WITHOUT CHALLENGES YOUR LIFE IS AT A STANDSTILL

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It appeared to be an ordinary day, much unlike any other work day. I was sitting on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for my bus to Philadelphia to arrive. And it was late, really late. As far back as I can remember, that bus had never been late. I was getting nervous, I absolutely abhor being late. It just set my day off to a bad start. I began pacing up and down, looking for the bus. I thought I might go out of my mind. I hate being late for anything, let alone being late for a job I just started the previous day.  

And if that wasn’t bad enough, it was extraordinarily cold outside. There was a cold, almost frigid wind blowing, and the rain that had been steadily falling began to become hale and sleet. Everyone standing on the corner waiting for the bus let out a moan, seemingly all at once.

I heard one woman say,’ What’s next? Why does everything bad always happen to me?” I stared at her hard and said,” It’s not just happening to you. It’s happening to all of us.” She looked at me, and if looks could kill, I would be dead right now. I stared back at her. She looked away while mumbling curse words under her breath. I stood there thinking, good lord, if this is the way this day is starting, what will the rest of the day be like?

And just as I was considering going back home and calling out for work that day, I heard the woman say, “Well, it’s about damm time.” And then everyone clapped. Loudly. You would have thought they won the lottery. But no, it was just the 407 Bus that runs from Main Street in Maple Shade to Philadelphia. And we all let out a sigh of relief.

As the bus pulled over to the curb, it drove through the muck and cold water that had collected there. And low and behold, we all got a filthy, freezing cold shower. We looked at each other, and then almost as one, we sighed and got in line to board the bus. We were frozen, wet, and filthy. From head to toe. What better way to start the day, I thought. And I let out a sigh and found a relatively dry seat behind the bus driver. The bus driver was cursing under his breath. I guess he wasn’t too thrilled with all the wet, miserable, and grouchy passengers he was going to have to deal with that day.

As I sat there wet and miserable, I kept telling myself, Oh, things will get better; don’t lose hope, things will work out alright, don’t worry. This is what I tell myself every time something goes wrong first thing in the morning. It’s like I’m my own cheerleader or something. I try to be optimistic about life, but sometimes I get overwhelmed and depressed. Life is not a bowl of cherries. It is more like a bowl of jello.

Ben Franklin Bridge Philadelphia/ New Jersey

As we headed towards the Ben Franklin Bridge, I couldn’t help but notice that the traffic was slowing down to almost a snail’s pace. And that is when I noticed that the bridge was up, but I didn’t see any ships passing under the bridge at all. I wondered what the problem was. I heard the bus driver, and he was saying, “OK, folks, it looks like there’s going to be some delay on the bridge. It probably has something to do with the ice storm. So, everybody needs to settle down and calm down. There isn’t anything we can do but wait.”

At just that moment, a man who was somewhat rotund and was wearing a really worn-out-looking winter coat walked up to the driver and said, “I want to get out. I can’t sit here all day and wait. I have to get to work on time, or I’m going to lose my job.”

The bus driver looks at the man and says,” Look buddy, the bridge is all iced up, and not only that the bridge is iced up and even if the bridge were down, I wouldn’t recommend you getting out of the bus and walking across the bridge in this kind of weather. It’s virtual suicide. So, please sit down, try to keep warm, and accept what’s happening. There’s no point in going off the deep end, literally because you’re going to get seriously injured or worse. Return to your seat, now.”

The man looked at the driver as if he wanted to kill him, and then he looked out the front window of the bus and said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” And he returned to his seat, looking as if he had lost all hope.

Everyone on the bus looked at each other, and then there was a moment of silence and a loud sigh of acceptance from everyone on the bus who had accepted that this day they were going to be late for work and there was nothing they could do about it. And then one middle-aged guy said loudly, “Well, hell, when I was a kid, the snow would sometimes get three feet deep, and I would stay out all day until dinner time. And here I am, stuck on a bridge over the Walt Whitman Bridge because of a little snow. “And then a young guy in the front says, “Well, if you feel like swimming across the Delaware bridge in this freezing rain and snow, then go ahead. Otherwise, sit the hell down and stop moaning. Nobody, but nobody is going to get to work on time today. We should have all stayed home.” 

Everyone looked at one another, and then one guy said, “Well, I grew up in Pennsylvania in the 1950s. And I can vouch for the fact that back then, we got a hell of a lot more snow. That snow storm became known as “The Great Appalachian Storm of 1950,” the snow storm blanketed areas from western Pennsylvania southward deep into West Virginia with over 30 inches of snow. Several areas got more than 50 inches of snow, and in West Virginia, I remember my grandparents told us they got an unbelievable staggering 62 inches. So, we shouldn’t complain, Who knows what’s going to happen with this Climate Change. And that is when everyone on the bus started discussing Climate Chage. Some people didn’t believe in it at all, and other people explained in great detail exactly what was happening and what might happen in the future.

And just about that time, I heard the bus driver say,” OK folk, everybody go back to their seats and sit down. The bridge is closing, so it looks like we can be on our merry way; a little late is better than not at all. About twenty minutes later, we were on the other side of the bridge and only a few minutes away from downtown Philly as passengers began disembarking from the bus. Almost everyone was in a better mood and said thank you to our bus driver and waved to their fellow travelers as they stepped down from the bus.

I’m sure in the future, all the people who rode to work on this particular snow day will have tall tales to tell their children and grandchildren. We all arrived safely at our bus stop and hoped the ride home would be without any problems. We each stepped carefully down the steps and on our merry yet slippery way to our jobs.

As for myself, I felt a little lighter as I stepped down the bus steps. I know I will remember this experience for a long, long time. It would be a story that, no doubt, over the years, would grow and grow until it was unrecognizable. I let out a sigh as I stepped onto the sidewalk and hoped that my ride home would be a safe one. But who knows what challenges will come our way in the future? We have to take one step at a time, one day at a time.

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MEMOIRS OF A BABY BOOMER AND CATHOLIC SCHOOL

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Memoirs of a Baby Boomer and Catholic School

Dear Write On Followers,

For the next several weeks, I will be sharing some of the memoirs from my journals that I have kept over the many years of my life. I hope you will find them interesting to read. I am not and have never been a famous person. However, I do believe that I have led an interesting life, and I hope you will enjoy hearing about it. I have come to a point in my life when I have more years behind me than ahead. Last May, I turned seventy-two years old.

I know, I know, it’s hard to believe, but true nonetheless. {lol} And believe it or not, I’m still a highly active person. I have been volunteering at an animal sanctuary called Animal Edventure in Coats, NC, for almost nine years, three mornings a week. I take care of parrots and pheasants. I have come to love every single one of them, even the ones that have delivered a bite every now and then.

In addition, I worked in the courts for the Guardian Ad Litem, representing at-risk kids for the first year we lived here in NC. It turned out it wasn’t a good fit for me, but it was an exciting and enlightening experience for me as a person to see the inner workings of the family court. And the dynamics of the family lives of children who lived under challenging conditions with families who were having serious difficulties.

In addition, I started this blog, Write On, seven years ago. Seven years, how time flies by. It’s hard to believe that I have reached this age, but it’s true nonetheless. I consider it a blessing because at one point in my life in 2007 I was I was told that I had a twenty-five percent chance to survive five more years. I was fifty-six at the time. I was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. The left side of my heart was enlarged. But here I am, still alive and kicking at seventy-two—the magic of modern medicine. I have always had a stubborn streak and don’t give up easily. 

So, let us begin on my journey through life. I had a quiet early childhood. We were an Irish-American family living in Maple Shade, New Jersey, which is a small town about a half-hour bus ride from Philadelphia, PA. Where my parents originated. My father grew up at Gerard College, which was a facility that was devoted to the care of boys who only had one parent. My father’s mother was alive, but his father died early in my father’s life. His mother was a strong woman who worked as a seamstress. She saw her only son once a year at Christmas. Until he was discharged from Gerard College at sixteen and found employment with the PTC bus company, he started out as a driver and eventually, through his mother’s persistence, got an office job. He became the main dispatcher and spent the next forty years working there until he retired at sixty-two. He developed the accounting system that is still used to this day. My father passed away in 1986. He worked the four to twelve shift. And sometimes the twelve to eight AM shift. He slept during the day, and we had to keep the noise down unless we wanted to suffer waking “the old Bear.” The old bear was my father’s nickname.

I had four other older siblings and a fraternal twin. My brother was nineteen years older than me, and my oldest sister was fifteen years older than I was. My other two sisters were seven and eight years older. Our house was not big. There were four bedrooms. My twin and I shared the same bed until my older siblings grew up and moved out. We lived two houses down from Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church and School. I have to admit that most of my childhood memories involve going to Catholic School for twelve years and going to church on Sundays.

And all the fun I had living in a small town with a whole lot of children to play with after school and on Summer vacations. And the unbelievable freedom we (the baby boomers} had as children. During the Summer we were allowed to go and do whatever we wanted as long as we were home in time for dinner and as soon as it got dark at night during the summer.

My earliest memories began with my first day of school at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Elementary. St. Joseph’s nuns taught me for eight years. I had never seen a nun before I started school. I found them to look and be terrifying. They wore long black habits, and their heads, foreheads, and chins were covered as well. They seemed completely abnormal to me. In addition, they had these vast rosaries that hung from their waists almost to the bottom of their habits. Habits was the name of the “dresses” they wore. When the sisters walked, their long skirts would move with them, and the long rosaries around their waists would swing back and forth. I had St. Joseph nuns for eight years in elementary school. They were strict in every way possible. They had to be because of the overcrowded classrooms.

The Catholic church and the priests dominated my memories of elementary school and, of course, the “Sisters” that taught me for eight years. There were sometimes fifty or sixty students in each classroom. Sometimes, there weren’t enough seats for everyone, and kids had to sit on windowsills. Sometimes, we had to share books and supplies. The overcrowding of classrooms was a result of the “Baby Boomer” Generation. There were approximately 76 Million baby boomers born between 1946 and 1964.

They were strict and if a student was acting out or fooling around they would be punished, students could be put in the corner for the day, or have their knuckles hit with a metal edged ruler, or kept after school. One time, I was caught chewing gum in class and was forced to stand in front of the class with the gum stuck on my forehead. I was not allowed to sit down for the rest of the day. I kept raising my hand because I had to go to the bathroom. But I was ignored. And then I couldn’t hold it anymore, and I peed on the floor in front of the whole class. Who laughed at me. The teacher yelled at me.

Of course, not all my school memories were unhappy ones. I had a great many friends in school. Though I never belonged to the “popular group.” I was friends with the smart kids, and I was the comic relief because I was always telling funny stories and making my friends laugh.

And then I graduated from eighth grade. I had to take an entrance test to go to a Catholic High School. I did well on the test and was accepted at both Holy Cross High School and St. Mary of the Angel’s Academy. It was an all-girl school in Haddonfield, NJ, which was nothing short of a miracle since I did not prepare myself for the test in any way. My parents decided to send me to St. Mary of The Angel’s Academy in Haddonfield, NJ. It was an all-girls school. And many of the students were from wealthy families who lived in Haddonfield. I, of course, was not from a wealthy family.

In any case, the “nuns” certainly instilled a sense of discipline and didn’t allow students to be lazy. They kept us busy all day and gave us plenty of homework to keep us busy after school. They used to say,” Idle hands were the devil’s workshop.”

In fact, even during school holidays and summer vacations, my sister and I were kept busy. There was no escape from them. Karen had to iron, and I had to clean their storage room, where they kept all their dry goods.

As I look back on my childhood, I have to say it was not a perfect childhood. But who among us had that? My parents loved me and my siblings and provided for us in every way they could. I have to say that my parents rarely showed affection towards one another or to me or my sisters and my brother. But, it was clear to me and the rest of my siblings that my parent loved every one of us. Since, they worked night and day to provide for us in every way possible.

In any case, the nuns certainly did instill a sense of discipline and didn’t allow students to be lazy. They really put the fear of god and the devil in us. They believed that “idle hands were the devil’s workshop.”They kept us busy all day. And they gave us plenty of homework to keep us busy at home after school. My mother made sure that after school, we went outside and played with our friends. And after dinner, my mother would help me with my homework.

It took me years to overcome all the inhibitions they pounded into me. Looking back, it’s difficult to ascertain whether I had a good childhood or not. Certainly, it wasn’t perfect. My parents loved me in their own way. However, I was rarely on the receiving end of a hug or kiss. My parents were not demonstrative people. My father because he grew up in an orphanage, and my mother because she spent her childhood caring for her own mother, who was bed-bound with Lew Gerrigs’ Disease. In addition, my mother was expected to care for all her brothers.

Neither my mother nor my father were demonstrative in that they rarely showed any physical attention. And this lack of physical and verbal affection affected me in a negative and profound way. In that I grew up having a difficult time showing affection to the people I love, my sisters and my brother. I loved them dearly but never expressed it openly.

I guess from the outside, my family and childhood were typical of every other American family at the time. A mother who stayed at home, a father who worked and typical of Irish and Italian families, had large families. I had some friends who had between six to fourteen children in their immediate family.

The next chapter of this momoir will speak to my generations absolute freedom they experiences outside our homes growing up in a small town in Southern New Jersey.

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THE BIRDS IN MY LIFE, A BIRD”S EYE VIEW

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As long as I can remember, I have held a fascination and deep love for birds. I can remember sitting in my backyard in Maple Shade, New Jersey, under our Weeping Willow tree and quietly observing all the birds flying overhead. There were several birds nest in the Willow Tree. And I loved nothing more than to sit there for long stretches of time and listen to the baby birds squeaking for their mothers to feed them. Their hunger was all-encompassing. And it seemed that they didn’t care for anything except for being fed and having their mother sitting on their nest and keeping them warm. 

As the Spring transitioned into Summer, I continued to observe them quietly while I sat under our beautiful Willow Tree and by the time Summer came to an end, the baby birds had grown up, and before long, they flew away from their nest and headed south for the winter. I would miss their presence over the long, late Fall and cold winter days. But, I knew that come next Spring new birds would arrive and build their nests and create their own new baby birds. This experience would come and go, and over the years, I grew up as well. One of the last Springs that I remember watching for the arrival of the Spring Birds, our Willow Tree, and all the other Willow Trees on Fellowship Road, where I grew up, became infected by some disease that was called Willow Blight. It was a type of fungus that killed off all the Willow Trees where I lived and across the state of New Jersey. And eventually, my father had to cut down the now blighted tree.

After the tree was cut down and the trunk removed, I experienced a period of loss. Not only did I miss my beautiful Willow, but I missed the birds and the baby bird and the hatchlings that used to occupy the Willow in the Spring and early Summer. I missed sitting on the bench that my father had built where I used to sit and listen to the birds. And I often read one of my many library books during my Summer vacation,

As I grew older, I found other things to do during the Summer, like swimming in the community pool and digging in the clay pits, roller skating, riding my bike all over the place and playing with all my neighborhood friends, going swimming in my friend’s swimming pool next door and catching and releasing fireflies at night.

Strawbridge Lake, Moorestown.J

Sometimes, I and one of my friends would ride our bikes all the way to Moorestown and go to Strawbridge Lake. People used to go fishing here. My friends and I used to walk around in the shallow part of the lake and cross the dam where the waterfall was located to the other side and back. There were all kinds of trees and shrubs located at Strawbridge Lake. We often brought our lunches with us and sat on the edge of the lake and ate our bologna or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

I used to save some of the scraps and give them to the ducks that swam on the lake. Birds would come from near and far to visit the lake and rest in the trees that shaded the park and the pond. Strawbridge Lake was an oasis for both children and adults and the many birds, squirrels, fish, and reptiles that lived in the area. I have so many beautiful memories of my experiences there as a child. So much so that when I grew up, married, and moved back to New Jersey, I brought my own children and some of my nieces and nephews to Strawbridge Lake to enjoy the lake, the sun, and the beautiful birds that lived there during the warmer months. In the winter, Strawbridge Lake would freeze over, and we would go ice skating there.

As time passed by, I left my childhood behind. But I never let my love of birds and animals slip away. My mother had a pet parakeet in a cage in our kitchen, and that little bird re-ignited my love of birds. And as a result I haunted my mother and father for years to have a pet. As a result, over the years, my family adopted and loved several dogs and all the neighborhood cats I befriended.

One cat in particular, whose name was Strottles, was a large orange cat that our next-door neighbor had owned. Who grew tired of him and put him out. I used to feed him on the sly because my father was not fond of cats. And then, one unfortunate day, my mother was taking the trash outside to put in the garbage, and she had inadvertently left the side door open. Strottles went into the kitchen, and he killed my mother’s beloved bird. And my mother was devastated by the loss, my father blamed me because I was friends with the cat. And he made me go down the cellar for several hours.  Strottles

My mother never wanted another bird after that. She was brokenhearted. So, once again, I was left to love the wild birds that populated our neighborhood and the wild geese and ducks at Strawbridge Lake. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that my father bought me several finches and a cage for them because I kept begging my parents to let me have a pet. He also let me have a hamster who turned out to be an escape artist—the last time he escaped into the heating ducts, my father had to cut a hole in one of the heating ducts in the cellar to get him out. This did not make my father a happy camper by any means. The finches were the last birds that I had while I was living at home with my parents. 

And it wasn’t until I married my now husband and moved to Florida and then California that we bought our first cockatiel. We named him Pepey. We had him for quite a long time. And over the many years, we had several more.

Jalepeno

Jalepeno

And here I am, ten years into my retirement. And we are living in North Carolina. As soon as we settled into our new home, which is in a small development, I decided that I wanted to volunteer to work with animals. And in fact, that is precisely what I did. I searched the internet, and voila’ I found a place called Animal Edventure located in Coats, NC.

I contacted them, and I told them I was looking for a part-time volunteer position taking care of animals of some kind. They made an appointment to come in and talk to them about a volunteer position. And that is just what I did. The first thing they told me was they needed a Bird Person to take care of their many birds. And I said, sure, I would love that. That was almost nine years ago, and I have been taking care of parrots, Macaws, and pheasants of every size and description.

In addition, I have adopted four parrots, six finches, and two dogs. I go to Animal Edventure on Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday morning and take care of these beautiful and, yes, loud birds. So, what can I say, “Some things are just meant to be.” Me and Birds, it’s a thing.

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THE BELLS OF ST. VINCENT’S

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The older I become, the more I find myself looking back on my past instead of looking forward to my future. I suppose that’s normal to some extent, given my present age. I will give you a hint: I retired at sixty-two. And that was ten years ago. I enjoyed working, but unfortunately, I developed a health issue. I was diagnosed with Congestive Heart Failure, and the left side of my heart was enlarged.

Apparently, this heart problem can be an inherited trait. My mother had the same heart issue and still lived to see seventy-seven. My mother was one of the most caring and unselfish people I have ever known. She always put everyone’s needs ahead of her own. I never heard her say a hurtful word to or about anyone. 

I am a person who has spent a large portiion of my working life working in Social Services. In my own way, I think I have always tried to emulate my mother. At the beginning of my work life, I was a dental assistant, and at one point, I was an oral surgeon assistant when I was living in California. I worked with Doctor Snyder. His office was a long distance from where I was living in Lompoc, and so I looked for employment that was closer to my residence. In 1977, I found a job working at Robinson’s Department Store in Santa Barbara. I have to admit it was not a job that I enjoyed, in point of fact I hated it. I was selling hats and wigs. It was by far the most tedious and isolating job I ever had. I had to stand in the middle of four long glass display cases, style the wigs, and keep the counters and hats free of dust. I had no place to sit down and no one to talk to.

However, I did meet several people who I befriended, and one of them told me about a residential school for mildly mentally handicapped children. It was within the Santa Barbara boundaries. I had talked to her about how much I enjoyed working with children. And that I had come from a big family and had many nieces and nephews. Who I always enjoyed spending time with when I was living in my home state of New Jersey. I contacted St. Vincent’s School to find out if they were hiring counselors. And they said that they were and I requested an appointment for a job interview.

The day I showed up for the interview, I was surprised to find out that Catholic nuns were running St. Vincent’s. They were the Daughters of Charity of St. Vincent DePaul. It seemed to me at the time that no matter how old I was or where I lived, the “Sisters” and I would find our way to each other. I say this because I spent twelve years in Catholic Schools, first with St. Joseph’s Sisters and then with the Franciscans.

I grew up two houses away from Our Lady Of Perpetual Help Church and School in Maple Shade, NJ. So, not only did I attend eight years of elementary school there, but I was basically on-call along with my twin sister to come and work at the school. But also at the convent where the Sisters lived, which was about a ten-minute work down Main Street in Maple Shade. In the Summer, I had to cover all the students’ textbooks so that when School started in September, they would be ready for the students. The rest of the year I had to go up to the Convent at least once a week and clean the pantry that held all the canned goods and dry foods that the sister’s ate. My sister Karen had to iron the Altar Vestments for the church’s altar.

I was glad that I didn’t have to do the ironing.; I absolutely hated ironing. I saw my poor mother bent over an ironing board every day of her life. This was before permanent press clothes were invented. Everything had to be ironed back then. Unless you wanted to walk around looking like you slept in your clothes. My mother also had to hang our family’s clothing out on a clothesline. This was back in the day before there were dryers for clothes. My mother had an old washing machine that had a wringer on it. The clothes had to be pushed through the wringer and then hung out to dry. This was an all-day job. In fact, if it rained, you would have to go through the whole ordeal again.

So, here I was again, face to face with one of the dear sisters. Only this time I was an adult albeit a young one. I was volunteering to apply for a job as a counselor at a Catholic facility to work with children. Who came from many backgrounds. Some of the kids were mildly retarded or what is now called Intelectual Disability. The school had children of many age groups, and it housed both boys and girls. Luckily I was hired and as a “counselor’ in the Laboures Group. I worked a split shift, first shift where I woke up the “girls” and prepared them for the school day, they got dressed, and made their beds. And ate breakfast together in a small dining room. Then, I went home and came back when it was time for the kids to get out of school. I walked over to the school and gathered up my kids. It was all girls from twelve to sixteen. After school, I gave them a snack and helped them with their homework. I was relieved when a night proctor took over at 11 PM.

All the kids had chores after their homework was done. I, with the help of one of the girls, set the tables for dinner. After dinner the girls had free time and most often would watch TV. I always watched with them.

I can not express how much I came to love these girls. And how much they meant to me. Every weekend, Bob and I took one of the girls out for the day. Sometimes, we went hiking or swimming in the pool that was at the apartment where Bob and I lived. Once in a while, we went to the movies. They loved to go out clothes shopping just like any young girl would. At night, after dinner, I often helped them write letters to their families. In my heart of hearts I could not fathom why their parents didn’t want them living at home. Perhaps the schools in their area were not prepared to teach children with learning disabilities. I don’t know for sure. This was about 1978.

Bob was attending Brooks Institute ( a Photography School), and he also worked part-time at night. So, we did not spend a great deal of time together. When Bob finished school, we decided to move back to New Jersey with the hope that Bob would be able to find employment as a photographer.

It was tough to tell my kids at St. Vincent’s that Bob and I were leaving and moving far away. But, we couldn’t afford to live in California any longer since there weren’t many jobs available for photographers at the time. I left a big chunk of my heart with my kids at St. Vincents. It was so hard saying goodbye and knowing that it was highly unlikely that I was ever going to see them again. They wrote me for a couple of years after we moved. And then I didn’t hear from them from then on. As some of them had gotten jobs, or moved back with their families. And life moved on for them as it did for me.

Bob and I bought a small house in Pennsauken, and I proceeded to have a baby, who we named Jeanette, and three years later a second daughter, named Bridget. They filled in that big hole I had in my heart and then some.

Life throws us many curves, and we don’t always know which way to turn. We have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and hope for the best outcome.

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A NEW YEAR, A NEW BEGINNING

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Well, people, here it is again. New Year’s Day. Yet another year has flown swiftly by. As I look back upon the last three hundred and sixty-five days I can’t help but wonder where did all those days go? What did I accomplish? Although it is not a long list, I did manage to write and publish forty-eight short stories. And as far as I’m concerned, that is no small accomplishment.

In addition, I was informed by my heart doctor that my heart had shown improvement, and he took me off Entresto, a drug that not only saved my life but improved my heart health overall. I have been taking Entresto for many years, and it costs me $900.00 every three months, which is no small amount of money. So, that has benefited our finances; when I was first diagnosed with congestive heart disease fifteen years ago, I was told I might survive another five years if I was lucky. And yet here I am.

I am retired and living in North Carolina. We made the choice that once we retired, we would move South because the cost of living was so much lower than in the North East. It was not an easy decision to make because my extended family and my eldest daughter lived in the North East. The fact is that the real estate taxes in New Jersey are quite high. We managed to get by because we were both working full-time. But, I realized that once we retired, we wouldn’t be able to continue living in our home in Pitman any or anywhere in NJ. Upon selling our home, we packed up all our worldly belongings and moved to North Carolina to a three-bedroom home in a small development in Willow Springs, NC, which is about a forty-five-minute drive from Raleigh, NC.

Moving away from my family was not an easy decision to make, and we did not make it lightly. We thought about it for a long time. There were members of my extended family who were not happy about this decision—and made that fact clear. That was unfortunate, but we believed it was necessary. If we wanted to continue living the lifestyle we had been living. The somewhat peculiar fact is that one family member who will remain anonymous, one who was rarely seen over the years, was the one who seemed the most angry. Life is difficult. Sometimes, you have to make decisions that not everyone will appreciate. And they can accept it and try to understand your situation, or they won’t.

In the years that we have been living in North Carolina, I have kept myself quite busy. I became politically active and worked on the Elizabeth Warren campaign and was active in the protest marches. I went door to door, talking to people about the election and what was at stake. I had never been politically active before, save for voting in every election.

In addition, I took a college course that was required to volunteer in the Guardian Ad Litem. A Guardian ad Litem (GAL) is a trained volunteer who is appointed by the court to advocate for the best interest of children at risk who were abused or neglected.

Last but not least, I have been volunteering at an animal Sanctuary for almost nine years. I volunteer every Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday morning. I take care of all the parrots, big and small, including five Macaws. I’ve come to love them dearly like my own feathered children. In addition, I have had the opportunity to be exposed to over two hundred exotic animals from every continent. In addition, I have come to love the eleven dogs and several cats that call Animal Edventure their home. As I look back at this experience, I know that the child that I had once been would absolutely have loved to be in the midst of so many different kinds of animals. When I was a child, I had a great love of all animals, big and small, furry or feathered. And for many years believed that I would eventually become a veteranarian.

As it turned out, as I was growing up from a small child to adolescence, I developed an interest in drawing, painting, and sewing. I was a highly creative child. In addition, there was nothing I enjoyed more than telling stories to anyone who would sit still or stand still and listen to me. It wasn’t until I was married and had two young children that I made the decision to go to Art School. I spent several months preparing an art portfolio that I would need to be accepted into an art school. at the grand old age of thirty-six, I applied to three different Art Schools in Philadelphia. I was accepted at all three. And I made the decision to attend The Tyler School of Art, which was a part of Temple University.

I was the only adult student in my Freshman Class. I have to say that the decision to go to college was the best decision of my life. Before starting college, I decided to introduce myself and become familiar with all the students in my classes. And I did just that.

Attending college full-time in Philadelphia was difficult because I also had the responsibility of taking care of my two young daughters and all the household responsibilities of cleaning, cooking, shopping, etc. That goes along with marriage and children. The only time I had off was in the summer. But somehow, out of sheer will and determination, I made it through four years of college and graduated at the top of my class Magnum Cum Laude. I received a standing ovation from the rest of the student body when my name was called out at our graduation.

But, of all the choices I made in the course of my life up to that point, my decision to go to college was the one that benifitted me on a personal level the most. However, it was extremely challenging to go to college full-time, raise my girls, and take care of my home and all the responsibilities that go along with it. And when I look back to that time, I often wonder how I did it all. I am proud of myself for not letting fear stand in the way. Whenever I have a difficult decision to make now, I think back to that time, and I realize that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to.

So here I am, living in the south. Although this is not the first time I lived down south. When I was twenty-three, I moved to Florida as I wanted to be with Bob, who is now my husband of forty-nine years. And here we are still together. Some people can not tolerate the heat and humidity. But, I grew up in New Jersey, which had its own brand of high humidity, and let us not forget the mosquitoes. And the long, cold, and snowy winter months.

I can not predict what I will be doing in the future. But, I do know this, that once I set a goal for myself whatever that may be, I will set upon a course to succeed as I have in the past. There may be a few rough spots along the way but fear not, I will make my way and reach my goal. And my best advice to anyone is that although you may be afraid to do something, don’t let that fear stand in your way. See past it into your future and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

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Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

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I am taking a week off from writing Dear Followers this week. Please feel free to go to WRITE ON website and read any of my nearly three hundred stories and memoirs. Best Wishes and Happy New Year, Susan A. Culver

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The Christmas Spirit

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Christmas time is here again. At my age, it seems difficult to summon up the Christmas spirit.

Maple Shade, NJ Christmas 1960’s

But when I was a child, it was a different story. I remember the days leading up to Christmas seemed to go by at a snail’s pace. I would ask my mother every day, “How many more days until Christmas, Mom?

She answered, “One less than when you asked me yesterday. Now, why don’t you go find something to do and keep yourself busy.”

I know if I kept bugging her, she’s going to find something for me to do. “OK, Mom, I think I’ll take a walk. I’ll be back in a little while.”

I decided to walk downtown and look in the windows of the stores. We live in a little town in Southern New Jersey called Maple Shade. And all the stores are decorated for Christmas. We even have a Christmas parade. And Santa Clause takes a ride all over town in the fire truck. And he throws candy to all the kids that are lined up on the sidewalks. All my friends and I walked down the pike on Main Street to see it yesterday. We had such fun. It was really cold outside, so we all had our winter coats on and hats and gloves and snow boots. Because the day before yesterday, we got over a foot of snow.

As I walked down the street, I noticed that the repair shop had a TV in the window, and it was playing It’s A Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart. I’ve seen this story before, but all the same, I stand there and watch it for quite a while. I can’t hear the sound, of course, but I know most of the dialogue anyway since I’ve seen it so many times. I decided to walk down to the Five & Dime Store to look at all the cool toys in the window. I asked Santa for a Barbie doll. I hope I get one.

The Christmas Lights along Main Street are beautiful. Of course, they look better when it’s dark out. The volunteer firemen drove up and down Main Street in their Fire Trucks and put up the lights and the Christmas Wreaths with big red bows on them the week before Thanksgiving. I watched them. The Rexall Drug Store is next to the Five & Dime Store. They have a display with a train set riding around on the train tracks with little houses and churches and trees and tiny little people walking around. There is even a little dog in the front yard of one of the little houses. At least, I think it’s a dog, but it’s hard to tell because it is so little. Above the houses, Santa is flying through the air with his reindeer, including Rudolph with his red nose. There’s a little stream of smoke coming out of the smokestack of the train engine. I wish we had one of those going around our tree.

I walk down to the bakery and look in their window. There are so many delicious-looking cakes in the window. My stomach starts growling really loud. My mother says I have a sweet tooth. I’m not sure what that means. But I really do love candy and cake. I hope I get some candy canes in my Christmas stocking and some chocolate kisses with red and green foil wrapped around them. Oh, how I would love to have an éclair too. My mother is making a cake for Christmas. She is a really good baker. I hope she makes a vanilla cake with shredded coconut on it. I really do love coconut. Oh, I almost forgot that every Christmas, my mother makes a giant tin of Christmas cookies. She puts the cookie dough in a cookie press, squeezes out these cookies in all kinds of shapes, and puts different colored sprinkles on them. I always find where she hides the cookie tin in the cellar, and I eat a whole bunch of them before Christmas gets here.

As I’m walking down Main Street, I see a police car coming in my direction. The car pulls over, and I hear the policeman calling out my name and saying, “Merry Christmas, Susie.”

I walk over to the curb, and I see it is Mr. Lombardi, our next-door neighbor. He is a policeman in our town. “Merry Christmas, Officer Lombardi,” I scream at the top of my voice. And then he waves again and drives away.

I continue walking down the street, and I see a couple of kids from school. I hear them yelling, “Hey Susie, do you want to go and play behind the church?”

“Sure,” I say. When I caught up with them, I saw it was my friend Helen and Ann Marie.

“What were you up to, Susie?”

“Nothing, just walking downtown and looking in all the store windows. What do you guys want to do?’

“We were just going behind the church and seeing who is playing in the snow out there. Are you getting anything good for Christmas, Susie?”

“I don’t know what I’ll get, but I asked for a Barbie doll and some art supplies. How about you guys? What did you ask for Christmas?”

“I ask for two games, Operation and Twister. I love games, said Ann Marie. “

“I ask for an Easy-Bake oven. said, Helen.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.”

We rounded the corner at Main Street and Fellowship Road, and I said, “Let’s have a race to the pump house behind the church. Ready, set, go.”

And we all ran as fast as we could. And at the last minute, I slipped on an icy spot and fell flat on my back. Ann Marie and Helen ran up to me and said all at once,” Are you alright?”

“Yes.” I manage to say, even though the wind really got knocked out of me.

“Ok, then I bet I can beat you to the pump house Helen yells.” And before I even got up from the icy sidewalk, they were running at top speed to the pump house. I scramble up and start running as fast as I can. I was just about to catch up with them when I heard them yelling, “We beat you; we beat you.”

All the same, I kept running, and before you knew it, I was scrambling up the side of the pump tower to the top along with them. There were a whole lot of kids from Our Lady of Perpetual Help school there and some of the public-school kids too. And they were climbing up hills of snow and sledding across the parking lot. We laughed hard, and the air was so cold I could hardly breathe. I don’t know how long I stayed out there. But I knew by the time I heard my mother yelling, “Susie, it’s time to come home. It was starting to get dark outside. What a day it was, what a day!

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As The Crow Flies

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I woke up abruptly this morning. I heard something tapping on my bedroom window. I tried to ignore it for quite a while. I put my pillow over my head. I plug my ears. The noise is relentless. My bedroom is on the second floor. So, really, who could be knocking on the window? A window washer, Superman, and a drone. Oh no, perhaps it’s a second-story man.  All highly unlikely suspects. I toss and turn and try to fall back to sleep. No luck; I’m wide awake. And once that happens, I have to get up. I  walk over to the window and throw open the curtains.

CROW by Capri 23auto

I’m startled. I see a Crow with bright, black eyes staring back at me. He begins tapping on the window. Tap,   tap. Tap. I tap back. Tap.  Tap. Tap. He’s hanging on the screen.  “Hello,” I yell loudly. He opens his beak wide. I believe he might be saying hello back to me.  I smile. He opens his beak again. And then tap.  Tap, tap. What does it mean? He flies away and lands in the Dogwood Tree that I planted next to my Koi pond last year. It’s just now beginning to bloom—my favorite tree.

I’ve always been very fond of birds. I think you might call it some kind of harmless obsession. I’m a painter, and almost all my paintings have birds in them.  I spend a great deal of time in my garden, planting flowers that will attract birds, butterflies, and bees. I have nesting boxes and bird feeders all over my yard.

But all that is beside the point.  I have enjoyed my momentary interaction with the Crow. Since I’m awake, I decide to get an early start on my day. I dress, go into my studio, and continue working on my latest painting. Several pleasant hours pass by. I notice a growling noise. It’s my stomach; I realize that it’s nearly lunchtime, and I haven’t eaten anything yet today.

I rummage around inside my frig and decide to heat some vegetable soup. That I made yesterday, it’s a gorgeous sunny Spring day. I choose to go outside to my screened porch and eat my soup and crackers. I take a deep breath. The air is sweet and fresh.

I so enjoy watching the birds fly from one feeder to another. There are six Cardinals at the feeder next to the back fence. I notice that a Blue Bird and her mate are building a nest inside the Blue Birdhouse. I smile. What could be better than this? I look forward to seeing them raise a family there. Spring, by far, is my favorite season. It inspires hope when the earth wakes up from its wintery sleep. It inspires hope, as all new beginnings do.

As I sit on my porch, I think, what could be better than this? I finish my soup, and I must admit it’s delicious. Nothing tastes better than something made from vegetables that you grow in your garden from seed. As I’m about to go back to the house, I notice a crow in the cul-de-sac. He’s standing in the middle and is bowing over and over again. Four crows are walking in a circle around him. It looks so absurd that I burst out laughing. I wonder if he’s the same crow that was taping on my window early this morning. Perhaps he’s the King of the Crows.

The next morning, I’m still fast asleep. And I hear a tapping noise once again. I groan and look over at the clock. It’s 6:45 am. I pull my pillow over my head so as not to hear the tapping. It’s relentless. I can still hear it. Tap.  Tap. Tap. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and walk over to the window. And Pull the curtains aside. And behold, it’s the King of Crows. Once again, I tapped on my bedroom window. As I study him, I realize that he isn’t the uniform black that I first observed. He had a light violet on his torso. And his wings were a fantastic, greenish-blue.

“What? What are you trying to tell me? Please stop waking me up so early in the morning. I realize he can’t hear me through the closed window. I open it up slightly. He begins to caw loudly. I still don’t understand what he wants me to do. I decided to do some research on Crows that will enlighten me on this behavior.

The next morning, I woke up bright and early. I wonder if the Crow will tap at my window. I’m somewhat disappointed when he doesn’t arrive. I get up and walk over to the window. I pull one of the curtains back just far enough to the lookout. My crow is hanging on the window screen.  He looks directly at me. I see his beak opening up wide. I know he‘s cawing at me. I decided that this is just his way of saying Good morning or hello. I laugh. He opens his beak again.

He flies away, and I  watch as he lands once again in the middle of the cul-de-sac. Four crows fly down from the forty-foot evergreens on the opposite side of the cul-de-sac. They form a circle around him once again, and he bows as they circle him. I open the window, and I hear him cawing. The four other crows join in. It’s a mysterious ceremony. I feel a compulsion to join in. I know it’s absurd, but still, I want to do it. Perhaps I was a crow in a former life? Then I say out loud, “former life, I’m losing it. I’m going off the deep end.” I’m spending too much time alone in my studio. I need to get out more. See more people, join in. Go to the gym. Something.

I ended up going to the library and researching Crows. I know I can find information about them online. But then I wouldn’t be getting out of the house, would I? And I would also miss going to my favorite place in the world, the library. Yes, that’s right, the library. I have memories of a lifetime of experiences within the walls and between the stacks at my childhood library, the library in my college, and, of course, my local library. The bastion of knowledge, a literary jackpot. The somewhat cheesy smell and touch of old books and ink on paper. The oily residue of a hundred hands.  Old books have their history. How many people have touched the pages and digested the words? The possibilities are endless. For me, it is a sanctuary, a respite. Yes, even nirvana.

I decided I should approach the research librarian. I’m somewhat ambivalent, though I have a fierce love of the library and its contents. I fear the librarians. It has been my experience that librarians are not social creatures. I believe they each chose this calling because they don’t care about interacting with their fellow human beings. And that is precisely why they chose this line of work. Because they mistakenly thought, they would spend their entire working lives with their beloved books. But alas, no. They soon realized that they would be interacting with people. Beings capable of disrupting the quiet. They might become noisy, even boisterous at times. And god forbid dogearing the pages and, most hideous of all, desecrating these sacred volumes by marking the pages.

I stealthily approach the research librarian’s desk. She has her head down. Several ancient-looking tomes are open on her desk, and she’s running her index finger along the line of printed words. She is scrupulously not to touch the page lest oil from her hands mar its precious surface. I consider telling her to use finger cots, but I imagine she might slap me for making such a crude suggestion. As if I might be suggesting she use a condom.

“Excuse me,” I say in a voice hardly louder than a whisper. “Excuse me.” No response. I clear my throat several times. Nothing. I say in a somewhat louder tone, “Hello, madam, could you please help me? I need some assistance. I wish there were a bell on the desk. But no such luck. I imagine she may stroke out if I did ring a bell. She slowly raises her head. She gives me a cold, dead stare. Her eyes are pinned on me. I fear she might make a sudden move and attack me in some way.

“Yes.”

I smile my very friendliest smile. One that I reserve for dogs and babies. A smile that rarely fails to ingratiate me. It does not affect her. She continues to stare. It’s unnerving; I decide to jump in and spill it all out at once. “Could you please help me find information about the crows that live in this section of the country?”

She begins by typing rapidly on her computer. I wait patiently. After no more than a minute, she says, ”Corvus brachyrhynchoz, American Crow. Common to this area.”

“Can you tell me if you have any books in this library that I can take home to study?”

She accesses her computer once again. “No, not here. But I can put in a request from one of our other branches. If you give me your library card and contact information, I will notify you when we receive it at this branch. She slides me a form to fill out. I quickly do so. Then, she writes down some numbers on another paper and says abruptly, “Here, go to the stacks listed on this paper, and you will find several books on birds that inhabit North Carolina. They’re reference books, but you can copy pages that interest you.”

She puts her head down; I’m dismissed. And I have disappeared from her conscious thoughts. I count my lucky stars. I came away from this interaction relatively unscathed. I look at the call numbers for the books. And I’m off to the reference section of the library. I notice that my teeth are clenched and my shoulders are hunched. I take several breaths and try to relax. At one time, I had considered becoming a librarian. I can see that I would then have become a clone of this woman. And I don’t know for sure if that would have been a good thing or a bad thing.

I find the books noted on the paper and sit down for several hours immersed in my current obsession, the Crow. It’s fascinating.  I wonder where this experience will take me. I could study this particular species and be done with it. Or perhaps once I read about it, I’ll then want to observe the “Crows” behavior. Or maybe I’ll take it further. There’s no knowing at this point. But I have been down this path before. And have only regretted it once before. Only time will tell.

After spending numerous hours reading about crows, I realized that this would become a long-term project. OK, some may call it an obsession. But I say tomato, tomato—same difference. I would spend the evening creating my strategy, and tomorrow I would begin.

I set my alarm for sunrise. Last night, I studied the research that I gleaned from my visit to the library. It was enlightening, to say the least. Most importantly, I have discovered that Crows are highly intelligent creatures. More intelligent than Parrots. They are capable of making and using rudimentary tools in their pursuit of food. They have phenomenal memories. They can distinguish and remember a human face over a long period, even if they haven’t seen that face for several years.

They are known to band together to mob predators and even humans that they consider a threat for some reason.  They mate for life, and both the male and female and older siblings care for the baby birds communally. And what I found most profound of all is that they mourn the death of a fellow crow, even if it was formerly unknown to them. And it’s at that point I know I have entered the first stage of a full-fledged obsession.  I welcome it. I’m never more complete than when I’m immersed, whether it be a new painting, creating a new garden, or solving a mystery.

Last night, before I retired to my bed, I gathered different types of food that I believe would entice my new avian friend to stay longer at my window. And that I might become better acquainted with him. I had read during my research at the library that Crows are omnivorous. And they will eat whatever food is readily available. That could include anything from vegetables to insects—or even dead animals and garbage.

I collect an assortment of food, from hard-boiled eggs to a spider I captured in my basement. I carefully placed it in a small cup that I attached to the siding underneath my bedroom window.

The following morning, I heard a scratching sound followed by cawing outside of my window. I carefully peek through the curtain. I see my crow studying the food cache I left for him. He’s eyeing it thoroughly, and then he reaches down and gingerly picks up a grape and eats it.  He looks directly at my face and caws. He picks up the piece of boiled egg and flies off with it in his beak. I watch him until he’s no longer in my field of vision.

Later that afternoon, I peeked out the window. And I realize that all the food I left is gone. And in its’ place is something shiny. I shove the window open and pick it up. A small cut stone.  I realize it is an emerald. It looks familiar, somehow. I stare at it. And then it comes to me. It looks just like the emerald that I lost last Spring when I was working in the kitchen garden. I rush over to my jewelry box and pick up the ring that’s missing its stone. I remember how upset I was when I lost it. I looked everywhere for it. It was a birthday gift from my mother on my sixteenth birthday.

My mother passed away last summer. I put the stone in the setting. It fits perfectly. A wave of emotion fills me up, and tears flow out of my eyes. I feel like I have regained a little piece of my mother again. I can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. I think that King Crow and I were somehow ordained to meet. And I’m somehow meant to help him in some way in the future.

About a week later, I enjoyed a bowl of hot oatmeal on my back porch when I heard a loud ruckus. I realized that it was a murder of Crows cawing at a hawk swooping down on a fledgling that was eating seeds on the ground underneath my birdfeeder. I stand up pick up my binoculars, and look at the bird on the ground. It’s a fledgling crow.

I’m finally able to drive off the Hawk by walking around the backyard banging a pot and pan together. After I go back onto the porch, I sit and watch as four crows come down and surround the fledgling. They walk all around him, bobbing their heads. I know he will be safe for now. But I have to come up with a plan to keep the hawk out of my pond and away from the crows.

I decided to create a scarecrow. I‘m going to dress the scarecrow in my old gardening clothes. I know the Crows recognize me and aren’t going to be scared away by a scarecrow, but the hawk would be. My Koi will be safe, and so will King Crow and the fledglings. I go into the garage and begin to build the frame for my scarecrow and put my old clothes on it. I have to admit it looks like a decent facsimile of me. I even put my old straw gardening hat on its head.

As I place the scarecrow near the back fence, I notice that at least a hundred crows are roosting in the trees in the woods behind my fence. They are cawing to one another. Then, one crow flies down and lands on the ground about five feet away from the bird feeder. He watches me with great interest. He doesn’t leave until I start walking away. I look at him and bow, and he bows back. I‘m certain it’s King Crow. He caws loudly, and I caw at him. I walk back to my house and then turn and wave at the crows.  He brought the ring back to me, and I gave him and his fellow crows a haven. It’s. No one will ever convince me of anything different.

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DID THE WALLS HAVE EARS

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I have been fascinated by the town of Haddonfield, New Jersey, ever since I attended high school at Saint Mary of the Angels Academy. I graduated in 1969. And after I graduated from St. Mary’s I worked for a high-risk auto insurance company in Collingswood. I rented a small one-bedroom apartment in Haddonfield. It was only a block away from the Haddonfield library and within walking distance of downtown Haddonfield. Some years later, after I was married, my husband and I were looking for a larger house to purchase, and I suggested looking at homes that were located in Haddonfield. And what I found fascinating was the local legend that all the local businesses had relationships with the local ghosts. Of course, I didn’t tell Steven about this. And I kept my fingers crossed. 

Actually, we found one house that we liked, but it needed a great deal of repair. And we decided we couldn’t afford to have all the repairs done. Unless we did the repairs ourselves. In addition, the taxis in Haddonfield were high, very high. We would have to find another way to save money. Steven was going to have to rent an office too.

But then there was the experience we had when we were viewing the large Colonial house we were considering purchasing. How can I begin to explain our experience without coming off as some kind of nut case? Let me start at the beginning. And we had an appointment to meet with our realtor at the house we were considering purchasing. But when we arrived, our realtor wasn’t there. However, there was a note taped to the outside of the front door. It stated, “So sorry I couldn’t wait any longer for you. I’ve left the key in the mailbox so that you can view the house. Keep in mind that this is a house with a great deal of potential but needs work. As I previously explained to you during our last phone conversation.

Please give me a call if you decide you want to make an offer. This house has great potential, it is located in a fantastic neighborhood. And the schools in Haddonfield are top-notch. It is a safe and inviting place to live. The house is located close to the downtown area where you will find a great many wonderful restaurants. Not to mention the beautiful homes in that area. It would be a good investment, and with repairs, this house will eventually be a valuable asset for you. And if you start a family, the schools in Haddonfield are, without a doubt, the best in the area. Give me a call and let me know what you decide to do. Marion Lombardi.

My husband went over to the mailbox and opened it. And low and behold, the keys to the front door were indeed waiting there for us.

Steven put the key into the front door, and with some difficulty, he was able to turn the key and unlock the door. The door creaked open. We took a step forward into the entryway, and we found ourselves looking into what must have been the formal living room. We stepped inside, and to our left was a staircase that looked as if it must have been truly outstanding back in the day. To our right was a brick fireplace with a marble mantlepiece. Above it was a huge mirror that reflected the whole living room.

The floor looked like it was mahogany, but it was in very bad shape as it looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a very long, long time. On the walls was a blue and silver wallpaper that looked like it had been hanging there for a century or more. And may well have been.

There were double doors between the living room and what we thought might be the formal dining room. It was empty save for what I can only describe as a long bar with a huge mirror behind it. Steven and I looked at one another, and finally, I said, “Why in the world is there a bar in the dining room?

Steven took a look behind the bar, and there wasn’t anything there except dust, years and years of dust. He blew at it, and he was able to see that the top of the bar was beautiful marble. He said, “Wow, I’m sure we could make use of this beautiful marble somewhere in this house.” I just nodded my head, and Steven said, “Kelly, let’s keep looking at the rest of this floor. There was a small pantry with shelves and drawers and a small pantry closet, and we walked through the doorway into a kitchen that looked like we were stepping right into the last century. There was an old, perhaps ancient stove that looked as if it hadn’t been used for decades and white cabinets that were tall and had glass windows. I said, “Oh wow, this kitchen has a great deal of potential.” Steven didn’t respond. So, I said, “Shall we carry on to the second floor?”

“But first, let’s go look out the back door. And see what kind of yard it has. And off we went to the back door. It was locked, and we didn’t have a key for it. And the front door key didn’t fit it. We looked out the back entrance and saw steps that were in bad shape, many bricks were missing, and the hand railing was in place but extremely rusty. The backyard was small, and we could see a two-car garage and a long driveway. There were large trees lining the driveway, and we could see the side of a neighbor’s house behind the trees.

Then we went to investigate the second floor there. When we arrived at the top of the steps, there was a railing to our right and a closed door in front of us. Steven walked over to the door and opened it. It was a bedroom with a large closet. I could see it had great potential. Steven said, “Nice, let’s keep going. The next closed door was just ahead of us. It turned out to be a huge bathroom with black and white tiles on the floor, a large tub with feet, and an empty medicine cabinet. As I looked in the mirror, I saw my reflection, and then, for a moment, I glimpsed another face. It looked like an elderly woman with many wrinkles and white hair that was pulled back into a bun high up on the back of her head. I saw her wink at me. And that is when I let out a blood-curdling scream. Steven said, “What in the world is the matter with you? What are you screaming about?”

I said, “There was a very old woman looking at me in the mirror?”

He said,” What in the world are you talking about” No one else is in the house.“

“I don’t know. It must be my imagination getting away from me again. You know, “a spooky old house and creaky steps. Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that I don’t feel like we are alone in the house. It feels like there are other people here, too.”
“Oh boy, you are letting your imagination get away from you once again.”

“Ok, Ok, that’s enough. Stop making fun of me. But, I promise you, I did see some old woman’s face in the mirror. She had long, grey, and white hair that was up in a bun with a metal clasp. And she had a wrinkled face. She looked ancient, really.”

“Oh brother, you are really letting your imagination get away with you. Let’s keep looking. We walked down the hallway, and to our right was another bedroom twice as large as the first one.” It had floral wallpaper on it. It was faded, but I imagine that once upon a time, a long, long time ago, it must have been beautiful. And some young lady loved it.”

“Let’s continue on, shall we.”

“Yes, let’s continue. As we stepped out the bedroom door we realized that there was a wrong iron gate ahead of us. But luckily, there wasn’t a lock on it. So, we just pushed it out of the way. And we walked into yet another bedroom. It was painted pink. Albeit a faded pink. “Good Lord, pink?”

“Well, maybe it was a baby’s room?”

Then we found a bathroom and a dressing room to the left. It was small but not in bad shape. I thought oh, maybe a bigger mirror. And as I looked in the mirror, I saw the old woman’s face again. She was staring at me so hard I could almost feel it. I screamed, “Good Grief! It’s that old woman again, “Why? Oh, Why? Do weird things always happen to me?

”Did you see her face in the mirror this time?”

“No, dear. I didn’t. You have an active imagination. It is a bit of a spooky house. It is old, and it’s been empty for a long, long time. Maybe it’s just energy that built up here over a hundred years.”

Let’s keep going. And they stepped back into the empty bedroom and towards a closed wooden door. That looked ancient. Steven stepped forward in the doorway. And then he let out a low whistle. “O my god. Would you look at the size of this room?”

I stepped through the doorway and I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the biggest room I ever saw in any house I had ever seen in my own life. The ceiling had to be fifteen feet high. There was a huge chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling. There was a brick fireplace on the back wall. And the window on the opposite side of the room nearly took up the whole side. I could see the top of two trees at the bottom of the outside of the window. There was a bird’s nest on the top, and I could see baby birds being fed by their mother. I made a 365-degree turn around the room. And I just could not get over the sheer size of the space. And all along the walls of the room were bookcases. There was not a single book on the shelf.

“Steven, it would take us a lifetime to fill up these bookcases. It’s bigger than the library where we used to live. This place is simply unbelievable. “ I walked toward the window and saw another window to my left. And I couldn’t believe my eyes but there was a balcony outside the window. And just as I was about to call Steven to come over and look at the balcony, I saw the old woman on the balcony, and she was waving at me. She was wearing a long, long black dress with a white lace collar, and as I stared at her, I realized that her fingernails were very long and were painted a bright red. They were almost glowing. I turned around to get Steven’s attention. “Steven come here, the old lady is out on the balcony. Hurry, hurry.”

Steven nonchalantly walked over and then I heard a gasp come out of him. And he said, “What the…”

“ Steven what is it.”

“It’s the old lady, I saw her. She is standing outside the double doors. She’s on the balcony.”

“I told you, I told you. You never believe me. But, now you saw proof.”

“I guess I did.”

“Well, Kelly let’s get the hell out of here. It’s giving me the creeps.”

“What? You mean you were going to let some ghosts keep you out of this fabulous house? And you know this would be absolutely perfect. You could have a home office right here instead of renting space. That would save you money, wouldn’t it? How about we think about it overnight, and then we can make a decision?”

“OK, but I’m certain, I won’t change my mind. Let’s discuss it again tomorrow. Meanwhile, tomorrow I’m going to go to that library we passed on the way here and do some research.”

The following day, I spent several hours at the local library. What I found out was that many people who are Haddonfield residents or are owners of Haddonfield businesses have a cordial relationship with the local ghosts. Many residents have reported over the years or were aware of that creepy feeling of being watched in their own older homes.

And then one day that I will not forget, I was standing in the biggest bedroom when I heard what sounded like an older man clearing his throat and coughing vigorously. And then I saw smoke and smelled smoke rising up to the chandelier that hung from the fifteen-foot ceiling above me. It really freaked me out and I went downstairs looking for someone else to tell about my experience. But everyone had already left for the day. I thought about calling one of my friends but I knew they wouldn’t believe me. And most likely, they would go around town and tell everyone they knew that I was losing my mind. So, I decided to keep it to myself.

From that day forward I often felt the presence of an unseen person and often smelled the cigar smoke. I decided to keep it to myself. As I continued my research into the people who have lived in the house over the past one hundred or more years, that the most likely life force roaming the house was the original owner who died suddenly from a combination of lung cancer and heart disease. And it was believed by many of the older residence in the area that he still lived within the hallowed walls of the old house. And most likely there lived similar spirits in most of the older homes, especially in the Grove area where the oldest homes resided.

Over time I became comfortable with this belief. In fact, I found some comfort in the thought that I was never really alone. That old soul still visited or even lived permanently within the walls of my historical home. Then one day I woke up feeling fatiqued even though I had fallen asleep early the previous evening. And then I felt a shortness of breath and then a crushing pain in my upper chest. And that was the last thing I remember. And then one overcast day I became aware that I was looking down from the ceiling next to the large chandelier in the center of the ceiling in the large bedroom. And that is when I realized that I, yes, was no longer among the living but was now a spirit that lived within the walls inside my beautiful Victorian home.

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RANCH HOPE SNOWED IN FOR FOUR DAYS

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It was 1994 and II was working at Ranch Hope in Alloway, New Jersey. Ranch Hope was, at that time, a residential, Christian residence for boys ages seven through twenty who were in crisis. Ranch Hope has existed since 1964. I began working there as the first female counselor, and as time went on, I was made the assistant supervisor at Ranch Hope at Turrell Cottage. The boys I was responsible for were between the ages of fourteen to eighteen. These boys had been adjudicated by the court to reside at Ranch Hope because of either family difficulties or breaking the law. And it was either Ranch Hope or jail. Ranch Hope was a last-ditch effort to save these kids who came from rough backgrounds and give them a new chance to start over again. Some of the boys ended up living their entire adolescence at Ranch Hope.

At the time I was working a split shift from seven AM in the morning until ll AM. And then went home until my second shift began from 2:30 until 11:30 PM. That is when the night proctor arrived. And he was often late. Sometimes, I didn’t get home until midnight. And the next day I was tired all day.

On that particular day, it started to snow lightly in the morning at first, and then later, heavy snow began to fall about the time the boys were dismissed from school. All the boys attended Strang School, which was a school that was located on the Ranch Hope Campus within walking distance from the cottages. Most of the teachers were anxious to leave that day since the snow was beginning to accumulate rapidly, and they didn’t want to be stuck there overnight.

I wasn’t too concerned at first. Because I thought the snow would slow down as it had recently, and I would be able to go home as usual. But that isn’t what happened. The snow continued to come down heavier and heavier during the day, and by nightfall, there were several feet of snow. I knew there was no way I was going to get home that night. And that I was going to end up sleeping on the lumpy couch in the living room.
After several hours of heavy snow, I knew for sure that I wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. And that was exactly what happened. The night proctor was not able to make his way from his residence to Ranch Hope because the roads had become impassable, and almost impossible to see where you were going. Ranch Hope is located out in the middle of nowhere, and the roads were rarely plowed. There weren’t any street lights on the roads leading in and out of Alloway and the nearly forty-minute drive home. And on this particular night, the roads were unpassable altogether.

The boys were all excited because of the snow and the fact that they wouldn’t have to attend school for several days. Of course there was other staff from the rest of the cottages that were not going to be going home anytime soon either. Fortunately, Ranch Hope had its own cafeteria and kitchen staff that prepared food for the boys and the staff, and it was only a short walk from any of the cottages to the cafeteria.

As the day went by, I knew for sure I was not going to go home anytime soon. But, at least I was in a warm and safe place. What I didn’t realize right away was that the snow wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. In fact, I ended up staying at Ranch Hope for several days. One of the main problems for me was that the rest of the staff who worked in the residential cottages were men. And I, well, I was the only female. So, there weren’t any female facilities like bathrooms, showers, etc.

By the end of the third day, I was feeling uncomfortable since I had been wearing the same clothes for several days, my hair felt dirty, and I didn’t have any other clothes to wear. At this point, I decided to call the staff at Camp Edge. Camp Edge was a place for the boys to camp and learn some life skills outside of their own background, which was mostly inner city, Camden, or worse. Most of these boys grew up in poverty; many were from broken families or families with addiction problems, or their parent or parents were incarcerated. And Ranch Hope was their last chance to redeem themselves before they ended up incarcerated themselves.

I was able to get ahold of the married couple that ran Camp Edge and asked if would be possible for me to come there and get a shower and borrow a change of clothes. Since I didn’t know when I would be able to get home. Meanwhile, I had to find someone to come to Turrell Cottage and watch the boys while I was gone. After finding a staff member to fill in for me at Turrel for an hour or so, I headed slowly on the snow-covered back roads to Camp Edge. I have to say, even though I grew up in New Jersey and learned how to drive in all kinds of weather. It was a bit scary to drive on back roads with several feet of snow, even though some had been plowed at some point in the last several days. They still have a couple of feet of snow I would have driven through, and I wasn’t up for that. So, I stayed put at Turrel Cottage until the roads were cleared for the most part.

Some of the roads that were plowed had melted and frozen over again and again, and they were sheets of ice. I won’t lie, it was scary. I knew if I had an accident there were very few people on these back country roads that would find me. And then I thought, oh, the couple at Camp Edge knew I was coming, and if I didn’t show up, they would come looking for me. Or at least they would know and inform Ranch Hope staff that I never arrived.

But my luck held out, and I slowly made my way to Camp Edge and drove down their rough driveway and up to their house, which was really more of a cabin than a house. But, still, it had heat, and I could take a shower and change clothes, which would be a blessing. They were waiting for me on their front porch and welcomed me into their home. It was so warm and inviting I hated the idea of leaving and going back on the snow covered, icy roads back to Ranch Hope. And I didn’t know how long it would be before the roads were clear enough to go home and get a good night’s sleep in my own warm bed.

After I showered and changed clothes I thanked them and said, “hopefully, the next time I see you I won’t smell to high heavens.” And they laughed. And I got into my car and slowly made my way back to Ranch Hope. When I arrived, all the boys were in the cafeteria eating lunch. And I went in and grabbed something to eat, and sat down at the table with my boys at Turrell Cottage’s table. They were still really worked up and excited by the snow and no school. And they were being rather boisterous, but not for long. Because when they saw me come into the cafeteria, they knew better than to be acting out. I was a kind caretaker, but I stuck to the rules. I took a good look at the boys. And they were all there but spread out over two tables. And I saw a couple of the older kids were working in the kitchen.

In fact, all the boys, after they had been there for some time, were given jobs if they were being compliant in the cottage and in the school. They were given the opportunity to work and earn money. And if they earned enough points, they would allowed to go on outings. At some point, when the roads cleared up and it was safe to travel, they would be able to go out to the Malls in the area and speed some of their hard-earned money. I won’t lie. Sometimes, some of the boys would try hard to do the right thing, but other times, they tried to sneak around and do things that they weren’t allowed to do. And they would lose points and privileges. And they wouldn’t be able to go off campus or even out of the cottage if they were out of compliance with the rules.

About a day and a half later, I was able to go home, take a day off, and catch up on my sleep. I decided that from then on out, I would bring a change of clothes with me just in case. I worked several more years at Ranch Hope, and although it could be stressful working there, I loved it. And I came to love all those boys. Even the difficult ones. I think it was one of the most rewarding yet stressful jobs I ever had. I can only hope that I helped those boys through a challenging time in their lives. They learned some self-control and came to understand that they were in charge of making their lives and their futures flourish or fail. It was up to them. Over the course of my working life, which started when I was seventeen and extended into my early sixties, Ranch Hope was the job I loved the most and the one that has held many good and bad memories. But, the job that I will always be proud of was the one in which I hope I guided young boys to turn into men with a conscience that knew right from wrong. And to make it their business to treat all people with care and concern and good will.

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