Almost the end of the year, where did this one go so fast?  Anyway, I like to look back on the year for the events that made me happiest.  I will start with Solomon playing "When the Saints Go Marching In" at  Ria's grave on St. Patrick's Day.  Those blasts could have awakened the dead.  Then I will go to Henry's Kindergarten graduation.  I've been to lots of these, starting with Jer 20 some years ago, but they always put a lump in my throat.  All those innocent kids.  Then we will jump to July in Wellfleet..lots of happiness there.  The fourth of July parade to start with, waiting on Main Street for the start, seeing Caleb the pirate and the boat dragging the dead fish.  Dead fish, why?  Then the family reunion at Wellfleet.  Meeting Orson, the latest addition to our family, Jer and Tim in a picture together (only a few months separates their ages - but miles separate their appearance!).  Then we will jump to August in Alexandria and the pirate festival.  Great fun, grrrr.  Let's go to October for the street painting in Tivoli and the Oysterfest in Wellfleet, where again the crowds, the music, the people watching and giving Caleb a hug, all make for happy memories of those festivals gone by.  Next, and maybe the best, was the election of Obama.  I had feared the worse, and when I woke to the news of his election, I was in heaven.  I will end with the MRI.  Strange you may think that a scarey 30 minutes in a tube with loud noises coming at you, would make my list.  But I really believe "that what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger".  So there you go, 2012 in a nutshell.  Oh, yeah, I did laugh on Christmas morning when I unwrapped Regina's present to me - a Nutcase.  That's what I am always calling my family - nutcases.  So nutcasadina to all and to all a good night.  Please add any of your comments as to your best moments of the year.  I would love to read them.

What happened to me this weekend reminded me of Bucky.  Bucky was in the hospital for tests and Bob, Diane and I went to visit her.  As soon as we got in the room, Bucky sat up and said, "Good news, I have leukemia".  We looked horrified, so she explained, "The good kind".  I had a stroke this weekend, but it was the good kind.

A TIA or transient Ischemnic Attadk is a "warning Stroke" that causes stroke-like symptoms.  It happens when a blood clot temporarily blocks an artery in the brain or neck - mine was in the brain.  A TIA can happen fast and does not last long.  Mine was just a few minutes, upon waking, trying to walk, feeling very strange and calling for Tim to help me downstairs.  By the time I got on the couch, I felt better and asked him to make me a cup of peppermint tea.  I did notice my right hand and arm were weird, and the next morning when I went to do the Jumble, my handwriting was terrible, like either a child's or a very old person.  My blood pressure was sky high, so I decided to go the hospital.  Good thing.  Anyway,  I was told a TIA does not damage the brain and I will get back to a normal handwriting.

So that is my Merry Christmas gift and a wake up call that I love my WHOLE family and am very glad to be with them.  Love to all and a Blessed and Merry Christmas

My heart is so saddened by the Connecticut event, as is everyone.  The President said what we are all feeling, "our hearts are broken".  How any parent can send their child to school on Monday, without a worry after this has happened, I cannot imagine.  I go to Sabra's every morning to watch the kids get on the bus.  The bus comes, and Henry and Solomon and the little girl across the street, hurry to the bus steps.  The steps are high and the two little ones have to really reach to get up them.  "Little soldiers" I think and have more than once said, as I watch them go.  Innocence and trust personified.

When I went to Spring Street School there was no need for security.  The school was a tall brick building, so old that half of it was condemned and only used once a year for our physicals.  The teachers were all women, even the principal.  The only man in the building was the janitor, a quiet man that was only called in when the toilets were overflowing or someone had been sick in a class room. Oh, we had drills, fire drills and then with the Russian scare, Air-raid drills.  We would go out into the hall, sit down against the wall and put our head in our hands, making a tight little ball.  This was scarey enough.  But no thought of a gunman, or a lockdown.  Poor, poor children.  Poor, poor parents, our hears are broken.

There is a line in the last Harry Potter book that I love.  It is in the scene where Harry is facing his death and the people that have already died are walking with him for comfort and courage.  He asks his mother is it hard to die? and her answer is the line I love:  "dying is easier than falling asleep".  I thought of that last night when I woke up about 2:00 and couldn't get back to sleep.

Daddy had insomnia.  Some mornings he would complain about trouble sleeping and he would say with admiration and envy, "your mother falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow."  I probably had trouble sleeping because I go to bed so early...right after Wheel of Fortune, unless it is a Seinfeld I really love.  Timmy and I listen to books on tape.  Afer listening to all the Harry Potter books at least twice, we tried some other books.  No luck.  Even Garrison Kellor, who Timmy loves, read too fast.  New York Times book review reviewed audio books and they commented  that a good reader can make even a bad book enjoyable, and a bad reader can ruin the best book ever written.  Jim Dale reads Harry Potter, so I looked to see he he has done other books and that is how I found our current nighttime listening - Peter and the Starcatchers.  This series is written by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson.  The story is familiar, a twist on Peter Pan, but what makes it so special is the reading by Jim Dale.  He does the lost boys, Peter, Molly (who will be Wendy's mother in the one we got today), the pirates, Smee especially good, and the Mollusk tribe people.  Also, of course Tinkerbell and the mermaids, who turned vicious in the second or third book.

Listening to a story being read to you, lying under a goose comforter on these cold nights and drinking my nightly ritual of fundador all leads to a fast deep sleep - almost as soon as the CD ends.  But last night was a tosser, partly due to knees that need an injection of roster comb or the fact that we didn't have the reading.  Peter and the Sword of Mercy had not yet arrived at the Tivoli Library and I had handed in the Peter adventure in Rundoon.  Or maybe it's just the season, so much to think about.  When I was five and we moved into 17 Falconer Street I shared a bed with my older sister Barbara,  in fact we slept together until the night she got married.  Anyway, one night I couldn't sleep and Barbara, probably fed up from listening to me, said, "just close your eyes.  That is as good as sleeping."   Well, today I know that is not true, but it is still good advice.  Sooner or later, closing your eyes, you will sleep - and have the opportunity to complain in the morning, how I didn't get to close my eyes all night. 

The parade last night was the best ever - almost on time, lots and lots of characters, puppets, music and just good fun.  A great way to get into the spirit.  Today I started my catalog project.  This is something new this year.  Laura and Sabra were at the house and started to look through my box of Christmas catalogs.  "I like this," Laura said pointing at an object in the nature catalog.  "What is it?" I asked and was told it was an orange hangar for the birds - you stick a slice of orange in it like a bird feeder for the birds that like oranges. I was shocked to see the price -something like $18.00.  "That's crazy," I said, "you can make that for a few cents with a coat hanger and some wire." "That's not a bad idea, Ma" and that's how the catalog project was invented.

The day after Thanksgiving when Paul, Helene, Laura, Sabra and Tony were here, we all looked through the catalogs and picked out something we liked.  Then we ripped the picture out of the catalog, wrote our name on it, and put it in a bowl to draw names from.  I put a picture in for Timmy who was at the gym.  There were a few groans as the drawing proceded, but everyone went home with a picture and an idea of how to make it for the person.

It's not so easy trying to recreate an item from the catalog.  There's a reason they send out all those catalogs at this time of the year.  People don't have the time or energy to make stuff...easier to place an order.  But this is a challenge and we'll have to see how it comes out.

A wintry start to December, light coating of snow on the ground, and raw weather with no sun all day.  Depressing, isn't it?  Add to the mixture of cold, gray weather - 24 days to Christmas shop and a shopping list that fills a whole notebook page, and you have a recipe for winter blues.  But I won't give in to that.  I've been having a reoccuring dream of parades.  All kinds of parades and in all different places.  Some in Tivoli, I recognize Broadway as the start of the parade, some in Beacon, some in places I've never even been.  But parades.  Timmy looked up the meaning of this dream on the internet and came downstairs telling me that it meant I felt like an observer, watcher of the parade of life going by.  And I guess that kind of explains where I am - watching, but certainly not leading the parade.  I guess when you are seventy that's good enough. 

Tonight we are going to the Sinterklaus parade in Rhinebeck.  This is a wonderful parade, with lots of puppets, characters, lights and St. Nicholas on a white horse, with rough looking scarey men near him rattling chains, but throwing candy to the kids.  Years ago Rhinebeck had this parade, Jer was about two years old bundled up with a blanket in a stroller.  It was a night just like this, cold with light snow on the ground, but a full moon.  We would have a large moon tonight if the clouds would disappear.  Anyway, Ria and I and Jer were watching this parade in Rhinebeck, lots of large puppets, the four seasons puppets, all represented as women, filling the whole street with their skirts.  The people working them stayed under the skirts and they moved smoothly past the cheering crowd.  A man or woman dressed as a large owl stopped in front of us, lifting his wings high above his head.  Jer almost jumped out of the stroller in fright.  And Ria and I laughed.  That parade was more about the winter solistice.  And I remember Tivoli used to celebrate the beginning of winter with a parade organized by the Tivoli Artist Coop.  I marched with Atticus who was probably about three then, we had made a big white flag made out of an old towel and I had attached giant sleigh bells to it.  Marching in a group of cold people in the dark of night, ringing a towel lined flag felt right.

So maybe this parade tonight will get that dream out of my head.  Or else, I might just start dreaming about a bearded man on a horse that is going to help me get ready for Christmas.

Back from the Schnectady race and Timmy did great - best time in his age group and also the first grade rated male (whatever that means).  It earned him 89+% points or a "national class record" (whatever that means) and a 90% would have put him in "world class" (whatever that means).  Also, and this is the best part, he won a cash award, his first earnings for running.  His brother Pat showed up unexpectedly and yelled at him near the finish line - I think this probably got him going even faster.  He finished in 58 minutes, wanting a 57, but as the girl next to me said, "they are never satisfied with their results".  So he got the money, a large pottery vase, a smaller pottery piece with a top on it and his picture taken with the other 5 top winners.  All in all a good day.  More later.

There has been a beautiful male pheasant in our yard the last two days.  They used to be common, my father hunted them, as did most of the men in our neighborhood.  I don't remember eating them, Grandma Burky probably did the honor of cooking the bird.  But I do remember chasing them for the entertainment of my younger sisters and brother.  Daddy would drive to Matteawan State Hospital for the criminally insane.  It was a beautiful set of brick buildings, the grounds were gorgeous and well kept.  There were vegetable gardens that I imagine the inmates took care of.  Anyway, at that time there was a road open to the public that drove right up to it.  Because of its seclusion, there were pheasants all over the grounds.  When Daddy spotted one, he would tell me to get out of the car and chase it.  The bird would then fly up for the amusement of the kids in the car.  I remember being scared as I looked up at the barred windows, with faces looking down at me.  Today Route 84 runs close enough for you to see the prison, but barbed wires would keep anyone pheasant chaser out.

Growing up near such an institute was not frightening.  Only when the sirens blew, indicating an escape, did people panic.  My mother told us, "when they escape, they run two places.  Either to the river to follow the train tracks to be safe in the city, or (worse for us) run for the mountains where they can hide."  Bucky knew somebody who had their clothes stolen off the line.  The escapees had to quickly change from their prison clothes to  regular clothes so they wouldnt be so noticeable.  So the sound of the siren would send Bucky to the clothes line to bring in the not yet dried laundry.

In those days of no cell phones, ipads, etc, etc, sirens were the way we were notified of important events, like school closures which was a good siren and one we didn't hear very often.  A siren would blow more frequently for fires, a number of blasts - like 3 blasts, 2 blasts then 1.  We would run to the refrigerator where a listing was taped.  "321 - that's Washington Avenue" and we would run to the picture window to watch for the trucks and firemen.  Simple days and simple memories of 50 years or more ago.

Driving to Cape Cod three weeks ago, we started to see pickup trucks with gas grills in the back.  Wondering why, we figured it out when we got on 495 heading south.  Then almost every pickup truck had a gas grill in the back.  Drawing nearer to Foxboro we realized the popular Patriots were having a football game, and the traffic got heavier on both sides of the highway.   It made me wonder about these partying Patriots.  Did they cook right in the truck?  Did they all climb up around the grill to party?  Or did they drag it down in the parking lot.  And how safe could that be....gas grills among parked cars.

This week driving in Kingston along the Thruway, I saw truck after truck heading south toward  New York City.  Some were carrying those giant outdoor lights they use for working in the dark.  Several had large pipes on them, each pipe the full size of the truck bed.  Probably they would link these pipes together to empty the water from the tunnels and subways.  Poor New York, really got battered by Sandy, where we went Scot free...not even losing electricity which usually happens if a breeze blows.  The old apple tree, at least the rotten part, fell over.  A sad sight - that tree was the last of four apple trees that were in the yard when we came in 1967.  This one had a large hole in it that squirrels and chipmunks would run up and down and hide in when a hawk appeared.  Each one of my grandchildren at one time or another, ran a truck or a ball, down the hole and out the bottom, a game they never seem to tire of.  They were too short to reach the hole and had to get a chair to climb on to put the toy in the runway.  No more.

The only remembrance of Sandy still apparent is no sound of train whistles.  We are a good mile from the railroad tracks, but the trains are easily heard, especially at night.  I love to hear that whistle, and I wonder if it is a freight train with a small staff, or are there people traveling, probably sleeping at this time.  It will be good to hear that whistle again.

What a difference a week makes.  Driving home from Wellfleet, I could see the results of a hard frost, dead fields, sunflowers drooping and black.  Home to reality of winter setting in.  Even the juncos are back, and I turned on the heat for the first time.

Wellfleet was wonderful, in spite of a lot of rainy days.  It is the most beautiful spot in the world, I am convinced of that.  Watching the tide go in and out from our front window, is a sight you never get tired of.  We had birds, a new one, red breasted nuthatch.  The Cape Cod paper said there are flocks of them in the area, apparently due to a lack of pine cone seed up north.  A fox came to the deck to eat the seeds as well, a real beauty, with a fluffy tail ending all in white.  We saw seals at the ocean and even in the bay side at Duck Harbor.  And of course, the Cape Cod food, the best scallops, clams and oysters you can ever eat.

The festival was very crowded, probably even more so than last year.  People watching is my favorite sport there, after drinking the dark beer and eating oysters, and listening to the bands.  There are not many kids there - parents realize the crowds make it difficult to keep them near.  The people with kids park them at a bench and it is fun to watch them amuse themselves, some by dancing on top of the tables (I expected one little girl dancer to fall on her head any moment, but she didn't) or others acting up by tormenting each other.
Two boys across the table from me starting throwing popcorn at me until I gave them my church face.  The best time was seeing my old friend Caleb and giving him a hug.  "Are you my girlfriend?"  he asked and I said I sure was.  He is a special reminder in my life, and seeing him was a gift (maybe from Ria).

So we're back, another yearly ritual successfully completed.

Well a whole month to get caught up on, in a nutshell, so to speak.  Timmy and I went to Bard to hear Ralph Nader speak in a conference that was titled "Do we need a President?"  He was excellent, spoke for over and hour standing up, without notes.  (The standing up part is astonishing to me with my bad knees.)  He spoke on our compliance, our reluctance to get invoved, and he urged more vigilance, more involvement to know what your district's representatives are doing in Congress.  When he said there are more birdwatchers than Congress watchers, I laughed out loud.  But he is right.

Then our guests - I guess I could nutshell it in "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" and enough said.  We did have one guest that was very nice, very complimentary and gave me a geneous tip - the first of the year.  So I guess that equals out. 

We did a street painting last weekend, Laura did Hansel and Gretel, Sabra's family did a Halloween cat scene, with their own personal cats, Regina did the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, and I did a witch on a broom.  Lots of fun, and it is great to see all the people on the street, painting away.  Lots of memories of Maria and Margaret helping me with the street paintings, doing demos all over the place.  I put their names in the corner of the witch.

Our street had a bit of excitement when we were told some of the residents no longer wanted street lights on Clay Hill Road.  Sabra and I reacted the same way...what are they thinking?  The street lights give us safety and security, the ability to walk downstairs at night - not in complete darkness.  On a winter's night you can peek at the light to see if the snow has stopped.  Anyway, one light was dismantled (no one knows who did it) and Central Hudson put up another one almost at once.  I guess that's the end of the street light controvery.

I'll end with Ria's grave, the flowers are beautiful and I had to cut the mint, it was taller than the stone, but thick and lush, and a wonderful smell.  The pilot's grave has a new addition - a real mail box, so his children can write to him...Isn't that wonderful?  I am thinking about writing to him myself.

Well, Sunday we are off to Oysterfest, our 12th year attending.  I am excited.  There you have it, September 2012 in a nutshell.

August is winding down.  I spent my 70th birthday at the Rhinebeck fair.  First thing we do is check the Arts and Crafts building, looking to see if I have won any awards for the apron and pillowcase I have entered.  No luck this year, but my postcards and the little drug store advertisement from the old Tivoli drug store win second and first prize.  Then on to the animals, less rabbits and fowl this year, but it was the first day.  We met up with Regina, and the boys went on some rides while I sat and people watched.  Sometimes this can be upsetting, parents being cruel, kids being nasty, but that day peope were treating each other with kindness...made me feel good.  I also noticed the number of people with tattoos, almost as many with they as without.  And big tattoos, covering whole arms, backs and legs.  I wonder what this means about our society. 

The weekend before I had gone with Paul and his boys to the cabin and spent Saturday at the Pirate Festival in Alexandria Bay.  While sitting on a rock, overlooking the St. Lawrence Seaway waiting for the pirates to arrive, I noticed too how kind people were to each other.  One big guy, dressed all in pirate garb, was putting stamped tattoos on any kid that wanted it.  Of course, they lined up.  This big gruff pirate, was so sweet and gentle, especially to the two year olds, that it made me smile.  The kids were not the least bit afraid of him, in fact their looks were in awe.  Quite a nice remembrance of that day and this past month.  I asked the gentle giant of a pirate if I could have a tattoo, and indicated my calf.  He quickly put a pirate face there.  It washed off in a day or two, but at least I had a tattoo for a while.

Well, I finally did it - I bought a new car.  It's a bright red Honda Fit and it is gorgeous.  I kept my old black Sentra, and I drive both of them.  Right now the red car is in the garage because the birds that I so faithfully feed are pooping on it.  Anyway, the two cars made me think of an old friend.

When I worked at Clermont, there was a night watchman Charlie that wore a toupee.  He had a great sense of humor and would make me laugh when he came into work at 4:00.  I left at 5:00, and this was usually a very slow time, so we hung out together in the office.  Charlie had me laughing one day when he said he sometimes takes off his toupee and looks out the third floor window.  The visitors below see the "old, worn out watchman".  Then he says, he puts it back on and they see the "young, handsome, strong watchman."
That's how I feel in these two cars.  The black car, I am hunched over the wheel, and old lady of almost 70 driving slow, watching out for any road dangers.  Then, in the red car, I am a young girl, driving a fancy car, not a care in the world. 

So my new car has transformed me.  If only I could get my knees into this picture.

Yesterday Timmy and I shared our first tomato from the garden sandwich.  He made it on bread bought at the Farmer's Market, tomato sliced thin, small amount of mayonaise (I would have used a bit more) and some fresh ground pepper.  Delicious.  It is one of the greatest pleasures of summer, that taste that is like no other.  Oh, sometimes the store bought ones taste close, or you think they do, but that taste is exquisite.

I remember one tomato sandwich Chrissie and I shared.  We were on a bus in Ireland, going to get on a ferry to go to England.  The bus stopped at a roadside stand, and we pooled our money to buy a saran wrapped sandwich.  It was a tomato, on plain white bread, thin slice of onion and Irish mayonaise.  We each took a bite, and then looked at each other in amazement.  "This is wonderful", we both said, and ate slowly, trying to make it last.  Later, licking our fingers, we asked each other, "Was it because we were on an adventure in Ireland that it tasted so good?", No, it was just the garden grown tomato and that little taste of onion. 

Timmy and I have a similar ceremony when we have reached the end of the garden and share the "last tomato sandwich".  It is not as happy an occasion as yesterday, but it feels right.  Every season must end, but there is also that hope, that anticipation of the next year's first tomato.

Back from vacation, our 27th year to spend at Wellfleet.  Quite different from 27 years ago.  No one had cell phones, or computers then.  What a difference 27 years makes.  Each of the teens had a cell phone and a computer.  The little guys had Wii and DS games.  The world has gone mad with technology.  In 2007 Maria brought out her laptop.  She loved it.  We were going to have a pirate party and we needed some riddles, and she pulled out the laptop and quickly came up with these:  What do you get when you cross a pirate with a zucchini?  A squashbuckler.  Where can you find a buccaneer's bathroom?  The poop deck.  Why coudn't the little pirate get into the pirate movie?  It was rated "Aarrrr".  We all thought the computer was a good addition at that time and even strangers on the beach tried to answer the riddles.

Best moments of the vacation?  The 4th of July parade was fun and I saw several people I knew.  Finding Maria's bench at the Preservation Hall.  Helene and I went to each bench, no luck.  Finally, the last bench, way in the back of the garden, and there it was Maria Ciancanelli Kelly.  When I brought my sister Maureen to see it, I had to ask a rather heavy person to move, so I could show Maureen the name.  Maria's bench wow.  Taking a picture of Timmy with his cousin Jer...Timmy whipped off his wool hat (he had sun burnt his head) and Jer with all that hair, arms around each other.  Can't wait to get that photo back.  Meeting our latest addition - baby Orson, cute as a button, and played bababutz with his Great Aunt Linda.  Sitting on the deck, morning with coffee, evening with a Miller Lite.  Wonderful view of the tides coming in and going out. 

14 days go by like a blink of the eye.  In fact, 27 years seemed to have passed the same way.  Good to go away, and always good to come back home.

Yesterday was Regina's 13th birthday and there was a party at her house.  It was the usual crowd, Regina had a bunch of friends, too cold to swim in the pond, but just right to sit on the porch and see the mountains.  Kevin had moved one of the living room couches on the porch, and that is where something happened that has impressed me and stayed in my head.  Rachael's little cousin was standing looking at the couch, when Rachael lifted her and put her on the couch.  Marysol immediately put her head down on one of the big soft pillows and looked tired.  And Rachael said, "Do you want to go hi-e-hi-e?"

Now this was something I had heard all my life.  Grandma Burky said it, Bucky said it a million times - "Let's go hi-e-hi-e", "Close your eyes and go hi-e-hi-e".  I said it to my kids, rocking them to sleep.  It was almost a lullaby -hi-e-hi-e.  And here years later Rachael is saying it.  I looked at her and said, my mother said that all the time, and Rachael eyes changed and she said, "Mom used to say that".  I just thought that was so significant, a siimple made up word, or maybe it sounds like that in my Grandmother's language, but there it was generations later.  I hadn't said or thought of hi-e-hi-e for years and then it pops up.  Family - don't ever underestimate it.

First, an update on the turkeys.  Now the mama turkey has only one baby, but he or she is getting bigger and now they come with three aunts, other female turkeys to help her keep the little one in control.  Timmy caught him in the garden, acutally caught him, held the baby to show me, and when he put him down, the baby ran off fast to his mother.  Maybe that will teach him to stay closer and not be so curious.

Now the big news is Cape Cod - the annual trek will be this Saturday, coming up fast.  The cast of characters keeps changing, but we will have a full house.  Also, Rachael has a house the first week, and Kevin has a house for the two weeks, like us.  Kevin wrote about Cape Cod, his regrets that he didn't spend every vacation, every day at the Cape with Maria, but the times he did spend there are etched in his head, just like all of the rest of us.  We can see Ria walking with first Jer, then Rachael, then Regina, holding their hand, carrying a pail, bending down to pick up a shell, examining it and then adding it to the pail.  We can see her with the big bag full of goodies, books to read, toys for the kids.  We can see her sitting in the chair in the water, head bent over a Harry Potter book, looking up to keep her eye on the kids in the water.  We can see that great big smile on her face - Wellfleet was truly her second home, as Kevin pointed out in his story.  And their home reflected it, collections of seashells, sand in jars, buckets of rocks, memories that she brought back to remind her and keep her close to her second home.

Cape Cod is like that to all of us, good memories of years ago, little kids have grown up, pictures in albums and boxes full of the changing, growing, getting older, but still the joy of being at the Cape.  This year my sister Kathy and her family are coming for the second week.  The new grandchild, not even a year, will be there, as well as his cousin Mina.  New children to share the memories.  Bon Voyage.

Well Clay Hill Road is looking like the Nature Channel, with turkeys running all around both sides of the road.  The old Tom Turkey is still alive, I thought he was shot when I didn't see him for a while.  But a few days ago he showed up again, with three or four ladies.  He looks different though.  His tail feathers, that were once pristine, now hang in awkward positions.  His strut is slower and I think he's tired out.  There is a hen turkey that came with three babies, now only two, but they are cute.  She clucks to them, and they follow her all around, and even peck at the cracked corn.

This morning, I was having my coffee when I saw another tom turkey in the front yard.  He came right up to the picture window, and looked (I thought at me) but he was watching his reflection.  Thinking it was a competitor, he suddenly jumped up and attacked the window.  "That's it", I yelled, stupid turkey, knocking on the window to scare him away.  I guess they really don't have much brains.

We also have red squirrels - nasty little fighters that can fend off the gray squirrels that are more than twice their size.  And this year, we have an albino red squirrel.  He's white.  Like a ghost. 

I really have to get some pictures so people believe me.  I white red squirrel - who would have thought.

There was a lot of coverage on tv this week of the babysitter's boyfriend who put the 18 month old baby in the washer to play "hide and seek".  He didn't realize when the door shut, it locked and the water began to fill the washer.  Well, the laundromat camera caught the whole thing, the man running frantic for help, people jumping and finally someone pulling the plug to shut off the machine.  All ended well, the baby was ok, but I bet they get a new babysitter.

It made me remember a photo my father had taken of Barbara in the washing machine, the old kind with the wringer.  She was probably about three, a big smile on her face, suds on her body.  Why he posed her like that, we'll never know, or maybe it is just a figment of my imagination.  Anyway, it brought back memories of Bucky and her washing machine.  The washer was in the cellar, next to the sink so the hoses could empty.  I think it had a buzzer on it when the wash was done.  Well, not really done.  Then Bucky had to put the clothes, one at a time through the wringer to wring out the water....no spin cycle on this washer.  The problems were many.  Clothes got tangled and you had to tug to get them out, fingers could get caught, and worse of all Bucky's housedress that she was wearing would enter the wringer.

Then you would hear her screams, the only way to shut off the wringer was like above, you had to pull the plug out.  We would run down the cellar stairs, watching our mothers big chest get closer and closer to the wheels.   "Pull the plug," she would scream.  Now this is where it got even worse.  Whenever you pulled the plug , because there was so much water, you got a shock that could knock you to the floor.  But what a choice, so you would tug on the wire, hoping this time would be different.  No, the shock came, but the wringer stopped.  Bucky would pull out her dress, wipe the swear off her face, and say "Plug it back in, so I can finish this shitty wash".  Another shock, no surprise and a happy ending to the story.

When I was a teenager in High School, the gym had a sliding door that opened for basketball games, but was closed during the day so it could accommodate two gym classes at the same time, the boys on one side, the girls on the other.  Sometimes the door didn't close completely, there was a small crack for an opening.  This was enough for the boys to try to catch a glimpse of the girls in their shorts.  You could hear them all fighting to get an eye on the crack, making lewd remarks and calling out for the girls to come close.  Sometimes the girls would go to the crack and try to figure out which boy or boys were there, but most of the time we ignored them. 

The best one was John V.D., a kid I had started kindergarten with and now we were seniors.  Everyone knew it was John's eye on the crack, he had a particular voice and he had earned the title of "Class Clown" in the yearbook.  Anyway, one day John started to call, "Girls, Girls, it's your lover boy", and we all laughed.  One girl went close to the crack and yelled, "It doesn't sound like my loverboy to me, it sounds like John V.D.  I thought of that yesterday when I watched the tom turkey strut all day after a female turkey.  I could imagine him saying, "it's your lover boy" while the female turkey just picked at dandelion heads and imaginery bugs in the earth.  She would let him get close to her, he was all puffed out, tail fully extended, and then she would go off into the field, or the woods, and he would follow her.  They would both emerge in a few minutes, with nothing romantic happening. 

We had guests in the Bird's Nest yesterday and they too were following the turkeys around the yard, trying to get a good picture.  The last two weeks have been very busy, and our guests were in for a treat --wisteria climbing right to the top of the maple tree and turkeys strutting in the yard.  All at no charge.

Back Again

Somethings have changed with this blog, not my doing, but I am trying to figure it out.  It's really spring now, Mr. Ding-a-Ling the icecream truck was here yesterday.  The turkey is still strutting, even though turkey season started six days ago.  And my classes are still amusing and interesting me.  Last week in the heroes and villains of the Bible class we did Adam, Eve and the snake.  The Rabbi who taught it was wonderful, as was the Rabbi that taught the story of Moses.  Anyway, he put a whole new slant on the story.  Adam was created in the second chapter (even though man and woman were already created in the first chapter).  Now here's where it gets different.  Adam was both male and female, so it was more than a rib God took to form Eve, it was half his body.  Then the tree - God puts in right in the middle of the garden, but forbids the eating of the fruit.  The Rabbi stated, "God had the whole garden to play with, he could have stuck the tree in a secluded corner, but he puts it right in the middle"  Then when they eat the fruit, and see they are naked, they dress in fig leaves and hide in the trees.  God asks "Where are you?" but he knows they are - they don't look like trees just because they stuck some leaves here and there.  What God means is Where are you in your development?  So, the Rabbi sees the story as a test by God to see if they are ready to leave the garden, go out in the world.  And they do, and now they have children with painful childbirth and must work hard for a living.  "The real world," as the rabbi put it.  Now isn't that interesting?  It doesn't paint the woman as conniving, the snake as evil or the man as stupidly following the woman....they just  do what they have to to leave the garden and get on with life.  Interesting and different isn't it?

The rabbi before was also a great talker, the hour and half went by so quickly.  When somebody said the word "fornication" as an answer (it was wrong), he asked "Do you want to hear a joke about fornication?" Of course, everyone said yes.  So he started, using a heavy Jewish accent, Little Moises goes to his Mother and asks "What is fornication?" She says go ask your father.  So he asks his father and his father sends him to his Grandmother.  "What is fornication?" he asks, and she smiles and says "I will show you fornication" and takes him to the closet.  She pulls out a plain house dress and holds it up before him.  This is a simple dress, just for around the house, nothing fancy.  Then she pulls out a sparkly, brightly colored dress, covered with beads and sequins.  "Now, she says, "This is a dress for an occasion."  We all laughed.  I hope I figured out this new format all right. 

Laughter has always played an important role in my family's lives, both the Murphys and me and my children. Let me share three things that have made me laugh in the past 24 hours. First, an old radio show. I picked up a collection of 60 audio programs at the thrift shop last month. I think it cost a dollar. Anyway, last night we listened to Baby Snooks and Daddy and it had me laughing, almost unstoppable. The story was simple: it was Halloween and Baby Snooks wanted to go trick or treating, but her parents said no. Her father was waiting for a doctor to come to check him out for more life insurance. Baby Snooks keeps bothering him and his blood pressure is rising, so he sends her out to trick or treat. But to teach her a lesson, he puts on a mask with big teeth and scares her and her friend. The friend's father gets mad, throws him down. To get even her father says, "See that open window, I am going to throw a stone in it with a note on it". Then you hear the window break, and Baby Snooks and her father run home. What did the note on the stone say, Dadddy?", she asks. "Guess who", he answers, and then you hear their window break and he picks up the stone and takes off a note, that has one word on it - WHO. It gets even crazier after that, as the two fathers try to outdo each other, taking off doors, putting a horse in the kitchen, bobbie trapping (of course the insurance doctor gets that), until the end when Daddy is stuck in the neighbor's chimney, with a hose trying to fill his house with water. Real slapstick, but with just sound, no visual, and truly funny.

Then I read a Borges short story about a Missionary who runs into the Yahoos, a tribe that's members don't have names - to call one another they fling mud at each other. They close their eyes when they eat, no one can see anyone eating. The witch doctors can change anyone into an ant or a tortoise, and point to an anthill as proof. For entertainment they have cat fights using animals trained for that purpose. So here I am smiling at this nonsense, written and read, not heard or seen. But it is funny and if read outloud in class, we would all be laughing out loud together.

The third incident was purely visual - I looked into the back yard and saw four hen turkeys eating the corn I throw for the birds. Then HE came out of the woods, a tom turkey, who the ladies completely ignored. He got closer to the girls, and then did something I only saw once before, he puffed up his chest, fanned his tail into the typical turkey picture, his globbler got bright red and he pranced about. Still the ladies ignored him. I must have watched for 15 minutes, laughing out loud every time he blew himself up, pranching while the hens just kept eating. Finally, the girls left, back into the woods, and he followed them. But just the thought of his acting that way still makes me smile today. There's a combination for you - Baby Snooks, Jorge Boges and turkeys in the back yard.

Holy Week and the temperatures have returned to normal, no more summer weather. I knew it wouldn't last, the juncos had not left. These are the little birds, wearing black capes, that love the cold weather. They knew, even if the flowers and trees didn't know. The juncos are still here, so I would imagine there will be frost right up into May as usual.

The warm weather did get me weeding and I managed to get into poison ivy. First my right hand, so bad I had to take off my rings. Then it appeared on my legs (that's what I get for putting on shorts in March). Finally, on my arms. Not all over, but enough that I had calamine lotion in spots all over like I was splattered with white paint. Now it is almost better, just the scars of itching, itching that was worse at night.

This has been a strange Lent. I can't help but associate Holy Week with Ria's death, and it is all tied in with St. Patrick's Day, so a few days after March 17, I was in the grocery store and they were selling Hot Cross Buns, and I thought "Boy, they're gonna have some trouble getting rid of Easter bakeries after Easter" and then I realized we had a way to go before Easter came and went. But we've almost made it, tomorrow is Good Friday.

My classes started last week and I am having some fun and some trouble reading Borges. I am also taking a religious course, Villains or Heroes and Paul was our first subject. Don't get Timmy on that subject! My third class is Chekov, reading "The Three Sisters". Enough to keep me busy and finally out of Lent.

Well St. Patty's day couldn't have been better. Weather was perfect, warm enough that Ava and Regina were wearing shorts and little tops. Ian was barefoot and Paul warned him of the dog poop in the cemetery. The scavenger hunt was a success, teams of Ava and Regina, Michael and Shane, Tony and Henry, Helene and Ian. Ava and Regina were the most successful in finding all the stones, but they were on their phones with each other, running through the cemetery. "Technical help", Helene called it.

Laura came later with Sabra, having just been tatooed for the fourth year in a row, this time doing it in the city of Hudson. She now has a ship, the Widdah 1717 on the top of her right leg. This is the ship that wrecked off the shore of Wellfleet when Black Sam was coming for his sweetheart Maria. Rachael went to the same place and has an M with stars on it on her right side, under her arm. They discussed which place was more painful, and Rachael said she could not stop shaking the whole time, but was really glad to do it, especially for Maria.

We flew kites, blew bubbles, but the highlight was Solomon sitting on a wooden folding chair, music stand in front of him, playing "When the Saints Come Marching In" on his trumpet. I tell you that trumpet sound rocked the cemetery, enough to raise the dead as they say. We sang five verses and he did a great job. I wanted music and I got it. Then back to Sabra's for a cookout, the weather cooperating all the way. After I had gone to bed, I remembered that we had left the Christmas lights on the tree and trellis to light on St. Patty's Day, and I yelled down to Tim to put on the lights. They were beautiful, and I fell asleep looking at their reflection on the bedroom ceiling. A wonderful day.

It sounds like Spring in the morning, the cardinals are starting their mating calls, the red-winged blackbirds are back and we are in March. I know before the day is over, Timmy will ask his usual riddle for this day: "What's the only date that is also a command?" MARCH FOURTH.

Not a bad winter, in fact February was the warmest February on record for New York. The road in the cemetery has been open all year, the first time since Maria died. The Christmas Blankets have been taken off, and the bulbs are starting to peek out. The grave down in the corner is already decorated for St. Patrick's Day, green shamrocks, green artificial flowers. There are two new stones near Maria. One is very interesting. On the back it says, "See where we have been." And on the front, with the names, are two pictures. One is a cat looking at a book titled Egypt and on the other side of the stone is a cow in a field. Gives me a lot to think about.

So Spring is heading our way again. I was surprised to see in the Almanac that we turn the clocks ahead already next weekend. Time and tide, you can't stop either.

Bucky named February "Death Month"since it was in February that both of her parents died,
but this year I think we could call it "B Month". Over three weeks ago Laura got a brown recluse spider bite on her elbow and this past week two of Paul's boys had to get rabies shot because of a bat in their house - B for bug and bat. Other than that, it has been a regular month, almost completely snowless and ten degrees warmer than usual. What we don't have to pay for the fuel for the furnace, we are not putting it into the cars, as gas climbs up over $4.00 today when I drove through Red Hook.

My sisters and brother visited this week, and Diane brought me a slip of paper she had found. It was from the Covered Wagon Inn, the restauant I used after my wedding. The slip of paper had four items listed and noted 60 people for the date of July 8, 1961 - 51 years ago this July. Anyway, here are the 4 items: Wine toast - $18.00, Beer - $28.00, Cake - $24.00 and finally, the chicken dinner $153.00. The total was $223 and apparently, my father had made a deposit of $20. So, 51 years ago the total for the wedding food and drink were $203.00. I remember we had a piano player that charged $25.00. And that was it. My dress cost $35.00 and I borrowed a neighbor's daughter's veil. So there you go...A wedding for 60 people under $300.00. We had guests at the Bird's Nest last year that left their restaurant receipt for 4 people that came to more than that. The cake must have been special, it cost almost as much as the beer.

I could go back 51 years and say that gas was only 19 cents a gallon then, but now I am just getting silly.

Today at church was one of my favorite gospels. It's the one where so many people have come to see and hear Jesus that they crowd around the house he is staying in. There is a paralyzed man that his friends are trying to get near Jesus, but the crowds are so thick that they go to desperate measures. They take off the roof of the house and lower the man's body near Jesus. Then Jesus forgives his sins and cures him, but my favorite part is all ready over. THEY TOOK THE ROOF OFF THE HOUSE.

Now see, that's what makes a good story. A little detail, but it tells so much. A good story teller knows this technique, put in all the little details that will make the whole picture clearer. Bucky was good at that. She could tell a story, add names and faces to the characters and little details. One I will never forget was her friend Gertie who had a tape worm removed. Now that is a story in itself, but Bucky knew how to enrich it. They kept the tapeworm, put it on the mantle and it stretched from one side to the other! Now that's visual. And you want more. Why keep it? And why for heavens' sake put it in the living room on the mantle?

Now back to today's gospel...what happened after? Did Jesus say, "Hey who is going to fix this roof?" Did the man just get up and leave, or did his friends lift him back out of the roof? What kind of roof was it? Maybe straw? Did it have a skylight in it? I doubt that, but anyway, the priest didn't even talk about the gospel today. He's still on Obama health issues and why we are losing our first amendment. I would rather hear about taking the roof off.

Yesterday at 4 minutes to 5 o'clock in the afternoon was the full moon of February, named in the Farmer's Almanac as the "full snow moon", oddly enough there isn't a flake of snow anywhere. But the full moon made me think of Bucky and her ritual of the full moon. Bucky loved to listen to the radio, the talk shows where people would call in with unusual and somewhat interesting information (kind of like the Almanac). Anyway one night Bucky heard the following: Do this at the exact time of the full moon, and you will get rich: Empty your purse or wallet, go out into the street in the light of the full moon and say the following three times: Moon, moon beautiful full moon, fill my empty purse.

I did this a couple of times with Bucky, standing on Falconer Street, and Timmy and I tried it again last night. I did hear of it working one time. My sister Maureen did it with a friend and her friend's husband won the lottery. I think Maureen said they later were divorced. Anyway, I have a feeling it still might work, so today I get the lottery ticket.

Another thing I learned from the Almanac is that Friday is St. Blaise's Day. Bucky told us that St. Blaise is the Saint of Sore Throats, having saved a boy who had a fishbone in his throat. Anyway, our church used to have a short ceremony on this day where you would get your throat blessed. My kids were always getting sore throats, so I said, Come on we are going to St. Blaise's day. Paul was skeptical, "what do I have to do?" "Nothing, I told him, "the priest will just put two candles around your throat and say a short prayer." Paul looked horrified. "Are they lit?" That would certainly make it more exciting. Well, off to get that lottery ticket. I'll let you know.

Well, my cold is almost gone, no more runny nose, just a cough now and then. My sister Diane sent me a card with my picture on the front of it, about five years old, wearing toy glasses, with a stethoscope around my neck . It was all part of my Doctor's Kit, a Christmas present from Santa. The kit came with an apron to wear, watch, device to check you ears, the little hammer to hit your knee for reflexes, pill containers, and a small bag of candies to fill the pill bottles. There was also an eye chart and prescription pad and a plastic needle to give pretend shots with. It came with bandaids, but these were used up on my dolls and were replaced with bandaids from our medicine cabinet. This was from an era when doctors made house visits and needed to carry a kit.

I remember Doctor Supple coming to our Washington Avenue apartment in Grandma's house. You could hear him climbing the stairs, I think I was probably screaming, No, no, but up he came trudging up the stairs. I had been sick, maybe with whooping cough and coughed until I threw up, which Bucky has saved in one of my father's photography trays (ugh). Dr. Supple was a heavy man, and a heavy smoker, his office desk had a full ashtray on it. But he, like the other Beacon doctors would come to your house. He checked the tray, pulled out some medicine and I was on the way to mend.

The doctors of that time were heroes, everyone had a story of being saved. Bucky told of a friend who couldn't breath and the doctor asked for a fountain pen, used the ink well portion, and performed a tracheometry in the house, putting the pen piece in her throat to open the airway. I think Liz Taylor had that done, but not with a pen part. My kids' father at age ten had cut off the tip of his finger with a sharp shovel and his father put it in a coffee can and took him with the finger piece to Dr. Astone, who sewed the finger tip back on. "Let's try this", he said, and it worked.

Toy doctor kits are probably not even made anymore. If they did make them today, they would have to have MRI and EKG machines with them and all the equipment used today to determine what the ailment is and what to do about it. The doctors in the past did pretty darn good with just that stethoscope and little hammer.

I've always believed in prayer, and especially since Ria died I have prayed even more. I have a whole list of relatives and friends that I pray for and lately I have even added two dogs to the list. The dogs are my neighbors' dogs, Irene's old dog Stray and Tony across the street dog whose name I never can remember. Stray appeared more than 15 years ago, running through the neighborhood with a dog catcher in pursuit. Irene hid the dog until the dog catcher must have decided to look elsewhere. Stray, as they named her, was in tough shape. Mal nourished, yet full of milk with swollen teats, she must have just given birth. Anyway, Irene nursed her back to health and has had her all these years. A few months ago it didn't look good for Stray, in fact so bad, they dug a hole for her burial in the front yard, next to the other dog buried there. I told them I would pray for the dog and I started that night. The same with Tony's dog...he said I thought we would have to put her down she can barely walk. Tony sadly built a ramp going up the front steps so the dog could hobble in and out. I said I would prayer for his dog and added him to the list.

Tony's Mom had a rough year, broken hip, medication problems, confusion, etc, the doctor's told the family she might not make it to Thanksgiving. She went on my list. Now here is where it gets good. The empty hole is still in the front yard. Stray got stronger and is no longer on death row. Tony's dog also is doing better, walks freely around the house with the frisbee in her mouth, looking pretty good. And Tony's Mom - Sabra recently said, "Ma, you can stop praying for Sybil - she looks wonderful and even has a new boyfriend." When she visited Sabra's house over the holiday, Tony later remarked "Did you see that ring on my mother's finger? It looked like an engagement ring."

Last week I got Timmy's cold, a real dinger, the kind with a cough that doesn't even sound human, like a dog or a trapped animal. Sore, sore throat, grocery bag full of used kleenex, the works. So here's the ticket. Aunt Lillian and Uncle Phil always said you can never pray for yourself, it must always be for others.

So here I am, with this powerful prayer stuff and I am trying to see if I can sneak around the rule. Please God, help me find a way to stop coughing. It doesn't work. Too bad dogs can't pray - I would ask those two dogs across the street to give me a hand.