The Not Number 6 Bus

    Well, I do not remember eventually getting the required physical for kindergarten, so contrary to my mother's exaggerated statement about being banned from school forever, I was allowed to go! The property that the former one-room school house sat on was being used for the building of a brand new elementary school in our growing small town. But the school would not be ready until I was in first grade. So for kindergarten the kids were being bussed all the way to the next town – Armor – far, far away – or so it seemed.

   I do not remember the exact number for the bus, so let's say here it was bus number 6. My mother drew me a picture of the number 6 and told me to remember what it looked like. I was only to get on bus number 6. I was never ever to get on any other bus but bus number 6. If I ever got on a bus that said something other than 6 on it, I would never see home again!

    Well, that worked very well. I was not afraid to ride the bus even though school was far away. I had watched the big kids standing at the bus stop at the end of our driveway for years – I had for so long wanted to be one of those big kids, and finally I was. I got on bus 6 every morning and again bus 6 every afternoon.

    Until that one fate-filled afternoon.

    The teacher had us all line up in class according to our bus number, just like every other day. And the kids for bus 6 lined up one behind the other, just like every day. And she marched us out to the parking lot, and turned us over to the big people in the parkng lot just like any other day. And the big people told us all to get on our buses, and all the kids got onto their respective buses. Except for the bus number 6 kids – because there was no bus number 6 there. The big people pointed to another bus and told the bus 6 kids to get on that bus. And all the other bus 6 kids actually got on it! Oh no! Apparently their mothers had never told them what would happen if they ever got on a bus that was not bus 6. Fortunately my mother had told me!

    I refused to get on the bus!

    The big people told me I had to get on the bus. I kept refusing. And I got louder! Crying and screaming and saying “NO!” And then I got physical. The kids on the bus looked out the window at me pitching a fit in the parking lot. Those poor kids! If I kept screaming, maybe I could save them, stalling until the real bus 6 arrived!

Then one of the big people picked me up and walked up the two steps of the bus and carried me inside! I was put down on the front seat – the seat behind the bus-driver! Everyone knows what that means! The bad kids were put in the seat behind the bus driver! How dare that big person presume I needed to be put in the seat for bad kids!!

    The big person set me onto the seat behind the bus driver and then scooted down the two steps and out of the bus. The bus driver quickly shut the door, and we started to roll.

    The bus went out of the parking lot, and down the road. I sobbed and sobbed – the one thing my mother had asked me to do, and I had failed miserably! Now, I was never going to see home again! I looked out the window and saw the telephone lines going by. I thought, “I will never see those telephone lines again!” Then I looked in the mirror above the bus-driver. I realized someone was looking at me in the mirror. It was Diane, sitting four rows behind me. Diane was my best friend. She lived three houses down the street from me on Heinrich, and she was in my kindergarten class. Diane was supposed to be on bus number 6! She is never going to see home again either.We kept looking at each other in the mirror. And then Diane gave me a kind of half smile, and she raised her hand a little and gave me a little wave.

    Of course, as you might have figured out by now, the bus we were on was a substitute for bus 6, and we were all soon taken home, just like always.

    A few years ago I asked my Mom if the school had even reported the incident to her when it happened? She said, “Oh yes they certainly did!” And then she lowered her voice and said, “You know, neither of us had done anything wrong!”

    Sometimes Moms exaggerate in order to keep their kids in line – and sometimes listening to my Mom got me out of line with the rest of the world.

    Sometimes when you are trying to rescue the rest of the world, you yourself are rescued by someone who has your back and saves you with a smile and a wave.

    Many times in your life, you mght get on the wrong bus – but it is the wrong bus ride you remember long after the Number 6 bus rides fade from memory.

    And no matter what bus you get on – you will eventually, somehow, manage to see home again!

    These are some of the things I learned in kindergarten.

31 20150131 kindergarten bus

Kindergarten Registration

     One day when I was four years old, my mother and I went down Back Creek Road to a building which had once been a one room school house. It was no longer a one room school house, but it was being used by the school district for other things.

     On that day, the building was being used for kindergarten registration!

     I was so excited! There were lots of people when we walked in the front door, and because I was so little, all I could see were legs in front of me. And I held on tight to Mom's hand which was high – but I did not let go – and she was holding on tightly too.

     There were tables all along the walls of the room – and people were going up to the tables and filling out paperwork for the folks sitting in chairs behind the tables. It was noisy – I did not know how people knew what to do. I decided that when you are an adult, you know everything – and I was looking forward to knowing more as I got older.

     The front of the room had a step up and a whole stage-like area. I imagined that that was the area where the teacher once stood in front of her students, and perhaps she even had a desk on that raised area of the floor. There was a line forming in the middle of the room in front of that step. The line was getting longer and was almost out the door where we had come in. I did not like the looks of that line. After a while Mom and I were standing in that line too.

     As the line moved slowly forward, I was finally able to see what was on the raised area of the room. A very old, decrepit looking man was sitting hunched over on a chair; he was thin and the suit he was wearing just hung off of him. I was getting more uncomfortable by the moment. But I was holding Mom's hand – and everything would be okay. The old man talked to a mother and child for a while. Then the mother and child would walk away and the next mother and child in line would walk up to the old man for their turn. I did not understand what was going on. I did understand that I did not like it.

     After a while we were in the front of the line, and then it was our turn. The old man smiled at me, beckoning me forward. Why was he smiling at me? This was not good. Mom tugged at me until we were both standing in front of him.

     He was smiling and talking to me as if he knew me, as if he liked me – but he did not know me and he could not like me. And after a moment, he felt he had made enough small talk, and he tried to take off my coat!

    I kicked him in the shins.

    The next thing I knew, I was in the parking lot - still holding my mother's hand, and she was moving so fast, it felt like we were flying! When we got out of earshot of everyone inside and outside the building, Mom hissed at me,

    “That was Dr. C*** you just kicked! He was just trying to give you a physical! You needed that physical to go to kindergarten – And since you did not get the physical, you can't go to school!”

    Well, how do you like that? I had not even begun my first day of school, and I was kicked out forever!

30 20150130 Kindergarten Registration

The Blizzard of '77

   

Souvenir Tote from the Blizzard of '77

 In January of 1977, I began a new job – just after the agar factory. Dad had gotten the position for me – as an admin in a truck repair shop. It was supposed to be just for a few months as I had applied to graduate school, and I thought I would be back in classes by September. Well, I still was not driving, and the truck place was a few miles away, almost to Buffalo. Dad had told me not to worry about transportation – but this was one of those common sense things again – I thought that meant he would take me to and from work every day, and Dad thought that meant I would figure out something – like post a notice or talk up the guys in the shop into giving me a ride every day. When the job began, Dad was dropping me off and picking me up.

     The truck repair shop was owned by a plump couple I have always endearingly referred to as the Dumplings. The Mrs doted on the Mr all day long in the office I was supposed to share with them. The office had a kitchen, complete with stove and sink. The Mrs made eggs for them both every morning. Mr Dumpling would eat while working at his desk, and then Mrs Dumpling would clean up.

     Apparently it was not discussed at the interview whether or not I drove. So you can imagine the Mrs' disappointment when the first thing she asked me to do was take a deposit to the bank, and I told her that I had no car or license. She had been hoping to make me do all the stuff she did not feel like doing in the office. Things were not going well right from the start.

     What I thought I was hired to do was take the job sheets from the crew from the day before and tally up the hours spent on each job and make sure each guy had put in 8 hours for each day. How hard could that be? And I knew I was a great worker with half a brain. Turns out there are some jobs I am totally unsuited for – and admin is totally one of them. The hours never matched up, and I didn't want to be constantly tattling – so I was doing a crappy job. The Mr was glaring at me all day for being an incompetent, and the Mrs was glaring at me all day for breathing.

     After two weeks I knew I would have to leave – it was just too intolerable. But Dad had gotten me the job, and if I left, it would be an embarrassment to him!

     And besides all that, it was snowing.

     The snow had started the month before, in December. The Buffalo Western New York area is well prepared for a lot of snow – and has the equipment for moving it out of the way. The snows of December 1976, however, had proven too much for the area – the plows could not clear out enough snow before another storm would hit and paralyze the land once again. As January came around, trains were coming to town to haul carloads of snow to other parts of the country, no kidding! And we Buffaloons, as we sometimes are referred to – persevere. We can't stay home – if we did, we would be there for six months of the year. So if there is any way possible, we go to work or school or for groceries – that's what we do. We had to keep moving.

    And it kept snowing.

    On the morning of January 29, 1977, a Friday, I got out of bed not thinking about the weather but rather feeling sorry for myself that another two weeks had gone by since I had decided to quit my job and yet I had not had the guts to tell my father. Dad had already left for work. My brother, Clark, was home from college, still on winter break, I think, or maybe school, the University of Buffalo, was closed because of the snow. Clark was going to take me to the shop.

    We got in the car and started down the road, turning onto the old 219 which was iced over, heading toward Hamburg. At one point the car spun around and careened into the snowbank on the side of the road. We got out, brushed away the snow and freed the car from the drift. One would think at this point we would have then driven home – but that did not occur to us – we were Snow Belt Veterans! Clark took me all the way to the truck repair shop and then he returned home – in fact Clark went back to bed, and thus he was unaware of what what happening when I called him later that morning.

     At the shop, hardly any employees showed up. Most had called in claiming the weather was too bad where they lived. Around 11 o'clock, the daughter-in-law of the Dumplings, who worked a few hours every week in the office, pointed out the window and told us all to take a look. The day was dark and the visibility was near zero.

    The Blizzard of 1977 had officially begun!

    Mr Dumpling told me I could call for my ride home. I woke Clark up and asked him if he thought it would be okay to come and get me. He did not know why not. And he said he would be right there to pick me up. That was just after 11AM.

    At 4 o'clock, Clark called back. I was frantic! “Where are you?” He said he was at his girlfriend's house. She lived in South Buffalo! I lit into him so bad. “Why did you go there? Can't you go anywhere without your girlfriend? Don't you know the roads are terrible out there? You need to come and get me!”

    Clark showed an infinite amount of restraint during my tirade, and he patiently waited for me to finish (or else he was yelling back at me and I just couldn't hear it above the din of my own hissy fit). But finally he got the chance to explain.

    He had started out from our house in North Boston and was on the same route we had done that morning. Only he got to a place where the road was closed because of the weather. Clark went down a few more streets trying to get to my general vicinity, and he ended up on the thruway. That would not have been so bad, if he could have gotten off at the first exit he came to, but the first exit was closed, and the next one – the first exit Clark got to that was not closed was the one for South Buffalo – and he got off at that exit and promptly skidded into a drift on the side of the road. Right next to another car – and other cars that were already covered over by the falling snow.

     Clark got out and walked up the ramp and then to his girlfriend's apartment which was another mile or so away. He had been through so much, and I had had the nerve to lash out at him from the cozy warm office with the chilly people!

     My Mom worked a quarter of a mile from our house. She walked home in the midst of the wind and freezing cold snowfall – she thought she was not going to make it, but Mom was the only one in the family who did make it home that night.

     Eric was away at school in New York City, so we did not have to worry about him.

     Dad had just started a new business at the beginning of the year – in Buffalo – the weather had wreaked havoc on them that first month, and the night of the Blizzard of '77, he and his partner were stuck at the office. Someone in a car in front of their business had died – presumably of a heart attack – and no one was attending to him because there were so many living people who needed help! 

     After all that Clark had been through that day, and with an abandoned car on the ramp of the thruway – he was staying safe and warm at his girlfriend's.

     And it became clear after talking to Clark, that I was not going home either.

     I hung up the phone and looked at the Dumplings.

     Oh dear.

     Mr called the nearest motel, and surprisingly, there were enough rooms for us if we doubled up. The daughter-in-law called her husband, the Dumplings' son, and he said he would come and get her. I almost choked on my jealousy when he actually showed up in his pickup truck and with a big grin on his face – he is the only person I heard of from all the Blizzard of '77 stories who actually got to where he was going to, and back again! With the daughter-in-law gone, that meant Mrs Dumpling and I would have to share a room together when we got to the motel.

    There were two carloads of us – it was quite dark, and the visibility was still near zero. I was in the car with Mr Dumpling driving. It was obvious that he could not see much – and we drove very slowly down the street, and not having to go too far, we managed to get to the motel safe and sound.

     We were ushered into the dining room where the Dumplings bought us dinner. All of their gestures were sincere and generous – but I was so uncomfortable. I did not know the guys at all, and I felt like they probably hated me because the boss was always yelling at them about the hours that I could never seem to match up. I did not talk at the dinner table – fear and social awkwardness – was I ever going to get out of this mess? And what was I going to do after dinner? The evening was young – it would be too early to go to bed, too weird to watch TV with Mrs Dumpling; I couldn't hang around with the guys, and oh my gosh – is the Mr going to be in our room too? From what I had observed of their relationship, I doubted he would be separated from the Mrs even for one night!

    Well, just as we were finishing dinner, the Mrs took ill, and Mr Dumpling put his arm around her and walked her out of the dining room. I got up from the table, fished around in my purse for some change, and called my Mom from a phone booth in the lobby. I gave her the number of the phone, and she called back so the call would not be under any time restrictions. We talked for quite a while – Mom mostly laughed at me. She did not know about my need to quit – but all the other circumstances of the evening had her amused and kept her from thinking about the rest of her stranded family or the car that was buried by the side of the Thruway. I couldn't talk to Mom all night, however, so eventually we hung up, and I braced myself for what I might find in the room I was supposedly sharing with Mrs Dumpling.

    Would she be there ill?

    Would she and the Mr be there giving me dirty looks for even thinking I was really supposed to spend the night with them?

    Would she be in one bed and Mr be in the other? What would I do then?

    What if they locked me out?

    What if they are having relations?

    I don't know when I have ever dreaded anything more as I approached that motel room door.

    Inside the room, Mrs Dumpling was sound asleep on one bed.

    And Mr Dumpling was sound asleep on top of her.

    So. Was it okay for me to stay in the other bed?

    Should I stay dressed? It seemed like it would be awkward to undress.

    But then in the morning, they might feel insulted that I felt I needed to stay clothed while in the room with them.

    Why did this have to be so weird?

    Morning was not going to come soon enough.

    I opted to stay dressed, but I got under the covers – I guess that was so it would look like I had undressed if that was better for them to think so. I don't know – what is proper etiquette in situations like these?

   In the morning, a dove flew by with an olive branch. Or at least the Blizzard of '77 was over. The snowstorm had ceased, and the sun was out.

    We got in the two cars and went back to the truck repair shop. Mr Dumpling told the guys that if any of them felt they could get home safely, they were welcome to try.

    There were three brothers who worked there and lived in a town south of Boston. They were going to head for home. Somehow I worked up the courage to ask for a ride. A fourth person inside a front-seat-only pickup truck was quite the imposition – I thought they were going to say no. They seemed more concerned about getting me all the way to my house – and I assured them they could just drop me off on 219, I could get home all right from there.     I was never so happy to get in a pickup truck with three strange men before! (yeah, I don't think I had ever gotten into a truck with three strange men before then – the weather, you know, makes us do surprising things!) They took me almost all the way home, dropped me off, and I never saw them again.

     Mom was, of course, happy to see me.

     Dad finally made it home when a cousin with a truck (thank you again and again, Paul Des Soye!) found out where he was and was wonderful enough to give him a lift. I think that's how Clark got home too. The car was eventually taken to an impound place and retrieved – none the worse for wear.

     Two days later, on Monday morning, I called Mrs Dumpling and told her I would not be in – ever. She sounded relieved. Dad was upset when he found out, but I think Mr Dumpling smoothed things over and said it was for the best for all of us.

    My Uncle Jim used to call Mom every year on January 29^th and ask her if she remembers what day it is? That's how I remember the date.
   Everyone who lived through the Blizzard of '77 in Buffalo/Western New York has a story to tell.
    And this is mine.

29 20150129 Blizzard of 77

Lily Dale

    One afternoon in the summer of 1979, I went to Lily Dale with a high school friend (we also went to college together), Lynne, and a co-worker of hers. Lily Dale is a spiritualist community in Western New York. At the time, people would go to Lily Dale to visit the mediums who lived there – and the mediums would connect with the dead - giving messages and essentially, telling your fortune. It is my understanding that the same is true of Lily Dale today.

      As usual, I did not have a lot of cash to spend on such things, but I remember visiting three different people, for $6 each.

     I think that of the three of us, I looked the most skeptical, and so I was the one who got the direst predictions of them all, “I see you in a long, dark tunnel, but there is a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.”

     One medium told me there was a young man at my shoulder presenting me with a flower. Did I not know who that young man was? The only young man I knew who had passed away was one of my brother's friends who had died in a car accident. I wanted to scream, “nice guess, almost everyone knows a young person who has died in a car accident!” And then I thought how odd it would be for my brother's friend to have nothing better to do in the afterlife than follow me around hoping I'd notice the flower he was trying to give me!

     The same medium also asked if my mother had frequent horrible headaches – and I said no. She was way off there.

     When I got home that day, Mom wanted to know exactly what was said, and she tried to interpret everything. The headache comment freaked her out.

     Then Mom mentioned that Dad did not approve of fortune tellers. His Catholic upbringing had taught him that fortune-telling was breaking the first commandment which is “no false gods”! At first I was shocked. No one takes fortune-telling seriously how could it be like believing in another god?! And then I realized that putting any thought into fortune-telling at all is kind of like putting one's faith in something other than God.

     Up until that time, I always thought the first commandment would always be the easiest one to keep.

     In the years since then, I have come to realize the first commandment is, instead, the easiest one to break. 

28 20150128 Lily Dale 

I See Good Things!

     When I was in college I lived with my Grandmother in the upstairs of a duplex owned my my Uncle John at 277 Hastings Avenue in Buffalo. One Saturday morning I walked up Hastings to Bailey Avenue and turned left. I was going to the post office which was only about a block away on Bailey. Well, I was almost to the post office, passing a couple of businesses and some houses, when I noticed a house that had a sign in the window which read “Psychic”. And right when I saw the sign, a woman came out of the house, calling and walking toward me.

     “I read your fortune! Come in!” she said.

     We made eye contact. I would have to respond. “Oh, no thank you, not today.”

     She said, “Come in, come in! I see good things for you!”

     Even if I had had more money with me than what I actually had at the time which was enough to buy two postage stamps, I would have still said no.

     The gypsy woman returned to her house, probably to look out her window for the next passerby.

     But you know, to this day, if anyone mentions fortune-telling, or psychics, the words, I see good things for you instantly come to mind.

     Perhaps someday when I am even older and even more eccentric, I'll put a “Psychic” sign in my window and run out to everyone who passes by and say “I see good things for you!” for free!

     I see good things for you!

27 20150127 I see good things for you

Chromosome Squash

    Someone said thorax at the lab recently, and I made a note to write down my related anecdote – I've already forgotten the context in which it was used in the lab, but the word thorax invariably takes me way back to my Cell Biology class junior year in college.

     Cell Biology was a great class – the teacher, Dr. Joan Lorch, was someone who cared about what and who was at each end of the microscope, and you have to admire that in a teacher! Not only was I learning a lot about a subject I was enjoying very much, but I was doing well in it too! Eager to keep up the momentum I plunged into each new unit determined to master the information. It also meant mastering the skills involved in the lab.        College labs had never been my most shining moments, hence the irony in working at labs for years and years since then – I'll have to keep at it until I get it right! And one day we started a unit on genetics – at the cellular level and lower – the chromosomal level.

In lab we were going to do what was called a chromosome squash – an insect with particularly big testes would be used, and if we did the squash correctly, we would be able to view the chromosomes in the light microscope. The insects we would be using were male crickets – I do not recall the Genus or species – just male crickets. We would be dissecting out the testes which are in the abdomen of the cricket.

     Well, I received my cricket and went to work removing the testes according to the directions in the lab manual. Then I proceeded with the chromosome squash – the steps of which are completely forgotten by now – and put the finished slide under the microscope to view!

     What I saw on the slide was not what I was expecting as per the pictures in the instructions. Dr. Lorch happened by – looking at everyone else's chromosome squashes through their microscopes. So she looked at my slide. And when Dr. Lorch straightened up she smiled a grandmotherly smile and said, “You have beautiful cells of the cricket's thorax on your slide; no chromosomes.” I was mortified. She asked how I had missed the testes – they are bigger than anything else in the cricket's body! Classmates were muttering the predictable comments about my not knowing where the testes of any male are – and I deserved that. I don't recall being given a second cricket to work with that day.

     And I've been doomed to being haunted by the word thorax ever more!

26 20150126  Chromosome Squash

Mr. G Rescue

     Okay, this one is going to be a little tough. I thought about skipping it, but it should probably not be shirked.

     The family across the street from us on Valley Circle Lane had an old Jeep. And one day I actually got to ride in the Jeep! I sat 'way in the back with Becky. I had been invited to go to the beach with them that afternoon! So much fun it was to look out the back window, riding in that really cool Jeep and making the bold thought that someday I'd like to have my very own Jeep just like that one.

     We arrived at the beach, and I know I was still very young at this age – probably pre-school. It might seem odd that my memory is so clear about this incident, but it is not something that can ever be forgotten. It was Evangola State Park, on Lake Erie – with a wide sandy beach.

     At one point Becky and her brother were playing in the water; I'm not sure what Mrs. G was doing; and Mr G and I were standing in the shallow water and walking side by side further out into the lake. Suddenly I went down, under the water! I did not understand it at the time, but there must have been a hole I fell into that was deeper than I was. I remember seeing the water over my head - and at that same instant, my arm was grabbed and my whole body was pulled up out of that hole and into breathable air! What was happening? Mr G had pulled me out and was asking me if I was okay!

     He had rescued me!

     I was okay, but certainly confused. Why had he saved me? It would have been the perfect time for the world to be rid of me! I swear those were my exact thoughts.

     Ever since I became aware of my existence, maybe sometime between the ages of 2 and 3, I wondered why my parents kept me around – fed me, gave me a place to live, and clothes. I did not feel like they enjoyed having me around very much – so why did they provide for me? I somehow surmised that they had to give me clothes, shelter, and food because they gave birth to me – but if an accident were to have occurred, why would anyone in this world bother to rescue me?

     But Mr G did. And that gave me a lot to ponder.

25 20150125 Mr G Rescue

Kindergarten Blanket

      Before starting kindergarten, we knew that there would be nap-time in the daily schedule. Kindergarten was only half a day back then, the morning half – so I do not know, now, how a nap fit in to such a small time frame. We were required to bring our own blanket – these were more like mats to lie upon rather than security blankets. And my grandmother made one for me – extra special – and of course I still have it. Since it is personalized with my name – there is no point in passing it along to anyone else – so it stays in my closet – folded in a bag.

The kindergarten blanket made by my Grandmother

     When I was in school – from kindergarten right through college, I guess I took school supplies for granted. My clothes were not particularly the trendiest – and we certainly did not get whole new wardrobes each summer for the next school year. But pencils and lined paper? Scissors? Even the briefcases that were required by our sixth grade teacher – my parents provided all of those, and it never occurred to me that those basic school needs might not be met due to a shortage of money.

     It was not until many years later that I heard from my parents how much they had hated school as kids – especially my father. Both their families were suffering mightily from the effects of the Great Depression – something I had known about when younger. They both felt very self conscious at school for not having the things other kids did. Mom felt weird in her homemade clothes and with her home-baked cookies (really!) and Dad did not like having to ask classmates to borrow pencil and paper on a daily basis. Horrible memories!

     So the specially made blanket with my name on it as I began my school career was and still is a symbol of my folks having made it – from their humble beginnings – they had a child going to kindergarten with decent supplies!

24 20150124 The Kindergarten Blanket

Tiberius

     Okay, so there is one more, I think just one more, Star Trek story I will tell you. One summer day William Shatner was at the University of Buffalo to give a talk! He had a program put together of Man's desire, over the millenia, to go to the stars. Of course, the audience – and we were all outside in one of the stadiums – was there to see Captain Kirk. I don't remember who I went with – one or maybe both of my brothers.

     Well Shatner gave his going-to-the-stars talk, and then he said he would answer a few questions. He was asked what was his favorite episode of Star Trek? Shatner said he recalled the episode where he was supposed to act like a woman had taken over Captain Kirk's body – and he thought that was an interesting role to play – but as I recalled, Turnabout Intruder was the last episode filmed, and perhaps that was why he remembered it. Shatner admitted that when he was on the road and staying in hotels, he would turn on the television, and sometimes, if Star Trek was on, he couldn't remember how the episode ended! So he watched the reruns to see what happened!

     Someone asked Shatner if his overacting had to do with the Shakespearean training he had when he was younger? Everyone, even a fan like me, will admit that Shatner does tend to over-emote – and impressions that people do of Shatner as Captain Kirk are recognizable to folks who have not even seen Star Trek! But I cringed when the person in the audience asked the question – it was such a put-down! But William Shatner paused a moment and then said, “If I overact, it has nothing to do with my Shakespearean training and everything to do with the fact that I am just a bad actor!”

     That was when I realized that you can say anything about William Shatner and you can say anything to him – and he won't care – why should he? he's rich; heck, he is immortal! So who cares about the imitations, the over emoting? He's had a great life!

     Someone did ask him about the 10^th Level – and Shatner modestly responded that it is a piece of work he is proud of – so I felt I was in good company - agreeing with him on his role in that movie.

     But the most memorable part of the evening for me came when a young man stood up and asked, “What does the T stand for in James T. Kirk?” At that point Shatner had had enough with the Star Trek trivia questions, “Who cares?” he shouted. I started yelling back, joining the deafening noise of the rest of the crowd who knew what the T stood for. “Tiberius!”

     Shatner was not impressed.

     Remember the night that William Shatner was on Saturday Night Live? It was after his talk at UB – may be by a couple of years or so, and there was a skit where Star Trek fans were smothering him with trivia questions and Shatner lashed out at all of them to “Get a life!”? Well I lived that skit that evening at the University of Buffalo! William Shatner said he was there to talk about Man's quest to sail to the stars, and all we were wanting to discuss was the T in James T Kirk? In other words – we needed to get a life!

     I think, what we have all come to realize, so many decades after the end of first run Classic Star Trek, is that the actors and actresses who played the Star Trek roles, and the characters they played, have all been relevant in humanity's pursuit of the final frontier and in our efforts to get a life!

     Maybe we can call it the Tiberius Factor.

23 20150123 Tiberius

A Star Trek Convention

     It was shortly after Classic Star Trek left the original run airwaves that talks of new episodes and possible movies began. And without much discussion at all, the conventions just sprang up. Star Trek conventions began, and I think they are still going on. In 1976, there was a Star Trek convention in Toronto! And I went – with some of my friends from college and my brother Eric. It was held at the Royal York Hotel – which was very nice.

     As I recall, the convention took place on the whole second floor which was just meeting/ball rooms. Different Star Trek stars took turns in one room speaking to fans and often answering questions. James Doohan (Scottie), George Takei (Sulu), Nichelle Nicolls (Uhura), Grace Lee Whitney (Yeoman Janice Rand), and Mark Lenard (Spock's Father Sarek, and also a Romulan commander) - it was so exciting to see the real stars in person!      Afterward, there was a table in another room where the stars signed autographs – everyone was personable and had very positive attitudes toward their parts in the Star Trek phenomenon – 10 years after it had begun! James Doohan gave the most memorable appearance, I thought, at the convention. He wanted to touch everyone in the audience! So he walked through the aisles, and as we reached out our hands, he managed to touch us all – along with eye contact! I think the world of all of the performers who were at the convention – but it was Scottie who touched me!

     In the other rooms were other activities – there was one where science fiction movies were playing – I tried to watch 2001:Space Odyssey, but fell asleep; I'm fairly sure I saw Logan's Run – but I was not at the convention to watch sci-fi flicks, I was there to submerge myself in Star Trek. There were costumes and parades, and a trivia contest. The costumes and parades were not my thing either, but I was upset that I missed the question on the trivia test about which emotion did the emotionless Mr. Spock convey the most often? I put down fascination because it seemed like at least once an episode Spock was expected to raise one eyebrow and say “fascinating” - but the people in charge of the trivia contest said the answer was “pride” - I could have quibbled – but I would not have won the trivia contest anyway because knowing the numbers on the outside hull of the Enterprise or having star-dates for various episodes tucked away in my memory were not the things that attracted me to Star Trek or kept me enthralled with it for so many years – and so those trivia questions I would have missed on the test anyway.

     And of course, in one room there were tables and tables of Star Trek memorabilia that we could buy. This was before videotapes and dvds and tv channels that can bring up any episode on demand. So what to buy that would help me remember the show when the syndication finally stopped running (which still does not seem likely)? I purchased a few pictures that were scenes from various episodes – and I still have some of them – but they are yellowed, and anything can be brought up on the internet today in better colors than the original – I did not get them autographed, and should have.

But that was my Star Trek Convention experience – and I am glad to be able to say that I did it at least once!

022 20150122 Star Trek Convention

The By Gosh Man

      As we all know, William Shatner was Captain Kirk on the classic Star Trek series. There are so many things Shatner is known for – TJ Hooker, Rescue 911, Boston Legal – Denny Crane, the PriceLine commercials. But not many folks know about the commercials he did back in the sixties. Shatner is a Canadian. Buffalo is close to the Canadian border, so we would get a lot of the Canadian commercials on our channels – sometimes we could even pick up some Canadian stations – Sesame Street in French was always entertaining! Well, Canada had a thing about using only Canadians in their commercials, so it was not too surprising that they hired William Shatner to plug some products – he was rather famous, thanks to Captain Kirk.

     There was a commercial Shatner did for a Canadian grocery store chain called Loblaws. We had Loblaws in the States also. The commercial would come on, Shatner would talk about how wonderful the store was, and then he would mention the specials for that week, and finally he would finish up by saying, “Loblaws, where more than the price is right! But by Gosh, The price is right!”

      Star Trek was on Thursday nights. That first season, 1966, on Thanksgiving, I asked to be excused from my Grandparents' Thanksgiving table (after dinner) so I could go downstairs, the lower unit of the duplex, where my Uncle and Aunt lived – to watch Star Trek. I'm not sure if my brothers or two cousins joined me, but after a while, my Uncle John, who lived there, came down from the Thanksgiving dinner and promptly gave me his opinion about Star Trek and William Shatner. He said he used to watch Shatner on a television show in the fifties called Studio One the Defender. Uncle John said Shatner was a very fine actor on that show. But now he was doing this silly stuff. Can you imagine? My Uncle John called Star Trek silly!

     And then he called William Shatner the By Gosh Man! Such a fine actor lowering himself to doing commercials and performing such by gosh dialogue was silly too! Captain Kirk was the By Gosh Man!

     Over the years, I've tried to forget the silly in my Uncle John's opinion and remember the part about his thinking Shatner was a fine actor. I've never seen the Studio One Defender show, but I do like to recommend the movie The 10^th Level to others. I think the acting in it is Shatner's finest. However, when I think back on that first Thanksgiving and the two that followed – sitting in Uncle John's living room watching Star Trek – I remember vividly the commercials and the By Gosh Man.

21 20150121 the By Gosh Man

Classic Star Trek

     Okay, it was September of 1966. I do not recall the exact date, although I used to know it for trivia quizzes and because people expected me to know it – and I could look it up real quick on google right now to include it here, but I'll just come right out and say that I do not offhand know the exact date. I was turning 13 that month, and I was in eighth grade. It was a Thursday night on NBC – channel 2 in our neck of the woods. Star Trek began! I was an immediate fan!

     The first aired episode was The Man Trap – and a red-shirt from the Enterprise was the salt monster's first victim – the actor in the red shirt was someone I recognized from Guiding Light (my second all time favorite show!) - on Guiding Light that same actor played Roger Thorpe – so good-looking, usually up to no good, and involved with women he should not have been – and there he was on prime time – the first person killed on Star Trek!

     Even after all these years I can't tell you a well thought-out reason why I have always loved Star Trek. I've soul searched about it many times, and all I come up with is that I liked the characters and the dialogue and the futuristic setting which gave me hope that humans will still be around in 200 years.

     There are so many Star Trek stories I could tell. My Mom's favorite Star Trek anecdote was that at the end of each episode they would show scenes for the next week. I did not want to see anything ahead of time – I wanted it all fresh for me when the episode aired. So I would run upstairs to my bedroom to get as far away from the tv, which was in the living room, as I could - not see it, not hear it. The rest of the family would tease me about this – laughing as I ran up the stairs.

     When the original series was cancelled after three seasons, it began running in syndication, and I would watch it in the afternoons after school – I had seen all the episodes so many times that I knew dialogue, and scoffed at much of the silly stuff and talked passionately about the plotlines that I did take to heart. One of my recurring dreams in the early seventies was that I was watching an episode of Star Trek that I had never seen before. That dream never came true, but the subsequent movies and spin-off television shows came close, and have been mostly satisfying these past 49 years.

20 20150120 Classic Star Trek 1

51 Dash Street

     Some of my oldest recollections are of spending days and nights with my grandparents in South Buffalo. They lived upstairs in a duplex – 51 Dash Street – a man named Charlie lived downstairs and owned the place. I always had to be quiet because Charlie worked nights and needed to sleep during the day. (Mom told me just a few years ago that who knows when Charlie worked or slept? It was most likely a fabrication told by my Grandmother to keep her children quiet and to keep them from ever having friends over – and it kept the grandchildren quiet too!)

    When I stayed over, I spent the nights in my Mom's old room. (Mom's old dresser drawers were, in my youth, filled with handkerchiefs and scarves and the smell of moth balls – I could spend hours playing with the accessories – I did not play with the moth balls). Sometimes I was sick and perhaps I was sent to my grandparents' so as not to get my little brother sick too, or maybe Mom just needed a break from tending to two little ones at home (Eric had not been born yet.) or maybe it was a treat for my grandmother to have me stay?

     I remember those mornings in South Buffalo – especially the summer mornings – the air from the open windows had an odor of what I now know was the pollution from all the Lackawanna steel mills; and the hum of traffic was so different from the sounds of North Boston, but not annoyingly so. Granny would make me a fried egg for breakfast. Fried eggs today make me think of Granny and how special she made me feel by frying an egg just for me – it had lots of salt and pepper on it, and the inside was a little runny – enough for the accompanying toast to lap up!

      Grandpa was still working back then, I think at Trico – the windshield wiper place, as a foreman. So days would be spent just with Granny. She had a desk with a rotary phone on it – when she talked on the phone, I would stand on another chair, lean over the desk and press the button on the phone that would hang up the call! I would giggle, and Granny would jiggle the button a couple of times and usually salvage the call.

     If we were going out, Granny would wash her face with Dove soap and then put on some make-up. Sometimes we would walk to the pharmacy which had stairs up to another half-floor – that was cool. And sometimes we got on the city bus and rode downtown. I don't remember the stores we went in or what she bought, but I do remember it was neat on the bus! I was out with my grandmother doing grown-up stuff, and the people-watching was so much fun!

     Except that complete strangers would smile at me.

     Why would someone who did not even know me smile at me? Smiling meant they liked me, but they couldn't have liked me if they didn't even know me, and if they did know me they wouldn't like me – so either way, I shouldn't have been getting any smiles. I did not return their smiles. And with Granny beside me, I felt safe.

     We were always back to Granny's in plenty of time to get dinner fixed and ready before Grandpa got home from work. Today the smell of sauteing celery always takes me right back to 51 Dash Street, and I can see perfectly the late afternoon sun coming through the window in the living room where I played while Granny cooked in the kitchen.

19 20150119   51 Dash Street

Automatic Washer

     In early childhood, I recall being so small and wishing I was one of the big kids. I would stare out the kitchen window on school mornings and see the boys and girls waiting for the bus. They were so cool! When would I be big enough to be one of them? In the winter the kids would stand there, and back then the school rules were that the girls had to wear dresses – and it would be so cold waiting for the bus, the girls would squat down to keep their legs warm! I couldn't wait to be one of those girls. (We did wear boots and occasionally leggings to school – so the legs were a little warmer at the bus stop).

     Mom used to tell the story of the time when I was about four years old. Dad had built a room onto the house that extended from the kitchen and connected with the garage that Dad also built.

back room and garage that Dad built

We called this extension the back room – the washer and dryer were there, and the stairs to the basement which were moved from their original location in the kitchen were there too.

     Next to the washer and dryer were a little desk and an easel with a chalkboard – a play area for me and my brothers. Mom said one day she went to the back room to do some laundry, and she saw me writing on the chalkboard. With my left hand I wrote the word Automatic, and then I moved the chalk to my right hand and wrote Washer. Mom was stunned with my letter writing and my seeming ambidexterity and my desire to learn and was sorry she had not taught me more herself. The philosophy at the time, according to Mom, was that parents were not supposed to get in the way of the teachers.

     The summer before my daughter Sarah went to kindergarten, I had enrolled her in a day care that not only believed in arts and crafts and playtime, but also did phonics and spelling. I would have loved the academic part of all that as a four year old! However, Sarah was so mad at me – she was already reading at home and at the day care, but she hated spelling! Why did she have to have spelling tests before she even had kindergarten! Why couldn't she just play? But when Sarah's daughter was four, just last year, Ms V wanted to spend her summer playing, but also learning things – she was hungry for it! She reminded me of someone who might want to write automatic washer on an easel in the laundry room.

     Today, I am not really particularly ambidextrous – I can only do a few things with my left hand, and from all the facebook quizzes – experts that they are, I'm very much left-brained, meaning right-handed. Thank goodness I eventually learned to write without having to change hands!

18 20150118 Automatic Washer

Tar Bubbles and Stone Throwing

     The surface of the road of Valley Circle Lane outside our house was always interesting to me as a toddler and little kid. In the summer there were tar bubbles! They were so much fun to pop! I remember once being called into the house – probably for lunch or dinner, and I wanted to save some tar bubbles to play with later – so I put a few into the pocket of my lime green shorts!

      And then I forgot all about them. Mom found the tar on laundry day and I think this was one of those common sense moments – she just did not comprehend at all my reasoning for putting tar into my pocket!

     In the winter, the road would get a layer of ice on it that we kids could actually skate on. It seems weird to recall now that I once had ice skates! It was so cold those winters, and it seemed that the snow was much deeper back then – the piles of snow that Dad would make while shoveling out the driveway, I swear the drifts were as tall as he was!

     And other times of the year, still when I was of pre-school age, if afternoons got boring enough, I would throw stones at Becky, the girl who lived across the street on the other corner of Valley Circle Lane and Heinrich Road. And she would throw stones back at me – we weren't really trying to hit each other; we were just throwing!

12 20150112 tar bubbles and stone throwing

Sheba

     One of my mother's favorite stories from when I was very little was the one about my second birthday. Different relatives had stopped by to give me presents for my birthday.

My Uncle Bernie and my Aunt Norma

My Dad's sister, Norma, was my godmother, and Dad's brother, Bernie, was my godfather.
I remember them always acknowledging my birthday over the years. Uncle Bernie even called me once on August 31^st to wish me 'happy birthday'; I said 'thank you' and then reminded him that my birthday is actually September 30^th – he laughed and said he was close – it was the last day of some month! 

     Anyway, on my second birthday, my Dad's brother, Basil, stopped by with a package for me. I opened the box and inside was a toy - a stuffed dog!  It was supposed to be Tramp from the Lady and the Tramp Disney movie which had just come out. But I had not seen the movie or related the stuffed dog to any commercials I might have seen for the movie. It was a dog from my Uncle Basil, and Uncle Basil had a cocker spaniel who was beautiful, and her name was Sheba – so I called my new stuffed dog Sheba. And Sheba stayed on my bed from then until I moved away from home twenty years later.

     Of course, Mom's version of this story was just a little different. She said that after I pulled the dog out of the box, I set the dog aside and spent the afternoon playing with the box – just like all those cat videos you see on facebook these days. Well, Mom got a lot of laughs out of that story over the years.

     But truth be told, that box is long gone, and Sheba is still here - in my closet to these days. Her squeaker no longer works, and her coat is very shabby. However, she still has that same smiley expression on her face. It would not hurt her feelings if I got rid of her, but the sight of her reminds me of home and Uncle Basil and that I once was little enough to play inside a birthday box.

Sheba's expression has never changed

16 20150116    Sheba

Thirty or Better!

     It was during the year that I got the new stereo, 1978, my brother, Eric, found out that Gary Lewis and the Playboys were going to play at the Hilton Hotel in downtown Buffalo! He asked if I wanted to see them. How could I pass up a chance like that? I took the Greatest Hits album with me on the off chance that Mr. Lewis would autograph it.

     The venue at the Hilton was a small lounge – the group sang all the old songs, and it was a wonderful evening.

     The story about that night that Eric likes to tell is that at some point during the Playboys' set, Gary asked the audience, “Is anyone here 30 or better?” Well, I raised my hand! Eric nudged me with concern and said, “you aren't thirty years old!” and I replied, “no, but I'm better!”

     Anyway, when the band announced that they were going to take a break, I approached the stage with my album and asked Gary Lewis if he would autograph it. The album cover is

the swirls on the left say Love Gary, really!

a dark green color – any signature is unlikely to show up, but I would know it was there, and that's all that mattered. Gary was very amused to see the album, and he showed it to the drummer – apparently the drummer was the only original Playboy left in the band. Gary Lewis gave me his autograph.

     And now, many many years past 30, (and still better!) I still have that album; and I still sing along with all the songs – yes, including the skip.

15 20150115 Thirty or Better

The Five Dollar Record Collection

     Gary Lewis and the Playboys was my favorite singing group when I was a young teen. People nowadays immediately think of the song, This Diamond Ring, if I mention Gary Lewis and the Playboys. But actually, it was the heartfelt rendition of, Everybody Loves a Clown, that caught my ear and endeared the group to me forever. Gary Lewis was the main singer of the group, and he is the son of Jerry Lewis, the famous comic of the 50's and beyond.

     In 8^th grade I got a record player for Christmas. Santa brought the record player (almost all gifts from Mom and Dad were signed Santa – they still are), and the first album I got was Gary Lewis and the Playboys Greatest Hits. The year was 1966.

     For the rest of junior high and high school, I did not collect a lot of albums, nor did I purchase more than a few 45s. On the rare occasion I had money to spend on an album, I had trouble deciding which one to buy. I recall getting the Monkees, of course, and Hermans Hermits, The Sonny Side of Cher and Dark Lady by Cher, and another Gary Lewis and the Playboys album called You Don't Have to Paint Me a Picture – I can't remember any others.

     Twelve years later I was living in my own apartment in Buffalo, and a few months after moving in, I was able to afford a stereo. My brothers helped set it up for me. It had a turn-table, receiver and speakers – a system my brother, Clark, referred to as a $500 stereo for a $5 record collection. At that time I still played the Cher albums, but I no longer had the Monkees or Hermans Hermits. Since college I had acquired some Moody Blues, Melanie, Harry Chapin, and some jazz. And of course I could never have parted with Gary Lewis and the Playboys Greatest Hits. I still have it. Everybody Loves a Clown skips in a certain spot – and that makes it just mine – if the song were to play on the radio today, it would not sound right, without the skip.

14 20150114 Five Dollar Record Collection

Common Sense 2 and 3

Mom and Dad 1963

    There are 2 other incidences I can now remember that might be examples of my alleged lack of common sense, and they both involve the grill my Dad used for cookouts. We were still living on Heinrich Road – I was probably 6 or 7 years old. In the summer, on the weekends, sometimes relatives would come over. Dad would grill hamburgers or hotdogs, once in a while steaks, but I don't think he ever did chicken – the Folks were leery of grilled chicken.

     Well, at that house – Dad almost always had the grill just outside the back door – near a little patio entrance by the garage. There were some hedges that afforded privacy – and guests were either on the patio with Dad or in the kitchen with Mom. One afternoon Dad had started the grill – this would have been charcoal and lighter fluid – not the fancy gas grills of today – and he asked me to run into the house for some newspaper. The paper would have gotten the fire going a little faster. I, however, did not know how the paper would help the fire. I ran into the house and grabbed the entire Sunday edition of the Courier Express. But then I set it down again. The thought that ran through my head was that the whole paper would be overkill, and I did not want Dad to call me a “Smart Aleck” in front of everyone for bringing so much newspaper. So I ripped off a corner of one page – with the thought that he had said “some newspaper” and the corner of a page was “some,” and that was probably all he really wanted.

     Yeah, when Dad saw what I was handing him, he and everyone around laughed at me! He was convinced I should have known better.

The second incident took place one day when Dad had the grill in the front yard by the front door. This was very unusual. Thinking about it now, all I can figure is that there might have been a football game on the tv that day, and the television was in the living room and the front door was in the living room. None of the guests were gathered around the grill – it just sat there all by itself.

     At one point, I looked out the picture window at the grill, and I saw that the steaks were on fire! I did not want to interrupt Dad from whatever he was doing – because if the steaks on fire did not constitute an emergency, then I would be verbally reprimanded for interfering with the adult conversation. But if steaks on fire was indeed an emergency, then Dad should really be told.

     “Dad!” I called out weakly, so as not to sound too demanding, “I think maybe the fire is doing something!”

     Dad actually heeded my words, went to the front door, looked at the grill, looked at me, everyone else looked, and then everybody laughed at me. Steaks on fire was an emergency. But why had I not known that for sure?

 

13 20150113 Common Sense 2 and 3

What are the Colors of January?

    The month of January always reminds me of the two stints I did working in day-care. One was in Texas for about 8 months and the second was in Georgia for a little over a year. Even though my class in both instances consisted of the 18 month to 24 month old children, I was expected to create and maintain an age/season/education appropriate bulletin board in my room just like all the other teachers. My imagination does not mesh well with bulletin boards – there is so much else that needs to be done on a daily, even hourly basis – how can there be any energy, let alone creativity, left to put together a bulletin board every couple of months or so?

     Getting an idea or theme was what took up the most time for me. I would feel like a Dr. Seuss character thinking until my brain got sore. Then once a theme was dreamed up, I would get a little excited until realizing that I did not have the artistic skills needed after all to do a good job on the bulletin board.

     But the first January that I worked day-care, I was rather proud of myself for what I came up with. I wondered what are the colors of January? After the greens and reds, even the golds and bolds of the Christmas holidays in December – what would be the colors of January to distinguish them from December and yet still be special? February would be bringing back the red because of Valentines Day, and March would be ushering in the green of spring and the pastels of blossoms and Easter. What colors are left? What are the colors of January?

     Well, there is white – the color of snow, the color of the bleakness of the winter season. But white all by itself is not a good scheme for a month or a bulletin board. There would have to be a contrast. So I decided on white and black – the white could be the season and the black the details that define the white – And the bulletin board was put together – the colors of January were black and white – the lettering on the board was in black on the snowy white paper; the animals of the month would be black and white like pandas and zebras and skunks and all-white like polar bears and all-black like other bears – lots of animals to fit the descriptions. Stories were easy to gather for the theme – yes, that took care of January quite nicely.

     The next time I found myself working in day-care during a January – the theme came immediately – of course January is black and white.

     And ever since then, at home, when making Christmas go away, as my Mom used to say (in an accusing voice that made one feel guilty!) I find myself wanting to put a January tablecloth on the tables where the reds and greens had just been displayed. But what would be good colors for January? And the answer jumps in immediately as black and white. Last January I decided that my daughters needed black and white schemed tablecloths for their homes – I would make sure Santa brought them some this past Christmas.

   

Amanda and Tony January 2015

    Last week Amanda and Tony had dinner guests, and they set a beautiful table – and Amanda sent a picture: So beautiful! Which then prompted me to complete the January look on my own tables: 

the sheep and penguin are a nice touch!

a dash of color for the hope of spring

      Glad there are not any bulletin boards in the house because this is all the creativity there is in me!

12  20150112  January Colors

Evergreens and Weeping Willow

    So our house was on the corner. The front of the house faced Heinrich Road, but the driveway was on Valley Circle Lane. For the little girl and her mother, Heinrich was the major highway to be stayed away from, and Valley Circle was the little road that I could practice looking both ways before crossing and the road for watching and waiting for Dad to come home from work at the end of each day. Valley Circle Lane was indeed a circle – I can still picture almost every house on both sides of the circle. I can see Kathy and Patty B and their high school sorority sisters walking in step down the street on Friday nights. And I can see Dean L crossing our backyard on a cold winter's afternoon and knocking over our carefully built snowman, and Mom shrugging it off as something that boys do.

    In the summer when Mom would insist we go out to play, we played on the bedroom side of the house in the morning where the shade was, and then we played on the kitchen or Valley Circle Lane side as the afternoon wore on and the shade from the house grew on that side. We played with other kids nearby who had also been told to go outside. I think we mostly played “family” pretending to be moms, dads, kids. There may have been some superheroes too. And witches. Wish I could remember more.

    Before I was born Dad had planted some evergreens along the road leading to the driveway on Valley Circle Lane – one of the trees died early on and when you looked out the kitchen window from the dinner table, there was a space between the evergreens where the dead tree had been. One year there was a bird nest and some babies, I think robins, in one of the trees – we watched the activity from the dinner table that summer, until Mr. Reitz's cat, Moochie, from next door got to the babies. Mom and Dad did not get upset. That's what cats do, and that's that.

    In the front yard, Dad planted a weeping willow. It grew bigger every year. But the front yard had enough room for playing Red Rover Red Rover, and Red Light Green Light, even hide and seek and tag with the neighborhood kids. And in the back yard, eventually there was a swingset – I would fantasize about being a gymnast or trapeze artist someday.

the evergreens on Valley Circle Lane 2009

    When I go back to Buffalo on the occasional visit, I drive by the old house and try to imagine the five of us there back in those days. The evergreens are so big! They stretch right up to the clouds! You can't even tell there was a dead tree space there once. And the weeping willow takes up the entire front yard! It is all shade. Gardens and hedges have come and gone over the years – but the house still has its draw for me, filled as it is with so many memories!

11 20150111 Evergreens and Weeping Willow

Yellow Jumpsuit - Common Sense 2

    Mention has been made of my reputation for unusual logic, more familiarly known as my lack of common sense. I actually do remember an example of this myself from my toddler years.

    It was a summer's day, and I was probably about two years old. Mom liked to watch two soap operas on tv on weekdays – Search for Tomorrow and Guiding Light – they were each on for 15 minutes back to back. I remember that the soaps were about to come on, and Mom saw the sun shining and told me to go out and play. Back in those days, it was okay to issue that command - “it's a nice day, go out and play!” I never wanted to go out and play – I especially did not want to on that day – I remember what I was feeling – I wanted to watch the shows with Mom, inside, out of the sun, with somebody.

go outside and play!

    But I had to be obedient. So I went outside. I stood in the driveway for a while, and I could kind of hear the tv inside. Instead of trying to entertain myself outside, I just felt sorry for myself. And then I realized that I had to go to the bathroom.

    I walked up to the screen door. I looked inside, and listened, and tried to muster the courage to tell Mom I had to use the bathroom. But I was afraid she would be mad. She had told me to stay out until the shows were over. Which would be worse – bugging her that I had to go to the bathroom and her being annoyed and maybe not believing me? Or staying outside and risk wetting my pants?

    I opted not to bother her. Next thing I remember, I was in the house and Mom was taking my yellow jumpsuit off of me – I always liked that yellow jumpsuit – and she was looking me in the eye, “Why didn't you tell me you had to use the bathroom? It's not like you to wet your pants!”

10 20150110 Yellow jumpsuit – common sense 2 

The Corner of Heinrich Road and Valley Circle Lane

     Before my parents got married, they decided they wanted not only to have children, but to raise their kids outside of the city. So they shopped around and found a subdivision that was being built in North Boston – a hamlet of the town of Boston, about 20 miles south of Buffalo. (If you climbed a tree high enough in North Boston, and looked in the right direction, you could see the steel mills of Lackawanna – which was just south of Buffalo.)

     The subdivision was called Valley Circle Lane – and it was a circle of about 30 houses which began and ended on Heinrich Road – (everyone pronounced it Henrich – and I was surprised at the unusual spelling when I learned how to read – after that I realized that there were some people who pronounced it Hinerick). On one corner of Heinrich Road and Valley Circle Lane there was a quarter acre lot with a tiny two bedroom house being built. I don't think there were any other houses with just two bedrooms, just this one. And it was the one that my parents could afford – they bought it!

Heinrich Road and Valley Circle Lane 1952

     Actually, there is a story that goes with that. Mom had been working since graduating high school at 17 at a patent attorney's office in downtown Buffalo. She lived at home with her parents and paid her mother $5 a week for room and board! Mom was able to put some money in the bank. She was 19 and Dad was 23 when they got married. Dad's job situation was not that steady, and his savings were non-existent. So when they went to the bank to take out a mortgage for this house of their dreams, Mom was going to provide the down-payment. Mom thought that since they were not yet married, and the money was hers, the mortgage would automatically be put in just her name, and so she asked if the bank could please put both their names on the mortgage?

     And the bank said no!

     The bank said they do not give mortgages to single women!– it was 1952, and unmarried women were considered to be too big a risk! The bank did say, however, that the mortgage could be taken out in just Dad's name! He was not considered as big a risk – even though he was not the one with the savings account or the steady job! Mom had a moment's hesitation – if she put her money down on a house in Dad's name, he could break off the engagement and have both a house and her money!

     Mom decided to trust him, and the mortgage was put in Dad's name......until they got married. Not too long after they got back from their honeymoon, Mom went back to the bank and had the mortgage changed to both of their names!

Same House 2009

    This whole scenario sounds so sketchy – yet look how it all turned out! Their three children grew up in a house in the country.  This story helps me to have more faith than facts when it comes to others' relationships. Thank goodness my parents had faith in the future that they saw with each other!

9 20150109 the Corner of Heinrich Road and Valley Circle Lane