Moving Day 1967, 43 years ago today we moved to Tivoli - weather wise it was a day much like today, clear but cold. The excitement had been building for weeks, as I packed the boxes for the trip, labeling each - Kids' clothes, kids' toys, Linda's clothes, etc. The boxes were lined up in the downstairs hall, waiting for the big day. We were leaving 66 Beacon Street, home since before Maria was born. We lived in an upstairs apartment, one apartment on each side of the hall, the same downstairs four in all. The downstairs hall had boxes from the floor to the ceiling by the time moving day arrived.

Sunday after Thanksgiving was the day, not sure of the date, but this is the day I celebrate. We had rented a moving truck, with an automatic lifter on the back, for the refrigerator and other large pieces of furniture. Bill Olah entertained the kids by riding up and down several times, making appropriate, or inappropriate noises. Maria was 5, leaving her first school, Laura was 3 and Paul was only 2. I was to drive them in the station wagon, which was loaded up also and had a canoe tied to the top. This was to be my longest drive ever since I had only received my driving license the summer before.

We set off, a small caravan, me in the car with the kids, Bill in his car, and Joel driving the van. I think I warned the kids to be really quiet, they were probably sitting in the back seat, although Maria might have been up front with me...no carseats, seatbelts or airbags to worry about in 1967. The drive seemed forever, just over an hour, but I was glad to see the turn for Clay Hill Road, and into the driveway we came.

Jane, Bill's wife, was waiting for us and everyone explored the house up and down, easy to do, it was two rooms and a bath downstairs, and one big bedroom, one tiny bedroom and regular size bedroom upstairs. Jane had brought sandwiches and we sat on the kitchen floor eating them, with the heat blowing on us from the radiator. I don't remember the unpacking, all the work of moving. I do remember later that afternoon, with no curtains on the windows yet, we watched our neighbors decorating a large cedar tree in the front of their house for Christmas. They had a boy a little older than Maria, and two teenage girls, "babysitters" I thought. They argued about the placement of the lights, not enough green, or yellow, etc. But it felt right, sitting in that open living room, my first home with my family, as excited and happy as my kids. I still love it.

Today would have been my neighbor Angelo's 84th birthday. Angelo was the kind of man you wanted for a neighbor. We shared a lot of good times, good laughs, and I still consider him one of my best friends. This time of year especially brings back the memories because Angelo and I celebrated Halloween every year - each trying to trick the other, each getting into outlandish outfits or situations to do so.

There would be a loud knock at the door, and there would be Angelo, dressed in women's clothes, or dressed like a bum. He always disguised his face with a veil, or a hat drawn way down, so I never was quite sure if it was him at first. One time he came in dressed in heavy clothes, disguishing his body, and wearing big old fashioned galoshes. He never talked, didn't want to give away his identify with his easily recognizable voice. So, he handed me a note. On it was written, "AFRAID OF AIDS, WEAR RUBBERS". Now, I got a little worried, what if it wasn't Angelo but some demented Halloween killer I had just let into the house? He went right into the living room which was lit only with a candle near the bowl full of candy and started to empty all the candy in his bag. But he didn't know that we had an extra prop in the room. From behind the curtains came Timmy's loud and stern voice "TAKE JUST ONE" and Angelo fell back into a chair, holding his heart. We all had a good laugh at that.

Once I dressed up like a pirate, full pirate mask on my face. I had Timmy drive me down the street, so Angelo wouldn't see me cross Clay Hill to his house. He didn't recognize me, I think he had been looking out of his window to see when I would leave the house, so the entrance from down the road confused him ...and I got him good.

My kids all loved Angelo. Laura would picture her ideal parents as being my sister Maureen for her mother and Angelo for her father. When Maria lived in the Bird's Nest she and Angelo would meet at the mail boxes, right after the mail delivery. They kidded each other about how important their job was, getting the mail. Paul spent time with Angelo in the back shed, looking at his collections. Angelo collected hub caps, which he sold to people seeing his sign on 9G. One time a nun bought a hub cap from him and he put it on her car. I always wished I had a picture of that nun in her full habit and Angelo on his knees, putting on the hub cap. One time our guests in the Bird's Nest said to me, "We saw the most wonderful thing today." I thought they meant a bird, or deer in the yard, but they had wandered across the street and Angelo had given them a tour of his hub cap collection. They were from England and thought this was grand.

Angelo was a little hard of hearing, so often instead of yelling to each other across the street, we would pantomine a discussion. I would look up at the sky, raise my hands , like what is it going to do today? And Angelo, would pretend to put up an umbrella, or break into a big smile, arms out like he was sunbathing.

Oh, we had good times, right up to the end. I would go stay with him from seven in the morning until his nurse arrived around eight. We were alone for that time, and he could be open with me about his illness, which he always tried to keep from his children. One morning he looked at me and just said simply, "I'm going to miss you." For a moment, I was thrown. It sounded like I was the one going away, and then I understood what he meant. "'l'll miss you too, Angelo," I answered, and then we went on to another subject. And I do, especially at Halloween.

Back from Oysterfest, six days at Wellfleet. Years ago, probably at least 6 now, one day Ria and I took Ava and Regina to Duck Harbor during our summer vacation. The girls were in a bad mood and they kept fighting and bickering, until Maria couldn't stand it anymore and drew a line down the sand. "Here," she said, "Regina, you stay on this side of the line and Ava, you stay on the other side." The kids mumbled, but obeyed, each going on their side of the line drawn in the sand. Regina went off a ways, but Ava stayed near the line, bending down into a huddle. She picked up a stick and was making marks in the sand. Curious, I went over to see what she was doing, and saw that she had written in the sand, "I miss my hole family". Now I thought this was pretty spectacular, the kid was only five, and the only mistake was the hole for the whole. I showed Ria and we discussed it, because Ava was there without the family she lived with...she probably did miss the hole. And that's how I was feeling this past week, like I was missing my hole family.

Oh, Timmy was there with me, we did crossword puzzles, sat in the sun, ate at the Lobster Pot, but something, just something was missing. I know it was my family. Maria always came out with Regina, and Laura, Michael and Atticus had made it out too. My nephew John and his family would visit for a day, but this year there was no family. Even at the Oysterfest, something was off...my friend Jackie and her husband would meet us there, but that ended when Jackie died two years ago, the summer after Maria.

My hole family...missing the W and then I thought a W is an upside M...M for Maria. This only made it worse, but things changed Sunday morning when I went to Mass. The church is almost brand new, Our Lady of Lourdes in Wellfleet. Entering, the first thing I saw was a giant seashell filled with holy water to dip ones fingers in. I sat down on the pew and then the next thing that caught my eye was the stained glass window over the altar...It was a W and a M combined. (Like in Mad, Mad World, I felt like I had discovered the "THE BIG W" that they were all looking for where the treasure was buried.] The W and the M.

I don't know what the symbol means, I couldn't find it on the internet..but it is definitely a W and an M interwoven, with a crown on top and flowers on either side. The W missing in Ava's sentence found the M that I was missing. It was wonderful and my outlook on life changed - I went back to the cottage and the yearly road race had started. I clapped as the runners went by and they all gave me big smiles, peace signs, yelled thanks, it was heartwarming. One woman went by and as I clapped she broke into a big smile and yelled "This is my first race", "You're doing great," I yelled back. I tell you seeing that M and W together was a dam breaker. The world seemed right.

Later, I told Timmy, maybe next year, if there is a next year, we will rent a really big house so my hole family can come out and join us. What do you think?

Yesterday while leaving the Street Painting, Regina and I passed through the old Methodist Church yard. "Linny," she asked, "why do churches always have windows you can't see through?" My first response was "to keep the devil from looking in", but then I thought and said, "or to keep the people inside paying attention, and not looking out the windows." Today at Mass, the priest talked about stain glass windows (a coincidence that is occuring so often any more that I don't even question it).

The priest said that during the Renaissance, when churches were being built all over Europe, most of the parishioners could not read, so the windows became the story tellers of the Bible, of the life of Christ, etc. St. Sylvia's has the sacraments on the side walls. My usual seat is near confession...one half of the window shows Jesus forgiving sins, the other half of the window shows a man in a confessional booth with a priest. I don't know if they even do that now, go into the confessional. You used to go behind a curtain, waiting your turn, making sure the person ahead of you had left. The confessional booth had two sides, the priest sat in the middle with a little window he would open on one side, hear the confession, close it tightly (you could still hear the loud talkers) and open the other. That was a dramatic moment, the moment you heard the window open, the Latin words being spoken by the priest, and then "Bless me father, for I have sinned..." No turning back, but I bet many wished they could bolt out of that box.


My last confession was face to face and it had been so many years that the priest had to keep urging me on, "work with me Linda". I was shocked. Confession when I was a kid was one sided, your recital of everything bad you had done...you told the priest your sins..if you didn't give a number, or a vague number like "a few" he would stop - almost visibly hold up his hand, "how many is a few? More than five, more than ten?" pinpointing it down, while you wished you were anywhere but in that booth, with that man. Oh, it was an ordeal - confession. Something the kids today probably don't even know about. If they made that stain glass window of confession today, it would probably be a priest smiling, with little birds singing and rabbits jumping, like a scene from Snow White and the confessor wearing a big smile.

Laura did a Street Painting yesterday that looked like a stain glass window. It was of God creating the world and he is pictured with an instrument actually designing and measuring the details. Sabra and Tony did a woman being hugged by a bear, Regina did birds in a tree and I did the Guinness Toucan bird, with "A lovely day for a Guinness" above a colorful Toucan balancing a pint of beer on his beak. I wrote "For Margaret" on the bottom, because Margaret did this bird with me in 2002 in the Black Swan patio. She also did one of Regina and did the first one ever with me on Clay Hill Road of Mona Lisa Rabbit. Margaret was a great artist and a great friend. Street Painting Day has so many memories of her, Maria, of all those years my family worked so hard with me on this event. Trish spoke with me yesterday, saying all that I put into that event, but I responded that I got so much more out of that day than I ever put into it. And I surprised myself because I really meant that.

I've been going to church now for over a month. It's a long story as to how I got started again, at this time I'll just say that I'm enjoying the experience. Our church in Tivoli is St. Sylvia's. It is a lot different since the time I went with the kids back in the 70's and 80's. Oh, it's the same beautiful small church, and like so many churches has the feeling of another world, another country to it. Oh, the church is the same, but attendance is way down; today there were many 20 people at the most - all older, no kids at all. When I used to take the kids, the church was full, and there were all ages, and all sizes. Today I sat in the same pew as I did so many years ago with the kids. I remember how it was always a challenge then, to get everybody ready, in the car and seated in that pew for Mass.

And then, it was the challenge of keeping them behaved, not laughing, not wriggling or poking each other. That's when the term "the church face" was given to me, apparently my face turned into something completely abnormal, that demanded certain behavior to change. The kids would sneak in toys, anything to keep them amused. One time I looked over at Sabra and she had pulled Chatty Cathy out of her pocket and right before my cringing eyes, pulled the string way out. Now if you remember Chatty Cathy was a small doll that would talk when the string was pulled, saying things like "I want a hamburger" "I think I'm pretty", etc. I grabbed Cathy out of her hands before the string could start down. Holding the sting taunt, now I had to figure out what to do with it. I couldn't hold it the whole Mass....carefully, everytime the congregation would stand I would release a little string, the noisy standing covering most of Cathy's comment. It took careful concentration and I was sweating bullets while my kids were grinning from ear to ear at my dilemma. Finally, Cathy was quiet and put away in my purse. That's how church was then, nerve wracking.

Today was quiet, no church drama, not even much to look at. The sermon was about 9/11 and especially Father Judge, the Fire Department Chaplain who is listed as the first casualty of that event. The priest returned to his usual theme of you never know when you will be called, a common thread he has included every week for the last month and which always makes me think of Maria. Anyway, he quoted Father Judge as having said, "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans for tomorrow." That's basically all I remember of the sermon, but that is plenty.

Twins, I have had twins on my mind for the past weeks. My neighbor has twin girls about six months old that she pushes up and down the street, trying to keep them cool in the summer heat. Then twin fawns appeared in our yard, orphans, that cried first, sad mournful sound, but soon they were just seen quietly nibbling on grass, way too young to survive without a mother's milk. But they did and they still are around. Then an invitation to my twin sisters' birthday this weekend. And most surprising, a book, a wonderful book that weaves the lives of twins in a gothic type plot, The Thirteenth Tale. Helene was reading this book at the lake two weeks ago, could hardly put it down. So I went to the library, and likewise "had my nose in it" (as Bucky would say) until I finished the more than 400 pages in three days. I used to do this all the time, but lately my reading, like my walking, has slowed down.

Twins. I was eight when my twin sisters were born, did not know my mother was pregnant, and my mother did not know she was having twins - a little like a gothic mystery. But my mother came home with two babies, two girls who at first wore bead bracelets "a" and "b". They were small, I don't remember the birth weights, but I do remember my mother relating a scene in which the nurse said to Doctor Supple, "You are not going to let these babies go home so soon, are you?" and as my mother proudly announced, he said "Betty is a good mother. They will be fine." So there we were with two new members of the family - Kathleen and Maureen. Twins.

I had never seen twins before. Two perfect babies that looked exactly alike. I have a picture somewhere of me holding them soon after, one in each arm with a very serious look on my face. When they grew older, I would push one in a carriage, and my girlfriend would take the other in a carriage and off we would go...probably only nine or ten years old ourselves. But twins are magic and everyone smiles, wants to know their names and of course always ask "are they identical"? which always seemed stupid because they looked exactly alike. Just a little difference in their smile, or the look in an eye. In photographs it was harder to tell, and we would go back and forth...that's Kathleen, no that's Maureen, Wait, I think it IS Maureen. No it's Kathleen.
Until finally we just said, who cares, it is the twins.

That's how it is with twins....they are individuals, but you tend to pair them, think of them in the same way. The Thirteenth Tale had an evil twin....we didn't have that. Kathleen was kind of a tomboy, wore cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. And Maureen cared more for dolls, once getting hurt from a doll. The arm had come off. In those days they were wired on and somehow the wire cut her mouth, tongue, something bad. That's the thing with twins, you had twice the responsibility, twice the nerve wracking care, but like the old tune used to go "double the pleasure, double the fun, with doublemint doublemint doublemint gum".

Twins. They run in families you know. Grandma Burky had twin sisters (or maybe brothers) she didn't know that until after Bucky had had her twins, having left Europe at an early age. They skip a generation, is the theory. If so, we are due for twins in this family any day now. Wouldn't that be great?

This poor blog has been on a long dry run, end it today with my birthday. 68th birthday...what a ride. There used to be a tv show in the 50's called This is Your Life and Ralph Edwards would surprise a person, usually a celebrity, by reading from a big book a bio of their life, bringing in people from their past that they hadn't seen for years. Some of the surprised lifers would be less than happy to have their life paraded in front of them, but most seemed to enjoy it. 68 years - who would they bring out and what would they say?

I just had a email that there was a comment from Kathy L on facebook that said "happy birthday" - so that's one person they could bring out...tell about when we worked together at IBM, the escapade when we didn't get a raise, so we would come in a half an hour early and be "greeters". We would stand near the door, drinking a cup of coffee from the cafeteria and just say "Good Morning" to everyone, making overtime for no work. No one ever challenged us..I guess there was nothing in the Manager's Manual about greeters.

Then I got a birthday card from Timmy's sister Meg. Meg could come out and tell us about our fun in Florida...one New Year's Eve her husband Bob was playing in a band and they played a song with the line "with a girl named Lindy Lou" and I got up on a picnic table to dance. Now with these knees I have a hard time sitting at a picnic table.

Then there was my 60th birthday party at the Black Swan, with Shockwave, wearing an UPS uniform came to the door..."package for Linda Murphy, package for Linda Murphy". Maria had borrowed the uniform from a friend whose husband had worked for UPS. Shockwave had a boom box, plugged it in, and started to Shock Wave, dancing, throwing off the uniform, bobbing and weaving in front of me. My nephew John grabbed his three daughters to escape before Shockwave went too far, and Erin screamed all the way out, "But we haven't had cake yet, we need to have cake". Shockwave stopped at his Scooby Doo underwear, but he would be a good one to bring on stage.

Chrissy could tell about our adventures in Ireland, driving the little red rental car on the wrong side of the road. Once the car was too close to a stone wall, and a long scratch appeared, we used red nail polish to disguise it. Or the time in Provincetown when we were the only women in a restaurant. "Look Chrissy," I said pointing to a figure near the bar, "There's another woman."
Chrissy looked and answered, "Loggy, that's a man dressed like a woman."

68 years is a long time. I can remember when jet planes were something special, rattling the windows of the house, and we would run out to see the stream they left in the sky. Or go up to the old schoolyard to watch Sputnik make it's orbit over our house. The inventions - air conditioning, TV, video games, cell phones, span the years, as well as I Like Ike, the Nixons, the tragedies of the Kennedy boys, Bill Clinton's cigar and now Obama. Like I said, it's been a ride and I'm waiting for the next turn in the road.