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.

I was given three books for Christmas, the last one I received just yesterday from Sue and Mick, a wonderful Pop-up book of bird songs in stereo sound. Each page pops up, filled with a woodsy scene, lots of birds that start singing, each different, each from a different area of the page. Wonderful...I laughed out loud. Gave me a chance to remember when I was in second grade in Spring Street School. Our prinicipal Miss Palen loved birds and an assembly would often be sitting in our seats at our desk, looking at slides of birds, and hearing their songs. Miss Palen was tiny, but tough. I can still see her reaching up to grab a misbehaving sixth grade boy's ear and tugging him by his sore ear to her office. But she loved birds, and so do I.

The second book was from Helene, "Reading Jesus" by Mary Gordon. I got my nose in it (like Bucky used to say) and couldn't stop reading. Her thoughts on the Gospels are so in agreement with mine, I can't believe it. Raised as a Catholic, and hearing Masses in Latin, like myself, the only English was the reading of the Gospel and then the homily that followed. Her thoughts on the Prodigal son and the orchard workers are a convincing argument of the importance of examining the stories that Jesus used to teach. And then she got to the Beatitudes and I almost cried out YES, YES. So many blessed are the --, offering us a gentle, peaceful world. And the one that she dwells on the most, is also the one I think of the most- "blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be conforted". The author sees this blessing as different from the others, whereas the others extol moral qualitites and mourning is not a moral act - she calls it a useless act without a product. But to mourn, to really mourn you must have loved and loved deeply, a gift. I can't wait to read more.

The last book is a little picture book given to me by Sabra, a picture book recounting the day of the family portrait in the cemetery. On the cover is the photo of the couch strapped on Kevin's big truck, on the cemetery road, with grave stones all around. The only words in the book are on the cover - "The couch worried this was the end of the road". Cute, huh? Then the pictures follow in order, first the Bagge boys on the couch, then me sitting down, then Timmy pulling my pigtails straight up in the air, and I am laughing, then the others get into the picture, until the whole family is there, all smiles, arms around each other, Ria's stone in the foreground, her pirate flag a flying, what a day, what a nice book. A good Holiday all in all. Happy New Year's to all - I love you.

Christmas is so full of memories for me, and more and more keep coming back, especially of the days at 17 Falconer Street, even earlier at 28 Washington Avenue. In Grandma's house we lived upstairs, at the bottom of the steps to our apartment was a small table holding the one telephone in the house, and under the stairs was a table. On this unlit table under the stairs, would be the gifts from Aunt El waiting to be brought upstairs and put under the tree. Barbara and I would look them over for hours, in complete rapture. Aunt El's gifts were special. Even before we unwrapped them, they were special. Beautiful paper, each package different, bows and tags with all kinds of beautiful decorations printed on them, a candy cane taped to the top. Our mother and grandmother were not wrappers, Grandma would just put something in a brown bag, or reuse some old wrapping paper, even birthday. Bucky was the same. I guess that's why Aunt El's presents stick in my head.

After moving next door, Christmas memories become more vivid. We had to wait on Christmas Eve for Daddy to get home from work to start decorating the tree. He would be working on it in the cellar, making a stand out of two pieces of wood. He then nailed a coffee can in the center and put the tree in that. Nothing fancy, but I don't even remember it falling down. We each had an area for our presents, for a long time, mine was under the tv, making me about twelve years old for that memory. As a teenager, I remember each year Daddy would buy each of "his girls" a small bottle of Chanel #5. That was precious and must have cost him dearly for he had five girls and a wife.

Christmas with my own children are full of memories...Maria getting a baby doll from Bucky as big as herself, as she tried to carry it around. Then our move to Tivoli, coming the Sunday after Thanksgiving, we looked forward to our first Christmas in our own home. Oh, yes, I remember the good times, but there were troubles too. The time we went to Mass and our dog Woofus ate the Christmas presents - Maria's ear muffs, Paul's GI Joe. Or the time I thought the kids were old enough to put presents under the tree early on Christmas Eve. What a mistake. The piles were carefully counted, oh Sabra's got more than I do. Then Paul realized that none of the wrapped presents in his pile resembled a round item (he wanted nobby tires whatever they are) that he went berserk, ripping a small hole in his pants larger and larger until they were in shreds.

Oh yeah, Christmas is full of memories, and they are ready to pop up at anytime. I'm still shopping so I better not get too nostalgic.