeks ago. The young man I rented this home from moved to Puerto Rico temporarily. He said he wouldn’t be returning for another eight months or so.”

“ Show us your ID right now, and don’t try anything funny.”

“ Try anything funny? Is this some kind of joke? I’m eighty years old. What am I going to do? Run away? I need a nap after I shower and put my work clothes on. I can barely walk. Just who do you think I am anyway? I’ll get my ID. Just wait a minute. I’ll be right back. It’s on the kitchen table. I left it there last night because of a doctor’s appointment this morning. You must be at the wrong address or something. This is insane. Maybe I need to contact my lawyer. Oh, no, he’s not a criminal lawyer. He handles my investments. I think I’ll call him anyway to get the name of a criminal lawyer.”

“Buddy, you ain’t going anywhere except to prison. Stick your hands out in front of you. We need to cuff you. You can call your tax attorney or whoever you want to once you have been morandized and are in our official care. Now, stick your hands out right now.”

At that moment, the old man steps forward, and in the blink of an eye, he kicks both police in the cojones. And left them breathless in a heap on the front step. He pulls a weapon out of his pocket and shoots them both without a second thought. They were still alive, but probably not for long. He wacks them on their heads. They wouldn’t be getting up any time soon, but just in case, he shoots them both at close range a bullet to the head.

He needs to get his shit together and get the hell out of Dodge before the neighbors start calling in the Marines on him. He quickly runs upstairs and throws on his clothes. Gets his weapons and his getaway bag which includes money and various fake IDs. He had been through this many times. So, he knew what he was doing.

Two minutes later, he drags their lifeless bodies into the living room and shoves them into the hall closet. Five minutes later, he’s backing his getaway car out of his garage. None of his neighbors had ever seen the car because he kept it hidden for such an occasion.

He spends the next forty-five minutes driving in the bumper-to-bumper traffic to the Philadelphia airport. He decides to go to the Philadelphia International Airport and get on the next available flight to Toronto, Canada. And then travel on to Argentina. He’s fluent in Spanish, so he wouldn’t have any problem communicating. He also had several international contacts that would be more than happy to assist him in his escape from justice.

Fourteen hours later, he arrives in Argentina, where he plans to meet with business contacts he had established many years ago. During his long flight, he grows restless and stands up and walks up and down the aisle. He notices someone at the front of the plane in First Class. He opens the door to use the bathroom, and while he is making use of the facility, he realizes who his fellow passenger is in First Class. So, now he went from being up in Deep Shit to an even worse Shit’s Creek.

He decides he needs to shift gears and ensure the passager doesn’t recognize him. However, he was still in Old Man mode. He decides to change his look altogether. It was a good thing he brought and hid all his other fake ID’s with him. Because it was not out of the realm of possibility that the man would recognize him, so, he had two choices go into the deep cover or get rid of this guy altogether and make it look like an accident.

He decides that it would be better not to call any further attention to himself. In addition, he didn’t doubt for a minute that the Stewardess’ would notice if suddenly there was a new and unfamiliar passenger sitting in his seat. He decides to ask for a blanket and a pillow and pretend to take a long nap. And perhaps the man would not recognize him with his eyes closed and under a blanket. Just in case he planned on being ready for whatever came his way. Be it friend or foe.

Several hours later, he was suddenly awakened by a loud noise like a gun being fired in a closed space, and then there was a noise and alarms going off inside the plane. He is immediately on high alert. He looks around in every direction. He still doesn’t have any clue as to what is happening. Then, he hears a second shot. It seems to be coming from the cockpit. In a flash, he understands that the plane is being highjacked. He chuckles to himself. And says, “ I guess I’m not the only bad guy. And then he has a flash of insight. I know exactly what I should do, he says aloud.

Everyone else has their heads down as low as they can go. Some of the people are squatting in the space where they usually put their feet. And somehow, they have compressed themselves to save their own lives. He thinks, what a pathetic bunch of losers. He has always hated common people, who barely scraped by in their pathetic, pointless lives. If he could, he would kill every one of them. And at that moment, he realizes what he should do to escape this predicament.

He was sitting in the first-class area. And he was the first one to be escorted. In fact, he had one of the airport employees push him in a wheelchair to the gangway before any of the passengers were allowed on. No one ever expected a decrepit old man to be a threat to anyone. So, he was alone in first class, and while he was there, he had placed a small, disassembled but deadly handgun taped to the toilet in first class. He starts moaning and groaning until someone comes to assist him. He begs to be allowed to go to the toilet. “Please, please, I need to go right now. I think I left my medication in there when I first arrived. I am having cardiac symptoms. I’ll die without it. Please.”
“Alright, sir. But you are doing this at your own risk. There is a problem in the cockpit, be aware and get back to your seat as soon as possible.”

So, he gets out of his seat and hunches over, and ever so slowly makes his way to the first-class toilet. He quietly opens the door and makes his way inside. He retrieves the parts of the gun and quickly reassembles it. He slowly and silently opens the bathroom door. He hears loud voices from the cockpit, and then a shot rings out. He waits. He looks down the aisle to see how many people are missing from their seats. There are two missing.

He waits. The door from the cockpit swings open, and two armed men come out with the crew and shove them down to the floor. They look a little worse for wear. It appears as if the captain didn’t give in immediately, and his face suffered the consequences as he is sporting a black eye and a broken nose. And one of his front teeth is missing.

He wonders whose flying the plane. He considers his next step one. He starts moaning and groaning. And then yells out, “Help, help. I’m having a heart attack. He keeps moaning. One of the highjackers tells him to “shut the hell up, or I’ll put you out of your misery for the rest of your miserable life.”

He moans loudly again and stumbles down the aisle to where the highjackers are situated. One of them comes at him with murder in his eyes. “what the hell do you think you are doing, old man? Get back in your seat.”

I need help. I can’t get up. So, the highjacker grabs ahold of his shoulder, and as that is happening, our hero of the day shoves his little gun onto the neck of the highjacker and silently blows his head off. In fact, it was so quiet that no one even looked in their direction. He heads to the cockpit again. He stands as close to the door as possible and taps on it repeatedly, and whispers at the top of his voice,” I need help; the passengers are out of control. One of them has a gun and killed someone.”

The next thing he knew, the door flew open, and He said, “Help me, help me. I’ve been shot. The highjacker said, “Get back to your seat, or you won’t live to see another day.” And that is when He silently raised his pistol and shot him right in the temple above his left eye. And the highjacker fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

The day was saved, and all the passengers stood up and clapped their hands. Clearly, they didn’t know what was going on other than the highjackers were done for. They didn’t know who this old man was, and they didn’t care. The pilot headed back on course and headed toward the nearest airport. He returned to his seat like nothing happened and waited for the plane to land. Twenty minutes later, they landed, and after about half an hour, all the passengers filed out one by one. No one even questioned the Old Man, and he silently and, as he left the plane, shoved the disassembled gun into the nearest seat in the pocket of the seat in front of it.

Just another day in the life of an unassuming old man nobody noticed or cared about. He had work to do today, and he was anxious to finish it so he could go back home and live his life, dull though it was. Life goes on, after all.

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MOTHERHOOD IS BOTH THE GREATEST THING AND THE HARDEST THING

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Once upon a time, not so very long ago, a child was born. Her parents had hoped and dreamed for a child. But, as the years went by, they began to lose hope. And then, out of the blue, after many years of trying to have a child, their prayers were answered.

The mother, whose name was Sandra, woke up one morning feeling sick to her stomach. Nausea continued for many weeks. She finally decided she should go to the doctor and find out what was wrong with her. It did not occur to her that she might be pregnant. Since she had given up, all hope long ago. She felt weak and tired, and depressed. The nurse took her temperature, weighed her, and asked if she had any other symptoms.

Sandra said,” Not really. I don’t know what is wrong with me. Can you help me, please?”

“Well, there is one more test I can do, and we will be able to get the results soon after. Please go into the ladies’ room and urinate on this stick and then bring it right back to me.

Sandra did as she was told and returned to the exam room with the stick in hand. The nurse walked in and took the stick, and said,” I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please sit down and take deep breaths and try to calm down. I think you will be feeling much better soon. “

Sandra laid back on the exam table and quickly fell into a deep sleep. She was so exhausted from not sleeping well for weeks. The nurse poked her head in the door and saw Sandra sleeping. She decided to let her sleep since the doctor was on his lunch break and wouldn’t be back for an hour.

About forty-five minutes passed by, and the nurse decided to check on Sandra and make sure all was well. She brought the test results into the exam room where Sandra was quietly sleeping and said, “Sandra, wake up Sandra, I have very good news for you.”

“ Sandra slowly opened her eyes. She didn’t remember where she was right away. She looked around and remembered she was at the doctor’s office. “You do. Am I going to be alright?”
“Yes, Sandra, you are going to be more than alright. In fact, I have great news you are going to have a baby. You are six weeks along. What do you think about that?”

Sandra was so shocked by what the nurse said that she responded,” Is this some sick joke or something? It’s not funny.”

“No, of course not. You are going to be a mother in about seven and a half months.”

Sandra was so happy that she started crying tears of happiness. The nurse came over and said, alright, try to calm down. I have some prescriptions for neonatal vitamins. Please try to take care of yourself and eat healthy foods, but don’t overeat. And you don’t want to gain too much weight. The doctor will be in to see you in a few minutes to talk to you. Then you will need to make an appointment to come back in six weeks. We want a healthy mom and baby.

After the nurse walked out of the room, Sandra couldn’t stop smiling. She had so longed for this day to happen and had all but given up on her long-awaited dream of becoming a mother. She had always loved children. She started babysitting when she was ten, and as an adult, she worked in schools as a teacher’s aide. Her face was starting to hurt from the broad smile on her face. Just then, the doctor came into her room and said, “It seems like congratulations are in order, Sandra. This must be a happy day for you.”

“Yes, yes, it is. I can hardly believe it. I can’t wait until this baby arrives. It seems like I have been waiting for a long, long time for this to happen.”

“Sandra, I want you to follow the letter and the diet the nurse gave you and take those prenatal vitamins every day. We want both you and the baby to thrive. I’ll see you in six weeks if you have any problems before then, please call the office immediately. I look forward to seeing you soon. Please take care.”

Over the next six weeks, Sandra found that her appetite increased quickly. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night, and her stomach was growling. When she returned to the doctor for her six-week check-up, she was astounded to find she had gained twelve pounds. The doctor was not pleased.

“Sandra, how are you feeling? Have you been experiencing nausea, vomiting, or any other symptoms you might want to share with me or concerns you may have?”

“Well, my stomach growls all day and night. It is really uncomfortable. I am always starving. Sometimes I get up in the middle of the night and eat something. I can’t help it. The hunger wakes me up.”

“Have you tried drinking water before you go to bed”

“Yes, but then I must go to the bathroom all night. I promise I’ll do better and try and keep my weight down. I’ll see you in six weeks, doctor.”

The time flew by, and before she knew it was only two weeks before Sandra’s due date. It was difficult to sleep at night since her baby seemed so restless and tossed and turned all night while Sandra was trying to get sleep. And the baby didn’t calm down during the day; she could feel her baby pushing his legs against her ribs.

Sandra couldn’t wait for her baby to be born, and before she knew it, the nine months had slipped by. And one day, her contractions started, and Sandra called her husband at work and told him it was time. After they arrived at the hospital, Sandra was taken into the delivery room. There was a television on in the room, and the doctor watched the show up until she was ready to give birth.

The baby arrived, and Sandra was handed her baby to hold for a few minutes. Until she was taken to the neonatal room. After the obstetrician spoke to her husband for a while, he said he would return later to check on her. And Sandra tried to get some sleep but was suffering from afterpains from her uterus contractions.

A couple of hours later, a nurse came into the recovery room and said we are moving you into your room now. So you can spend some time nursing your baby and holding her. Right now, she is making so much noise that she is disturbing all the other babies. Then a second nurse came in holding Sandra’s newborn, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her face was red as a beet. Sandra looked at the baby and then at the nurse and said, “Oh my, she is really making a ruckus. Let me see if I can calm her down.

So, Sandra took her tiny, red-faced newborn baby and nursed her until she quieted down. As it turned out that nursing her baby was the only thing that quieted her down. Sandra decided to stay overnight at the hospital and leave first thing the next morning.

Sandra realized that having a baby was a gift, but it also was a somewhat overwhelming experience. And Sandra’s little girl was indeed challenging from day one forward. Sandra never regretted her choice and took one day at a time. Each day was indeed a gift, but it was also a lifelong challenge.

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Catholic School in the 1950’s

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Every time I think, I’ve written my last memoir about my experiences as a young girl who was raised as a Catholic and attended twelve years of Catholic School. I remember yet another experience that has lain dormant deep down in my oldest memories.

Catholic School Classroom in the 1950s

In fact, almost every experience I had up until my eighteenth birthday affected my relationship with the Catholic Church and the nuns that taught me everything from basic math to calculus, how to read and write English Grammar properly, and how to read Latin and speak French. I still retain the ability to read French after almost fifty years. Thanks to Sister Renard, my French teacher, for three years. And more than any other lesson I learned was self-control and knowing when to keep my mouth shut. And keeping a secret is not necessarily a lie.

I come from a fairly large Catholic family. I had five sisters and one brother. My twin sister and I were the youngest. We were born in 1951. And my middle sisters were seven and eight years older than me, and my twin. My older sister Jean was thirteen years older than us, and my brother was nineteen years older. Both my older brother and my sister Jean have passed away.

My next two older sisters both attended Catholic School through high school. I do not know how their Catholic School education affected them, but I do know how it affected me. Of course, since my older sisters and my twin, and I attended school, we were all affected and part of the baby boomer generation. After World War II there was a tremendous increase in the number of babies born after World War II when American soldiers returned from serving time in the military during WWII and the Korean War.

Elementary Catholic School classrooms were overcrowded. In first grade, I didn’t have my own seat. At first, I sat on the windowsill, and later I got my own desk and chair, but it was parked directly behind a large post that supported the ceiling. And I could only see the blackboard if I stuck my head out on either side of the pole. I could hear everything alright, but I could see anything but that pole, including what was written on the blackboard. At first, I would raise my hand to get the attention Sister John Michael’s attention, but she either couldn’t see my arm flagging her down, or she was intentionally ignoring me.

I was a quiet kid and tried to keep my head down and out of trouble for the most part. Really, the last thing you wanted to do was gain the attention of any of the nuns during your tenure as a Catholic School student. Because if you did, you would get your name written on the blackboard, and you would have to stay after school and do chores or write things like I will not talk during class one hundred times. I used to go down the page and write each word one hundred times and then do the same for all the other words until they were written one hundred times.

During my elementary school years, I had two lay teachers, Miss Norris and Mr. McElliot, my fifth-grade teacher. It just so happened that Mr. McElliot knew my older brother and had worked with him at the Maple Shade Post Office. And he told me that my brother was one of the smartest people he ever met. I had always been extremely proud of my brother, Harry, because he was the first person in my family to go to college and earned his Ph.D. in Psychology.

Later, my sister, Elizabeth, went to college. She earned a nursing degree and also taught high school. I went to college when I was thirty-six to the Tyler School of Art in Pennsylvania and earned two degrees in art by the time I was forty. My English teachers at Tyler always asked me if I attended Catholic School because of my grasp of grammar and literature. And the ability to write a coherent sentence and spell correctly.

Aside from learning reading, writing, and Arithmetic in Catholic School, I learned self-control. Because if you didn’t know how to sit quietly in the classroom, you would get your hand whacked with a wooden ruler with a metal edge. Over the eight years I attended Catholic grade school, I had my head bashed into the blackboard multiple times. Usually, it was for passing notes to other students. But, more often, it was because I had a difficult time doing math, especially the higher maths like geometry and algebra. You will be happy to know that eventually, I did finally grasps math. But, it didn’t occur until much later when as an adult, I decided to volunteer to teach basic skills to adults who didn’t graduate from high school and were trying to earn their GED. I purchased a math book and then went through it from beginning to end and finally taught myself math. And I was then able to teach that skill to my GED students. But, I really owed the nuns for their perseverance in trying to teach me math for twelve years.

When I look back at the twelve years that I spent in Catholic School, the year that stands out the most for me was fourth grade when Sister Joseph Catherine was my teacher. My fourth-grade class was held in the basement of the Catholic School on the stage. Because the school was so overpopulated by students that they ran out of classrooms. Sister Joseph Catherine was petite. In fact, she was only a few inches taller than I was at nine years old. But within her small stature was hiding a whole lot of repressed rage and anger. I have no idea what she was so mad about, but it was clear to everyone that had ears and eyes in their head that they better not cross her. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.

But for no reason that I was ever able to discern Sister Joseph, Catherine picked me to be her constant companion and slave. Everywhere she went, I went. And I had to carry her books and whatever else she needed to be transported from one place to another. In class, it behooved everyone to do as she told, or there would be hell to pay. I can not remember what I did in her classroom to aggravate her, but one day she called me up to the blackboard to solve a math problem. As I have mentioned, math was not a strong point for me. So, Sister Joseph Catherine wrote a problem on the blackboard with chalk and called me up to solve it.

Of course, my mind went completely blank, one reason being my difficulty with math and, secondly, because she was standing behind me berating me at the top of her voice about how stupid I was. This did not encourage me. I just stood there dumbfounded, my mind blank, shaking like a leaf. She came up behind me and banged my head repeatedly into the blackboard in front of the whole class. Who for once was completely silent. Not a word was said. I don’t remember how the incident ended. I did know that my days of being her slave were over. And I refused to follow her around and carry her stuff. When I went home, I told my parents what happened, and my mother said she was going to go and talk to Sister Joseph Catherine. And I begged her now to because I thought it would get worse for me in the classroom.

Looking back on it, I think I should have let my mother have a word with her, a harsh word. Maybe it would have prevented all of Sister Joseph Catherine from physically attacking any future students. Fortunately, the following year in the fifth grade, I had Mr. McElliot as a teacher. And he was a great teacher that made learning fun and interesting. He encouraged us to ask questions and have opinions. Needless to say, I did much better in his class. And he encouraged us to go to the library and read and learn about the world. And that is exactly what I did for the rest of my life.

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THE COLLEGE GRIND

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Sara had always considered herself to be an optimist. She looks forward to each new day as a new beginning. And an opportunity to do better than she had the day before. She is one of those people who always see the light at the end of the tunnel. Each morning when she wakes up, she looks out her bedroom window, and rain or shine, she is happy that she has the opportunity to begin a new day.

Princeton University

When Sara hits any roadblocks in her life, she finds a way around it and believes she was better for having overcome them. Her confidence in herself grew and grew. She had always been an independent person who prided herself on her ability to create her own success and not rely on other people.

Sara is a person with a big heart, and she is always willing to lend a helping hand to anyone who needs it. Sara has always set goals for herself from the time she was a little girl playing hopscotch on the sidewalk in front of her house. She wouldn’t give up until she hopped all the way to the end of the hopscotch and back again without touching her other foot to the ground. And when she succeeded, she would smile from ear to ear and jump up and down. Her girlfriends always laughed at her for getting so excited over a game of hopscotch.

As Sara grew up, she set higher and higher goals for herself. She always wanted to have the highest grade point average in her class, and she was the president of her class all through eight years of grade school and four years of high school. She was the valedictorian of her senior year in high school at graduation. And she was accepted into every college she applied to during her senior year. She decided that she would only attend the best university in the USA. She was accepted at Harvard, Princeton, and Yale. She decided on Princeton University since it had the highest rating of all the universities in America. She was offered a full scholarship.

Girls Dorm Princeton Univesity

Sara had a lot of girlfriends but hadn’t dated at all during high school since she felt her education was more important than dating, which she considered to be a waste of her time. She had no plans to get married any time soon, if at all. Her parents had divorced when she was in the third grade, and her memories of the time before that were of her parents arguing and disagreeing with each other all day and night. She had no desire to replicate that experience in her own life.

Her Freshman year at Princeton was challenging, to say the least. Princeton had a beautiful campus, and only the cream of the crop was accepted as students who would be expected to direct all their energy and time to their studies which were a preparation for their future. Sara had planned on her future being driven by her desire to make new strides in Biological Research. Sara believed that biological research helps us understand all of the living world and its many species, including humans, to function and evolve. And ultimately will advance improvements in medicine, biotechnology, and many other areas of biology, which will improve the quality of life for all the life on our planet.

During her third year at the university, Sara had to declare her major. This was always a stressful time for students since it was not unknown for students to be conflicted by their many interests, and picking one major was a kind of litmus test to see which students had evolved enough in their years at the university to make adult decisions about their future lives. And how they wanted to use that time. Sara had always known what she wanted to do with her life. But still, because of the high pressure, Sara found herself questioning her choice to the point that she was having difficulty falling asleep in the few hours of sleep that she allowed herself. And in addition, she found her appetite had decreased to the point that between little rest and poor appetite, she had lost considerable weight and energy.

Finally, one of her friends at the university stopped by Sara’s door room and ask if she could take a few minutes out of her studies for a short discussion. Sara looked at her friend and thought that she must be having some boyfriend issues. Sara had no experience with boyfriends since she didn’t date and had no desire to waste her time on the drama of young love that she saw all around her at the university. When her friend, Miriam, ask her if she could come in, Sara sighed and said, “Well, just for a little while. I just started doing the research on my thesis, Miriam.”

“Well, you are probably not going to like what I have to say, but here goes. I and the rest of your friends are concerned with your well-being. You don’t get much sleep, you never do anything that is fun or relaxing, but most of all, you are concerned about how much weight you have lost. Are you eating at all? Have you developed some sort of eating disorder? You know that the university has people that can address issues like this. What do you say? How about we go set up an appointment and see if there is a real problem or you just not getting enough sleep and not eating regularly?”

“What, I don’t have an eating disorder; I’m busy. I have a lot of work and research to do in a short amount of time. I supposed I do forget to eat occasionally. But it’s not a big deal. I’m young, and I will rebound, and in time I will finish my studies and move on to the real working world. Which I’m sure will be even more challenging than going to university, don’t you think?”

Miriam responded,” Could you please just stand up next to me and look in the mirror? If you remember, we were both about the same weight and height when we arrived here on campus three years ago. So, would you please come to look in the mirror?”

Sara hemmed and hawed for a moment, and then she said, “Alright, but this better not take too long. I have a great deal of work to do. And then she walked over to the mirror and stood next to Miriam, and looked into the mirror. They both looked in the mirror and then at each other. And Miriam said, “Well, how do you think you look?”

“Well, if I were, to be honest, I’d have to say that I do look somewhat thinner. But that’s not surprising; I have been working night and day. And so do most of the students here that wish to excel in their studies. Their futures depend upon it. “

“Do you notice your clothes are hanging off of you? How about how thing your face is compared to mine? Your clothes are falling off of you. You don’t eat much, you rarely sleep. How do you expect to excel at anything when you’re starving yourself and not sleeping at all? And you work night and day. You never take a break, ever.”

“Yes, I can see I lost some weight, and we are all tired. But, we are working towards our futures, and that takes time and lots and lots of effort, sometimes going without sleep.”
“Yes, but how far are you going to get if you are starving yourself and not sleeping? Shouldn’t your health and well-being be the number one priority?”

“Yes, but sometimes I just don’t have enough time to think about eating and sleeping.”
“How about if you make a compromise? How about if every morning you come down to the cafeteria with me and eat a light breakfast, and then at dinner time, we go down and eat dinner together? Maybe once in a great while, we can splurge and go out for pizza or something. What do you say?”
“Breakfast and dinner too, oh come on, that’s too much. And then Sara began to laugh. “OK, OK, breakfast and dinner, and once in a great while, go out for pizza. But that’s it.”

“Awesome, let’s celebrate by going out for that pizza right now. What do you say?”

“ I say, I’m slammed but OK, but then I have to come right back here and get busy working on my research paper, deal?”

“Yes, deal, so throw on some shoes, grab your purse, and let’s get that pizza with all the toppings. What do you say, Sara?”

“OK, let’s hit the road and get a pizza. I can almost taste it right now.”

“Me, too. Let’s hit the road.”

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LIFE’S HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS

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I guess you could say I’ve always been somewhat of a loner. Although throughout most of my life, I’ve always maintained a “best friend.” My best friend has not always been a fellow human being. Currently, my best friends are my dogs. And so far, they have proven to be the most loyal and loving, and accepting best friends. I suppose my peculiar ways have a tendency to “put people off.”

Watercolor I painted of my house where I grew up in and the Catholic Church that defined who I became as an adult in many ways.

Oh, you’re wondering what traits I have that put people off. Well, my sense of humor. I have to admit I’m a sarcastic person. Not mean sarcastic, but funny sarcastic. Although not everyone ‘gets” my sense of humor. I have something of a trigger finger when it comes to responding to people’s comments. It’s no sooner out of your mouth than I have a sarcastic remark to counter it. I think I’m a riot, but not everyone would agree.

And then there’s my almost total lack of interest in my outward appearance. Especially if I’m at home and working around the outside or out in the garden, I will definitely be wearing my oldest, most worn-out clothes I own. So, you happen to come over to my house without forwarning me. Well, you can expect me to look pretty much like I haven’t showered or washed my clothes recently. If you let me know you are coming in advance, you can be sure that I will take a quick shower and change my clothes. And I will have something for you to eat when you arrive. Without warning and I most likely will have an empty fridge, and you’ll be lucky to get more than a glass of water or tea. What can I say?

Downtown Maple Shade in the 1950s

Oh, there I go off the track again. I was explaining how I am somewhat of a loner and usually only have one close friend at any given time. And in recent years, most of my closest friends have been dogs, cats, and birds. And they may not even be my dogs, cats, or birds. They could very well be my neighbor’s pets. In fact, my best and closest friend when I was a young child was a stray cat named Strottles. He was an ancient orange cat. He was covered with scars from his many battles with neighbors’ male cats. He came to our side door every day and would meow until I came outside and gave him his share of hugs, scratches, and petting.

And in addition, I befriended all the neighbor’s pets, including cats and dogs. I went out of my way to talk to all the older people in the neighborhood, who often lived alone. And they were more than happy to make my acquaintance and befriend me. I found that they were good listeners and were never in a hurry. And they always seemed entranced by the stories I would tell them about the adventures I experienced in our neighborhood and the rest of the town that I lived in as well. My parents gave me full rein. As long as I was home for lunch or dinner on time, all was copesetic. In fact, they rarely asked where I had been or what I had been up to in fact. Even at the age of six, I was allowed to go out on my own as long as I wasn’t late for meals or bedtime. I kid you not.

I met some interesting people on my excursions. And once I was old enough to ride a bike, there was no stopping me. I traveled to all the surrounding towns on that bike. There was no stopping me. And like I said, my parents never asked where I had been or what I had been up to. Go figure.

My family in the 1950’s

One of my favorite haunts was the local library, which was only two rooms. I used to go there at least once or twice a week, even before I was old enough to get a library book. I would pick out a bunch of books and spend several hours perusing them from the front cover to the last page. Sometimes, the librarians would greet me with ‘Oh boy, do we have a book for you.” And then I would be in book heaven for the next couple of hours. I made friends with all the local merchants. Needless to say, the local bakery and its employees became best friends of mine. I was their official taste tester. I can’t express just how much I loved all things sweet, from cakes to pies, to cookies.

And then there was the shoemaker. His shop was right around the corner from the Ben Franklin 5&10. I’ll tell you about that later. Anyway, Tony the shoemaker was one of my favorite people to visit because he was always happy to see me, and sometimes I brought him a treat from the bakery. He came from Italy, and I loved hearing him talk with his Italian accent. He liked to hear all my stories about the people I talked to around town. He knew most of them as he was the only shoemaker in town.

Then, I would stop at the Rexall Drug Store and then the 5&10 cent store where you could actually purchase things for a nickel or a dime. I liked to collect foreign stamps when I was a kid. And you could buy a whole bunch of used stamps for fifty cents or a dollar if you had that much money. There were so many treasures to be found in that 5&10 store. I could spend hours in there just walking up and down the aisles. Sometimes, I would find some coins on the sidewalk when I was walking around downtown, and then before you could say whoop de doo., I would run down the street to the 5&10 and spend that money like it was burning a hole in my pocket.

Saint Mary of the Angel’s Academy, where I attended high school.

Oh, but the best thing of all was the Roxy Theater, where every Saturday, you could watch a movie for twenty-five cents. I used to go with all my friends, sometimes school friends, and sometimes neighborhood kids. I would bring my lunch with me in a brown paper bag. My best neighborhood friend lived three houses away from me. We did everything together. At least everything during the summer, but during the school year, she used to sleep in late on Saturday morning, and then she would have to clean her room. So, I didn’t usually see her until we went to the children’s mass on Sunday. I was always talking and laughing during Mass and causing some kind of ruckus, and getting in trouble with the nuns.

After Mass, I would run home and eat a big Sunday breakfast with my family, and then I would be off on my bike. On Sunday,I spent most of my time alone because my friend’s family spent the day together. I didn’t have to be home except for breakfast and then at dinner time. I spent Sunday riding my bike around or taking long walks. Where I would stop and visit all the neighbor’s dogs and cats. And sometimes, I would go and visit all the older people in my neighborhood who lived alone. They always seemed happy to see me, and sometimes they offered me cake. And you know, I never said no to a piece of cake. And they all loved hearing my stories about the people in town, sometimes, I embellished the stories somewhat, but that just made them more interesting. I guess that’s when I began my journey of being a storyteller.

One time during Summer vacation, all the neighborhood kids were all outside playing Hide and Seek, and I was with my best friend. And I decided to tell her a story. I told her that I was actually an alien from outer space and came from another planet. And I was going to take her back with me to my planet. Apparently, I told the story so well that she believed me. Even though she knew me all her life, anyway, she said she didn’t want to go live on another planet, and she started crying buckets of tears. I couldn’t calm her down enough to tell her I was just telling a story. And it wasn’t true.

So, I had to take her home so her mother could calm her down. I tried to explain to her mother that I was just telling her one of my stories, but she was mad all the same. I have to admit I never told my mother and father about making my best friend cry. Because they had told me many times that one of these days, I was going to get into trouble for telling my tall tales.

I became friends with the old lady that lived across the street from my house. She was a widow and lived all alone. My best friend and I used to go over to Mrs. McFarland’s house and play with our dolls on her big swing. Once, Mrs. McFarland brought her childhood doll outside to show us. It was made of China and had real hair on its head. I loved Mrs. McFarland because whenever I came over to her yard, she would come outside and talk to me and tell me stories about her life. Mrs. McFarland only had one and a half arms. She told me that she was born like that, and her one arm only went down as far as her elbow.

But that didn’t stop Mrs. McFarland. She took care of herself and her house and did all the gardening in her yard. Her favorite flowers were roses and tulips. She used to tell me all the names of the flowers and how to take care of them. She inspired me to become a gardener when I grew up. And here I am, the age she was when I first became friends with her. And now I am a gardener and like nothing better than spending the day outside, tending my flower. Mrs. McFarland had a gigantic Weeping Willow in her yard, and she used to let me climb it. And now I planted a Weeping Willow in my yard here in North Carolina. When I was about sixteen years old, she passed away, and every time I looked across the street at her house, I missed her.

Over the course of my life, I have always found my own company to be satisfying. And I have always had many hobbies and interests. I love to read, draw and paint, and make things. I made all my own clothes for years and my children when they were young. When I was thirty-six, I made the decision to go to college and learn how to draw and paint. I graduated from college when I was forty with a degree in Art Education and a Bachelor of Arts Degree. I taught art for years, and often my students would sit out in my garden and draw or paint pictures of my plants and flowers. Along the way, I started writing short stories, and when I retired here to North Carolina, I decided to start a writer’s blog on the internet that was six years ago. And here I am, still going strong. You never know what life will have in store for you and where it will take you. I have lived in New Jersey, Florida, California, and the past eight years in North Carolina. I met some interesting people when I was working for the Elizabeth Warren Campaign. And at the Animal Sanctuary, I have been volunteering for the last eight years, three mornings a week.

As long as my heart and mind are still working, I will keep active and motivated to learn, meet new people, and grow as a human being. Life is short and goes by quickly, so whatever you do, make the most of it. Be kind to all you meet along life’s highways and byways. You never know what life has planned for you. Keep an open heart and an open mind, and a smile on your face.

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YOU WERE NEVER PROMISED PARADISE

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I had moved out of my parent’s house the Summer I turned eighteen and graduated from high school. I had planned my exit for years since I was a Junior in High School. My parents had a volatile relationship. By that, I mean they argued night and day. And often, the verbal arguments turned physical. I can not begin to count the number of times that I came downstairs to our kitchen and found my mother sitting at the kitchen table with an icepack on her face.

My mother would look at me with a weird grin on her face. I never understood what she was smiling about. When I was younger, I would run over to her and say,” Mommy, are you alright? What happened? Did you fall down again?” She always told me she tripped and fell and hit her head. I couldn’t understand why she fell down so often. Then I would hug her and say, “Mommy, please be careful and try not to fall down.”

Of course, as I grew older, I realized that all the yelling and screaming every night was followed by my father hitting or punching my mother. And in the morning, the trashcan in the kitchen would be filled to the brim with empty beer bottles. At first, I thought it was just my dad drinking a lot of beer. But at some point, I think about the time I was going to Middle School, I realized that they were both drinking beer or wine every night. And that is when they would start arguing. And the arguing evolved into knock-down, drag-down brawls in the kitchen or sometimes in their bedroom. I didn’t know anything else. I thought everyone’s parents had verbal and physical fights every night.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was invited to a birthday party that was also a sleepover at my best friend Kathleen’s house. Six other girls from our class were invited. We had so much fun playing games. And watching a scary movie and eating junk food until we felt sick, screaming and hitting each other. But they never did. In fact, Kathleen’s mother brought tray after tray of food and sodas and, finally, the birthday cake for all of us to eat. And she smiled and hugged us and said, “Thank you, girls, for coming to Kathleen’s birthday party, and thank you for all the wonderful presents.

I didn’t have any money to buy Kathleen a present, so I made her a present. It was a drawing of her and me playing at the park, swinging on the swings, and going down the slide. When we were little. Kathleen gave me a big smile when she opened it. And said, I love it, Coleen. I will treasure it always.”

All the other kids had brought games and toys for her. But my father yelled at me when I asked him for a couple of dollars to buy my best friend a birthday present. He said,” What do you think that we are made of money?”

Around ten o’clock, Kathleen’s mom said, “ok, girls, it’s time for everyone to go to sleep. If anyone has to go to the bathroom, now is the time to do it. We were all sleeping on the living room floor in sleeping bags that Kathleen’s mother had laid out. We didn’t go to sleep right away. We whispered to each other and laughed. I kept waiting for Kathleen’s mother or father to come into the living room, yell at us, and tell us to shut up, but she never did. After a while, we all quieted down and stopped talking. But I laid awake for a long- long time waiting for the yelling and screaming and fighting to begin, but it never did. It was so quiet I had a hard time falling asleep since I was used to yelling, screaming all night long. Finally, I fell asleep, and for the first time in my life, I slept all through the night without being afraid or crying.

In the morning, Kathleen’s mother crept into the living room and said, “OK, sleepyheads, time to come into the kitchen for a special breakfast. We all slowly woke up and stumbled into the kitchen. Kathleen’s mother had made special pancakes with smiling faces on them and magic candles in the middle that looked like they were burning, but no matter how many times we tried to blow the candles out, they wouldn’t blow out. The pancakes had blueberries in them, which were my favorite fruit, and I gulped them down. And Kathleen’s mother said, Coleen, there’s more where that came from, so take your time. And she smiled at me and patted me on the head. I ducked because I thought she was going to hit me. But she didn’t. She just gave me another blueberry pancake.

After breakfast, Kathleen’s mother said, “ I have a surprise for you. We will all go to the roller rink and roller skating. Don’t worry about having skates because. We will rent them when we arrive. We’re going to leave in about a half hour, so everyone go and brush your teeth and comb your hair, wash your faces and get dressed. And then we’ll be on our way.”

Everyone started yelling and saying, “Hurrah.” I had never been skating and didn’t know how to skate. I went over to Kathleen’s mom and said, “I don’t know how to skate.” She said, “Well, don’t you worry about that. I’ll show you how and we’ll start out slow until you get the hang of it. And I’ll hold your hand until you feel like you can do it on your own, OK.” I nodded my head, and she said now go get dressed so we can all be on our way and have a lot of fun. And you know what else? I’m going to tell you a secret. I was afraid of what she was going to say. But, she said, “We are going to skate until lunchtime, and then we are going to have a pizza party at the roller rink and have an ice cream cake after. How do you like that?”

“I like that, and I love pizza. My father doesn’t like it, and he never lets my mother buy it. I can’t wait. Kathleen’s mother gave me a hug and said, Coleen, you are welcome to come to our house every time we have pizza. I know that Kathleen would love to have you come over since you are her best friend.”

“I’m her best friend, really?”

“Of course, Coleen. You’re her best friend. Now, let’s get ready to go. Shall we?”

And then I ran into the bathroom, washed my face and hands, and brushed my teeth extra long. Then I looked into their bathroom mirror and saw a smiling face looking back at me. And I was surprised when I realized it was my own face smiling at me. And then I ran into the living room and said, “Well, I’m ready.” And everybody laughed because I hadn’t changed out of my pajamas yet. So, I ran back into the bathroom and put my clothes on, and the next thing I knew, we were all pilling into the van and on our way to the roller rink.

It was the best day of my life. I know it was Kathleen’s birthday, but it felt like a gift to me. Roller skate with my friends, eat pizza, and drink sodas and then ice cream. I ate so much that I almost threw up after lunch when I started roller skating. Kathleen’s mom said, “Maybe we should wait a little while before we roller skate. So, our food will get digested. So, we all sang Happy Birthday to Kathleen and gave her a pinch to grow an inch.

At the end of the day, we were full of food, and our legs were tired from roller skating, but it was the best day of my life. And I knew I would never forget it. After we left the roller rink, Kathleen’s mother said she had to call my mother to make sure she was home. So, after a few moments, she came back to the van and said, “Coleen, your Mom had a little accident, but she is going to be OK in a few days, but until then, you will be staying at my house.”

“Is my mother going to be alright?” Yes, she will be fine in a few days, but your dad is not going to be home for a while. So, that’s why you are staying with us until your Mom is all better. Later today, I will go over to your house and get some of your clothes, school stuff, and anything else you need, you can tell me, and I’ll get that too.”

I knew my father had probably hit my mom, and I wished he would never come back. I loved my dad, but he was always mean to my mother and hurt her. Kathleen’s mom said, “After I see your mom, I’ll tell her you will be safe and sound at our house until she feels all better. And that she doesn’t have to worry about you.”

“Can I go see my mom at the hospital?”

“Of course, you can, but maybe tomorrow would be a better day after she rests for a while. But, if she is up to it, I’ll ask her to give you a call from the hospital. “

“Really, OK. Please tell my mom that I love her.”

“Oh, I know your mother loves you right back with all her heart. Everything is going to be alright.”

And everything was OK. I stayed at Kathleen’s house for two weeks until my mother left the hospital. I never saw my dad again because after he got out of jail, my parents got a divorce. I still missed my dad; even after all he did, I still loved him. But, after a while, my mom and I were alright. I don’t know if my father ever talked to my mother. If he did, she never told me.

Kathleen and I stayed friends all the way through high school. And we both applied to the same college and were accepted. We were roommates for four years. And when we graduated at the top of our class. Kathleen’s mother and my mom came together to watch us. They had become friends over the years. Sometimes, I think about my dad and miss him. But, I had to accept that everything in life doesn’t always have a happy ending for everyone.

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YOU WERE NEVER PROMISED PARADISE