Deceitful Hills

 

From the age of three until I was ten, I lived in the town of Richmond Hill, Queens, New York.  What a beautiful place to grow up. There were flowers growing in the front and back of everyone’s house. Fruit trees and raspberry bushes were everywhere and easy to find.

My family had rows and rows of flowers and a peach tree in the backyard. Of course, you had to intercept a peach before the worms got to it and if you were lucky enough to do this, you would probably be eating the most delicious peach you ever tasted.

There were cherry trees, apple trees, and pear trees, too. Neighbors grew grape vines, raspberry bushes and even chestnut trees.  We knew where to find them all. We kids on the block pretty much knew that if you could find a piece of fruit to eat from one of these trees, you didn’t have to go home and have lunch.

Now, I could go on and on about the delicious fruit and beautiful flowers but what I really wanted to get to is the house with the three big hills that I grew up in. I loved living in that house in Richmond Hill with its sloping hills in front and on the side of the house.

When we moved to Woodhaven when I was ten, I was very sad. Oh, I made new friends and as time passed by, I missed my Richmond Hill house less and less. As more years passed, I found myself married with a young son.

I don’t know, couldn’t say what got me into a nostalgic mood one day which prompted me to announce, “I want to go see the house I grew up in, the one in Richmond Hill.” It was agreed so with a start of the car and my son in the back, off we went.

We talked on the way and I told my son and his father all about the abundance of flowers and fruit trees in the neighborhood. Then I started describing where my house was located on the block. I said to them, “When you get in front of my house, you will see two large hills in front by the sidewalk and one larger hill that winds around the corner.”

The car made a left and stopped right in front of the house. At first, I was so excited but then I became increasingly more confused. “Where are those three huge hills I talked about?” I asked in a very tiny voice. I used to slide down those big hills in the snow and run up and down them playing cowboys and Indians.

As I sat for awhile in the car with a painful look of disappointment on my face, I realized that the hills didn’t change or shrink in size. How could I have not thought about it?  When I was little, the hills were bigger, even huge to my small size. Now that I was a full-grown adult, of course, the hills were smaller.

I’ll never forget that day when I realized the three hills were only big or small in relation to whether I was bigger or smaller. After I got over the disappointment of it, my family and I had a silly laugh over it. One thing hadn’t changed, I still loved Richmond Hill.

Ellen G

Thrills and Chills

 

Thrills!

President LBJ is coming for dinner

Recurring nightmares 

Dreaded dreams

cooking chaos 

Culinary catastrophes

Chills! 

President LBJ is coming for dinner

Unthawed turkey

Nagging nightmares

Despair! Despair!

Daily dinner disasters in my marriage

Culinary catastrophes

Thrills!

Friends coming for dinner

Cooking chaos

Nagging nightmares

Chills!

President LBJ is coming for dinner

Forgot to defrost the bird

Despair! Despair!

Ethyl Haber

An Epiphany

 

“Let your reach exceed your grasp or what’s a heaven for? “These words of wisdom by Robert Browning have been with me my whole adult life as I claw my way to small successes.

P.S. 54 was the Bronx Elementary School I attended. My friends were all in the “smarter 3A1class, I was in 3A 2. I studied very hard and the following year I finally moved into 4A1. I think we were originally placed based on our IQ scores. I somehow had a chance to peek at my school record card to see my IQ score. It was not way up there; it was just average. Knowing I was just average was a major disappointment. I wanted more. All my friends were more. All the boys I later dated were more. So, with Browning’s words, I let my reach exceed my grasp. I stayed in the “smart class. I made the “rapid advance in Junior High School. I was in the Honor School in High School. I even went on to get a doctorate and taught in a major City University. When New York City had a serious budget crisis, I went from teaching in Brooklyn College to teaching second graders at P.S. 32 Queens.

Every September the New York State Reading Association had an annual conference at the Concord Hotel. I was always a workshop presenter. One session I chose, you present the topic I Am Special. My presentation included a multi curriculum and multi grade program on the subject with many handouts for the attendees to use in their classroom. My workshops were always well attended by teachers and administrators from varied parts of New York State. After my workshop was over, two gentlemen who had attended approached to ask me to come to their school as a teacher trainer at one of their faculty conferences. They wanted me to introduce their teachers to my I Am Special program. They talked about their school as being near West Point Academy.  I explained to them that as a classroom teacher, I had no way I could leave my class, nor any way to get to their distant school. I assured them that with all my handouts and lecture, they had enough material to initiate the program. 

Later in the Fall season, my husband Ben, friends Lil and Hal and I decided to take a long scenic drive along the Hudson River to see the Autumn foliage. At one point, after many wrong turns we lost our way going in and out of the many small towns. Suddenly, we realized we were in the town where West Point Academy was located. We passed a tall brick school building with a huge banner planted on the lawn of the building which said I AM SPECIAL. How serendipitous!!! Here was the school I had been invited to. Here was what my workshop had given birth to and had affected an entire school. Seeing this recognition of my program gave me both pleasure and pride.  In Yiddish we have a word bashert. It translates to mean it is a destiny for something to happen. We were destined to lose our way. It was destiny for us to come upon this school and to see this sign. I can only hope my program helped influence the children to feel special. My epiphany on this Autumn Day was that I am special too. It was a day like no other.

Ethyl H

Aug 2022

Thirty-Ninth Street

 

When I was very young age’s five to nine almost ten years old, we lived in an apartment on Thirty Ninth Street. It was two bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom and a really big living room. We lived there for around five years. This was enough time for me to accept this was going to be my home for a very long time.  

Unfortunately, that was not to be. A fire erupted in the apartment below us and there was enough damage to make the floor and walls unstable. We left quickly and took what we could. I took my favorite doll and ran out with the clothes I was wearing.  We lost all our furniture and clothes and dishes and food because of soot and fire odor and the fire department damage.  

Our little family was displaced and the whole event was disorienting. I felt ripped from my sweet home where we were safe and ate delicious meals and watched TV.  

We were lucky we had family in the same neighborhood and stayed with them until we got a new apartment, which didn’t take long.  

Life goes on and all our belongings were replaced. When I was in High School and I met a friend who lived nearby. She invited me to her home on a Saturday to hang out.  

As we walked to her home, I recognized my old home. I forgot all about the fire and I did not say anything. We went into the building to apartment 1A. At that moment my heart raced and I blurted out with excitement that I lived in this same apartment years ago and explained about the fire. My friend and her family were amazed at my story and had not heard about the fire.  

Internally something strange happened, I had an emotional shift. I never had the chance to process what happened to us so many years ago. I blocked the whole event out of my mind. In that moment I got a chance to mourn my short stay in this apartment and being ripped form my home. I got the chance to feel younger and remember being safe and I got to see how my old apartment was redone rather than destroyed and I finally felt like I came full circle and got closure.   

Leaving my friends home, I felt different, older, unblocked with a new energy. I was no longer holding the past and it was amazing. 

Georgia

Home

 

Every bird, snail, tiger, lion, fish or snake has a den, nest or enclave. Some place that it can hang up its hat, kick off its shoes and feel safe to sleep and rest secure in the knowledge that it will rise the next day rejuvenated to go out into the world again. This is as much an emotional sanctuary as it is a physical space and the first home that is recorded in our memory is always that definition of home in our minds eye, regardless of its simplicity or size.

As I was taking a daily constitutional one day I happened upon my old block and as I approached my old house, I could see that it had been altered considerably. There was a new face on the house that seemed too modern and fresh for the old house from my youth. It struck me like an older actress adorning herself in the clothing and cosmetics of a twenty-year-old. There were a new set of steps with a new front garden all very manicured and precise. A little Philippine looking boy and girl were deep in conversation playing a game. There was no telling what their imaginations had turned the front of the house into. I recalled it transforming into a submarine, battleship, or fort as I had played in my youth. Toys were hardly needed as it seemed that the less toys, we possessed the richer and more vivid the conjured images became. They stopped and looked up at me now wondering why this hairy, large white man was wearing a silly smile as he passed. Mom, eyeing me with suspicion, peeked down from behind a half open door to make sure that her children were safe. As endless memories of my past flashed through my mind, I thought to stop and ask to see the house again but quickly reconsidered not wanting to scare this nice family. It would always be home to me; the rest of my abodes were just an imitation, a place to hang my hat, a reproduction, flawed and somehow missing the mark of home.

Jim
Aug 2022

Summertimes

 

My early summer years were spent in “The Old House.” This was a white clapboard rooming house on Scheinman’s farm in the Catskills. My memories of these summers always include rocking chairs on a wraparound porch (our rainy-day playground). The old iron pump brought forth the most delicious ice-cold drinking water. Milk came fresh from the cows and corn, fresh from Mrs. Scheinman’s garden. The house had two toilets but no showers or bathtubs. Cold water showers were behind the house, but we preferred to wash and shampoo in the warm swimming lake down the hill.

After a number of years in “The Old House,” we were able to afford the two summer months in “The New House” both on the same property. This location was mildly upscale. While we were still a family of five cramped into one bedroom, there were features which made the move worthwhile. The New House had an indoor shower and bathtub to be shared by the six other families renting for the summer.

Fast forward to the years when I was married and a parent of two beautiful little children. We really moved up, since my parents now owned the small cottage on the same property as The Old House and The New House. This felt like we were landed aristocracy. The house had three bedrooms surrounding a dining area and kitchen. We even had our own indoor shower. An enclosed sunporch housed momma’s treadle sewing machine. On rainy days, the sound of rain on the metal roof provided restful tranquility.

The cottage basement was divided into two areas; one a kind of bedroom with mattress upon mattress where grandpa could nap and escape from the noisy grandchildren. The other area stored a hodgepodge of stuff. This included a real army helmet and three rifles (never loaded). Grandpa would amuse the children when he played soldier. The children’s accumulated toys were housed down there too. Each of the toys seemed damaged; a wheel missing from the red fire truck; an eye missing from the stuffed teddy bear; an arm missing from the baby doll. Occasionally, one of the children would comment about the shabbiness of the toys, but they could play hospital. With nature and friends all around them, there was always so much to do. The basement also housed many cartons of odds and ends dishes. Treasure that I now own, and use are all the cobalt blue depression glass dishes that my mother acquired and collected each time she went to the Freeman Movie theater in the Bronx. For the 10-cent admission, a dish was given.

The large tree in front of the cottage became the base for the tree house that my husband Ben built. He added a steering wheel and a functioning pulley. When the pulley came down with a metal pail attached, we could send up the peanut and jelly picnic lunch. The small swing was another outdoor pleasure.

Memories in that summer activities abound. I remember the ever-present pickling jars on the porch table. The abundance of cucumbers in momma’s garden led to the successful pickling project and the accumulation of enough sour pickles to compete with Jake the Pickle King on Jenning Street back home in the Bronx. I remember the aroma of huckleberries cooking in large vats to become our winter supply of jelly and filling for blintzes and pierogi. 

Now more than sixty years have passed since we stayed in the cottage. A humorous reminder came when my niece recently joined us for lunch. We were reminiscing about her childhood and her occasional overnight visits to the cottage. She talked about her terrifying experience there. She told of how frightening a nighttime visit to the bathroom was. When the elderly folks went to bed, they would remove their false teeth. When she viewed the windowsill with the three water glasses containing my mother’s, father’s and bubbe’s false teeth, she feared they would hop out and bite her.

If we are ever in the area of what was once my idyllic summertime's, we always drive by to view all the changes. What has remained is the small child’s swing we had put up between two trees. When a gentle breeze moves it, I seem to hear the echoes of children at play. The children are now adults with grown children of their own.

Ethyl Haber

Burr

 

Wow it’s really windy and cold outside. Weatherman says there’s a rare nor’easter coming down the pike towards us. I wonder if the snowman we built yesterday has been knocked over by the wind. Let’s look out the window. Snows kicking up in swirls so I really cannot see where the snowman is. I think I’ll go out on the porch. Let me put my coat on. There’s near a snow hurricane out there. Still can’t’ see the snowman. I know we put a red scarf on him. The one with the white striped I made last year for myself. Being alone at home I can’t even ask someone to help locate the snowman so I won’t venture out past here. Let me get inside it’s too cold.  

The fireplace is nice and warm and I will wait till the storm passes to find the snowman. Kind of scary not being able to see outside. What’s that brushing sound at the window? What is that? Let me take a look. I see in the distance between the snow squalls the snowman with the red scarf blowing swiftly with the wind. His hat is still on. The one with the black rim like a circus announcer. Where’s his arms made of branches? Oh, there they are. It looked like he was closer to the house.  

Let me get back to the warm fireplace. It needs more wood. There now that’s better. What was that? I saw something move outside. Has the snowman moved closer? No, must be my imagination. I’ll just look at the beautiful fire. 

I’ll take another look. He’s closer now. What’s going on? Snowmen can’t move. I don’t see footsteps. Wait snowmen don’t’ have feet. I’ll get up from my chair and have a closer look out the window. There a figure lurking in the dark. I’m calling the police. 

Hello, emergency? There’s a strange person lucking outside my home and I‘m alone, OK you will send someone? Thanks, you have my address, 98 Hemlock Drive. OK. Yes, I see the lights now. Bye. 

What is the commotion outside? I hear a struggle, and then I hear shot fired. In the distance “Stop Police Stop” 

They found a person; it’s a man with dark clothing and burglar’s tools. He was trying to get into my house.  I thank my lucky stars he was found and arrested. He kept telling the police that the snowman was moving towards him with a pick axe. The police thought he was crazy and threw him in the back of the patrol car.  

I looked for the snowman and he was back in its original place and the wind has completely stopped. He’s smiling. Since I gave him life, he saved mine. Thank you, snowman, this will be our little family secret.  

 Georgia P