Category Archives: My Memoirs

HAPPINESS

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Have you ever contemplated the things in life that bring you happiness? Some people think they would be happy if they had unlimited money and could buy anything they wanted.

Well, I have never been rich, nor do I believe that I will suddenly be endowed with a tremendous amount of money at any time in the future. And to tell the truth, from my own experience, things do not bring you happiness for long. I have lived a long time, and for the most part, I found happiness is not a result of an expensive car, a trip around the world, or unlimited funds.

What brought me happiness in my life was setting goals for myself and then achieving those goals through my own hard work and efforts. What were my goals over my lifetime, you may ask? The first goal I set for myself was to get married, have children, and own our own house. When I was thirty-four, my husband and I purchased a small home in Pennsauken, NJ. After years of trying to have children at thirty years of age, I was able to conceive my first child, after many years of trying. Three years later, I gave birth to my second and last child.

So, now that I have a family and a home, I still desire to achieve more on a personal level. And at the age of thirty-six, I made the decision to go to college and get a degree. I have always been a creative and artistic person. And so I decided to go to art school. I applied to three art schools in the Philadelphia area: Temple University, Hussian School of Art, and Moore College of Art. I had to prepare a portfolio of my best work. I was interviewed at each school, and they examined my portfolio. After several weeks, I received notice that I had been accepted to all three schools. However, Temple University offered me a grant for my first semester and financial aid. And that is why I attended Temple University for four years.

The Tyler School of Art

It turned out that I was the only adult student in the freshman class. And the only married Freshman student who was married and had children. The other students were of the traditional age of seventeen or eighteen, so I attended Temple University for the next four years. It was difficult because I had to travel to Philadelphia from NJ. Which was an added expense, not only did I have to pay tuition, but I had the added expense of driving back and forth but I had to pay bridge tolls to get from NJ to Philadelphia. And then there was the cost of all the art supplies I needed.

As far as child care, I had friends who lived several blocks from my house. They agreed to watch my two children after school and during the school year. I also took care of their daughter during holidays and throughout the summer.

And if you think going to work and having children at home is difficult, then let me tell you, going to college with two children was a lot harder. I waited until my kids went to bed, and then I worked many hours doing the schoolwork required in my classes the next day.

However, the fact is that although I stood out like a sore thumb from my freshman year through my senior year, I was one of the most popular students in that class. I befriended every person I met in all my classes, including some teachers. I’m not sure how the instructors felt at first glance. They realized that I was older than all the other freshmen. And although I looked younger than my thirty-six years, I certainly didn’t look seventeen or eighteen as all the other Freshman students were.

I believe the teachers liked having me in their classes since most of them called on me to answer questions and give my opinion when none of the other students responded. They often hadn’t done the required work, but I always did. Mainly, I was mature and not afraid to speak in front of the class. And I had committed to myself to excel in every class, even if I never got any sleep.

I could not say I was the most talented student in class because I wasn’t. But, I was the most motivated student. I wanted to succeed and excel, and I always did my best. I had never had any art classes in school during elementary school or high school since I had attended Catholic School, and they did not teach the arts at all. However, I was always a creative child and adolescent. I was always drawing, or writing, or making crafts. I learned to sew when I was quite young and knew how to make clothes, costumes, and everything related to crafts. In addition, I love to read. I applied for one when I was old enough to get a library card. I went to the library every week to get new books. I grew up in the small town of Maple Shade, NJ. And although it was not a big library, it was only two rooms. The librarians were always helpful, and they would put aside books for me to read.

It was a bit of a surprise to my extended family that I was attending college at this late stage. No one tried to discourage me, nor did they show any interest in what I was doing. I have to admit that going to school full-time and still coming home to cook, clean the house, do the wash, and take care of my two young children was a big undertaking.

But since I had committed to doing the best I could and succeeded, I did just that. I graduated at the top of my class with a 4.0 average with two degrees, including an art teaching certificate. Unfortunately, after graduating, all the other students who graduated from my class and I found out that there were very few openings for art teachers in public schools since art had been removed from the public school curriculum. I can not imagine what was the thinking behind that decision. But, nonetheless, it happened.

After realizing there wouldn’t be any teaching position for me. I decided that I would start my own art program. Because of that decision, we had to sell our house in Pennsauken and move to another town, where we purchased a large, old house that had been unoccupied for eight years or more. It needed an immediate roof replacement. We had paired off our house in Pennsauken and used that income to put a down payment on the house in Pitman and the roof repair. The house in Pitman had been empty for eight years and needed a lot of work. It was a doctor’s home and office, and there were three rooms that I could use for my art classes.

Our house is in Pitman, NJ, where I have taught art for years.

And that is exactly what I did. As a result, I opened my own small art school for children in the afternoon and adults in the evening. I had this school for many years until my own children were out of elementary school and going to college. We then decided it was time to sell our home of twenty-four years and retire. And that is what we did, and then we retired and moved to North Carolina. And we have been living here for almost nine years. We will always miss our Pitman house, but there was no way we could continue to live in New Jersey because of the increase in real estate taxes.

And so, here I sit retired and living in North Carolina, I have been volunteering at an animal sanctuary for eight years. I started a blog and have written short stories and memoirs for the last eight years. I keep my mind and body busy and active as much as possible. I don’t know what might change in my remaining years or what I might decide to do, but I promise you this: whatever I do, I will put everything I have into it. And it will be interesting. I guess you will just have to wait and find out what it may be, and so will I.

THE MOST DIFFICULT TIME OF MY LIFE

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My childhood home in Maple Shade, NJ

My childhood home in Maple Shade, NJ

If someone asked me what the most difficult time of my life was, I would have to say that it would be a difficult question to answer. Why? Honestly, I have had many difficult experiences over the course of my lifetime. I am seventy-three years old, and most of my life is spent behind me rather than in front of me. Like everyone else who has lived as long as I have, my life has had many ups and downs.

I believe the most difficult years I experienced in my life were 1986 and 1987. This is how it began. In 1986, my husband and I moved back to New Jersey. He had just graduated from Brooks Institute, a photography school in Montecito, California. We stayed with my parents for a short time. I then purchased a small house in Pennsauken, about fifteen minutes from my parent’s house. Bob had served in the military to secure a home mortgage without a down payment. By that time, he had found and been hired for a full-time position in the Philadelphia area.

I had long anticipated a time when we would be able to start a family. We were married for seven years before I had any children. In 1981, I tested positive on a pregnancy test, and nine months later, I gave birth to my first child, whom we named Jeanette after my eldest sister, who had passed away from emphysema. My mother and father were happy for us. Three years later, I had my second child. Our family was complete.

I visited my parents often since I only lived a short distance from Maple Shade, where my parents lived and where I grew up. One day, I drove with my children to my parent’s house to visit them. As I was sitting at the kitchen table, my father, who was retired by this time, called out to me. He was in the hallway outside of the bathroom. When I got to the hallway, my father indicated wanting me to look in the toilet. I looked at it was filled with blood. My father had a stroke several years before this, and he was aphasic, and it was difficult for him to speak and make himself understood. 

I contacted my siblings and informed them about my father’s health issue. I was the only one who was not working at the time since I had two young children at home, and all my other siblings were working at that time. I made an appointment with his primary physician for my father, who then referred him to a specialist. After the specialist examined my father and had xrays taken, he determined that my father had lung cancer and it was advanced. And there wasn’t any treatment available for him.

The next several months were difficult. My father’s cancer advanced and worsened over the next several months. It became clear that he wasn’t going to survive much longer. My father had been smoking two packs of cigarettes a week for many years.

My mother would then be alone. My father had given me power of attorney, so I was responsible for my parents paying the rent and all expenses. I spoke to my siblings and asked if they would all be able to take turns coming to my parent’s house at night during my father’s illness. And they agreed to do so.

I won’t lie, this time of my father’s illness was one of if not the worst experiences of my life up to that point. And it was clear that my mother was broken-hearted as well. She had been married to my father since she was nineteen years old. They did not have a perfect marriage. But they certainly loved one another and had a strong bond. And they had six children together. I can only imagine how frightened my mother was at that time. My mother had glaucoma, limited vision, and heart failure.

It wasn’t long after that my father started to refuse to eat or take all his medication. He coughed and coughed all night. And my dear mother was unable to sleep. She said the rosary all night, hoping that my father would be delivered from his pain. I made every attempt to hire a night nurse to help take off my father since it was getting more and more difficult to take care of him. He was refusing food and his medication, and he kept falling out of his bed. Eventually, I ordered a bed with sidebars to keep him from falling out. And it was difficult to get him up when he fell. He was a big man. Finally, I secured a night nurse to assist with my father’s care. My siblings and I began to take turns staying overnight at my parent’s house. So, my mother would not be alone with my father if sometihing unttoward happened at night. It was difficult for all of us since we were all married and had young children at home.

We began keeping track of the liquids and solids my father took in because of his diabetes. My sister Karen gave my father his insulin shots. In general, nights were the most difficult since neither of my parents could sleep during the night. My father began having a difficult time breathing at night and had to be checked often during the night.

The following day, my dear father passed away. It was a big loss for us all, but my father had suffered long enough. My dear mother was heartbroken, to say the least. I can not express the depth of my sense of loss when my father passed away. Not just myself but all my siblings and, of course, my dear mother, who had been married to my father since she was nineteen.

My mother could not live alone, and I felt she would feel most at ease in her own house since she was blind. I decided the best resolution was to hire someone to come and stay with her during the week. And she could cook and clean the house and keep my dear mother safe. I advertised and received several responses, and after interviewing several people, I hired a middle-aged woman named Doris Cook. She was a kind and caring person, and my mother felt comfortable and safe with her. She stayed at my mother’s house during the week. And then went home for the weekend. My siblings and I took turns having our mother stay at their houses on weekends.

My mother was depressed by the loss of her husband but managed to maintain her equilibrium for the most part. My mother suffered a heart attack and complete respiritory arrest about ten months after my father passed. It was a very difficult time for myself and the entire family. I can not express the loss I felt after losing both of my parents. My father passed in Oct. of 1986, and my dear mother passed in August of 1987. I still miss them to this day. The loss of one’s parents is a big loss and difficult to move forward from. My children never had the opportunity to get to know them since they were so young when my parents passed.

Life is so difficult at times, and you may believe you will never get over the losses you suffer. But somehow, you do. There are no other alternatives. I had to keep moving forward because I had two young children to care for, and I knew my mother and father would not want me to do otherwise. There are many challenges in life, and you have no alternatives but to overcome them.

 

 

 

The Days Of My Working Life In The 1970’s- Ancora Mental Hospital

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In the early 1970s, I made the decision to change my occupation. I had been working for several years as a dental assistant. I had a desire to help people, especially children. I decided to apply for a job at Ancora Mental Hospital in New Jersey. My brother was a psychologist, and he had done an internship at Ancora while he was earning his PhD. And he told me to contact one, Mrs. Coffee, who worked at Ancora. I had never driven to that part of NJ before, and my sense of direction was not helpful since I had no sense of direction. But, somehow, after studying a road map, I made my way there. It is located in Hammonton, NJ, which was about a thirty-minute to one-hour drive, depending on the time of the day and the traffic. 

I had an appointment with Mrs. Coffee. I spoke to her on the phone and sent her my resume, brief as it was. I requested to be placed in the children’s ward after my training. I was notified that I was accepted and told when and where to arrive for my Psychiatric Aide training, which would require several weeks of classes and then passing a test. If I pass, then I will be placed in my permanent position. Which I believed would be with children. One of my classmates excelled in the class and was told soon after the final exam where we would be working. I hope that my fellow classmates will be placed in the same ward as me. Her name was Joan Hall. Unfortunately, that is not how it played out.

I was assigned to the Active Psyche Ward. Joan was placed elsewhere, and we were given different shifts. I would be working the late shift; she would be working during the day. So, there was little chance we would see each other soon. I started working the following week. And honestly, it‘s hard to describe what the active psyche ward was like in the early 1970s. My first day I was told that I was in charge of supervising the woman’s shower.

I was informed where to go and who my supervisor would be. I found my way to the showers, and to say I was shocked is the understatement of all times. I had never been in a woman’s shower before. And I had never seen other naked women before, even when I was attending an all-girl high school I managed to avoid having to shower in the girls shower after gym. The noise level and the out-of-control behavior with grown adults were shocking, to say the least. Some of the patients were severely mentally ill, and they were medicated to the point of acting like zombies.

At one point during the first week, I started working with the patients, I happened to pass by a treatment room. There was a middle-aged woman strapped to the table. She was getting electric shock treatment. There were several “doctors” in the room. They made jokes about how she looked and reacted to the electric shock treatment. I was totally appalled by their lack of humanity and harsh treatment of her. I complained to the doctor in charge. He just stared at me, telling me to return to my work.

After showers, I supervised the patients in the dining area, where they ate all their meals. The noise in the dining room would be difficult to describe. Some patients would quietly eat, while others were screaming and yelling about I don’t know what. I would go from one table to another and tell the patients to quietly go to get their meals and then return to their seats to eat. The quiet part never happened. There was always some kind of out-of-control behavior going on. Or, some of the patients were sedated so heavily that they were like zombies. And rarely showed any emotion.

On some evenings, I was assigned to supervise the patients while they were in the community room. It was such a strange environment, the people who were patients, the doctors, the caretakers. It was not a pleasant place to be. The patients had no say in what they could do. For the most part, they were powerless.

Ultimately, I realized I would never have the opportunity to work with the children who were patients at Ancora, so I gave my notice. I do believe that if I had been given an opportunity to work with the children, I would have been able to make some difference in their lives, be it big or small. But I never had that chance.

I didn’t know that in my not-too-distant future, I would move to another state far from New Jersey and become a counselor working with mildly handicapped children I would love and with whom I could make a big difference in their lives. You never know what barriers you will face in life or what challenges. But, I have learned that you shouldn’t give up and that you have to keep striving to do your best in life, no matter what it is you are doing. Always do your best. You do not know what may or may not happen in your life. But never give up on yourself.

As for myself, I faced many challenges after working at Ancora. I did not allow this one negative experience to stop me from moving forward and upward. I never stopped believing in myself or what I was capable of doing. I didn’t allow anyone’s criticle words affect my self-confidence I knew that I could do anything I set my mind to.

I also realized that every life experience I had taught me a lesson, and it would help me at some point in my future experiences. I never allowed anyone I interacted with to undermine my self-confidence in what I was capable of doing and achieving. As a result, I have led a full and rich life. Because of my choices, I met and interacted with many types of people, some rich, some poor, the highly educated, and those who barely got through elementary school.

I have learned from every experience and everyone I met along the way. Life is a journey, and you never know where and when your journey will take you. I have no regrets about my choices along the way. Keep an open mind, do not be judgmental, be kind, and be generous. Do good in life, and do not judge people that you meet along the way. You do not know what barriers and obstacles they have faced and overcome.

But fear not, I made my opportunities, over the course of my working life I worked with children in California at St. Vincent’s School in Santa Barbara. And I believe this was the opportunity I was looking for all along. The children there were intellectually handicapped to a degree. I was the assistant counselor and worked the three to twelve shift. They were girls between the ages of twelve and seventeen. And I came to love and care for those girls as if they were my own. The years I spent there were a blessing to me. It taught me patience, understanding, and acceptance for all the people I have met along my life’s highway. I certainly benefited from the time I worked with these girls. It was hard to leave them when the time came. My husband was attending Brooks Institute for Photography, and when he graduated, we left so that he would have an opportunity to find a job in photography. But that is a story for another day that would have to be told by my husband, Bob.

TIME FLIES BY IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE

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Today, I was looking at a post on Facebook called 1970’s Memories. I enjoy looking at this page because I was young in the 1970s and have many good memories from that time. The page is geared towards Baby Boomers, of whom I am one. Baby boomers were born between 1946 and 1964. we had several character traits that define our overall character. People in our generation often were known for their workplace visibility and prided themselves in their work ethic and their competitive natures in the workplace. Now, I can not prove this is true for every boomer, but I’m sure I was a person who, once I graduated from high school, found a job immediately with the help of the high school I attended, St. Mary of the Angels Academy in Haddonfield, NJ. It was a Catholic all-girls school.

     Once I started working, I found that I enjoyed it. I was hired as a dental assistant for Dr. E.G. Wozniak in Oaklyn, NJ. Dr. Wozniak trained me, and I worked there for almost five years. During those early work years, I purchased my first car, a 1970 Yellow Volkswagon Bug. I loved that car like it was my first child.

high school graduation picture

Susan Culver- high school graduation picture

The only problem was I had to work several night shifts in addition to working during the day. And I had to work on Saturdays. This limited my free time to go out and have fun with my friends. At the time, we used to go to nightclubs with bands and go dancing. During the Summer, my friends and I used to all rent a hotel room together in Wildwood, NJ (a beach town) and spend Friday night at the nightclubs and Saturday and Sunday on the beach and the boardwalk.

     I decided that I wanted to change jobs to have more time to have fun, less work on Saturdays, and several late nights each week. I decided to find a new job that would allow me that flexibility. At that time, I was twenty-one years old and lived in a small apartment in Haddonfield, NJ. My parents were unhappy with me moving out but did not try to stop me. My father came to the apartment I was going to rent before I signed the lease. And I guess he decided it was in a safe enough area, down the street from Haddon Avenue, which was the main street in Haddonfield, which is an affluent area in NJ. Still, it was clear both of my parents missed me living at home as I was the last of their children who lived at home. All my older siblings were married, and most had started their families years before as my two eldest siblings were twenty years older than I was, and the two other sisters were seven or eight years older and married with children.

     After giving my notice to Dr. Wozniak, who was not happy with me leaving but nonetheless gave me a positive resume and reference after I found a job in Collingswood, NJ, located at Ellis Insurance Company, which sold high-risk auto insurance, I worked in the office with two other girls my age. I enjoyed not being the only employee. Harry and Evie Ellis were from a wealthy family and lacked strong work ethics. They would take me and my two co-workers to breakfast almost every morning. Overall, it was a fun place to work, and I continued to work there for a couple of years.

     That is until I was fixed up for a date with my best friend, Joan’s boy cousin, who just got out of the Navy. He had visited his cousins in NJ before returning to Florida, where his parents and younger siblings lived. And that, my friend, was the beginning of a whole new chapter of my life. After “Bob” returned to Florida, he and I began writing letters to each other. One thing led to another, and I decided to move to Florida, so I gave my notice at work, made arrangements to take the auto train to Florida, and, of course, told my parents what I was up to. As you can imagine, they were not too thrilled. But nonetheless, they did not try to stop me. Although, it was clear that they were not happy with their youngest child moving over a thousand miles away from them. They didn’t try to talk me out of it. The day I left, both of my parents stood outside and watched me while I drove away. They were crying.

     A close friend told me about an auto train I could take. I had to drive from Lorton, Virginia, to Sanford, Florida. Then, my car would be loaded onto the train, and I would be seated in the passenger section. I had never driven this far from home but was somehow I managed to figure out the best route to take to the auto train and get there without any problem. I did manage to arrive several hours early, and I had to wait in my car until the auto-train arrived. It was extremely hot that day. Luckily, there was a toll phone in the parking lot, so I could call my parents and let them know I arrived safely in Lorton, Virginia. This was long before cell phones. So, I sat and waited for the train to arrive. It was a long, hot wait all alone. My parents were relieved that I arrived safely. And asked me to please call when I arrived in Florida and met up with Bob.

     It turned out that it was a seventeen-hour ride from Lorton, Virginia, to Sandford, Florida. It was a long ride; I didn’t have the opportunity to be bored because a mother and her two small toddlers were sitting next to me. So, between crying, never sitting still, and trying to climb over me, it was a long, long seventeen hours. I had many years of experience babysitting my nieces and nephews when they were little. But, I never had to sit for seventeen hours with two little kids crawling all over me and alternately crying, screaming, and having their stinky diapers changed right next to me.

At some point, out of sheer exhaustion, I fell asleep for several hours. When I woke up my stomach was empty and my bladder was full, I got up and looked for the laboratory, and found there was a long, long line to wait. But, what could I do, I waited. And the bathroom was “not large, to say the least. And the smell was overpowering, but luckily, I had a poor sense of smell, so I survived it.

     When I got back to my seat, the mother of the two kids had laid the older of the two toddlers to sleep in my seat. I stood there and stared at her because there was no place for me to sit. There were no empty seats. So, I finally said, “ Please move one of your babies. I have to sit down. I can’t stand in the aisle all day. She gave me a sour look and then growled and moved the smaller of the two toddlers. Who immediately started screaming. All I can say is it was a long, long, long ride.

     When we finally arrived at Sanford, Florida, we had to wait to get off the train, and there was a long, long wait for my car to get out. Because I was the first person to arrive, and my car would be the last one to be unloaded. It took what seemed like a lifetime because of the ungodly heat. But I survived, and then I saw my yellow Volkswagon coming down the ramp. I mistakenly believed that Bob would arrive shortly, but he didn’t since he had worked the night shift at Pratt and Whitney and had to drive to Sanford, which took several hours. I had no way of contacting him, so I just had to wait until he arrived. And he did, and I was never so happy to see someone. He looked tired but also happy.

     That, my friends, was the beginning of my new life. We began with a long drive to my new home, a one-bedroom apartment in a small complex called Nighh Haven Apartments. The apartment was owned by a middle-aged couple that seemed old to me at the time since I was twenty-two. But they were probably in their early fifties and had many years ahead of them. They were nice people.

The next step in my new life was getting a job. Bob had a cousin who recommended that I apply at an insurance company where she worked when she was living in Florida, and that is exactly what I did. And I was hired to sell high-risk auto and homeowners insurance. I worked there for several months. And then Bob and I got married, and when I returned to work, I was called into the main office and was notified that their company was having difficulties and that they were laying off all the older employees and all the new ones. And just like that, I was unemployed and had a limited amount of money.

     I looked for a new job for weeks, only to find that the economy in Florida at that time was not good. And companies were laying off employees right and left. And they weren’t hiring new employees from out of state at all. After months of looking for a job, I attended a hairdressing school. West Palm Beach Beauty Academy. I enjoyed the experience, and it turned out I was pretty good at cutting hair, perming hair, and styling, especially among the older ladies. I made a lot of friends in the hair-dressing school. Some of whom I kept in contact with for many years after we left Florida and moved to California. And that, my friends, is another story.

 

TIME GOES BY BEFORE YOU KNOW IT

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I grew up in the early 1950’s. Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re going to say. I must be as old as the hills. Well, I’m not that old, but I have lived a long time. And I have some stories to tell. So, let me begin with well, the beginning. My parents were married a long, long time ago, in 1929. Just in time for the crash of the economy, The Great Depression. Oh, you never heard about that before? Really, I’ll catch you up. The Great Depression occurred in 1929 when, in a period of ten weeks, stocks on the New York Stock Exchange lost 50 percent of their value. As stocks continued to fall during the early 1930s, businesses failed, and unemployment rose dramatically.

Girard College Philadelphia

I can’t say how the Great Depression affected my parents in great detail because my parents did not talk about it in detail. Other than my mother telling me at some point when I was a young child that they were married in 1929. The beginning of the Depression. My mother and father proceeded to create a family that included my brother, Hugh, my oldest sister, Jeanette, my sister’s Eileen and sister, Liz, and my fraternal twin, Karen and myself of course, Karen was born seven minutes before me.. My mother gave birth to twin boys, who were named Charles and Girard. They only lived a few weeks since they were premature at birth. And came only a year after my twin and I were born.

My father worked for PTC (The Philadelphia Transportation Company), the bus and trolley company in Philadelphia. Later, in the early 1960s, it was renamed SEPTA (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Company). My father was a bus driver and apparently loved his job. But his mother, who was a widow, had other plans for him. She thought he would have more prestige if he worked in an office. She put a great deal of pressure on him, and he eventually complied with her decision.

For the next five decades of his life, my father worked in the office, eventually becoming the head dispatcher at PTC. He developed the system that still regulates the scheduling of the drivers’ buses and trolleys to this day. My father was a highly intelligent man. He was not a perfect man or father. He had faults and shortcomings. He liked to gamble, he played cards for money, he placed bets on horse races. In fact, he was a regular at the Garden State Race Track in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. He made many great friends through his “hobbies.” In fact, my father had a whole different life outside of his family life and outside of his employment as head dispatcher at SEPTA. His nickname was Smiley, which I always had a hard time understanding since he always seemed to be in a bad mood when he was home.

Maple Shade, NJ in the 1960’s

My life growing up in the small town of Maple Shade, New Jersey, was a childhood that any child would be lucky to experience. The baby boomer generation was born between 1946 and 1964. I was born on May 24th of 1951. I can speak to this from my personal experience. Aside from my experience of attending twelve years in Catholic School (which is a different experience altogether compared to public school), My generation had almost total freedom. My mother never asked me what I had been up to all day. If I came home relatively in one piece, no questions were asked. This was especially true during the Summer months. When we were out of school, we were allowed to stay out every night until dark, and then our parents would call for us to come in about the time that the mosquitoes were eating us alive.

I was never given any chores to do. My mother used to sit with me every evening during the school year after dinner and help me with my homework. She never complained. She was the most loving and caring person I knew in my life.

My father was not an affectionate person. He wasn’t one to give hugs and kisses, even when I was quite young. My father grew up in a place called Girard College. It was a school for fatherless boys. Funded by a wealthy American man whose name was Stephen Girard. My father’s father passed away when my father was about five years old. When my father came of age, his mother was able to get my father accepted at Girard College, which was a type of boarding school for boys who didn’t have fathers. My father’s father had passed away, and my father lived and was educated at Girard College until he was almost seventeen years old. He only saw his mother once a year on Christmas until he graduated from Girard College, where he was ultimately hired to work for PTC. He spent his entire working life there until he retired when he was sixty- two years old.

My father was not a perfect man. He rarely expressed affection or love toward any of us. But I believed deep down that my father loved each and every one of us in his own way. He just never learned the tools of expressing his love and affection for us because he grew up without a father and a mother that he rarely saw and didn’t grow up with since he lived at Girard College until he was an adolescent.

Still, my father had a great influence and impact on the development of my personality. He often said hurtful things if any of us were not being cooperative with whatever his agenda was at that time. I was always something of an argumentative kid, and if I didn’t agree with what someone was saying to me or telling me to do something, I didn’t want to do it. Well, I would argue and refuse to do what I was told. My father was always telling my mother,” That kid would argue with the pope.’ And I suppose as I look back at my childhood and adolescence, he was probably right. I would argue with the Pope. Or anyone else that tried to tell me what to do. And I didn’t want to do it.

In addition, I just was not your regular run-of-the-mill kid. I had strong opinions about what was right and wrong. I was not afraid to stick up for myself at home or at school. My personality didn’t quite mesh with the behaviors that were expected from the students in a Catholic Elementary School or an All Girls School that I attended, which was located in Haddonfield, NJ. Which was an upper-class neighborhood, to say the least. St. Mary of the Angels Academy. I continued to be the same sarcastic, argumentative, stubborn girl I was in elementary school.

My parents had to work all through my elementary and high school years because the tuition was high, especially at St. Mary’s, where most of the other students came from upper-class neighborhoods and upper-class families. My mother worked at Wanamaker’s employee kitchen, cooking meals for the Wanamaker employees, and my father, well, continued to work for SEPTA as the head dispatcher until he retired at sixty-two.

Looking back on those days, I realize that my parents had to sacrifice a lot to send all their daughters to Catholic School. And I never heard a word of complaint from either one of them, especially my mother, who not only worked at Wanamaker’s kitchen but also ironed other families’ clothes and cleaned houses on the side. There was never a moment when my mother wasn’t working hard every single day.

The only time I saw her rest was late in the afternoon when she would sit in her room, quietly say the rosary and read her prayer books. She also went to Mass every morning and said the rosary with the Altar Rosary Society.

Some people grow up in dysfunctional families, where they never feel loved or accepted. And I won’t lie here; sometimes, I don’t feel completely accepted. Why, you may ask? Well, the fact is I was not just your ordinary kik. Yes, I had a lot of friends in my small-town neighborhood. But somehow, I was different in some subtle way from the other kids in the neighborhood, even my best girlfriend.

OLPH Church, Maple Shade, NJ

I always had my own point of view about things. I wanted to do things my way. I wasn’t big on compromise. And then there was the fact that I was an exceptionally creative kid who liked to draw, make things, and tell stories. Sometimes, my siblings or even my parents didn’t know when to believe me because of what my mother called my wild imagination. They weren’t always certain if I was telling the truth or making it up. Or what my father always said, “ Marie, she’s putting the Irish on.” And I guess, at some level, I was.

Probably, because I just didn’t see things in black and white. I saw them in every color in a rainbow. I told stories that my parents could never completely believe. But, somehow, I did. But, still, they continued to listen and, at some level, enjoyed the most far-fetched story I told them.

So, here I am some sixty years later. I’m still telling far-fetched stories. And maybe I’m full of malarkey. But, all the same, I would change things about my past or present life. You know what Popeye used to say, “ I am what I am.” Well, people, I am who I am. Sometimes I will tell a long tale or sometimes I just might paint a beautiful surreal painting. But, it will be all me from top to bottom and from beginning to end. I am what I am, and that’s all that I am.

THE JOY OF SPRING AND THEN SUMMER, WHO COULD ASK FOR MORE

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As far back as I can remember, I loved flowers. I suppose this was a strange attachment for a young girl to have. Nonetheless, it is true. It all began when I was old enough to go outside my neighborhood alone. One day, I was sitting on our front step and noticed the arbor extending over our front door. I suppose it had been there for a long time, but I didn’t notice it until that moment. I looked at the arbor, and I saw that it was adorned with beautiful and fragrant red roses. My father had trained them to grow on the arbor. And every spring, the roses would begin to grow, and by mid-summer, they would cover the entire arbor. The fragrant smell of the roses would greet me as I left my house and returned.  Last Day of School before Spring Break

It was so comforting that I could look forward to seeing and smelling their elegant perfume every year. And their wondrous beauty never let me down. They were a comforting presence and made me feel safe and loved somehow. As I stepped down the front stairs, I walked by my mother’s Lilac Bush. My father had planted it long ago. He told me it was older than I was. It was also one of my mother’s favorite flowers, and I found it comforting that my father would plant and care for these beautiful blooms because of the love he had in his heart for my mother. Who was the kindest and most thoughtful person I knew? I always believed that she deserved all the roses and the stars that lit the sky at night. I could not imagine having a mother who loved me or took care of me more than she did every day of my life.

Occasionally, when I was over at my best friend’s house down the street, I would look at all the flowers that they had growing in their yard and wonder where their roses were. One day, I asked my best friend, Joanie, where all their roses were. And she said, my mother doesn’t like roses. She likes hydrangeas. And she pointed to these crowded bushes with large blue flowers that almost resembled bouquets. They were so big. I said, Joan, can I bring one of those flowers to my mom? She said, well, I don’t know, I might get in trouble. I’ll have to ask my mom. And she did just that. She ran in through the front door, and a couple of minutes later, her mom came out with some scissors.

Joan’s mom was pretty; she had bright red hair. And she was always laughing. I loved visiting Joan’s house because her mother made delicious cookies. And she always told me to sit down at the kitchen table, and she would hand me a tall, cold glass of milk with two cookies. That she said were Italian Cookies. I didn’t know what Italian Cookies were, except they were delicious. Then, she said, “After you two are finished with your cookies and milk, I’ll cut a hydrangea for your mom. She looked over at me and said the same thing she always said, “You better be good to your Mom. You know she is an absolute saint.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I think she greatly liked my mom. I said,” Thank you for the flower. My mother will love it. And I was so excited about the flower that I grabbed it and ran home. We lived three houses away, so it took only a few minutes to get home. I burst into our kitchen through the side door. My mother was standing at the kitchen sink doing the dishes. Whenever I came into the house from outside, she did the dishes. Sometimes, she washed the floor on her hands and knees. And she would say,” Don’t walk on the wet floor. So, then I would run outside again to our backyard and go into the house through the cellar door. And then I would run up the steps to the hallway which was right next to the kitchen and I yelled, “Mom, look I have a beautiful flower for you. She would look up at me and said, “thank you, I love it. Can you wait a few minutes until the floor dries? Then I’ll put the flower in my vase.”

I waited patiently for my mom to bring the vase, and finally, she did. She put the hydrangea in her favorite crystal vase and put water in the vase. She placed the vase carefully in the center of the kitchen table so everyone could see it. “Please tell Marion I said thank you, she is such a kind woman.” I said, “OK, Mommy, I will.” 

I ran out the front door and up the street, three houses down, and burst in their front door. And I yelled, “My mom said,’ Thank you. You are such a kind woman.’” Joan’s mom said once again,” Your mother is a saint. Why don’t you two go out and play? It’s a beautiful summer day.”

It was springtime, and I loved that the sun was shining most of the time and getting warmer outside. Easter was just around the corner, and I couldn’t wait. First, there was a big Easter Egg Hunt. And then, on Easter Sunday, I couldn’t wait for Easter morning when I finally got my Easter Basket. I loved, loved, loved candy. Especially Easter candy. My mother would dye hard-boiled eggs, and I just loved looking for them in our big backyard. On Easter Sunday, we would all dress up in our best Sunday clothes and go to Easter Mass. All the kids from my school sat together. And the adults would sit behind us. It was a long, long mass. I couldn’t stop thinking about all that Easter candy waiting for me at home.

After Mass, my mother made a big Easter Breakfast for us, and my older brother and sister would come to visit my parents after Easter Mass. It was a fun day. Later in the afternoon, I would change into my play clothes, and all my neighborhood friends would come out and play. Even though most of us felt a little sick from all the candy we were eating, It was a great day, and at dinner time, my mother would have made a big dinner for my whole family to attend.

Easter Egg Hunt

Although Easter was the beginning of Spring, it wasn’t the end. We spent most of the time outside until dark after our homework was done. And we started planning what we would do this summer vacation. It was in the middle of June, which seemed a long, long time away. But it wasn’t only about six weeks. I couldn’t wait. Summer vacation was when all the kids looked forward to no homework and no going to school from first thing in the morning until three o’clock. We absolutely counted the days down until the last day of school. After final exams, we didn’t do much work. Sometimes, we had to help clean up the classroom to prepare it for next September. But that always seemed like a lifetime away.

And there was nothing in the world that I loved more than Summer. There was no school, no teachers, no nuns, just a day after day of freedom, visiting all my friends and riding our bikes all over the place. My parents never asked me where I was going; they just warned me to be home on time for lunch and dinner. I didn’t have any chores or homework. It was a dream come true.

Summer finally arrived, and the fun began, with endless days of riding our bikes all over town. I could visit all my school friends whenever I wanted as long as I came home on time for lunch and dinner. My parents never really questioned where we were or what we were up to. And at night, we would be allowed to stay out until dark. The only thing we had to fear was the mosquitoes would eat us alive. Then, the mosquito truck used to go up and down the streets, killing the mosquitoes, and we rode behind it. I’ll never understand why not one of our parents told us that it was toxic. Maybe they didn’t know or think about it at the time. I must admit the mosquitoes were a nightmare all summer; there were too many to count and too many to kill. They were horrible. But we all got used to it. And tried to ignore them. After all, they were just another part of Summer, the bad part.

As I look back over that time, it seems like a lifetime, but it was only about eight years ago when I attended grammar school. It remains one of my happiest memories. And one I wouldn’t exchange for anything in the world, not even if it meant the mosquitoes were still a nightmare to this day. Life is short; the innocence of childhood passes too quickly. I only hope the children nowadays have the same wonderful Summer experiences that I had. Enjoy the Spring and the Summer. It passes too quickly, doesn’t it?

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MAKING MY WAY ACROSS LIFE’S HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS

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As I look back over the many years of my life, I realize that the years I was most content were the years when I felt loved and accepted by the people whom I loved and cherished the most. In addition, to be perfectly happy, I absolutely felt a need to have animals that I loved, and that loved me in return. Be they cats, dogs, hamsters, gerbils, or birds. Without them, my life would have been lonely. That was as true for me when I was a young child as it is today. 

The Dali Lama said, “The very purpose of life is to be happy.” But when our understanding of happiness includes everything from simple pleasure to rapture—all of which are temporary, as is the nature of feelings in general—how can a person know when he’s truly happy? And is it a state that can be attained and/or sustained?

There were times when I was a child when I did not feel loved. The memory that has stayed with me since I was quite young, perhaps nine or ten years old. I was in my backyard, I can’t remember what I was doing out there except I was sitting under our large Willow tree and listening to the birds that were nesting there. I was by myself. My father came out back and said, “We are going to go visit one of my oldest friends, Dar, and his wife, Jehana.”

I didn’t particularly appreciate going over to this particular friend of my father’s because they had children who had a tendency to play roughly and say mean things to me. If I didn’t go along with whatever they wanted to do. As I stood there looking at my father, I made up my mind that I would refuse to go with them. I said, “ I don’t want to go.” My father responded, “Children who don’t obey their parents are not loved by their parents. And no one will ever love you if your parents don’t love you. At that moment, I felt my heart break. I never told anyone what my father said to me, but I never forgot it. For many years, I didn’t believe my father loved me; even as an adult, I had difficulty believing anyone loved me. Because it never occurred to me that my father said what he said in a moment of anger and frustration. I truly believed he did not love me anymore. And that there was nothing I could do to change how he felt. 

But the truth of the matter was that I loved my mother and father with all of my heart. And I would never stop loving them, even long after they passed away. My father passed away in 1986 from lung cancer. He used to smoke two packs of Pall Malls a day. It was a horrible way to die. It was even more horrible to watch since there was precious little I could do to help him. He died in 1986. My mother seemed lost after my father passed away. They had been married since 1929. My dear mother passed away one year later from congestive heart failure. At that time, there was little the medical profession could do for her aside from giving her pain meds for angina pain.

I, too, was diagnosed with congestive heart failure in my mid-fifties. I am luckier than she since the present treatment for congestive heart failure allows me to continue living for many years. I will be turning seventy-three on my next birthday in May. In general, I feel fine most days. I only have to go to the cardiologist once a year. When I was first diagnosed, I had to go every three weeks for a long time. But, the medication and time healed my heart to some extent. And every day, I’m glad to be here still.

In addition, I have seen my two daughters grow up to be honest and decent people. And not every parent can say that. Now that I am retired, I find I have the time to do all the things I wanted to in the past and didn’t have time or energy to do. I spent a great deal of my time taking care of my family and working full-time until I was sixty-two. Then I decided to file for Social Security since I didn’t know at the time just how long my life would be.

Each day, I make every effort to do the right thing, work hard, and take care of my family and my pets. Bring happiness into each day. I fill my days, weeks, and years doing the things I love and being creative by writing. I have written memoirs and short stories for the past eight years. And at some point in the not-too-distant future, I will attempt to have the book I have written published. It is called GRIND. In addition, I want to begin painting and drawing again. When I was thirty-six, I was excepted at Temple University, Tyler School of Art, and graduated cum laude at forty-one. I taught art for many years. We were living in a large home that had been owned by a doctor, who had his practice in part of the house. I also taught art to children and adults in those three rooms for many years.

In my remaining free time over the last eight years, I have been volunteering at Animal Edventure in Coats, NC, taking care of parrots, macaws, and pheasants. Although it is hard work, I love every minute of it. In addition, there are some 200 other animals that live there that I can see and love.

Life offers us many opportunities; it is up to us to decide how we want to spend the limited time we have on this planet. I believe that I have spent my working years well, and I have tried to help people along the way in every way I could. That included working at NJ State Mental Hospital as a psychiatric aide and many years of working in Social Services with at-risk adolescents who were incarcerated in the locked-down facility called Ranch Hope in Alloway, NJ.

In addition, I worked at the Center for Family Services in Camden, NJ at Center for Family Services with Wilson Good, the first black mayor of a major city in America. I worked with five churches in Camden, NJ, and matched at-risk kids with members of the five churches as mentors, and I worked along with Big Brothers and Big sisters. I would visit the children’s parents, explain the program to them, and then match the adolescents up with mentors. Who were members of the Antioch Church. Often, I had to visit prisons, both state and Federal prisons, where some of the parents were incarcerated, explain the mentor program, and get permission for their children to have mentors. It was a challenging job, but I do feel that what I did benefited these kids. And the people that vollunteered to be mentors.

I can not say how long I have left to live on this planet, but I know that as long as I have breath in my body, I will put forth every effort I can to make my little part of the world a better place. In addition, I will continue to support the people I know and care for in any way it is possible for me to do so. I know that when my time ends, I have done my best. And I can only hope that the world was a somewhat better place when I was a part of it. And I keep in mind that I must first do no harm. I attempt to keep my heart open to those I meet along the highways and byways of my life.

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Memories Of Summertime When I Was A Child

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I have lived a long time, but the best memories of my life took place in the Summer. I can remember counting the days until my summer vacation would begin. I so looked forward to the last day of school. I and all the other students would be counting down the minutes for the dismissal bell. It would ring loudly in the school hallway. And we would all jump out of our seats and start laughing and cheering. And then, we would be warned to sit down and quiet down. Or we would all be staying after school. 

I lived two houses down from the school. So, it only took me a couple of minutes to walk home. I would talk to all my friends once we were released from the school. I say released because school often felt like a prison. I was taught by the St. Joseph’s nuns, and let me tell you, they were strict. If you stepped out of line or talked when you were supposed to be quiet, there would be hell to pay. In that, you would be kept after school and have to clean the blackboards or write some essay saying how sorry you were for disrupting the class over and over again.

I’m not sure what we were supposed to learn from this type of punishment, but nonetheless, the more trouble you got in, the worse the punishment became. Sometimes, if I or some other unfortunate person was caught talking or, god forbid, laughing, you would find yourself standing in the corner, in front of the classroom. And believe it or not, the nuns would put a dunce hat on your head.  My mother, older brother and sisters and me and my twin, Karen.

As I look back on this experience, I understand why the sisters were so stubborn. I was part of the baby boomer generation, which consisted of seventy-four million baby boomers born after World War 2.

As you can imagine, the classrooms were crowded, especially in Catholic Schools where birth control was not allowed. However, I believe the public schools where I lived and grew up in Maple Shade were also overcrowded. There were sixty-seven-year-old students in my first-grade classroom. Sometimes, the classroom was so full that there weren’t enough desks, and students had to sit on the windowsills.

As a result, there was often chaos if the teachers, whether they were lay teachers or nuns, didn’t keep the children under control. I used to go home for lunch daily since I lived two houses away from the school. And I used to run home as fast as I could to get away from the classroom and the nuns. My mother would always have chicken noodle soup and Lebanon Bologa sandwiches ready for my sister and I when we arrived home. My mother would always ask,” And how was school this morning?” And I would always say, “I hate it. Do I have to go back?” And my mother and father would laugh and say,” Yes, yes, you do. But only for a couple more hours. My mother would assure me she would have cookies and milk ready when I arrived home at 3:15 PM. And she always did, she asks us how was your day? Do you have homework? How was the teacher today? I never had a kind remark to say about the day at school or anything else. I hated it. However, I liked to play in the schoolyard with my friends until the lunch bell rang. And we had to walk single-file into the school quietly. If you weren’t quiet, you would get rapped on the head with a wooden ruler.

As the school year drew to an end, I became more and more restless. And even worse, there were exams in every subject at the end of the year. And you would told that you could leave back if you failed any of the exams. By some miracle, I always passed all the final exams. However, if I were truthful, I would admit that I barely passed because I hated studying for the exams. If I studied harder, I could have gotten straight A’s, but I always did the minimum. Because I hated school, and I detested the nuns.

As the end of school drew closer, I found it more and more difficult to concentrate. I counted the days until summer vacation, three months without having to sit in a hot, overcrowded classroom or a cold classroom in the winter. And then that long-awaited day arrived, the last day of class before summer vacation. All of the students from first grade through eighth grade were anxious to hear the three o’clock bell ring. And when it did, we all clapped. The sisters tried to calm us all down. But, it was a useless gesture. And after the second bell rang, we all marched into the hallways and to our appointed exits. There was laughter and cheers all the way. And there wasn’t a thing the nuns and teachers could do. As I look back at this experience, I imagine that inside, the teachers and nuns were cheering as well and looking forward to several months of peace and quiet. And then, before you knew it, we were off the school property and on our way home and had a long, hot, and wonderful summer. When we would be allowed to stay out until dark with all our friends in the neighborhood. We looked forward to Memorial Day and the 4th of July parade. And days and days and weeks and months of playing outside with all our neighborhood friends. We would catch fireflies and then release them. We ran around the neighborhood with flashlights while we played hide and seek.

During the day, my girlfriends and I would go to the clay pits and dig for treasures, ride our bikes to Strawbridge Lake, two towns away, and walk around the waterfall, trying not to fall into the lake. We ate picnic lunches that we had brought with us. We usually ate peanut butter and jelly and cookies that one of our mothers made.

We would stay there as late as possible and come home sunburned and sweaty. After dinner, all the kids in the neighborhood would play hide-and-seek. And we would come home itchy from all the mosquito bites and sunburn from being in the sun all day until dark. Around nine o’clock, our mothers would yell out the front doors of our homes and say,” Time to home, home.” And we would all moan and groan because we were having such a great time.

When I arrived home, my mother would say,” Would you look at her? All red and mosquito-bitten from head to toe. Time to get a bath, Susan, and don’t forget to clean behind your ears. Make sure to rinse all the shampoo out of your hair. Understand?” I would sigh and say,” Yes, Mom, you always tell me the same thing.” And as I turned away, she said, “And don’t forget to brush ALL your teeth. And I would sigh and say,” Yes, Mom. I know.’

Then I would run the water for the tub and lie there and soak, knowing I couldn’t take too long since my sister would soon be knocking at the bathroom door and telling me it was her turn. And I would sigh and say,” Yeah, yeah, in a couple of minutes.” And then I would lie in the water that was getting cold and think, “I can’t wait until tomorrow. Maybe we will go roller skating or ride our bikes to Strawbridge Lake, have a race, or play baseball. Or we could swim in Jackie, my next-door neighbor’s pool. I couldn’t wait to wake up tomorrow morning. And start a new and exciting Summer day.

But, before I knew it, the summer was almost over, and I would have to return to school. I dreaded it. On the other hand, I would get to see my school friends again. A lot of them went down the shore over the summer, and I didn’t see them. And the thought cheered me up. So, I decided not to be sad over the end of summer and look forward to a different classroom, a different teacher, and all my school friends. And besides, I would look forward to next summer and all the holidays that happened before then. I mean, Life was good. I was happy.

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A LIFE WITHOUT PETS WOULD BE AN EMPTY ONE

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I find myself sitting here reflecting on my life as I live what will be the last years of my life. I have considered all the things that have brought me the most happiness. The fact is that there has been a plethora of experiences; I grew up in an Irish Catholic family with a mother and father and five siblings. I am part of the Baby Boomer generation.

My generation had a great deal of freedom as children. My parent’s only directive when I left my house was to be home in time for dinner. They never asked where I was going or what I would be doing. I kid you not. No questions were asked as long as I was home in time for dinner. After dinner was over and the kitchen cleaned up, it would be time to do my homework. My mother would go over and over my spelling words with me. My father would help me with my math homework. He was not as patient with me as my mother was. But he did his best. I have to admit I didn’t invest much of my energy into my school work. I was more interested in playing with my friends and visiting all my animal friends in the neighborhood.

The neighbor, who lived two houses away from my house, had a collection of cats. They were allowed to go in and out of the house at will since a cellar window was kept open at all times. They stayed in the fenced-in area that ran the length of the property.

My furry best friend was a stray orange cat named Strottles. He had been originally owned by our next-door neighbors, a family whose last name was Lombardi. They were of Italian descent. My family was of Irish descent. My father did not care for Italian families simply because they were Italian and not Irish. In fact, most families in Maple Shade, where I grew up, were either of Irish or Italian descent. And they were Catholic. Maple Shade also had a public school system; we called them “The Publics.” As if they were some mutants or something. Anyone who misbehaved in Catholic School would be warned to behave, or they would be sent to “The Public School.” The nuns always made it sound like it was a fate worse than death. I kid you not. 

Getting back to my original point, I just fell in love with Strottles; I used to feed him on the sly since his original owners, the Lomardi’s, threw him out of their house as if he was some killer or something. All was well until one unfortunate day when my mother took the garbage outside to put it in the garbage can and left our kitchen door open. My mother had a pet parakeet, whose name was Pretty Bird, in a cage on the kitchen wall. About an hour before dinner time, my mother would let open the door on Pretty Boy’s cage after the table was set. And the Pretty Boy would fly out of the cage and onto the table. And then, he would push all of the silverware onto the floor. My mother thought that this was hilarious. And so every night out would come my mother’s bird and knock off the silverware. Unfortunately, Strottles saw that the side kitchen door was open and ran into the house, jumped up on the table, and killed my mother’s beloved parakeet.

I wasn’t even in the kitchen at that time, but my mother was so heartbroken by the death of her dear parakeet. My father decided that this whole experience was my fault because I befriended Strottles. And so, after yelling at me for a good. For a long while, my father told me to go down to the cellar. And stayed there until I was told I could come out. I stood alone in the cellar crying, my heart broken as well because I loved both my mother’s bird and Strottles, and I loved my mother with all my heart. It took me a long, long time to get over this event. Well, actually, I never really got over this experience. I still feel bad about some sixty years later. In addition, my father made one of my older sisters take Strottles down the street to the railroad tracks. And I never saw Strotles again. I cried and cried until my father told me to shut up about the damm cat.

After that experience, I continued to befriend all the animals in my neighborhood. I did not share this information with either my mother or father and certainly not my siblings. Truthfully, my love and attachment to animals of all kinds just grew over time. I used to feed the squirrels and the wild birds. And the ducks and the swans at Strawbridge Lake. Which was a favorite haunt of mine. I would ride my bike there, take a lunch bag with me, and throw the leftovers to the local wildlife. It was a good three-mile bike ride from my house. But that didn’t bother me in the least. Sometimes, my best friend would go with me, and sometimes, I would go alone. As usual, my parents wouldn’t ask where I had been as long as I was home on time for lunch or dinner. I kept begging my parents for a pet, and they wouldn’t get one for a long time. My father was given a female dog named Nomie. My father became attached to her. My father felt dogs should be able to come and go as they pleased. He didn’t believe in spaying dogs, so as a result, Nomie got pregnant. My father gave away all the puppies when they were born after they stopped nursing. Nomie became ill, and the vet said, “She has milk fever.” The vet put Nomie down. I was heartbroken. I missed her so much. And then my father gave away all the puppies.

After that, we didn’t have any pets for a long, long time. Even though I had haunted my mother night and day about wanting a pet, finally, my father gave in and bought me a hamster. I fell in love with that little guy. Unfortunately, hamsters do not have a long life span. But I didn’t know that. And that was the last pet we had for a long time. Until one of my older siblings gave my father a dog. My father named him Andy, and my father loved that dog. It was the first time I saw my father get attached to an animal. Andy would sit next to my father no matter where he was located, especially when my father was watching the news. My father would sit in “his chair” while he watched TV at night. And Andy would sit on the floor next to the chair. My father would pet his all the way up until the ll” o’clock news when my father went to bed.

I would let Andy out during the day to roam all around town. My father didn’t believe animals should be spayed, he felt it was there only pleasure in life, besides eating. All our neighbors complained because Andy would” Do His Business” in everyone’s front yard. In addition, everyone in town suggested that Andy was fathering a hoard of Andy lookalikes all over Maple Shade. Andy lived a long life, unfortunately my father suffered a stroke and wasn’t able to speak clearly after that.

After that, my father started coughing all the time, and one day, when I came over to visit my parents, my father indicated that he wanted me to look in the toilet. I went in there, and the toilet was filled with bloody water. I arranged for my father to see a doctor ASAP. And it turned out my father had developed Lung Cancer, and the disease was too far along to treat. My father was quite ill for the entire time, survived, and eventually passed away. During the time my father was in the hospital, Andy had gotten ill, and he had to be put down. It was a heartbreaking experience for us all.

My mother was not in the best shape after my father’s passing. I had to arrange for a caretaker to come and stay at my parent’s house during the week. Since all of my siblings were working then, we would take turns having my mother stay at our house on the weekends. My mother had developed dementia by then and could not be on her own. It was the saddest time in my life. My own children, who were six and three, don’t really have any memories of my dear mother. This is so unfortunate since my mother was the kindest and most caring person I have ever known.

It is incredible how quickly passes by. Here I am now, retired and living in North Carolina. I volunteer at an animal sanctuary three mornings a week, caring for a building full of parrots and two pheasants. Not only that, I adopted two dogs and four parrots,  six finches, and a cat who belongs to my youngest daughter, who moved with us to North Carolina. My oldest daughter is married and has three cats. So, loving animals with a run in our blood. I can’t imagine not having animals in my life at any time. They have always filled that empty spot I have in my heart. And I’m sure as long as I am able to, I will have dogs, cats, and birds as part of my family.

Mom, sitting at the kitchen table,

 

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I AM WHAT I AM AND THAT’S ALL THAT I AM- QUOTE BY POPEYE

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As I look back over my life, I often wonder what experiences shaped the person I’ve become. And I have to say it wasn’t any one experience or factor. It was a combination of many interpersonal experiences, including those who were part of my life and those who passed through it. I admit that genetics certainly played a part in this as well.

Certainly, each of my parents had a major influence on my developing personality, and my siblings and extended family affected my development as well. I and my fraternal twin were the last children to be born into my family. Well, that’s not completely true. My mother gave birth to two twin boys two years after my sister and I were born. They were named Steven and Girard. Unfortunately, they were born prematurely and only lived a short time.

As a result, my family consisted of my mother, my father, one older brother, and five sisters, of whom my twin and I were the youngest. We were born in May of 1951. My sister and I were were fraternal twins not identical.. We were born seven minutes apart. I, however, have no memories of these events. I have few memories of my early childhood. I recall when my sister and I started attending elementary school at our Lady of Perpetual Help School in Maple Shade, New Jersey, a small town about twenty-five minutes drive from Philadelphia, PA.

We were in the same first-grade classroom, and no one realized we were related, let alone twins. Since we did not resemble each other in any way. I was somewhat on the small side, and Karen looked at least a year or so older than I. In addition, I was shy, and my twin was more outgoing. And there was also the fact that my twin wasn’t particularly fond of me and avoided interaction with me at school. Whenever we were together, we would argue and fight. I don’t recall what we fought about. But it was clear that my twin didn’t want to spend time with me in school or at home. We both had our own friends. And never played together when we were at home.

The facts of the matter are that although we attended Catholic School together in the same classrooms for eight years. My sister made every effort to ignore that I was her sister, in fact, she continued with this behavior throughout highschool. In recent years, I asked her why she ignored me and pretended that I wasn’t her sister for twelve years; she stated that it was because we were” both so different from one another.

We are clearly completely different from one another, as night and day. She was outgoing, while I was quiet and somewhat shy. She had a larger group of friends than I had in school. I also had friends; they were not the popular girls and boys but the clever and funny kids. I was artistic and creative and loved making and creating things. And then there was that side of me that loved animals.

After we graduated from high school at St. Mary Of The Angels Academy, located in Haddonfield, NJ, we both found employment and started working. A mailing service company hired my sister. She made progress at this company and moved up the company ladder quickly. It turned out that she had a head for business, and she did quite well for herself.

I found employment working as a dental assistant for Dr. Edward Wozniak in Oaklyn, New Jersey. I worked six days a week, several nights a week, and Saturdays. My personality was a plus for this position because I realized that I enjoyed interacting with adults and children. And I was highly organized and efficient. I learned how to be a chairside assistant and what dental instruments to use with each procedure. I developed the xrays. And answered the phones and made appointments. I had always been a neat and orderly child, and I wasn’t even aware I had these skills until I started working. I began to understand on a personal level that I was intelligent, organized, and had the ability to comfort people who were in pain or nervous about dental work. And that applies to working with young children as well as adults.

As time passed, Karen moved up the corporate ladder and made a good income. I continued to work for my dentist, and although I didn’t make much money, I could buy myself a brand new 1970 Volkswagen. After a few years, I moved out of my familial home and rented an apartment in Haddonfield, NJ.

By this time, I was working at the Ellis Brother’s insurance company selling High-Risk Auto Insurance to people who lived in Camden, NJ area. The company was owned by Harry and Evie Ellis on Haddon Avenue in Collingswood, NJ. Two other young women were working with me as well. And I found that I enjoyed working with them so much. Previously I had worked by myself at the dentist office. We had fun together, and the Ellis Brothers turned out they didn’t have any real work ethic. And they enjoyed taking us girls out for breakfast or lunch. It was a good experience for me.

About this time, my best friend, Joanie’s cousin, came to visit her after leaving the Navy Reserves. Joan asked if I was interested in going out with him. And I said,” Yes.” That was the beginning of a whole new chapter in my life. Bob and I went out, and we clicked. I kept in touch with him after he returned to Florida, where his family lived. I kept writing to him, and eventually, I moved to Florida, and the rest is history. Bob and I were married in 1974. And we have been together ever since. This July, we will be celebrating our fiftieth anniversary.

Our marriage has not been perfect. And most people who have been married for a long time will tell you the same. There are ups and downs. We have two grown daughters now. They are both artists in their own way and are intelligent women with minds of their own. My older daughter lives in Philadelphia with her husband of eighteen years and their cats. Oh, yes, we all have an affinity for cats. However, I have to admit that I love all animals. And presently, we have a cat, four parrots, two love birds, and six finches. And last but not least two dogs a long-haired daschound and a St. Charles Cavelier Spaniel who we adopted two years ago.

Somehow, ten years have passed since we retired. However, I have kept busy. For the first year, I worked with the Guardian Litem in the NC family court. This turned out not to be a good match for me. So, I have been volunteering at an animal sanctuary, Animal Edventure, for the last eight years in Coats, NC. I care for parrots, Macaws, and pheasants. I have always loved animals since I was a child. But birds have always been one of my favorite creatures on this planet.

I will turn 73 in May and still have a high energy level, so I don’t know what else I might do. But I know it will be something that helps people and or animals in some way. In addition, I will continue writing my short stories, and at some point, I will publish the book I have written. Until then, friends, keep busy and work hard. And care for yourselves. Do not let age stop you from accomplishing your goals. And don’t let people tell you are too old to do anything. Keep putting one foot in front of the other, and move forward. Don’t take any steps backward.

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