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YOU WERE NEVER PROMISED PARADISE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m her best friend, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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THE STORIES OF MY LIFE

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retirement home

I have considered writing the story of my life for a long time. But something held me back. There are a lot of reasons why people, myself included, procrastinate. We all have our own reasons for putting things off. You could be lacking in self-confidence and unable to start things for fear of failure. Or you could be lazy and have difficulty finishing things.

But my justification for procrastinating is not any of those. My reason is that since I was a young child, I loved telling people stories of my daily experiences. As a child, most of my experiences were similar to other children my age. So, at some point, at a subconscious level, I decided that I would embellish my stories. You know, tweak it here, tweak it there. Make it a little more interesting, more spellbinding. Take the mundane experience up a notch. That’s not so bad. I never considered it to be lying. I considered it to be similar to creative writing. I never thought of it as a lie. Or if it was a lie, it was only a white lie. In other words a harmless lie. But, my ultimate goal was to entertain people by telling them interesting and funny stories to make them laugh.

I told most of my “stories” to my family at dinnertime. At first, my parents seemed to believe every word that spilled out of my mouth. My siblings were not quite so easily led astray. They would sit at the dinner table quietly with a look of disbelief on their faces. And at the end of one of my tales, they would either laugh or say something to the effect of, “what you got to be kidding? And they would start laughing. My father would say, “oh brother, you must have really kissed that blarney stone. That was a good one, and then he laughed and laughed and laughed. Which means he thought I was exaggerating.

Well, to be perfectly honest, I did have a tendency to exaggerate. But, then, doesn’t every writer have that proclivity? And I didn’t just share my stories at the dinner table., I told them to my friends, their parents, all our neighbors, and strangers on the street waiting for the bus. I loved a captive audience. I would start by saying, “hello, how are you. And then I would say, “oh, you know what happened to me?” And off I would go.

Sometimes, I really got carried away with myself and didn’t know when to stop. And the people would eventually try to escape by saying, “oh, here comes my bus, nice talking to you, little girl or I have to be going. I’ll be late for work. One older man that waited on the corner of Main Street at the bus stop always said the same thing. “ I have to go. I have a dentist’s appointment. I’m having a tooth pulled.” The day he said that for the last time that I talked to him, I said, “I’m surprised you have any teeth left to get pulled out.” I knew I had met my match that day, and I didn’t stop and regale him with any of my stories after that. I just waved as I rode by on my second-hand bike.

And then, one day, when I came home, we all sat down to eat dinner. All my siblings were there for once. I was thrilled I rarely had the opportuning to tell a story to both my parents and all of my siblings at once. I sat quietly for a few minutes. I was trying to decide what story I should tell everyone. We were all sitting quietly, waiting for our Irish Stew to cool down. My mother cooked it all day because she wanted it to be thoroughly cooked and hot when she served it. We could all tell it was scalding hot because the steam was rising up over our bowls in unison. So, as I sat there contemplating the tale I would tell, it came to me in a flash.

After everyone settled down and started eating dinner, I said, “guess what I saw today walking down Main Street. My oldest sister said, “ “oh no, here she goes again, with her stories. Does she really think any of us believe these stories. She has a wild imagination, that’s for sure. My father looked at me and said, “go ahead and tell the story. What or who did you see?”

I looked at my father and said, “well, I was walking past that vegetable store next to the bar across the street from the school parking lot. And I saw a woman who was wearing a long, red velvet coat. And a big hat on top of her head with a chicken sitting on it. And it was clucking away. And she had a basket over her arm, and it was full of chicken eggs.”

Everyone at the dinner table stared at me, and then suddenly, they all started laughing. I looked at my mother and father, and then I started crying really loud. “my brother said, well, that’s the biggest whopper she ever told. That even beats the story she told about the old man. She said that he had a bowtie around his forehead and wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks. And he got off the bus at main street and went into the bakery, and came out with a huge box of donuts.”

My father said, “OK, stop laughing. She has an active imagination and likes telling stories. She isn’t lying.”

My mother said, “ stop laughing and finish your dinner. She looked at me with a weird expression on her face. And that made me start crying even louder. Then I got up and ran out the run to the bathroom I didn’t come out until I didn’t hear any of them talking anymore, and it sounded like dinner was over.

But that incident didn’t deter me from telling my stories. I just decided that I would have to broaden my audience beyond people waiting at the bus stop and my family at dinner. So, I thought about it for a long, long time. And then it came to me. I would start visiting the old people’s homes and telling them stories. I was certain that they would love having a young visitor who spent time with them and told them some tall tales. So, the first thing the next day, I rode my bike down Route 73 and across the highway to visit the old people.

I parked my bike outside the front of the building and walked through the front door to a desk where a lady was sitting. She said, “ can I help you, young lady?” I looked at her, and then I looked all around, and I didn’t see any ladies, so I figured she must be talking to me. I had never been called a young lady before, and I was either called by my name or “hey, kid.”

“I would like to visit the old people every day and tell them stories. They’re very good stories. And I know they would love to hear them.”

She looked at me and the biggest smile I ever saw spread across her face. “When would you like to start?”

“Well, there’s no time like the present. That’s what my mother always says.” She laughed out loud after I said that. Just wait a few moments while I call one of the aides to come up front and show you around. And you can decide if you want to talk to one person at a time or everyone at the same time.”

“Well, I think I’ll tell one person at a time. And see how it goes over. And if they all like my stories, I’’ tell them all at once. What do you say?”

I say, ‘outstanding.” And then she called someone’s name over the loudspeaker. And I stood at the desk and looked around until a woman came over to me and said, “Hello, my name is Miss Hartman. I heard that you would like to tell our residents some stories. What is your name?” They are going to love that. Some of them hardly have any family or friends that come to visit them. And they rarely see young people.”

“ Oh, everyone calls me Sissy. Why don’t their families come to visit them?”

“Well, for the most part, they have outlived their mates and family members, or sometimes they live far away or don’t take the time to visit them. They get lonely. However, we have a lot of activities for them. They miss seeing people from the outside.”

“Outside.” Aren’t they allowed to go outside?”

“Oh, of course, they can go outside. I meant that they seldom come to visit them. So, it just so happens that most of the people are in the dining room eating lunch. And so, off we went to a big room with a lot of round tables spread out across the whole place. And there were four people at each table, and there was a lot of chatter from all the people talking. I noticed it was mostly old ladies and an old man here or there.

Then she said, “let’s go up to the front of the room, and I’ll make an announcement about you and how you like to tell stories to people. You can come up and stand next to me, and then I will introduce you to them. How’s that?” I was surprised that she wanted my opinion, “ I said, that’s great.” She smiled down at me. Let’s do it. So, I followed her up to the front of the room, and she called out,” Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement. Can you quiet down for just a moment, please?”

They all quieted down. You could have heard a pin drop. This young lady, whose name is Sissy, is going to start coming here and telling us some stories. She is a storyteller. And she said she could tell stories to everyone at once or come to your rooms and tell one person at a time. What do you think?”

And then, all of a sudden, everyone was clapping and stamping their feet, and someone yelled out, “tell a story now. Please.”

Miss Hartman looked at me with a big smile on her face, “Well, Sissy, it looks like you have a captive audience. Do you have a story you would like to tell right now?”

“Yes, I have a story about my neighbor, Mrs. Collins. She lives down the street from me, two doors down. She loves cats, and she has a long fenced-in area in her backyard that runs the length from front to back. And the cats have a door in the basement that they can go through to the cat run. She has over thirty cats. I like to visit them almost every day. They like to be scratched and talked to. I know all their names. And she has a big white dog with black spots, and his name is Rudy. He barks a lot.

And sometimes, one of her cats escapes out of the pen and gets in a big fight with the neighbor’s cats. They roll around and scream at one another so fast that you can’t even see them clearly. So, they all have scars on them from fighting with other cats, mostly Strottles, who loves to fight. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. And all the people started clapping and yelling, “tell another one.”

So, I said, “sure, well, let me think. Oh, I know I’ll tell you about what happened to me last Halloween.” And they all started clapping again. Well, first of all, my mother made me a costume. And it was a hot dog, with a roll with mustard on it. And I was in the Halloween parade. At first, everyone laughed at my costume, but I won the first prize because it was such an original costume. Since most of the other kids were dressed as ghosts or witches, a princess, or pirates. Then after the parade, we all started going around town with our pillowcases and knocking on everyone’s door and saying,” trick or treat.”

And I stayed out really late and ate so much candy I thought I might get sick. When my pillowcase was so full, I took it home and emptied it and then went out again on the other end of town and got it filled up again.’

Everyone started clapping and laughing. One old guy got up and said, “Hey, I used to do the same thing, and a lot of other people said the same thing. Al, the old ladies, and the men started talking to one another and telling them about their Halloween experiences, and everyone was laughing and smiling at each other.

Ms. Hart looked over at me at said, Sissy, I think that it would be just wonderful if you came all the time and talked to our residents. It looks like you helped bring back some of their good childhood memories and made them happy. Would you like to come and visit them?”

“Yes, I would love that. Especially visiting the old people that don’t get any visitors.”

Then Miss Hartman said, “may I have your attention, please? Would anyone like to have Sissy come back again and visit? And then everyone stood up and clapped their hands. And that was the beginning of me coming to visit the old people and realizing that they were just like me, only with wrinkles and gray hair. And making new friends every time I went to visit them. And it was one of the best experiences of my life.

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And The Winner Is

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The view out of the kitchen window is our front yard and across the street is his elderly neighbor, Mrs. McDonald. She is weeding her garden. Her garden is amazing in the Spring. Right now, it is a rainbow of different colored tulips. She orders the bulbs from Holland.

Cherry Hill Race Track, New Jersey

Henry watches her with a look of admiration on his face. She has lived alone in her house for many years. Her husband died unexpectedly over twenty years ago. After her husband’s death, Mrs. McDonald realized that she didn’t have enough money to survive on her own. So, she began renting out the second floor of her house. She never asks for help from anyone. And somehow, she had managed to keep body and soul together.

Occasionally Henry would cross the street and knock at her door. “Hello, Mrs. McDonald. I have some free time this morning, and I was wondering if I could help you in some way?” She would always respond, ” no, no, I’m fine.” And then Henry would say, “how about if I fix your fence, there are a couple of loose boards. And while I’m out there, I’ll tighten that gutter that’s coming off and take your trash out to the curb.” She would say, “Thank you, Henry. You’re a saint.” Henry would laugh and say, “I am the least saintly man you’ll ever meet. Have no doubt. There won’t be any place in heaven for me.”

Henry is a complicated man. Few people realize that because he kept his feelings close to the vest. He volunteers at the nearby church to maintain the pews in the church and does other minor repairs. But the fact is Henry doesn’t attend any church services. And although he wasn’t a member of any church, he’s fascinated by the religious beliefs of all cultures and reads about them in-depth in his free time. His current interest is the ancient Chinese beliefs of Taoism and Daoism. And yet when Henry goes to the vegetable store to buy vegetables, he calls the owner China-man. He’s been going to the same shop for years and never asks the man his name.

Henry works the night shift and sleeps during the days, except on his days off. On his days off, he does the food shopping or works on projects in his basement. On other days he spends at the racetrack making bets on the horses and talking to all his friends at the track. When he can’t go to the track, he calls his bookie up and makes bets on the phone. If he wins any money on his gambling, he doesn’t share that information with his wife. And he plays cards for money. His family has never met any of Henry’s friends, and he doesn’t talk about them at home. If his wife knows about his activities, she never brings it up. It would do little good because Henry is a man that doesn’t ask permission to do anything.

The fact is that Henry has two separate lives, one with his family and one with his friends and his fellow workers. Henry works for the bus company. They refer to him as Smiley. His family rarely sees a smile cross his face.

Occasionally Henry works part-time at an auto supply store within walking distance of his home on his days off. Once upon a time, in 1929, Henry and a friend of his started an auto repair business. Unfortunately, this was at the height of the depression, and it went out of business. Henry was a perfect fit for the position of running the auto parts store. Most of the people in town know him because they frequented the J. M Auto repair store. And they know Henry is knowledgeable about car repair. He’s friendly and talkative during his working hours.

But when he comes home, he is often silent. And spends his time reading the newspaper and watching the news, and TV shows, mostly Westerns. His family knows better than to interrupt him. Cody Henry’s dog lies on the living room floor next to Henry’s chair. And Henry pets him from his nose to his tail the entire time.

On Henry’s workdays, he sleeps during the day, and his wife wakes him up to eat his dinner before he goes to work at 4 PM. Sometimes he works the four to twelve shift, and sometimes he has to work the midnight to eight AM. His family is not allowed to make noise during those days that he’s sleeping. Woe to anyone that wakes up the sleeping bear.

Even though Henry doesn’t spend a great deal of his time with his family, he makes a strong impact on each member of his family. He expects everyone to work hard and do their best. He is a perfectionist.

One fine day Henry came home, and he had a big smile on his face. He burst into the kitchen and said, “a photograph that I took at the racetrack is going to be published in the Courier Post. And there’s a cash prize. And I’m going to take the entire family out for dinner.” It was actually two pictures. The first picture was of all the people standing and sitting in the stands watching the race take off. And the second picture was of the people tearing up all their bets that lost and throwing them in the air.

Henry’s family listened to his announcement with their mouths wide open because they had never gone out to dinner before. The following weekend everyone met up at the restaurant, and Henry said, “order whatever dinner you like. It’s on me. Everyone looked at him and at each other. And there was a smile on all of their faces.

The following Sunday, everyone was amazed to see their father’s photograph on the front page of the Courier-Post newspaper. Henry was smiling from ear to ear. And they all gave him a round of applause. It was a day that the family would never forget. The day their father smiled from ear to ear.

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SHE WAS LAID TO REST

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I received the call very late at night, long after I went to bed. Long after, I finally fell asleep. I heard the phone ringing. But my mind refused to acknowledge it. We all know that good news never arrives after midnight. And this call was no exception to that maxim.

In the morning, after my first cup of coffee, I notice the message light on my phone is blinking. I look at the caller ID. It’s my Great Aunt Maeve’s number. I can’t remember the last time I heard from her. The fact is, I thought she died decades ago. I haven’t kept in touch with that side of the family. Too Catholic, you know. Too old school. Too judgmental.

My life choices would not bear scrutiny. Not that I’m a serial killer or anything that drastic. Just that, well, let’s say I believe the ten commandments have some flexibility in them, some leeway, if you know what I mean. For instance, it’s not that bad to lie as long as you aren’t hurting anyone with that lie. It’s not that bad if you steal, as long as it isn’t hurting anyone personally. And if the money isn’t missed by anyone, then what’s the harm?

Besides, the church doesn’t believe in drinking or playing the horses or gambling at all, for that matter, unless it’s Bingo. But really, how is that any of their business anyway? What’s the problem with the occasional pint, or ten pints for that matter? Isn’t hurting anyone else, is it? No, of course, it isn’t. Get over yourself. Mind your own business. That’s what I say. Mind your own damn business.

I push the message button.  It isn’t my Great Aunt Maeve. It’s her granddaughter Katie. I always had kind of a crush on her. She was a real Irish beauty back in the day. Hair down to her waist, as dark as coal and so thick your fingers would get lost in it. Her eyes, well, they were that shade of blue that looks like blue ice. Light blue, deep as the ocean. You could drown in those eyes. Her body was a young man’s dream. Sometimes I couldn’t get to sleep at all at night just from thinking about her.

“What’s that, you say? Isn’t she’s your cousin?” Yeah, sure, she’s my cousin. But not my first cousin. What’s the harm, I say? We were young, and it was all very innocent — just a kiss or two, nothing more. Oh, get over yourself.

Anyway, Katie is letting me know that Aunt Maeve has passed over to the great beyond. She tells me the funeral is in three days. And, of course, after the funeral will be the traditional Irish Wake. Well, ordinarily, I avoid funerals like the plague. But an Irish Wake well that I wouldn’t miss even if it were going to be my own goddamn wake. Especially then, I guess. She tells me that the funeral is at 10:30 on Friday morning at Holy Mackerel Church. OK, so that’s not the real name.

It’s really called St. Patrick’s. It’s in Gloucester City, NJ. Don’t let anyone ever tell you the Irish have any creativity. Every other church and child’s name is Patrick. Even after the church admitted, there never was a real St. Patrick. They just continued naming every child and church after him. The Irish lot is about as stubborn as they get; don’t let anyone tell you any differently.

Well, no doubt about it, I was going to have to fortify myself in the next couple of days with some good booze and beer. If I am going to survive a week with my family. I’ll have to be good and drunk and stay that way if my psyche will survive the inquisition that every cousin, aunt, or uncle is going to put me through. But, not to worry, I’ve had years of practice — years of training. I’m up to the challenge. Ready or not, here I come.

So here I’m on my way to the funeral. I have Radar Love cracked up as high as possible. I get off the freeway to buy a six-pack of Old Milwaukee. Yeah, I know not a beer of choice unless you like the taste of armpit, but it brings you right down to earth. And that’s what you need when you are going to spend more than a week with the dearly departed and your loved ones.

As I pull off Route 130 onto Market Street in Gloucester, NJ, I have an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It could be nausea, could be I drank too much. But I doubt that since I have a pretty high tolerance for alcohol in any form. As I see the house at the end of the street, I realize I feel like that kid I was long ago that left home at twenty. Angry, resentful, lonely.

Indeed, I didn’t come back as a war hero or successful businessman.  But hell, I’m a tin knocker. When I work, I make pretty decent money. When I don’t, I live on unemployment until the Union calls me back. That’s life if you work in construction.

I pull my 1971 El Camino next to the curb and stare over at the house. It looks the same. It’s a two-story stucco with faded shutters and a red front door with black hinges. My Uncle Hugh just loved to paint everything black and red. He was quite the character. Heavyset with those light blue eyes. And could be mean as a snake if you got on his wrong side. He was the one that caught Katie and me kissing on the couch in the basement.

The lilac bush was overgrown, and the grass hadn’t been cut in a long time.

But still, it’s the house where I spent most of his youth. My Aunt Maeve took care of me every summer. She fed me Lebanon bologna and cheese. Or sometimes fried bologna sandwiches with chicken noodle soup. Every Sunday, she made a different kind of cake for dessert. My favorite was chocolate cake with vanilla icing sprinkled with shredded coconuts. It was the only day they ate roast beef and noodles. I can almost smell it while I stand here on the porch.

I have my hand poised, ready to knock, but at the last moment, I grasp the doorknob and turn it. The door opens, and I hear a chorus of voices all talking at the same time. Aunt Aileen yells out,” it’s our Danny standing at the door like a stranger. ”Come in, come in and give us a kiss for the love of god. Has the cat got your tongue?”

“Hello, Aunt Aileen. It’s been a long time. You look great.”

“Oh, get on with you. You must have kissed the blarney stone. Say hello to your Uncle Pat.”

“Hello, Uncle Pat.”  He’s sitting on an ancient upholstered rocking chair. There’s duct tape holding it together. He’s even fatter than I remember. He’s wearing a red and white striped shirt with a pocket. In the pocket are his Pall Mall cigarettes. He lost all of his hair, which was thinning even back when I was a kid. I can smell the nicotine on him from two feet away. The lampshade on the coffee table next to him is stained yellow from years of exposure to Uncle Pat’s smoking unfiltered Pall Malls.

“Well, I may have put on a pound or two. You’re a grown man Danny, but I would have recognized you anywhere. So, what have you been up to? What kind of work are you doing these days?”

“I’m a tin knocker, Uncle Pat, just like my dad. I’m sorry I didn’t come back for his funeral. I didn’t hear about it until long after. I was in the middle of moving at the time. And staying with a friend. I should have kept in touch.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters. Sit down, take a load off.  Your Aunt Aileen will get you something to eat. There’s enough to feed an army, as usual. I hope you brought your appetite with you. You’re a bit on the scrawny side, if you don’t mind me saying. But your Aunt Aileen will fill you out, don’t you worry. She’ll be right back with a plate.”

Danny plops down on the couch. He could swear it was the same couch he remembered from his childhood. They must have finally taken the plastic cover off.  He looks around the room, and there’re some familiar faces. Older than he remembered, but still, he would know them anywhere. Danny doesn’t see Katie anywhere. Maybe she’s in the kitchen. It’s loud in here.  Irish music is playing in the background. He thinks it’s the Clancy Brothers. When he was a teenager, he couldn’t stand hearing all the Irish tunes.

At that moment, he hears his Aunt Liz calling out, “Danny, Danny, my boy, where is he? Oh, there you are. Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Come here, give us a hug.”

Danny stands up and walks over to her and is crushed in her bosomy embrace. When he catches his breath, he looks up at her. Her face bears the weight of the years and all the pain she has to carry.” “Hello, Aunt Liz, it’s good to see you. It’s been a long time. You look good. Is Katie here? I haven’t seen her?”

“Oh, sure, she’ll be here in a  shake of a lamb’s tail.  Oh, I’ve forgotten how you two used to be as thick as thieves when you were kids. I’m so happy you came. I wish you had come back before Maeve left us. She talked about you all the time, and you were the light of her life. Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me and you can fix a plate? You look half-starved, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Danny follows his Aunt Liz into the kitchen. It looks as if time has stood still in this kitchen. It’s still painted a cream-colored stained with years of nicotine. The linoleum floor remained in the orange and brown checkered board pattern. Tracks are worn into the tile surface from forty years of foot traffic.

Danny walks over to the narrow cabinet next to the refrigerator and opens it. The ironing board is still neatly hidden within its depths. The General Electric refrigerator had been replaced by a more recent and larger one. And the chandelier which once graced the ceiling is now a fluorescent light fixture. Danny’s Uncle Hugh had an artistic streak and often replaced everyday household items with his creations.

Take a load off Danny. Danny pulls out the chair and sits down. His Aunt puts a plate down in front of him. Danny looks down, and his plate is so full there isn’t an inch of space that isn’t covered with food. He picks up his fork and starts shoveling it in. He hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal in years. Mostly his diet consisted of fast food and bologna and cheese sandwiches, followed by a six-pack of Michelob.

When he looks up again, everyone is staring at him because his plate is entirely empty. And they all start laughing. Danny is embarrassed at first, but then he too joins in the laughter. He didn’t realize how hungry he had been.

“Well, you poor thing, are you still hungry? Do you want some dessert? We have some homemade chocolate cake with vanilla icing with coconut on top. What do you say?”

“I’m pretty full, but yeah, I would love a piece of homemade cake.”

His Aunt Liz hands him a huge piece of cake, and a cup of coffee, so strong Danny tastes the caffeine before he swallows any. After he finishes, he rubs his stomach and exhales. “ God, that was the best meal I’ve had in years. Probably since the last time I ate since the last time I was here. Thanks so much.”

As Danny looked around at all the faces at the table, he noticed there were tears on his Aunt’s and Uncle’s cheeks. At the same time, he realizes there are tears running down his own cheeks.

His Aunt Liz comes over and hugs him. “Oh, Danny, we have all missed you so much. It’s sad that losing Maeve’s passing is what it took for us to get you back. But I know that she would be thrilled to see you sitting back at her table.”

Danny looked up at her. ”Aunt Liz, I didn’t realize how much I missed all of you. Aunt Maeve was the closest thing I had to a mother. I guess I couldn’t get over all the anger I had when I left. I just wanted to block out all the angry words between my dad and me. And then he died, and I felt so guilty. That I hadn’t come back and made it right, I couldn’t face the funeral. I’m glad I come back now. It’s hard to be in the world without anyone caring what happens to you.”

“Oh, Danny, we did care. We all love you. We never stopped. OK, no more tears today. Let’s try to remember the good times we all had with Maeve.”

The next morning Danny comes downstairs from his old bedroom dressed for the funeral and feels a sudden emptiness.  On some level, he was expecting his Aunt Maeve to be sitting at the table drinking her tea and reading the paper. He did hear his Uncles and Aunts talking quietly together. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

“Good morning Danny, how did you sleep? I guess your childhood bed was a bit uncomfortable for you.”

“I slept fine. I fell right to sleep and slept through the night. What time will we be leaving for the funeral?”

“In an hour. Danny, we would like it if you were one of the pallbearers, and I would like you to get up and say a few words about Maeve. You were such a big part of her life. She would have liked that. What do you have to say?”

“Well, I’m not much on public speaking, but yeah, I’d like to say a few words. After we eat, I’ll go upstairs and write down some of my memories of Aunt Maeve. I hope I don’t mess it up.”

“Danny, just speak from your heart. You never had any faith in yourself. But we do. We always did.”

“OK, I will do my best, Uncle Hugh.”

After breakfast, Danny went upstairs and started thinking about his Aunt Maeve and how much she meant to him. And how much she had loved him and accepted him just the way he was. If it hadn’t been for her, Danny would have left long before he got out of high school. His father was a falling-down drunk and used him as a punching bag. His mother had left when he was about three or four. He had very few memories of her at all.

Without his Aunt Maeve, he wouldn’t have survived his childhood. As he thought about that, he realized how much he missed by not keeping in touch with her for the past ten years. He can’t do anything about the past. But he can do something about the here and now. He starts writing.

It’s time for Danny to step up to the pulpit. He clears his throat and looks up and out at all the people who came to acknowledge his Aunt Maeve’s passing but also celebrate her life. He sees his cousin Katie in the first row. She nods at him and lifts her chin up. It’s a signal they used to use to give each other support. When they were young and, things got tough. He lifted his chin to her.

“Good morning, everyone. We are all gathered here to mourn the loss of someone dear to us, someone we will all miss. She will leave an empty space in our lives that she used to fill. But I hope we can fill that space with all the loving memories we have of Aunt Maeve.

For me, she was that safe place I could go when I felt all alone and unloved. She would cook a hot meal. She always gave me a warm and loving hug and a kiss on my cheek. She assured me that I was a person of value. And that I was someone that she loved and would always love, no matter what. She accepted me for who I was and never told me I wasn’t good enough, not smart enough, or not good-looking enough. She held my hand and warmed my heart.

My life was richer for having known her. When I talked to her, she listened. She heard and cared. She was never too busy. She was always there for me. I can see by the way you are nodding your heads that she did the same thing for each of you. We were blessed by having to know her. She was both strong and soft at the same time. I can only hope that someday I can inspire someone else the way she inspired me always to work hard and do my best. So, as we go forward in our lives, let us keep her in our hearts and minds. I know she will be traveling with me throughout my journey through life. I will always feel her by my side, and I will never be alone again.

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HAPPY ENDINGS COMES IN ALL DIFFERENT SIZES AND SHAPES

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Life hasn’t always been a piece of cake for me. My mother was fifteen when she had me and gave me up since she was in no way ready to be a mother since she couldn’t even take care of herself.

Children playing in the yard.

It turns out I was a colicky baby and not your typical adorable baby that everyone falls in love with at first sight. It seems as if my mother never had prenatal care when she was pregnant with me and didn’t take care of herself let alone her unborn child. In fact, she hid her pregnancy from her family altogether.

When my mother went into labor she didn’t tell anyone and she gave birth to me with the help of her best friend. After I was born they dropped me off at the local hospital emergency room and she never looked back or gave me one thought after that. I was just a mistake in a long line of mistakes that she made throughout her messed up life.

As I was saying she left me at the emergency room. From there I was taken to the preemie room in the maternity ward. I’m sure the nursing staff did their best to take care of me. Apparently, I was not a good sleeper nor did I seem interested in drinking the formula they gave me. I cried non-stop morning, noon, and all night. At some point, they felt I was in stable condition and I was put in the care of the state and went to a foster care home. Where I lived for less than a year. Apparently, my inability to ever sleep through the night and screaming like a banshee made it difficult for the foster parents and kids to sleep through the night.

As a result, I was tossed from one foster home to another. No one seems to have any interest in adopting me. I felt alone in the world and rejected. But that all changed when I was sent to live with a foster family whose last name was Corsican. They were truly the first kind and loving people I had ever known. They never made negative comments about how I looked.

Oh, I forgot to mention that apparently my birth mother or father or some distant forgotten relation to one of them had the biggest nose on the face of the planet and I inherited it. How lucky am I? I spent almost my entire childhood being called names like honker, schnoz, horse, beak, snout, Gonzo. Apparently one of the kids who called me Gonzo thought I looked like one of the muppets on TV.

Anyway the day my social worker came and picked me up and brought me to the Corsican’s house was the luckiest day of my life. As soon as we arrived at their house I knew life was looking up for me. The kids were running and playing all over the yard.

They were laughing and calling out each other’s names. Apparently playing some kind of game I was unfamiliar with. As soon as the social worker pulls up kids start running towards the car. I mentally prepare myself for the onslaught of name-calling.

All the kids came running up to the car window. And they all talk at the same time. “Hi, you must be Stevie we have been waiting all day for you to show up. Come on out and we’ll show you your room and stuff.”

“Go on Stevie, I’ll bring your suitcase in and I have to talk to the Corsicans.”

I open the door and get out of the car and someone grabs my arm and says,” you can be on my team. And just like that, I met my best friend, and it turns out her name was Billie Jean. That’s right my best friend is a girl.”

My social worker walks up to the front door and goes in to speak to the foster mom and says,” this is the last opportunity for Stevie in foster care. He has been moved from one placement to another. He has problems falling to sleep and staying asleep. He has been rejected by his own mother and her extended family. We have no clue who his father is. What I’m saying is this is his last chance to have any kind of normal life. If this fails he will be headed to a state residential treatment program and that rarely has a good ending.”

Mrs. Corsican takes a step back and says all in one breath. “Stevie will not fail here. I’ve dealt with kids with much worse backgrounds than he has had. Kids that grow up feeling rejected time and again develop trust issues with adults. I promise you that I and all the kids that live here will come to love and accept Stevie. I will create a plan to help him start sleeping better. I have no doubt that he will sleep better when he feels he is loved and accepted and that he has a place to live for as long as he needs it. “

“Thank you I knew this would be the solution for Stevie. Please keep me up to date with his progress. Feel free to contact me at any time. I mean that. I’m going to say so long to Stevie but please call me if you need my assistance in any way.

I walk back down the sidewalk and call out, “Stevie I’m leaving now. You have my phone number if you ever need to call me about anything.” Stevie gives me a wave and keeps playing with the other kids. My heart feels a little lighter now. I’m certain that this is the home that Stevie will have for the rest of his childhood and perhaps the family that he deserved his entire life. The family that loves and accepts one another regardless of how they look, the clothes they wear.  Or where they came from. This is the unconditional love that all children deserve. I smile all the way to the car and the ride back to my office. This is what a happy ending looks like for kids like Stevie.

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THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE CURIOUS

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There are many ways that someone can be described. I’ve been described as intelligent, not bad-looking, and funny. But the truth is my most outstanding trait is my curiosity.

As far back as I can remember the force that drove me is my curiosity. You may ask, “But what are you so curious about?”

“And the God’s honest truth is, everything.”

I remember an incident from my early childhood. I was about four years old. And I decided to take a walk down my street about four houses down from where we lived. I was standing next to a telephone pole that was out in front of Mrs. Collins’s house. And her trash can was sitting there waiting to be picked up by the garbage man. They always come at 8 AM every Friday morning. 

My father had a weird fascination with counting how many garbage cans people put out in front of their house the day before the trash was picked up. He got angry if the neighbors put out too many and even more angry if they didn’t put out any at all.

So perhaps because he talked about the garbage cans every week to such an extent, I became curious and wondered, “what is so interesting” about garbage cans? And on this particular Friday morning, I decided to take a walk down my street, and investigate just what was inside these metal cans that everyone wanted so badly to get rid of them, and have them driven far, far away from them every week? And why did they keep buying things that they eventually couldn’t wait to get rid of?

As I stood there staring at Mrs. Collins’s trash can I couldn’t help but notice that there was a disgusting smell emanating from the depths of the can that had a bent and rusty lid on it. The lid was being held closed by a broken brick. Because the lid didn’t fit well. And would often fall off before the garbage men emptied its contents into the maw of the giant monster of a truck that swallowed everyone’s garbage every Friday morning.

I picked up the broken brick and put it gingerly onto the ground next to the can. The stink intensified. I took off the lid and put that on the ground next to the stinking can. The first thing I saw inside was a large can. I recognized it as something my mother used to call “The Crisco Can.” I didn’t know that everyone had this “Crisco Can.”

I thought, “wow, that’s really a big can. I wonder if this can will fit over my head. It looks big enough.” And so, I picked up the can without investigating the contents. It felt empty so I thought it would be safe to put on my head. My older brother had been kind enough to give me a haircut recently. As a result, my hair only came down to the tips of my ears. For some reason, my mother asks, “why, why did he cut your hair? And why would he cut it this short? I told my mother that he cut it short to see if I would look like a boy.

Anyway, it turns out that the Crisco Can was almost a perfect fit for my head since I had very little hair left on it. I wiggled my head a bit to see what if anything would happen. And then out of the blue, I felt something or someone biting my head. Not just the top but all over. And not only did the bites sting like crazy but my scalp started to burn like it was on fire. And whatever it began running down inside my shirt and biting me all over my chest and stomach.

I began to scream like crazy and running at the same time back to my house. I ran to the kitchen door and screamed at the top of my lungs. “I’m on fire, help I’m on fire.”
My dad and mom who had been sitting quietly at the kitchen table drinking their first cup of coffee of the day came bursting out of the kitchen onto the side stoop. And my father started yelling, “what the hell is wrong with you? You’re not on fire. And why in the hell do you have a Crisco can on your stupid noggin?”

“My head is on fire. And something is biting me. HELP.”

My mother said, don’t yell at her, you’re just making it worse. Why do you always have to yell?”

“For the love of god, take the can off her head.”

My father yanked the greasy can off my head. I yelled even louder. “Ow, ow, ow. That hurts.”

My mother said, “what is it” what is it?”

“Holy mackerel she has red ants all over her head, and on her neck, and in the front and the back of her shirt. “Take her clothes off, and I’ll get something to kill them. And with that, he ran back into the house and off to find something that would kill the “red ants.”

I hoped he wouldn’t kill me in the process. Sometimes with my father in charge, the cure was often worse than the ailment. I started crying anew. My mother started pulling my top off and my undershirt and then my pants and underpants. I was now naked as a Jay Bird in front of everyone who happens to drive or walk by. And the worse part was, I could see our evil next-door neighbor’s face pressed up against the windowpane. And there was a horrible grin on her face. For some reason she just despised me. She was always calling me The Cry Baby.

And then at that very moment, my father burst out of the kitchen door and he had a big metal can in his hand. “Step back from the child, I’m going to pour this all over her head. This should kill the bastards.”

My mother yelled, “What? You can’t pour turpentine on her head. It will kill her. She’s just a little girl and it will get in her eyes and blind her.”

She stepped back and I felt a burning liquid pouring down over my head and face, I quickly closed my eyes tight. And then it dripped down my front and back and down my skinny legs. My mother forgot to take off my shoes, so my new sneakers got all wet too. My mother said, “oh no, you ruined her new sneakers.”

I had tightly closed my eyes but tears somehow managed to creep out of my eyes and down my red and swollen face. My father yelled, “get the hose, and we’ll hose her down.”

And that was what they did. They hosed me down for what seemed forever. I had finally run out of tears and was just standing there in my ruined sneakers and red and itchy skin and soaking wet. And my father said to me with all seriousness,” are you happy now?”

I stood there soaked to the skin with itchy, burning bites and dead ants pooling around my feet. And my father said, “why in god’s name did you put that filthy, disgusting can on your head for? Can you just tell me that?”

I looked at him and said, “to see if it would fit on my head of course.”

“Did you hear that? She wanted to know if the can would fit on her head?”

“Yes, she’s always been a curious child. She’ll probably be the death of me yet. I’m going to take her in and put her in a tub and clean her off. And then I’m going in my room and say the rosary.”

Of course, this was neither the first or last horrible experience I had because of my curiosity. My best friend and I often took long walks around town or rode our bikes all over the place. My mom always said to me as I was on the way out the front door, don’t slam the door and be home for lunch (or dinner) on time.

My best friend would always go along with my plans and never questioned or suggested. Nor did she ever suggest that perhaps this was not a good idea. She just went along with whatever I said. So, one fine summer day, I said, “Wow, it is really hot outside, I would really like to go swimming. She said, “Me too.” I was about ten years old then and she was nine.

“Why don’t we go and get our swimsuits on and walk down to the hotel on Route 73 and sneak into their swimming pool. I bet they wouldn’t even notice us. I’ll meet you at your house in about fifteen minutes. Put your clothes on your swimming suit and bring a towel. “Ok, I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes. I went to my house and changed into my hand-me-down swimsuit and put my shorts and tee-shirt on over it.

My mother told me to be on time for lunch and I said, OK. She never asked where I was going, she just reminded me to be on time. When I got home from whatever adventure I was up to she said, “oh good, there you are. Go get ready for dinner.” And by that, she meant to wash your hands. Neither my father nor mother ever ask where I was. They might say what were you doing today? And I would just reply, riding bikes.

And so, on this particular day, we rode down Route 73 which was a State Highway in South Jersey and heavily traveled. Luckily, it wasn’t rush hour so there weren’t too many cars and trucks on the road. And somehow, we made it in one piece to the hotel.  When we got there were several families with kids already swimming in the pool. So, we just parked our bikes next to the fence behind a bush and walk through the gate and put our clothes on our towels and nonchalantly jumped into the pool. We had a great time. Unfortunately, both of us got sunburned and when I arrived home my mother said, “Good grief, you’re as red as a beet. You should have known you were out in the sun too long. You need to go take a bath in baking soda. My mother thought baking soda was a cure-all, either that or Vic’s Vapor Rub.

I never let a previous negative outcome to one of my little adventures deter me from continuing down the path I follow to satisfy my curiosity. I really don’t allow anything or anyone to stop me once I got an idea in my head. My father often told me I was the most bullheaded, stubborn person he ever knew bar none.

And so, about a year later, when that self-same hotel that my best friend and I went swimming in added a trampoline for the guest children to enjoy I thought, why shouldn’t I enjoy the trampoline? What’s one or two more kids jumping on the trampoline going to harm? We had a half-day at school this Friday so I would just fail to inform my mother and she would not be the wiser, no harm, no foul, right?

I waited for my friend to come out of her classroom on Friday and we dumped our schoolbags on my back porch and we went on our merry way towards Route 73 and our new adventure. Once again, we managed to get safely across the highway and up to the hotel. My friend did have a few moments where she freaked out as we crossed the highway. When we got to the other side I said, “what are you crying about? Nothing bad happened we’re fine.”

And then we walked up to the gate where the trampoline was located and before you knew it, we were jumping up and down to our heart’s content. It was amazing. I felt like I was flying. My greatest desire in life was to be a bird. And to fly from one side of the planet to the other. We must have jumped up and down for three hours. My stomach was growling like crazy because I didn’t eat breakfast that morning. And we skipped lunch. On the other hand, there was a really strong chance that if I did eat anything I would puke.

I yelled as loud as I could, “hey my legs are getting tired. How are yours?”

She yelled back, “they are killing me let’s go home now. It must be getting late.” By then we were the only kids left on the trampoline. “Yeah, let’s go home now.” We took our time walking back to our houses because not only were our legs killing us, it felt like we were still jumping up and down. It was a weird feeling, and it took us twice as long to get back home. When we got back to my house, we went to the back porch and grabbed our school bags. I yelled, “I’ll call you later,” to my friend. She barely waved at me. No doubt she would go home and fall in her bed and not get up to twelve o’clock on Saturday afternoon.

I have to admit my legs were absolutely killing me. But there was no way I could tell my mother what I had been up to. Or my father would have made sure that my legs were the only thing that would be hurting for a few days. When I got up to the side steps, I could hardly lift my legs up to the next step. There were only four steps but I wasn’t sure I would be able to make it. It took me about five minutes.

When I got to the top step, I saw my mother looking at me through the windows on the kitchen door. I waved at her. Thank god, my arms didn’t hurt. Or the jig would be up.

My mother opened the door and let me in. She said, “where have you been your sister has been home for several hours? She said you had a half-day today.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. But I had to stay after school to practice diagramming sentences with Sister. This was a frequent occurrence so she didn’t question me again. But the problem was I was hardly able to walk because I had such terrible leg cramps from jumping on the trampoline for hours.

As the school year came to a close, I began looking forward to going to Strawbridge Lake. My friends and I used to ride our bikes there. I was twelve years old now so I didn’t think it was a problem to ride there it was only two towns away. Of course, I didn’t tell my parents where we were going, they would have told me that I wasn’t old enough to ride my bike that far. But unbeknownst to them, we had been going there for years. But as I mentioned earlier, my parents never ask where we went. They only told us not to be late for lunch or dinner. Unlike me, they didn’t seem to have any curiosity about where I was and what I did. As long as I got home in one piece more or less.

Anyway, on this particular day, I had the brilliant idea that today would be the perfect day to walk across the waterfall at Strawbridge Lake. Up until now, we had all been too chicken to cross it since the water was at its deepest at the Falls. It would be really, really fun. I called a couple of my friends up and ask them to meet me outside my house in a half-hour. Only two of them agreed to go. Since they had all suffered some negative consequences when I got “some crazy idea” about what would be fun.

At eleven o’clock we all met in the church parking lot. And then we headed to Strawbridge Lake. It was in Moorestown. So, it took us about forty-five minutes to get there. And it was at least ninety degrees out and humid. In other words, typical summer weather in NJ. By the time we got there, we couldn’t wait to get in the water. However, no one was allowed to swim in the lake. It was strictly a fishing lake and a place to have family picnics. But of course, that didn’t stop us.

I had brought a towel and a blanket in my bag. So, I laid the blanket out under a Willow tree and we all took our sneakers and socks off. Then I said, “let’s go.” And off we went and walked toward the waterfalls. I kept saying, “come on, come on let’s go.” There was me and my best friend and two of my school friends, Diane and Helen. I said, “come on last one there is a rotten egg. And we all started laughing and running.

When we got to the edge of the water I stuck my foot into the water, and said, “holy mackerel it’s freezing.” They all looked at each other and I could see they were going to chicken out. “Come on, come on. I’ll go first and then each one of you goes in one at a time. The water was shallow at first but got gradually deeper as I moved forward. And then there was a sudden drop off as I got to the waterfall, the water was up to my knees. I started making the climb up to the top of the waterfall. It was really slippery.

I could see about six or seven fishermen standing on the top of the waterfall and spread out all the way to the other side. I heard one guy yell,” hey kid be careful the water is really deep along here. You shouldn’t be up here. Go back.”

I just ignored him. There was no way I wasn’t going to go all the way across the falls. My feet were already numb from the freezing water. But I was almost to the halfway point of the falls and there wasn’t I was bound and determined that I going to go all the way to the other side. And then it happened. My foot slipped and I was just about to fall off and down into the lake. I screamed at the top of my lungs. One of the men, yelled, “grab that kid she’s about to fall off into the lake.”

And that is when the fishermen closest to me tried to reach down and grab me, but he couldn’t reach me. Then he yelled, “Hey kid grab ahold of my fishing pole. Yeah, that’s it, grab it. I’ll pull you up.” And he did. I was small for my age so I wasn’t that heavy. And he pulled me up by the fishing pole. When he finally got me back to the top of the falls he said, “are you crazy or just stupid?” My father used t say that to me all the time. So, it didn’t really bother me that much. I said, “thanks” and walked back to my friends.

They were all standing there with their hands clapped over their mouths. And then my best friend said, “good grief, you could have drowned.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t. And this goes to the grave with you and the rest of them.” Then we all walked back to the blanket and I flopped on it and I just sat there until my clothes dried off. And then I said, “well, I guess it’s time to go back home.” None of my friends ever mention this experience again. I thought about it quite often and I decided it might be a good idea if I learned how to swim.

My experiences as a child growing up in the 1950s and the 1960s were fueled by my curiosity and desire to experience everything I could and if there was a chance that it was a little dangerous well, all the better. I was a quiet child around adults and no one would imagine that I would do anything dangerous. But I was often the catalyst for all the exciting and yes, possibly dangerous activities that I and my friends participated in over time. My friends knew it was going to be an exciting day if I preface a statement with the phrase, “Hey, I was thinking wouldn’t it be exciting if we…

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Unexpected Surprises Often Come in Small Packages

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I was just about to step into the shower when I hear the doorbell ring. I think about ignoring it, since I was already late getting ready for my luncheon date with my old friend Maryanne. Whoever was at the door is persistent and keeps pushing the doorbell over and over again.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” I say to no one in particular.

Antique pocket watch- photo by Bob Culver

I grab my ancient chenille robe. It’s tattered and torn and stained in places. But it used to belong to my mother. I consider it a family heirloom. And I throw it on, tying it tightly around my waist. I push my feet roughly into my slippers that are also tattered and stained.

I take the steps two at a time. My left slipper comes off my foot and goes careening down the remaining steps. I almost go careening after them. But catch myself at the last minute when I manage to grab the rickety railing.

I can see through the four small windows in the door that the delivery guy is turning and about to leave. I jump down onto the floor at the bottom of the steps and all but pull the door off its hinges in an effort to open the door before he drives away.

The delivery guy has just turned his back on the door and is quick-stepping back to his delivery truck. I start screaming at the top of my lungs, and vigorously waving my arms back and forth.

“Hey buddy, wait, wait I’m here. I was in the bathroom upstairs.” When he turns around, he looks at me as if I’m a mirage or something. As if he can’t believe his eyes. I look down to see what he’s staring at and I realize that my robe has come untied and is flapping in the wind. Unfortunately, last night it was unbearably hot in my bedroom and I slept in the nude.

And that is when I notice my nosy neighbor, Cynthia is walking her dog, Alfred past my house. “Shit. Sorry, Cynthia. Sorry, sorry.” And I pull my robe together and retie the belt.

Cynthia’s face is bright red, she doesn’t say a word. But she keeps staring at me like I’m from another planet. Then she starts shaking her head vigorously from right to left. Alfred barks at me in a somewhat friendlier tone and off they go for their morning constitutional.

By then the delivery guy has made his way back to my doorstep. And he wears an expression on his face that can only be described as wolfish. All his teeth are showing and his eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head. He leans towards me and I lean back. “Take it, easy lady, I just need you to sign this clipboard and I’ll be on my way.”

I grab the clipboard and the pen that’s hanging off of it and scribble my signature. And then I stick out my hand and he hands me a package that’s about the size of a napkin. “Thank you”, I say as I’m about to turn around and close the door.

He waits for a moment. I guess he thinks he might get a tip. But he isn’t going to get one from me today. I turn around and walk as nonchalantly as I can muster up. As if I didn’t just flash everyone that happen to be on the street this morning. I take my mother’s advice for once. She often said, “when you make a fool out of yourself just keep moving forward and don’t look back.” And that is exactly what I did, let it go and walk through my front door like it was any other day. And I forget about it.

When I get into my house, I firmly close the door and put the chain across it. And walk through the living room into my tiny kitchen. I put the small package on the kitchen counter and turn on the coffee pot. I open the refrigerator door and gaze inside. There isn’t much, I haven’t gone food shopping in two weeks and the cupboard is almost bare. I find a slightly stale piece of rye bread and stick it in the toaster and find I still had a dab of peanut butter in my giant economy size of Chunky Peanut Butter. I practically live on peanut butter; I like it with bananas but I don’t have any left.

I pour the coffee into my favorite mug, it used to belong to my Aunt Merry, which is short for Marilyn. It’s huge, yellow and round with a smiling face. In fact, it was called the Smiley Face Mug. She gave it to me when I moved to the city. It’s from the 1970s. And it is one of the few things I treasure in life. Because it reminds me of all the time I spent every summer with her when I was a kid. She lived within walking distance to the beach. And she grew all her own vegetables in her little garden.  We would take long walks across the beach and collect shells and stones. I still have some of the shells somewhere in a box in the back of my closet. Most of my childhood memories that I cherish are from the time I spent with my Aunt Merry.  I should have visited her more often.

My mom called me a couple of weeks ago and told me that my Aunt Merry quietly passed away in her sleep. That’s so like her, never wanted to cause anyone any trouble or worry. I should have gone to her funeral, but I didn’t because I didn’t have the money for a round trip bus ticket home. And my mother drinks up all her money. She didn’t even let me know until the day before the funeral.

I finish the last of my coffee and pick up the small package and I realize the return address is my mom’s. “Wow,” I say out loud. My mother never sends me anything. Occasionally she calls me and asks for money. And when I have any, I send it to her. She’s still my mother after all. And she did raise me all alone. And I guess she did the best she could. I should probably visit my mother more too. She’s no longer young. And I don’t know how much time she has left.

I make up my mind that I’m definitely going to go visit my mother, sometime soon. I start tearing the brown paper off the small package and then I shake it. Something is rattling inside. When I open the box, I see something that looks like gold. I pull it out and inside I see a pocket watch on a long, gold chain. I pick it up and look at it closely. It has flowers engraved on the back and my Aunt Merry’s initials and the year 1969. The year she graduated from high school. I remember seeing it in her jewelry box in her house down at the beach. She used to say, “someday this pocket watch will be yours. And it will remind you of all the good times we had together here at the beach.”

I feel a tear run down my cheek and more follow. I start crying and as I realize all the time that I could have spent with my Aunt Merry and I didn’t. I always made excuses not to go. I don’t know why. I put the pocket watch around my neck and go over to the mirror next to the front door and look at myself. As I stand there with the tears running down my face, I see my Aunt’s smiling face looking back at me.

As I’m standing there looking at myself the phone rings. I slowly walk over to the phone and pick it up. “Hello, Kathleen, it’s mom.”

“Yes Mom, I recognize your phone number. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, why did you hear something?”

“No, Mom I didn’t hear anything, you don’t call me often and when you do, it’s usually bad news.”

“Oh, Kathleen, you have always been so overly dramatic. I just called to see if you got the package, I sent you?”

“Yes, Mom, it was just delivered. I always loved that watch. Aunt Merry always promised me she would leave to me when she passed. I’ll cherish it.”

“Yes, she really did love you, Kathleen. I wished you had come and visited her more often you were her favorite niece.”

“You’re right Mom, I should have visited her more. In fact, I was just thinking that I haven’t seen you in quite a while. And I have a few vacation days left that I have to use up by the end of the year. So, how about if I come to see you at the end of next week.”

“Really, Kathleen? I would just love that.”

“Ok, Mom I have a lunch date with one of my friends and I have to get a shower and get dressed and drive across town. I’ll call you next week and let you know the details. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Kathleen.”

“Bye, Mom talk to you soon.”

As Kathleen hangs up the phone, she realizes that her Aunt Merry gave her a special gift and that was the realization that life is short. And you have to let the people you love know that you love them.

Kathleen takes the steps two at a time and gets ready to go out and meet her friend for lunch. Her heart felt light. And she hasn’t felt this good in years. It’s going to be a good day.

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I HOPE THIS GOES VIRAL – PLEASE SHARE ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA- WRITE ON

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I decided that on Fridays I will write an essay about the experiences that I have during the week.  These essays will speak to my personal experiences during our new reality of the Corvid 19 virus. I have been feeling a low-level amount of anxiety because of the virus. Sometimes I wake up at night, and it hits me again. And I can’t go back to sleep.

This is what happened to me today, and it made this virus “real” to me. I went to CVS to pick up eye drops for dry eyes.  I purchased several other small items. There were only a few customers in the store. I walked up to the check-up counter. The cashier was behind the counter, and there was a folding table in front of the counter. The cashier is wearing blue vinyl gloves. She instructed me to put my items on the folding table then she picked each one up with her gloved hands and scanned them an put them in a plastic bag and told me to pay by debit card or credit card which I could do from the machine that was on my side of the table. I did what she said. And then I looked at her face, and I saw a young woman about twenty.

And I thought, dear god, what is happening? I felt an overwhelming sense of grief for her, for all the rest of us living on this planet. And then, I felt tears streaming down my face and managed to say thank you and walk out the door. I wondered what will become of us, how will all of this end?

Here in North Carolina, the restaurants, schools, and large gatherings such as concerts are canceled for an unknown length of time. You can order food as take-out and then pick it up outside of the restaurant in your car. People can order their food from food stores as well, and then one of the employees bags the food, and customers can pick it up in the parking lot outside of the store. The dentists are closing their practices for routine cleanings and check-ups and are only seeing emergency patients. I haven’t had to go to the doctors, but I imagine they are treating this situation in the same way.

These changes did not happen slowly. It happened in the last two weeks. For me, it seems almost incomprehensible that so much has changed in such a short time. I find it hard to take it all in. And the fact that it is not just happening here in NC, in the United States but all over the world is mind-boggling and terrifying.

I somehow have a sense of immediacy in that I feel I must somehow fix or change what is happening to all of us. But I have no clue what to do or where to start. I know people that will be at higher risk of going hungry. Because they were on edge already, and now, they will go over that cliff. So, I decided to donate money to the Food Bank of Central and Central NC twice a month. And because I am an animal lover, I will donate to the local animal shelters.

Susan Culver with Noel the Cockatoo Animal Edventure

I volunteer at an animal sanctuary in Coats, NC, called Animal Edventure at https://www.facebook.com/AnimalEdventuresSanctuary/

I have worked there for three mornings a week for the past three and a half years. I take care of Parrots, Macaws, and Cockatoos. There are over 220 animals that live there most who have been rescues. There is everything there from horses to camels to monkeys, lemurs, and reptiles. Animal Edventure is dependent upon donations from the visitors that visit them. And now because of this virus, the donations if they continue at all will be significantly reduced.

Many people who live on the edge of poverty barely get by on a good day if they lose their job, then what? What about those who are laid off and then no longer have income or healthcare. They are between a rock and a hard place, no doubt.

I continue to have some modicum of hope that our government will step up and do the right thing, but I have doubts that they will.

So, here is what I propose, that all of us step up and find one person or one family that needs help, and we help them in whatever way we are able to do. And we help them without any expectations of being repaid.

If we are to survive this challenge that we face, we must do it together, and help one another. We can not do it alone; we must take one day at a time and try and rise to our higher selves.

And if you would like, you can read this post on my blog and follow my experiences there and add your experiences and how you feel to the comments. https://susanaculver.com

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The Kitchen

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Our day begins in the kitchen. We wake up to the aroma of coffee percolating on the kitchen counter and bacon and eggs frying on the stove. I’m not big on eating first thing in the morning. But my mother insists that we eat a breakfast that will stick to our ribs for the rest of the day.

My mother in pin curls sitting in our kitchen

As I walk into the bright yellow and orange room, I see my mother hunched over the wide kitchen counter. My father recently redecorated. My father’s a creative man with an unusual sense of color and design. He is, unfortunately wildly attracted to psychedelic patterns. He made the kitchen counters really wide. He made the counter in front of the sink wide as well. My mother has difficulty reaching the sink since it’s set back so far from the edge of the counter.

My father purchased a kit to decorate the kitchen counters with small bits of multi-colored tiles. After he spread the tile bits, he poured some type of liquid resin over it. It took a long time to dry and had a somewhat lumpy result. Unfortunately, the dirt tends to accumulate in the lower recesses of our bumpy countertop.

Hanging from the ceiling over the kitchen table, my father fashioned a candelabra of sorts. He found a giant wagon wheel in the dumpster of a Steak house Restaurant and brought it home to serve as a light fixture in our kitchen. Of course, our kitchen is much smaller than the Steak House dining room, and our kitchen ceiling is much lower than the dining room in the Steak House, where it formerly resided. The wagon wheel hangs right above our heads at the table. If you aren’t paying attention when you stand up, you take a chance that you might knock yourself out when you stand. We have to back our chairs up and then stand to avoid getting a new bump on our noggins each time we sit or stand at the table for a meal. Mealtime is no longer a quiet time to reflect on the day. It’s time to pay attention to the surroundings, or you can end up in the Emergency Room.

I look across the kitchen and see my mother is hunched over the stove, frying the eggs and bacon. “Hi, Mom.”

“Good morning Susie, what can I get you for breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry Mom, how about a piece of toast.”

A couple of minutes later, my mother brings me a bowl of hot oatmeal. “Here, Susie, this will stick to your ribs. Eat up,”

I look down at the bowl of steaming oatmeal, and I begin to feel sick to my stomach. I hate hot cereal. I have told my mother this time and again. But she always says the same thing to me. “Nonsense, eat up.”

I’m repeatedly told I’m a picky eater. Which is probably true. But none the less I detest hot cereal.

Unfortunately for me, I have to ride an ancient school bus to Haddonfield, where I go to high school at St. Mary of The Angel’s Academy. It is my Freshman Year. The bus is on its last legs, and the shocks on the wheels died a slow and painful death a long time ago. It’s a long and rocky ride to school. We have to pick up all the students that go to St. Mary’s and the boys from Bishop Eustace Prep. So, we have to ride all over Burlington and Camden County and Haddon Township. It takes over an hour.

By the time we arrive at school, I’m feeling sick to my stomach. And start the day off by throwing up the moment I step down out of the bus. Mr. Hartman, a lovely man who came from Ireland, is the bus driver, gives me the same sympathetic look every day as I pass by him in the driver’s seat. He knows what’s going to happen momentarily. None of the other students on the bus ever mention my daily purge.

When I was going to grade school at Our Lady of Perpetual Help, I came home for lunch as we lived two houses away from the school. Every day when the lunch bell rings, I rush up to the front of the classroom to line up to go home to eat. Not because I was looking forward to my lunch, it was always the same. I hated school with a passion and can barely tolerate one extra moment in the presence of the dear Sisters.

One day as I stood at the front of the classroom, I realize I have to pee immediately. I raise my hand.  Sister ignores me. I begin waving my hand and arm urgently. Finally, Sister said impatiently, “What is it, Susan?”

“Sister, I have to go to the girl’s room right now.”

“Susan, you have to learn patience and self-control. You can and will wait until you get home.”

I wave again more frantically. Sister ignores me. I realize I’m peeing my pants. All the other kids notice it at the same time and start laughing. I begin to cry.

Sister says, “you will wait until the second bell, Miss Carberry.”

I’m simultaneously crying and peeing. I vow to myself that I will never return to this wretched place again. The second bell rings. The kids in line are permitted to go home for lunch. I keep my head down.

I emerge from the school, I take off like a rocket and get home in record-breaking time. I yank open the screen and the front door and allow them both to slam closed. I rush to the bathroom. I hear my father yelling at me from the kitchen. “What’s the matter, Susie, pants on fire?”

After taking care of the wet pants, I walk out to the kitchen nonchalantly. My mother says, “How was your morning, Susie? Did you learn anything new?”

“Yes, Mom, I learned that I shouldn’t take a long drink at the water fountain before lunch.”

“Did Sister tell you that Susie?”

“Not exactly Mom, she told me that I needed to learn patience and self-control. And I learned that I really hate Sister Daniel Catherine.”

“Susan, you should never say you hate anyone, especially one of the Sisters, that’s a mortal sin.”

“OK, Mom, I won’t say I hate one of the Sister’s ever again. I promise.” And I never did say I hated one of the sisters out loud ever again. But I said it many, many times inside my head.

“Susan, sit down I made your Lipton Noodle Soup and Lebanon Bologna sandwich it’s all ready.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m starved.” Lunch was never a surprise since I had the same lunch every day for eight years, through elementary school years. Although on special occasions I had Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup.

As I eat my lunch, my father sits across from me, eating his six hot dogs. He doesn’t eat hot dog rolls, only the hot dogs with relish. They are cut up in little slices. My father doesn’t like it if anyone talks while he is eating. So, I sit quietly until he finishes eating. And then I bend his ear and tell him everything that happened in school that day. This is actually his dinner since he works the second shift at PTC, which is the Philadelphia Bus Company. He is the Head Dispatcher at the bus depot for the entire city of Philadelphia. When my father has to work the third shift, he sleeps all day, and we aren’t allowed to make any noise and wake him up. My father is deaf in one ear, and we always pray that he is sleeping on his one good ear.

My mother rarely sits down at mealtimes. She’s always getting dinner ready or serving dinner or cleaning up after. Sometimes my mother has her hair set in bobby pins all day unless she is going to go to Mass with the Altar Rosary Society. They are a group of women who say the Rosary together early every morning, and they wash and iron the Altar vestments and clean the Sanctuary in the church.

Right after lunch, my mother starts getting ready to cook dinner. My favorite meal is Irish Stew which is made with beef and carrots, onions and celery and potatoes. After my mom cooks the stew for many hours, she rolls out the dough and puts in on the top of the casserole. And puts it in the oven to bake the dough and let it rise and brown. It’s delicious.

While dinner is cooking, my mother irons. The ironing board is in a little closet on the wall next to the refrigerator. You open the closet door and pull down the ironing board. My mother irons clothes, sheets, and my father’s underwear and his socks. She irons all our clothes. Then cleans the whole house. I have never heard her complain about anything.

Everyone tells me,” your mother’s a saint,” and I believe them. She works so hard and takes care of everyone in our family. And always has a kind word to say. I never heard her say a mean thing in my entire life. I wish I could say the same about myself, but I get mad all the time, at my sisters, my father and the dear sisters, every one of them. I doubt that I will ever be as good a person as my mother.

It’s one of the things I have to tell Father Nolan in confession all the time. He tells me to say three Our Fathers and three Hail Marys. No matter what sins I commit, he gives me the same penance, three Our Fathers and three Hail Marys.

My mother is a quiet person. But a good listener. Every day when my sisters and I come home, she asks us how our day went. And she sits and listens until you finish talking and then she offers you cookies and milk.

After dinner, my mother sits at the kitchen table while we do homework. She quizzes me on my spelling words. She gives me hints if I don’t know how to spell the word. If my father is home, he helps me do my math homework. He works out the problems differently than I do in school, but he always gets the answer right. I keep telling him that’s not the way we do it in school. We do New Math. He tells me that we are doing it incorrectly. He shows me how to do it. He is always right.

But in school, I do it their way. My father is a smart man. He reads a lot on every kind of subject. Right now, he is studying all the world’s religions. He doesn’t go to church as my mother does. But he is curious about the world and the people in it. You ask him any question, he knows the answer. My father’s memory is phenomenal. He remembers everything he reads and hears.

On Sundays, one of my father’s days off, he watches golf on TV. It’s the most annoying thing you can imagine. He is transfixed while he is watching it. Sometimes he feels compelled to tell you about the golf game swing by swing. Although I’m impressed by his ability to remember, I want to plug up ears every time he starts talking about golf. It is unbelievably tedious.

My father watching the news 1960s

Television is an amazing thing, no doubt. But in our house, my father controls what we watch. He is the King of his castle. On his days off, he watches the 6 O’clock news with Walter Cronkite. We aren’t allowed to utter a sound when it’s on. If we want to watch TV, we watch what he watches, end of story. I have become quite fond of Cowboy stories like Matt Dillon and The Lone Ranger. My father and I watch it together. My father pets our dog Andy, the whole time he is watching TV.

My mom brings my father a bowl of ice cream to eat while he is watching TV in the evening. He doesn’t tell her or ask her. She brings it in and, he eats it with salty pretzels. My mother brings herself a bowl too. She is extremely fond of ice cream. She is the proud owner of a sweet tooth that I inherited.

At the end of the night, my dad lets Andy our dog go to the bathroom and waits for him to come back inside. My mother gathers all the coffee cups, ice cream bowls, and glasses and takes them in the kitchen to wash. My dad turns out the lights, and we all go to bed. The next morning, we wake up and start all over again. Good Night.

For The Love Of All Things Feathered and Furred

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One of the enduring facts of my lifetime has been that I have loved animals. And my life has been enriched by their presence and their companionship, their unquestioning love, and acceptance.

As a young child, I made it my business to get to know all the cats and dogs in my neighborhood. I knew their names and would visit them whenever possible. My favorite cat was a stray I called Strottles, he was a large orange and white cat who came when I called. He seemed to sense that I needed him and would stay by my side for as long as I needed him too.

My father loved dogs. In particular, he liked Cocker Spaniels. And we owned several during the years that I was growing up. The first dog I recall name was Nomie. My father believed that a dog should be free to roam wherever he or she wanted to go. I loved Nomie very much and spent a great deal of time petting her and playing outside with her. I was never alone while Nomie was in my presence.

Unfortunately, because of my father’s belief that dogs should be able to run free and not be fixed. As a result, Nomie became pregnant. After her puppies were born, she became ill. My father took her to the vet, and he said she had developed “milk fever.” I don’t know if she had died, or she had to be put down. I was devastated when she died. And then my father found a home for the puppies she had birthed. I had become attached to them. But of course, even if Nomie had survived, we would not have kept the puppies. But, no one had told me that. So, when Nomie died, the puppies were given away, and I felt a loss.

We didn’t get another dog until I was about ten or eleven years old. His name was Andy he was a mutt with some Cocker Spaniel in him. But it was clear from day one that he was my father’s dog. Andy’s day didn’t begin until my father was in sight. He followed him around the house and mourned his loss if my father went out for any length of time. My father was the head dispatcher for what was then called PTC, the Pennsylvania Transportation Company in Philadelphia for forty years until he retired. He worked the third shift and slept most of the day. On my father’s day off, Andy sat next to my father’s chair. And my father would scratch his head the whole time he sat in the chair.

Andy was allowed to roam all over the small town of Maple Shade where we lived. And it was not unknown for people to report seeing in Lenola which was another nearby town.  And his look-alike progeny. Since once again, my father refused to have Andy fixed.

My father spoiled Andy in every way possible. He asked my mother to cook him corn on the cob and chicken liver and hearts as a treat. You can imagine the result of a dog eating corn on the cob every day of the week. One of our neighbor’s houses was a location that Andy liked to visit. He would often leave a token of his visit and his last meal in her backyard. Our neighbor, Mrs. Gioiella, would come down to our house every time this happened to complain about Andy’s deposit in her grass. This didn’t change my father’s behavior. He continued letting Andy out to roam where he wished. One day a neighbor set a trap for Andy to stop him from doing his business in their yard.

One day Andy returned home with a trap on his foot, my father went through the roof. He interrogated every neighbor to find out who had done it. No one fessed up. Andy had to go to the vet to have his injured foot treated. My father was angry about it for a long time, yet he didn’t keep Andy in our yard. My father was a stubborn man and somewhat inflexible.

In the Summer, my father would go down to the Ice Cream store on the corner and buy Andy an ice cream cone. My sister and I would look on with envy as Andy would eat the ice cream on a hot summer night.

Andy was an intelligent dog, and he knew how to get his feelings noticed. When my parents and my sister and I went out, which didn’t happen that often Andy would get revenge. This was back in the day when people didn’t lock their doors. Andy would go into the house and bring out the bathroom towels and all the pillows and throw them all over the front yard. His feelings would not be trifled with for any reason.

Andy lived to be an old dog. He lived until my father was retired.  Andy quietly passed away while my father was in the hospital being treated for an illness. My father was broken-hearted when he heard the bad news. It was a sad day for us all. Andy was part of our daily lives for many years. He was an integral part of our family life.

During my childhood, I had many small pets, hamsters and parakeets and finches and a chicken. I loved every kind of animal, both feathered and furred. I can not picture my life without animals.

After I grew up and married my husband Bob and I had two dogs Ulysses, a terrier and Bogie a cockapoo. They traveled with us from Florida to California and New Jersey. They were my children before I had children. Two Cockatiels Peppy and Soda Pop owned a part of my heart for many years. They were entertaining and sweet-natured.

And then there was the enduring love I had since my early childhood for cats.  Over the years, we owned eight cats. One cat remains, Sloopy, who is twenty-five years old. And our tuxedo cat, Evie who just passed away a week ago, who lived to be nineteen years old. 

Also, I took care of a feral cat colony for years. I captured the female cats and had them fixed. I would get up and feed them every morning at five AM.

Our newest pets are Douglas, a long-haired Dachshund who has stolen our hearts. And we have two parrot’s BB and Travis that I adopted from the animal sanctuary where I volunteer three days a week. I care for over twenty Parrots and two Macaws. Not to mention the two hundred animals that reside there that I consider friends. 

I have no doubt that my life would have been narrower and missing an element without the love and companionship of all these wondrous animals. And if that is not reason enough to have pets as part of your life, here are a few more. Pet owners know how much furry friends improves quality of life. They benefit us on an emotional level. Owning pets decrease depression, stress, and anxiety. Health-wise they can lower your blood pressure, improve your immunity, and even decrease your health risk, including heart attack and stroke.

So, my final word is that pets have had a tremendously positive effect on the quality of my life. My life would seem so much smaller without them in it.