Sunday, November 10, 2019
Aunt Emilie and all this
I can't believe that it has taken me so long to write about my Great Aunt Emilie. She was the one constant, the rock in my mom's life from the time she came east until Aunt Emilie died in 1988, I think. This takes away nothing from my father. He was always working hard, providing for our family. Aunt Emilie was the person who was always just there
Emilie Crowther Smith was born in December 26,1899 in Wallkill Orange County. She had one brother and two sisters. One of her sisters is my grandmother, Ruth.
I have surmised, guessed, pulled facts together, out of thin air, to come up with a theory that may or may not be true. Here are the facts. Uncle Dud, Dudleigh Smith, Aunt Emilie's brother had a girlfriend Helen. The story goes that she contracted TB. Uncle Dud's mom takes her in to nurse her back to health because that was what people did back then. I think Aunt Emilie told me that. The following are facts. Aunt Emilie's sisters Ruth, my grandmother and Cornelia called Babsie get TB, maybe from Helen. Ruth goes to a drier climate El Paso Texas and Babsie stays at home which in the twenties is the farm in Nanuet. Babsie dies on September 22, 1928. An FYI, Ruth and Emilie's mom dies in 1925 (TB related?). Ruth continues on in El Paso meets and marries Milton, whose father James contracted TB, I believe in Baltimore somewhere around 1916-17.
Ruth and Milton marry and move to Albuquerque NM after James's death in 1928. They raise two kids. Around 1946 it has been about eighteen years since Ruth has talked to anyone from her family. In the now where it is simple to pick up a phone, call someone and talk for an hour, back in 1946 a phone call cost a dollar a minute, big money then. Ruth and her family back east may have talked over the phone for short periods
In 1946-7 Emilie, whose husband had died a few years earlier and her son Wally go to Albuquerque to visit her sister and my mother. This is the first time my mom and Aunt Emilie meet.
My mother, Cornelia is named after Ruth, her mom and Emilie and Ruth's sister Cornelia. Wally remembers going to New Mexico and spending time with his first cousin his own age and the amazing different world she lived in. They go down town and spend the five dollars given to him by his grandfather. He discovers horney toads. Milton who'd never taken his father's death well, drinks. Sometime before Ruth's death he promises her he will quit drinking and he does until she dies. The night of her death she is coughing and someone hears something crack. Ruth starts to have trouble breathing. She is rushed to the hospital where she dies. My mom is about fourteen.
After her death Milton goes back to drinking. Milton's mother, Gertrude, a women with an iron will and a determination to not let life beat her lives with them trying to make life as normal as possible. She works at a hospital for the mentally disabled called Los Lunas.
In 1946, at the age of sixteen, Milton's son Milton called Tonny enlists in the Air Force. A career path that will serve him well over the next forty or so years. He will live in Texas, Virginia, Japan, Germany and finally settle in Massachusetts.
In 1948 Emilie will pay or help finance the cost of Cornelia coming east. Cornelia takes a train to Chicago. A friend of her father's accompanies her to Chicago. She then takes the train to New York City and is met by Aunt Emile and Wally. I don't know how long she is east. Aunt Emilie and Wally with maybe Uncle Dud and their father Walter Smith, who is now blind, live in Sparkill, NY. She is told she has to go to school while she is there. She goes to the same school as Wally until the end of school. While east Aunt Emilie takes her sightseeing. I have some pictures of her and Wally on the Staten Island Ferry I think. She returns home and the next year comes back. Again living in the house on Kings Highway in Sparkill. While there she meets the breadman. Yes back then everyone one had things delivered to there house, bread, milk, diapers and that was because wives were home while husbands worked and usually there was only one car. What can I say it was the 1950's.
The breadman is William Muller, 'Bill', He meets Cornelia and at some point he asks her out. Because of their difference in ages, Bill is about 30 she is around 18 Cornelia's cousin Wally joins them on their early dates. Eventually they are engaged. Bill will not marry her until she turns 19. When she does they are married in the Tappan Reform Church in Tappan NY.Aunt Emilie throws the reception. Their Honeymoon is a road trip to Montreal Canada. When they return they rent a house on Route 9W just out of South Nyack.
Sometime in the early 50's Bill's family home lost in the depression is put up for sale. His brother lives in a house next door he had built. Bill purchases the house for about $8000.00. Remeber that was the time of penny candy. The House consists of a living room, a dining room, a small kitchen, a bathroom and one bedroom.
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Thursday, May 23, 2019
My Milk route
For the last maybe five or so years of delivering milk I had a very set route. If it was whatever O'Clock, you'd know where I'd be. I was consistent, I didn't lose customers and I worked hard.
My day would start At my mom's house, in the office, about 7:30. I'd collect any thing I needed, take any messages and remember this was before cell phones so there was no call me any time communications. I'd head down to the trailer. It was either behind Bill Vines' office or over near the entrance to Rockland Lake State Park. I'd load my truck, it'd take almost an hour to do. Occasionally I'd do it the night before, but that was rare. I'd load the trucks fourteen foot box from back to front, with no room to spare. There'd be space and access from the side door of the truck to get bi-products stored in the nose.
My first three stops, by luck were set up so I'd get rid of the majority of my load. I'd hit Tolstoy Nursing home, Nyack Manor Nursing home and a little while later, after a stop at Valley Cottage Deli, I go to Meals on Wheels. Each stop, when their check came in would pay most, if not all of a weeks milk bill. They'd usually pay with in forty-five days. Now your lucky if a stop like that pays within ninety or one hundred and twenty days. Doing the three big stops early on saved gas and would leave me with the back end of the truck full of empty cases I'd juggle around with for most of the day. I'd usually leave the trailer about 8:30, 9 O'Clock and get to Meals on Wheels about 11 AM. I'd then go over to Bardonia Deli. It's not there anymore, not even the building. A gas station, a house, a bank and the small shopping center were torn down in about 2014 to make way for another CVS.
I was delivering milk to Bardonia Deli in the mid nineties when I got a call from Teri. I think the conversation started with her saying, "Everyone is alive." How she got the call first that Eric, Lynn and Billy had been in a horrific car accident I don't remember. The three of them were living in Marlboro since before they were married. The Commute was long and each morning they would drop Billy off at Lynn's parents house. This morning they were heading south, up the northern side of Storm King Mountain. Eric was in the left lane and someone was on his bumper, if I remember correctly. At the top of the mountain a gas company was teaching a new guy to drive their trucks. He is heading north down the mountain when he loses control of the truck. It goes up onto the jersey barrier, I think it even takes a chunk of the top of it off before it crosses the road into oncoming traffic. Eric is driving and he sees the truck coming at the car near the last minute and tries to turn the wheel to the right. The gas truck slams into the right front of the car pushing the motor up against Eric's leg trapping him in the 
car, breaking both of his legs. It also stopped him from bleeding to death. Lynn breaks her hip. Billy, about 2 years old in a car seat in the back of the car, only breaks his arm. Everyone is wearing a seatbelt. If not......it could have been worse. Fire trucks and ambulances arrive. Lynn and Billy are removed. Eric will be tricky to get out.
Eric is in transported to Westchester Medical Center in Valhalla Westchester. He has many surgeries and they save his legs. Two metal rods are inserted into his legs and the bones and muscles use these to allow him to walk. It takes several months for him to recover. He stays at my mom's house. That is why there is a long wooden ramp on the side of her house. Lynn stays at her parents house with Billy, I think. It is a while before they get to see each other.
After Bardonia Deli and I can't believe I am having trouble remembering the route. I just remembered I'd go to Northern Manor Nursing Home on Middletown Road and deliver their milk, then I'd go to Bardonia Deli, after that I think I headed up to Stony Point. I'd drive past Northern RiverView Nursing Home because I had to get to Dee's Deli before the lunch rush started. After Dee's I'd go to Lynches restaurant in Tomkins Cove, the most northern point I'd go on my route. I'd head back south hitting a few stops, the names I'm having trouble remembering. There was a deli in Garnerville on Route 202 run by a real nice guy who used to be a chip guy I think. I think he ran a Wise potato chip route, then bought the deli after he quit or retired. There was a bar/ restaurant in Garnerville near Bridge street. He was a real nice guy. He wasn't really successful in his businesses. He owned a place on Rt 9W for several years, then closed it and opened this place. After he closed it I ran across him cooking at a Breakfast place on Rt 9W in Haverstraw.
I do remember sometime around four O'Clock I would deliver milk to Northern Riverview. The kitchen manager at Northern Riverview didn't like me delivering at that hour. He wanted his milk earlier in the day, some time around 9 AM fresh and cold. I was able to get away with it because my milk was always fresh, cold, never sour and I put the milk in front of the cooler so it could be checked and then I'd put it away. All that service and good product let me get away with the late delivery. If the milk had ever been sour, even if it was the producers fault, I would have been in trouble.
I'd head down Route 9W into Nyack, getting to Hartell's grocery Upper Nyack some time around five. Then South Broadway Deli. For a short period of time I delivered to the gas station next to them when the Murreys owned it and the deli. When they sold it some Indian guys took it over and were only interested in getting the cheapest price, so I lost it. It was a good stop when I lost it. It became a better stop after the Indians took over. They sold years later and it went through several owners before I came into contact with the stop again as a salesman for either Marcus or Consolidated. It was a dirty messed up place then. Timmy Sullivan, one of the sons of the owner of South Broadway deli had been given a share of the ownership of the gas station. He worked hard for many years pumping gas while him and another brother rented the gas station deli out. When I came back as a salesman years later he had bought out his brother and looked to be making a pretty good living off of selling gas and renting out the deli. A third brother had reopened the South Broadway deli. They didn't talk. A sister opened a deli in Pearl River. It lasted a few short years. A second sister, the smart one seemed to stay clear of the whole mess.
Across from the gas station and the deli for many years was the Old Fashion Restaurant. I think another milk man when he retired gave it to my dad and I and we did it for many years in the 70's and 80's. It was sold sometime in the 90's or maybe 2000's and went down hill rather quickly. The head chef a guy named Bill was very nice. He would take the porgys I'd catch while fishing on my boat. I didn't like porgys, to cathch or eat and he cook them up and always tell me they were delicious to eat. After South Broadway Deli, I went up Main Street doing different stops over the years, Skylark restaurant, an Indian restaurant, some long forgotten delis and candy stores that only native Nyack people and myself would remember. Jerry's a coffee shop ran by Jerry D' Auria and his sister(s) and kids until the 90's when he had a heart attack and I think died. He was a grouch, but he ran a good business.
Across the street for D'Auria was another store I did in the 70's and 80's. I don't remember the name. At the corner of Main and North Midland Ave was the Garden Deli. I remember one time I go in and something happens and I get yelled at. I leave the store and get into my Divco and just sit there. I'm really angry. One of the owners or one of the guy who ran it comes out and asks me if I'm going to deliver. I told him I needed to calm down first.
In the late seventies there was a guy who lived in Nyack and he delivered milk. He was very successful. His family owned property around Nanuet and he was the only person I knew who drove a new or almost new Divco. He lived in upper Nyack, had two houses west of North Broadway on Castle Heights Ave. I was jealous of his success. When he had some health issues he decided to retire and he gave his route to us. I guess my dad knew him. I don't remember his name, I think it was George Donsella. His route was the start of Muller Dairy being just about the only milk company in Nyack during the 70's and 80's. My dad and I delivered most likely 90% of the milk stops in Nyack. During that time and into the 90's I knew most owners of most businesses there.
In this blog I haven't touched on Summit School at all. It was one of my father's stops and Him and I did it from when it opened or there about, sometime in the 60's maybe until sometime around 2014 when I was forced out of the business. There were two short periods during that time I wasn't delivering there. One was shortly after my father died and I was looking for a fight. I knew Jennifer at Summit would be there person to give me one I was angry at my father dying, so I went in there and got into a fight with her. I don't remember what the fight was about. It was stupid. When I was told by my accountant that I needed to get bigger I went back there and asked up her if I could deliver there again. About a year, eighteen months had gone by. To my amazement she said yes. After that I'd just deliver the milk how she wanted. It wasn't an easy stop to do back then. THey had their refrigeration in the basement down a flight of steep stairs. Before the stairs there was a curb I'd pull the hand truck up on. Then I'd have to turn around on a narrow strip to go down a few odd curved steps, then I'd get to the cellar steps. Summit was a good stop and it took at least two of these trips. I'd do it around six at night and was tired, but I was back at Summit.
When I became a salesman in 2000, Jennifer had been gone for a few years. A mellow guy took over for her and stayed for only a short time. After that another mellower guy took over and him and I got along real well. Sometime in 2012-13 I had switched back to Consolidated from Marcus. I'd taken most of my stops with me. I walk into Summit and there is Marcus milk where Consolidated milk should be. Him and I talk. Service was not where it should be and products were missing. Bad service had lose me Summit. I begged and promised to get it back and I did. Then Consolidated went under a few short months later. I think the stop went to my new company, Cream O Land. I was with Cream O Land just a few months before they cleaned house. My Tuesday, Saturday route was into Pearl River, up the back way to Spring Valley. There was a Bagel Place, a deli and a concession in an office building I didin south Spring Valley.In the 70's I did a deli off Main street. She was a nice, but hard headed women. She was determined to try and halt the slide of Spring Valley. She remembered it back when it was the hub of the county. She fought the good fight, but the tidal wave was too much. When her husband retired from the police department, they both left town and went to live on the Jersey shore down in Cape May where she had property for years. After Spring Valley I'd go into New City. I'd finish my day back in Nyack doing some stops I can't remember.
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My day would start At my mom's house, in the office, about 7:30. I'd collect any thing I needed, take any messages and remember this was before cell phones so there was no call me any time communications. I'd head down to the trailer. It was either behind Bill Vines' office or over near the entrance to Rockland Lake State Park. I'd load my truck, it'd take almost an hour to do. Occasionally I'd do it the night before, but that was rare. I'd load the trucks fourteen foot box from back to front, with no room to spare. There'd be space and access from the side door of the truck to get bi-products stored in the nose.
My first three stops, by luck were set up so I'd get rid of the majority of my load. I'd hit Tolstoy Nursing home, Nyack Manor Nursing home and a little while later, after a stop at Valley Cottage Deli, I go to Meals on Wheels. Each stop, when their check came in would pay most, if not all of a weeks milk bill. They'd usually pay with in forty-five days. Now your lucky if a stop like that pays within ninety or one hundred and twenty days. Doing the three big stops early on saved gas and would leave me with the back end of the truck full of empty cases I'd juggle around with for most of the day. I'd usually leave the trailer about 8:30, 9 O'Clock and get to Meals on Wheels about 11 AM. I'd then go over to Bardonia Deli. It's not there anymore, not even the building. A gas station, a house, a bank and the small shopping center were torn down in about 2014 to make way for another CVS.
Eric is in transported to Westchester Medical Center in Valhalla Westchester. He has many surgeries and they save his legs. Two metal rods are inserted into his legs and the bones and muscles use these to allow him to walk. It takes several months for him to recover. He stays at my mom's house. That is why there is a long wooden ramp on the side of her house. Lynn stays at her parents house with Billy, I think. It is a while before they get to see each other.
I do remember sometime around four O'Clock I would deliver milk to Northern Riverview. The kitchen manager at Northern Riverview didn't like me delivering at that hour. He wanted his milk earlier in the day, some time around 9 AM fresh and cold. I was able to get away with it because my milk was always fresh, cold, never sour and I put the milk in front of the cooler so it could be checked and then I'd put it away. All that service and good product let me get away with the late delivery. If the milk had ever been sour, even if it was the producers fault, I would have been in trouble.
I'd head down Route 9W into Nyack, getting to Hartell's grocery Upper Nyack some time around five. Then South Broadway Deli. For a short period of time I delivered to the gas station next to them when the Murreys owned it and the deli. When they sold it some Indian guys took it over and were only interested in getting the cheapest price, so I lost it. It was a good stop when I lost it. It became a better stop after the Indians took over. They sold years later and it went through several owners before I came into contact with the stop again as a salesman for either Marcus or Consolidated. It was a dirty messed up place then. Timmy Sullivan, one of the sons of the owner of South Broadway deli had been given a share of the ownership of the gas station. He worked hard for many years pumping gas while him and another brother rented the gas station deli out. When I came back as a salesman years later he had bought out his brother and looked to be making a pretty good living off of selling gas and renting out the deli. A third brother had reopened the South Broadway deli. They didn't talk. A sister opened a deli in Pearl River. It lasted a few short years. A second sister, the smart one seemed to stay clear of the whole mess.
Across from the gas station and the deli for many years was the Old Fashion Restaurant. I think another milk man when he retired gave it to my dad and I and we did it for many years in the 70's and 80's. It was sold sometime in the 90's or maybe 2000's and went down hill rather quickly. The head chef a guy named Bill was very nice. He would take the porgys I'd catch while fishing on my boat. I didn't like porgys, to cathch or eat and he cook them up and always tell me they were delicious to eat. After South Broadway Deli, I went up Main Street doing different stops over the years, Skylark restaurant, an Indian restaurant, some long forgotten delis and candy stores that only native Nyack people and myself would remember. Jerry's a coffee shop ran by Jerry D' Auria and his sister(s) and kids until the 90's when he had a heart attack and I think died. He was a grouch, but he ran a good business.
Across the street for D'Auria was another store I did in the 70's and 80's. I don't remember the name. At the corner of Main and North Midland Ave was the Garden Deli. I remember one time I go in and something happens and I get yelled at. I leave the store and get into my Divco and just sit there. I'm really angry. One of the owners or one of the guy who ran it comes out and asks me if I'm going to deliver. I told him I needed to calm down first.
In the late seventies there was a guy who lived in Nyack and he delivered milk. He was very successful. His family owned property around Nanuet and he was the only person I knew who drove a new or almost new Divco. He lived in upper Nyack, had two houses west of North Broadway on Castle Heights Ave. I was jealous of his success. When he had some health issues he decided to retire and he gave his route to us. I guess my dad knew him. I don't remember his name, I think it was George Donsella. His route was the start of Muller Dairy being just about the only milk company in Nyack during the 70's and 80's. My dad and I delivered most likely 90% of the milk stops in Nyack. During that time and into the 90's I knew most owners of most businesses there.
In this blog I haven't touched on Summit School at all. It was one of my father's stops and Him and I did it from when it opened or there about, sometime in the 60's maybe until sometime around 2014 when I was forced out of the business. There were two short periods during that time I wasn't delivering there. One was shortly after my father died and I was looking for a fight. I knew Jennifer at Summit would be there person to give me one I was angry at my father dying, so I went in there and got into a fight with her. I don't remember what the fight was about. It was stupid. When I was told by my accountant that I needed to get bigger I went back there and asked up her if I could deliver there again. About a year, eighteen months had gone by. To my amazement she said yes. After that I'd just deliver the milk how she wanted. It wasn't an easy stop to do back then. THey had their refrigeration in the basement down a flight of steep stairs. Before the stairs there was a curb I'd pull the hand truck up on. Then I'd have to turn around on a narrow strip to go down a few odd curved steps, then I'd get to the cellar steps. Summit was a good stop and it took at least two of these trips. I'd do it around six at night and was tired, but I was back at Summit.
When I became a salesman in 2000, Jennifer had been gone for a few years. A mellow guy took over for her and stayed for only a short time. After that another mellower guy took over and him and I got along real well. Sometime in 2012-13 I had switched back to Consolidated from Marcus. I'd taken most of my stops with me. I walk into Summit and there is Marcus milk where Consolidated milk should be. Him and I talk. Service was not where it should be and products were missing. Bad service had lose me Summit. I begged and promised to get it back and I did. Then Consolidated went under a few short months later. I think the stop went to my new company, Cream O Land. I was with Cream O Land just a few months before they cleaned house. My Tuesday, Saturday route was into Pearl River, up the back way to Spring Valley. There was a Bagel Place, a deli and a concession in an office building I didin south Spring Valley.In the 70's I did a deli off Main street. She was a nice, but hard headed women. She was determined to try and halt the slide of Spring Valley. She remembered it back when it was the hub of the county. She fought the good fight, but the tidal wave was too much. When her husband retired from the police department, they both left town and went to live on the Jersey shore down in Cape May where she had property for years. After Spring Valley I'd go into New City. I'd finish my day back in Nyack doing some stops I can't remember.
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Thursday, March 7, 2019
The Boating Life
It was 1985-6, I don't remember the exact year I opened my Video Store. I had been renting videos, only a few from my house and someone had complained. I was told to stop and open a store, by the police. It wasn't as dire or sinister as that statement might sound, but it spurred me to do it and in September of 1985, I think I opened my store.
Sometime around the end of the year, or the beginning of the next I guy comes into the store to become a member and he starts hanging around. I have no reason why. It seems he comes into the store every Monday night around 9 PM. The reason I remember this is I had a TV in the store and when a movies wasn't on, I'd watch TV and on Monday nights it was Murphy Brown at 9. I really enjoyed the show and Jim seemed to come in always around that time. It was difficult to have a conversation with him and watch the show.
Spring arrives and Jim invites me out on his boat. We take a trip up to Greenwood Lake in Orange County and go fishing. It's a great night. We fish until it's dark, then head over to the arm of the lake and have dinner and drinks at a restaurant where Jim has made friends with the owner. We do several trips up to Greenwood Lake. All involve fishing and alcohol. We're young and indestructible.
One Night we are across the lake having dinner at an outdoor restaurant. The Night is comfortable and we have just sat down. The Docks and the water are off to my right, I think. For Jim, the docks are off to his left and slightly behind him. We are both enjoying the night. I don't remember if we'd eaten or not, but I do remember we were just hanging out there when I hear a splash, No big deal and it barely registers. A while later, maybe ten minutes I hear someone, in a very low voice call for help. It gets my attention, Jin hasn't heard it. A little while later, I hear it a second time and I ask Jim if he heard it too. He says no, but we both get up to investigate. Somewhere out in the water, just beyond the lights of the restaurant is a person. I don't remember where or what he is hanging onto to stay above the water, but he needs help. I am totally freaked out by the situation. So Jim is the one who goes into the black water, on a black night, just beyond the lights of the restaurant. He later says that he was waiting for the guy to jump on him to save him and drag them both under water. He tells the guy to be calm and at some point he realizes that this guy has something in his hand or hands. It turns out this guy and a friend were drinking heavily at the bar. They walk down to the docks to take their boat back to their dock and the friend misses a step, falls into the water hitting his head and goes under. His Friend goes in after him. He finds him, but it too drunk or too weak to keep the guys head above water. At that point he calls for help. Jim helps the guy with his friend to the shore. I'm still just watching the drama unfold. I think Jim calls for some help and several people come to assist. They get the guy on a table and start CPR. Someone else calls 911. After an intermedible amount of time, it seems the Ambulance arrives. The People performing CPR thought they felt a pulse. Later it is said they were feeling their own most likely. The Guy is dead.
Jim and I head to his boat. I am totally beside myself. I had failed in the clutch. I let panic stop me from doing the right thing, leaving it all to Jim to do. He says something like I need to stop this shit and I was the one to hear the friend calling for help.
After that Greenwood Lake is another place. We don't drink on the boat any more, or even after we get off the water. Several Years later Jim quits drinking. Maybe this had nothing to do with it, I don't know. I made peace with this night. I don't know why, but I guess I did as much as I could that night. Either way the guy who died that night would still be dead even if I were more involved. The two of them were drinking and were not careful.
I don't remember the exact sequence the next events, but I buy a boat. Someone said they knew someone who was selling a boat. I knew NOTHING about boats when I went to look at this boat. I took Jim with me because he owned a boat so I figured he would know more than I did. All I knew about boats is they were not supposed to have holes below the water line. Jim and I go over to this guys house in the early evening. It's warm and it's summer. It's the perfect time to own a boat, or for that matter to sell one. We walk around the boat. It is a 20' Grady White with a cabin on a newish water trailer. The Boat is old, but it is solid and I like it. Jim asks to hear the motor run. Now the one thing I will learn LATER is you don't run an outboard without water flowing through the motor. The Guy starts it up without hesitation and it is loud and nice. Jim inspects the motor a bit and after a while we turn the motor off. I give the guy an offer or I pay his asking price, I don't remember, but at the end of the day I am a boat owner. I think the boat was from 1972 or so. It is 1985 and I take the boat up to Greenwood Lake. Or more precisely Jim trailers it up there. It's a little too much boat for a lake. I dock it in the arm of the lake and every time I take it out I have to squeeze under a low bridge to get to the main part of the lake. I have some good adventures on the lake.
During the time the boat is up there Jim and I go out fishing on it several times. One Time, during the a beautiful summer afternoon I take the boat out alone. I park it in an empty spot and start to fish. I hook into a nice size fish and land it. Now I'm stuck. It is pre-cell phones and I don't have a camera on board so do I keep the fish I'm not going to eat or do I throw it back. The Fish gasps for air as I debate his future. I look at the traffic on the lake and debater some more. Finally conservation and the thought that someone else might catch this fish and enjoy him more than I would prompts me to set him free. When I describe the fish to Jim he says that is the type/size fish he's been after on the Lake.
During the week, Greenwood Lake is empty and beautiful. On the Weekends, it's like a rough day on the ocean. Wakes from other boats seem to hit you broadside constantly, rocking you out of your comfortable perch on the edge of the rail while fishing. It gets to the point that we stop fishing and try to do some tubing. Like everything else in my life, I don't have any idea what I'm doing and have put little thought into how it should be done to make it a success. It is Jim, his girlfriend Phyllis and I on the boat that day. It is another warm sunny weekend on Greenwood Lake. I think, I am volunteered (Jim says I should go first) to ride the tube first. I don't remember. My only vivid memory of doing this is my time at the helm, the tube being pulled and stretched, me giving the boat more gas and our lack of success getting the tube up on the water. Our self conscious efforts end rather quickly.
Fall approaches and the days are getting shorter. This is the time when Billy, my cousin invites me to bring my boat out on the ocean with his boat. I don't remember anything more than my self conscious efforts to back my trailer down the launch ramp to get my boat. I think Bob Schrader was with me to help.
Before I go further, I need to talk about Fred Roland and the trip to Moriches. Since Moriches, Fred, Jim and Bob Schrader will all figure in the next ten years or so of my boating and fishing life.
The Timeline is a little hazy . I think it is the same year I become friends with Jim, I met Fred Roland and his brother Ray. Fred is living on Western Hwy with his brother and a few other people in a large old house. Fred is recently returned from Florida. We get talking about fishing one day and he says He wants to take me Fluke fishing. It is the late 80's and from the position of 2019, the late 80's were the end of the great fishing era on the east coast, in and around New York. We didn't know it though. The middle of May 1985 was a spectacular day for fishing. We caught 32 keeper fish. Back then eighteen inches was a keeper. Now I think it is twenty-one, if you can catch one.
The Day was bright sunshiny and I get up, must be somewhere around three in the morning. We make the one hundred and three mile trip to East Moriches. It is a place I will fall in love with. It has been over twenty years since I was there, but all the wonderful memories of that place start with this trip. We arrive a little before the places opens. The Sun is up and it's warm. I walk around the place, my feet crunching on the sea shells and cream white stones parking area. I go over to the cleaning stations where you can cut up and clean your catch once your off the water. A slight smell of fish comes off the tables. Gary the owner comes rumbling in after a few minutes, it's about six in the morning. He's a friendly guy and I won't say the three of us become friends, but Fred and I and later Jim and Bob are all familiar faces. Gary rents us a small skiff and we buy bait and some hooks and all those other things that you don't know you need until you see them on Gary's wall. Fred, the old pro asks Gary where the action? He replies can 27. I'm thinking can? can 27? Fred takes it in stride and we get into the skiff we rented. The water is glass smooth, the weather is warm, not hot and there is little to no clouds in the sky. I'm twenty-seven, using no sunscreen and it feels like life will only get better. Today that will be true. A few years later not so much. But Today the fish are biting. Can 27 is a buoy that marks part of the channel that runs through the great south bay.
To fish for Fluke, you drift. You stop you boat near an underwater shelf , or a channel, somewhere where the water is moving through a narrow spot the bait fish will pass. Fluke are predators and hide in the sand until a bait fish or your worm drift by and they attack. You will be gently bouncing your pole, jigging your bait when a Fluke attacks. The tip of your sensitive rod will dart toward the water telling you where the fish is. You sing out loud and clear "FISH ON!" A tradition from party boat fishing to alert a mate on the party boat, you have a fish so he can help you swing it over the rail. A good size fluke will pull drag and if you have set your pole correctly it will pull line and not break it off. After a fight of a few minutes, someone with a net will be by your side to net an odd but beautiful fish. If it is above the limit, you get to keep it.
We do several drifts some are good, some are not. When We hit a good drift you could be catching fish left and right. That Day, like several days and the next few years we used two poles each. It was a different world back then. There were plenty of fish in the ocean, or at least that was what We believed. We thought we were being good custodians of the resources back then. We never took an undersized fish.
After that Day, I think I'm hooked on fishing saltwater. I take my boat out on the ocean at the end of the season. I remember going up to Greenwood Lake to get it out and being embarrassed that I couldn't back the trailer down the launch ramp to get my boat. It took me a few tries to do it and I had help, I think I was friends with Bob Schrader by then. Bob first came into my life when my Dad got diagnosed with cancer. He helped my dad do his route. I don't remember how I found out he liked fishing, but somehow him and I went out fishing. The First Trip out on salt water is so different then fresh water. We went out of Cove Isle Park in Mamaroneck,Westchester. I knew nothing about the rules of the road for boats. I'd never been out on salt water before and it never occured to me that there were rules. We launch the boat from a narrow steep ramp just inside the park, not like the one that is there now. This ramp angles toward the main road on like a 45 degree angle over near where the bait shop is. We park the truck, a brown undersized Chevy Pick Up truck that does milk deliveries and that takes us all over the area fishing in the next few years. I start the boat and head out, It only takes Bob a little while to realize I have no idea what I am doing. He starts to give me information about boating etiquette. The first thing he tells me is 'red right return'. Which means when you are coming back to the docks keep all red buoys on your right. Going out you keep them on your left.
Him and I have may adventures. Somehow we don't die or even get hurt. On one trip, a few years later, it's late in the season, We go fishing on Long Island, at I think Oak Beach near Captree State Park. I'm better at trailering a boat and launching a boat, but I still don't know everything. Like something I should have known was that you don't trailer boats on parkways. I drive my pickup and my trailered boat down the Meadowbrook State Parkway. My reasoning is simple. I don't know any other way to go to get to the launch ramp I want to get to. I'm sure the Police will understand. It is 1980's New York and that plays well for me. The Police in the 80's in and around New York City are fighting a battle with crime. A fight that in the 70's they were losing. In the 80's the tide might be turning about now and things like boats on parkways are not a top priority. The other thing, something that I notice going down the parkway is the bridges I go under are curved and come a little close to my boat. Why did they do that it's not safe. It is only later. years later that the signs they have up saying cars only for parkways meant no cars with trailers. The ramp is free after Labor day so in we go. It is cold and it is October. We know it will be a short day. We launch the boat at high tide. Bob's amount of experience is more then mine at this point, but in hindsight it was not much more. He knew the basics only. We head out to fish for blues. Blue fish are great fighting fish. They just taste lousy. Bob promises to take all the blues we catch. There will be no worries about what happens to the fish we catch, there will not even be a bit today.
After several hours of nothing we head in. We went out on a high tide, we are returning on almost a dead low. We go back the way we came in and I notice the bottom, a nice sandy bottom is getting close to the boat. We are maybe a few hundred yards out from the launch ramp when we hit bottom. I back up off the sand and try another direction. again we hit the sand. It gets to the point where Bob gets out of the boat to push it. In my frustration to get the boat moving forward I'm bouncing my body against the steering wheel. At first it seems like it is helping. Then it breaks off in my hand. I now have only a couple of prongs radiating from the steering column now to guide the boat.
We finally admit defeat as the sun is setting. We back the boat off the sandbar and go over to the Captree boat basin and ask if we could moor the boat there overnight. It is the most bone headed trip I have ever been on. We leave and the next day, Monday I do my work grab the truck and the trailer and Bob and we head back to Captree. The boat is still there, the tide is high and we manage to get the boat back to the launch ramp and on the trailer.
MAJOR BONEHEAD US. If I had a chart of the area, which I should have and if I didn't should have never gone there at so late a time in the season where there would be next to no one to help us find the correct way to get to the launch ramp. And if I'd looked at the chart it would have shown an opening in the sand bar near the shore. Why would they not have an opening? Why did we not think about that? Why did we not even try to look around? Why did we not familiarize ourselves with the area before we went out in October, when there would be no one to help us out of a jam? STUPID, STUPID, STUPID, God was watching out for me that day I guess. The only reason you get in trouble on the water or have an adventure' is not being prepared. That is how people die. I learned before people began to die,thank god.
The middle 80's are full adventures. I head down to New Jersey with Bob to fish New Jersey. One of my favorite trips back then was going out of Nyack state park taking the boat down the Hudson past the Palisades in New Jersey, past Yonkers, the slow trip passing New York City. After a few hours on the water you pass the Statue of Liberty. I was always careful to give it a wide berth, even before 9-11. I wasn't sure if you could dock private boats there. Finally after a using most if not just about all of your gas you are in Raritan Bay. You cruise over to Atlantic Highlands to get gas and some snacks. Fishing usually sucked after that long trip. Several times I tried trailering the boat down to Atlantic Highlands and launching it there. I still didn't catch many fish.
Bob was always on for an adventure. He'd say something like let's go down to the Jersey shore and fish for fluke. Me being me would say ok I'm up for an adventure. So I'd trailer my boat down to the Jersey shore. We'd find a launch ramp and not knowing the area go fishing. Now if your goal was to spend several hour in a car and then spend several hours on a boat not catching fish, then this was the trip for you. There was little to no preparation.
The Hudson River brings back a flood of memories. Before I got my boat, my cousin Billy had a boat and on day again it was a sunny warm day, I think in May I'm asked to go fishing with a group of people. It's near lunch, so I get a sandwich. I haven't been out on the ocean often so the two foot waves in the Hudson don't mean anything to me. I get in the boat and we start off. I'm eating my sandwich having a great time, life is good. Somewhere on our trip down the Hudson my stomach begins to bother me. I don't think anything about it, I didn't know better. It grows worse, but I ignore it. After a while I'm sitting hoping it will pass when I feel the need to lean over the side of the boat and as everyone jokes for the next several years, I started to chum. Chumming is using dead fish or a mixture of things fish like to attract them to where you are. I started to deposited my roast beef hero. Over the course of the day on the water, thankfully a short one I emptied my stomach and then some. If it is not obvious I was sea sick. I read up on sea sickness. It is a strange ailment. The motion of the water and something to do with your eyes not agreeing causes the body to feel as if it has been poisoned and you throw up. The strangest thing is if you put on wristbands, one on each wrist and they are put on the pulse sea sickness can be almost totally eliminated. The other way to end sea sickness is to get off the boat. Within a few minutes you will be feeling alot better. If you were out for a full day you will still feel a bit drained, but your stomach, that trouble maker will be feeling fine.
Another Billy's boat story. This one had nothing to do with me. I just find it a little funny. It is the late 80's. I'm living in Stony Point, my dad has died and my mother is palling around with a family friend, his name is Bruce. I'm home in Stony Point. Someone gets the bright idea to go see the fireworks down around the Statue of Liberty. The get permission from my cousin Billy to use his boat and off down the Hudson they go. I don't remember who goes on the trip. There were more than my mother and Bruce on the boat. Now a strange thing about this boat. You fill up the tank and go down to Raritan Bay, you have a little less than half a tank. Somewhere along the way you will need to stop and buy gas. Everyone I guess didn't know this. Now the other thing to remember is this is pre-cell phone time. So if there is a problem you rely on the boat radio or you stop somewhere to find a payphone (ask your grandparents or older what they are) They head down the Hudson River late in the afternoon or so to moor up somewhere near the Statue of Liberty to see the fireworks. I was down to the city for July fourth firework when the Statue of Liberty was celebrated in the 80's. Those fireworks were the best until I saw the firework at Disney in Orlando at Christmas time around 2012 or so. The inexperienced boaters, no let me take that back. Bruce did know how to handle a boat. He just didn't know about the gas issue and didn't check it on the way down the Hudson. They get down to the Statue of Liberty and moor the boat. They have a wonderful time watching the fireworks. When they are over they have to wait to leave. There are boats ahead of them. Finally they get to go and start the two hour trip back up the Hudson. Sometime during the trip Bruce notices the gas gauge. It is bouncing under a quarter of a tank. He might have enough gas to make it home, but doesn't want to run out and be stuck on the river at night. Remember no cell phones, just a radio. They pull into a dock area to find a phone or some gas. It is late, after midnight, not much is open and even less near the water. Sometime around three in the morning Doug, Ruth's husband brings them some gas to finish the trip home. An adventure that was not necessary. I never knew about the trip. If I'd known, I would have told them about the gas issue having been on Billy's boat. Why Billy didn't I don't know.
Another story I have is the time Billy and I decide to do an overnight trip down the Hudson River into the Long Island Sound via Hell's Gate. Hell's Gate if you don't know is where the East River, the Hudson River and the Long Island Sound come together. We leave late on a Friday or Saturday, I don't remember. I don't remember even why I went. I remember being very ill prepared for the trip and not really a ball of fun. We go down the Hudson, go under the Spuyten Duyvil Railroad bridge take the Spuyten Duyvil Creek and get into the Harlem River. On The Harlem River we go under several bridges and I don't really remember this part of the trip. At Hells Gate where the East River, The Harlem River and the Sound all meet there is a swirling of currents and it can be a very dangerous place. My friend Fred was on a boat of his uncles that sank there. They had to swim to Rikers Island after the boat sank. We avoid going down the East River, one of the swiftest and one of the more dangerous rivers in the area. We make it into the Sound and drop anchor. Maybe we fished a little. The next morning we fish for Blackfish. I hook onto something I think are Black Fish. I fight it until it breaks my line. It was an underwater obstruction, not a Black Fish. We get no action for all of our troubles. Back when we go out on this trip the western portion of the Sound was experiencing hypoxia, a lack of oxygen in the water and all the fish had left the western end of the Sound or died. So much for that trip.
For every lousy trip I was on, there were dozens if not more that were amazing. I remember several trips taken from Silly Lilly's on Center Moriches. After a long day out fishing I'd bring the boat into the shallows that used to terrify me. I'd have the boat on plane, meaning it was up and high on the water. The water would be flat glass and I can hear it now the sush, sush sound the boat made as it cut through the water. The sun in a nearly cloudless sky would be getting close to the horozen. I'd come up a little too fast toward the dock and a voice from somewhere behind me would ask if maybe I'd want to slow down. I would even acknowledge it I was soaking up the last of an amazing day and contrasting on bring the boat in perfectly. At the right time I'd cut the engine, we'd drop off plane and then I'd put it into reverse and we'd gently glide up to the dock the boat's stern coming around so it was no effort to tie us up. The Fishing Station would be empty. everyone having gone home along time ago. We clean our catch, bag the fish pack up the car and head home not thing about the one hundred and two mile trip ahead of us.
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Sometime around the end of the year, or the beginning of the next I guy comes into the store to become a member and he starts hanging around. I have no reason why. It seems he comes into the store every Monday night around 9 PM. The reason I remember this is I had a TV in the store and when a movies wasn't on, I'd watch TV and on Monday nights it was Murphy Brown at 9. I really enjoyed the show and Jim seemed to come in always around that time. It was difficult to have a conversation with him and watch the show.
Spring arrives and Jim invites me out on his boat. We take a trip up to Greenwood Lake in Orange County and go fishing. It's a great night. We fish until it's dark, then head over to the arm of the lake and have dinner and drinks at a restaurant where Jim has made friends with the owner. We do several trips up to Greenwood Lake. All involve fishing and alcohol. We're young and indestructible.
One Night we are across the lake having dinner at an outdoor restaurant. The Night is comfortable and we have just sat down. The Docks and the water are off to my right, I think. For Jim, the docks are off to his left and slightly behind him. We are both enjoying the night. I don't remember if we'd eaten or not, but I do remember we were just hanging out there when I hear a splash, No big deal and it barely registers. A while later, maybe ten minutes I hear someone, in a very low voice call for help. It gets my attention, Jin hasn't heard it. A little while later, I hear it a second time and I ask Jim if he heard it too. He says no, but we both get up to investigate. Somewhere out in the water, just beyond the lights of the restaurant is a person. I don't remember where or what he is hanging onto to stay above the water, but he needs help. I am totally freaked out by the situation. So Jim is the one who goes into the black water, on a black night, just beyond the lights of the restaurant. He later says that he was waiting for the guy to jump on him to save him and drag them both under water. He tells the guy to be calm and at some point he realizes that this guy has something in his hand or hands. It turns out this guy and a friend were drinking heavily at the bar. They walk down to the docks to take their boat back to their dock and the friend misses a step, falls into the water hitting his head and goes under. His Friend goes in after him. He finds him, but it too drunk or too weak to keep the guys head above water. At that point he calls for help. Jim helps the guy with his friend to the shore. I'm still just watching the drama unfold. I think Jim calls for some help and several people come to assist. They get the guy on a table and start CPR. Someone else calls 911. After an intermedible amount of time, it seems the Ambulance arrives. The People performing CPR thought they felt a pulse. Later it is said they were feeling their own most likely. The Guy is dead.
Jim and I head to his boat. I am totally beside myself. I had failed in the clutch. I let panic stop me from doing the right thing, leaving it all to Jim to do. He says something like I need to stop this shit and I was the one to hear the friend calling for help.
After that Greenwood Lake is another place. We don't drink on the boat any more, or even after we get off the water. Several Years later Jim quits drinking. Maybe this had nothing to do with it, I don't know. I made peace with this night. I don't know why, but I guess I did as much as I could that night. Either way the guy who died that night would still be dead even if I were more involved. The two of them were drinking and were not careful.
I don't remember the exact sequence the next events, but I buy a boat. Someone said they knew someone who was selling a boat. I knew NOTHING about boats when I went to look at this boat. I took Jim with me because he owned a boat so I figured he would know more than I did. All I knew about boats is they were not supposed to have holes below the water line. Jim and I go over to this guys house in the early evening. It's warm and it's summer. It's the perfect time to own a boat, or for that matter to sell one. We walk around the boat. It is a 20' Grady White with a cabin on a newish water trailer. The Boat is old, but it is solid and I like it. Jim asks to hear the motor run. Now the one thing I will learn LATER is you don't run an outboard without water flowing through the motor. The Guy starts it up without hesitation and it is loud and nice. Jim inspects the motor a bit and after a while we turn the motor off. I give the guy an offer or I pay his asking price, I don't remember, but at the end of the day I am a boat owner. I think the boat was from 1972 or so. It is 1985 and I take the boat up to Greenwood Lake. Or more precisely Jim trailers it up there. It's a little too much boat for a lake. I dock it in the arm of the lake and every time I take it out I have to squeeze under a low bridge to get to the main part of the lake. I have some good adventures on the lake.
During the time the boat is up there Jim and I go out fishing on it several times. One Time, during the a beautiful summer afternoon I take the boat out alone. I park it in an empty spot and start to fish. I hook into a nice size fish and land it. Now I'm stuck. It is pre-cell phones and I don't have a camera on board so do I keep the fish I'm not going to eat or do I throw it back. The Fish gasps for air as I debate his future. I look at the traffic on the lake and debater some more. Finally conservation and the thought that someone else might catch this fish and enjoy him more than I would prompts me to set him free. When I describe the fish to Jim he says that is the type/size fish he's been after on the Lake.
During the week, Greenwood Lake is empty and beautiful. On the Weekends, it's like a rough day on the ocean. Wakes from other boats seem to hit you broadside constantly, rocking you out of your comfortable perch on the edge of the rail while fishing. It gets to the point that we stop fishing and try to do some tubing. Like everything else in my life, I don't have any idea what I'm doing and have put little thought into how it should be done to make it a success. It is Jim, his girlfriend Phyllis and I on the boat that day. It is another warm sunny weekend on Greenwood Lake. I think, I am volunteered (Jim says I should go first) to ride the tube first. I don't remember. My only vivid memory of doing this is my time at the helm, the tube being pulled and stretched, me giving the boat more gas and our lack of success getting the tube up on the water. Our self conscious efforts end rather quickly.
Fall approaches and the days are getting shorter. This is the time when Billy, my cousin invites me to bring my boat out on the ocean with his boat. I don't remember anything more than my self conscious efforts to back my trailer down the launch ramp to get my boat. I think Bob Schrader was with me to help.
Before I go further, I need to talk about Fred Roland and the trip to Moriches. Since Moriches, Fred, Jim and Bob Schrader will all figure in the next ten years or so of my boating and fishing life.
The Timeline is a little hazy . I think it is the same year I become friends with Jim, I met Fred Roland and his brother Ray. Fred is living on Western Hwy with his brother and a few other people in a large old house. Fred is recently returned from Florida. We get talking about fishing one day and he says He wants to take me Fluke fishing. It is the late 80's and from the position of 2019, the late 80's were the end of the great fishing era on the east coast, in and around New York. We didn't know it though. The middle of May 1985 was a spectacular day for fishing. We caught 32 keeper fish. Back then eighteen inches was a keeper. Now I think it is twenty-one, if you can catch one.
The Day was bright sunshiny and I get up, must be somewhere around three in the morning. We make the one hundred and three mile trip to East Moriches. It is a place I will fall in love with. It has been over twenty years since I was there, but all the wonderful memories of that place start with this trip. We arrive a little before the places opens. The Sun is up and it's warm. I walk around the place, my feet crunching on the sea shells and cream white stones parking area. I go over to the cleaning stations where you can cut up and clean your catch once your off the water. A slight smell of fish comes off the tables. Gary the owner comes rumbling in after a few minutes, it's about six in the morning. He's a friendly guy and I won't say the three of us become friends, but Fred and I and later Jim and Bob are all familiar faces. Gary rents us a small skiff and we buy bait and some hooks and all those other things that you don't know you need until you see them on Gary's wall. Fred, the old pro asks Gary where the action? He replies can 27. I'm thinking can? can 27? Fred takes it in stride and we get into the skiff we rented. The water is glass smooth, the weather is warm, not hot and there is little to no clouds in the sky. I'm twenty-seven, using no sunscreen and it feels like life will only get better. Today that will be true. A few years later not so much. But Today the fish are biting. Can 27 is a buoy that marks part of the channel that runs through the great south bay.
To fish for Fluke, you drift. You stop you boat near an underwater shelf , or a channel, somewhere where the water is moving through a narrow spot the bait fish will pass. Fluke are predators and hide in the sand until a bait fish or your worm drift by and they attack. You will be gently bouncing your pole, jigging your bait when a Fluke attacks. The tip of your sensitive rod will dart toward the water telling you where the fish is. You sing out loud and clear "FISH ON!" A tradition from party boat fishing to alert a mate on the party boat, you have a fish so he can help you swing it over the rail. A good size fluke will pull drag and if you have set your pole correctly it will pull line and not break it off. After a fight of a few minutes, someone with a net will be by your side to net an odd but beautiful fish. If it is above the limit, you get to keep it.
We do several drifts some are good, some are not. When We hit a good drift you could be catching fish left and right. That Day, like several days and the next few years we used two poles each. It was a different world back then. There were plenty of fish in the ocean, or at least that was what We believed. We thought we were being good custodians of the resources back then. We never took an undersized fish.
After that Day, I think I'm hooked on fishing saltwater. I take my boat out on the ocean at the end of the season. I remember going up to Greenwood Lake to get it out and being embarrassed that I couldn't back the trailer down the launch ramp to get my boat. It took me a few tries to do it and I had help, I think I was friends with Bob Schrader by then. Bob first came into my life when my Dad got diagnosed with cancer. He helped my dad do his route. I don't remember how I found out he liked fishing, but somehow him and I went out fishing. The First Trip out on salt water is so different then fresh water. We went out of Cove Isle Park in Mamaroneck,Westchester. I knew nothing about the rules of the road for boats. I'd never been out on salt water before and it never occured to me that there were rules. We launch the boat from a narrow steep ramp just inside the park, not like the one that is there now. This ramp angles toward the main road on like a 45 degree angle over near where the bait shop is. We park the truck, a brown undersized Chevy Pick Up truck that does milk deliveries and that takes us all over the area fishing in the next few years. I start the boat and head out, It only takes Bob a little while to realize I have no idea what I am doing. He starts to give me information about boating etiquette. The first thing he tells me is 'red right return'. Which means when you are coming back to the docks keep all red buoys on your right. Going out you keep them on your left.
Him and I have may adventures. Somehow we don't die or even get hurt. On one trip, a few years later, it's late in the season, We go fishing on Long Island, at I think Oak Beach near Captree State Park. I'm better at trailering a boat and launching a boat, but I still don't know everything. Like something I should have known was that you don't trailer boats on parkways. I drive my pickup and my trailered boat down the Meadowbrook State Parkway. My reasoning is simple. I don't know any other way to go to get to the launch ramp I want to get to. I'm sure the Police will understand. It is 1980's New York and that plays well for me. The Police in the 80's in and around New York City are fighting a battle with crime. A fight that in the 70's they were losing. In the 80's the tide might be turning about now and things like boats on parkways are not a top priority. The other thing, something that I notice going down the parkway is the bridges I go under are curved and come a little close to my boat. Why did they do that it's not safe. It is only later. years later that the signs they have up saying cars only for parkways meant no cars with trailers. The ramp is free after Labor day so in we go. It is cold and it is October. We know it will be a short day. We launch the boat at high tide. Bob's amount of experience is more then mine at this point, but in hindsight it was not much more. He knew the basics only. We head out to fish for blues. Blue fish are great fighting fish. They just taste lousy. Bob promises to take all the blues we catch. There will be no worries about what happens to the fish we catch, there will not even be a bit today.
After several hours of nothing we head in. We went out on a high tide, we are returning on almost a dead low. We go back the way we came in and I notice the bottom, a nice sandy bottom is getting close to the boat. We are maybe a few hundred yards out from the launch ramp when we hit bottom. I back up off the sand and try another direction. again we hit the sand. It gets to the point where Bob gets out of the boat to push it. In my frustration to get the boat moving forward I'm bouncing my body against the steering wheel. At first it seems like it is helping. Then it breaks off in my hand. I now have only a couple of prongs radiating from the steering column now to guide the boat.
We finally admit defeat as the sun is setting. We back the boat off the sandbar and go over to the Captree boat basin and ask if we could moor the boat there overnight. It is the most bone headed trip I have ever been on. We leave and the next day, Monday I do my work grab the truck and the trailer and Bob and we head back to Captree. The boat is still there, the tide is high and we manage to get the boat back to the launch ramp and on the trailer.
MAJOR BONEHEAD US. If I had a chart of the area, which I should have and if I didn't should have never gone there at so late a time in the season where there would be next to no one to help us find the correct way to get to the launch ramp. And if I'd looked at the chart it would have shown an opening in the sand bar near the shore. Why would they not have an opening? Why did we not think about that? Why did we not even try to look around? Why did we not familiarize ourselves with the area before we went out in October, when there would be no one to help us out of a jam? STUPID, STUPID, STUPID, God was watching out for me that day I guess. The only reason you get in trouble on the water or have an adventure' is not being prepared. That is how people die. I learned before people began to die,thank god.
The middle 80's are full adventures. I head down to New Jersey with Bob to fish New Jersey. One of my favorite trips back then was going out of Nyack state park taking the boat down the Hudson past the Palisades in New Jersey, past Yonkers, the slow trip passing New York City. After a few hours on the water you pass the Statue of Liberty. I was always careful to give it a wide berth, even before 9-11. I wasn't sure if you could dock private boats there. Finally after a using most if not just about all of your gas you are in Raritan Bay. You cruise over to Atlantic Highlands to get gas and some snacks. Fishing usually sucked after that long trip. Several times I tried trailering the boat down to Atlantic Highlands and launching it there. I still didn't catch many fish.
Bob was always on for an adventure. He'd say something like let's go down to the Jersey shore and fish for fluke. Me being me would say ok I'm up for an adventure. So I'd trailer my boat down to the Jersey shore. We'd find a launch ramp and not knowing the area go fishing. Now if your goal was to spend several hour in a car and then spend several hours on a boat not catching fish, then this was the trip for you. There was little to no preparation.
The Hudson River brings back a flood of memories. Before I got my boat, my cousin Billy had a boat and on day again it was a sunny warm day, I think in May I'm asked to go fishing with a group of people. It's near lunch, so I get a sandwich. I haven't been out on the ocean often so the two foot waves in the Hudson don't mean anything to me. I get in the boat and we start off. I'm eating my sandwich having a great time, life is good. Somewhere on our trip down the Hudson my stomach begins to bother me. I don't think anything about it, I didn't know better. It grows worse, but I ignore it. After a while I'm sitting hoping it will pass when I feel the need to lean over the side of the boat and as everyone jokes for the next several years, I started to chum. Chumming is using dead fish or a mixture of things fish like to attract them to where you are. I started to deposited my roast beef hero. Over the course of the day on the water, thankfully a short one I emptied my stomach and then some. If it is not obvious I was sea sick. I read up on sea sickness. It is a strange ailment. The motion of the water and something to do with your eyes not agreeing causes the body to feel as if it has been poisoned and you throw up. The strangest thing is if you put on wristbands, one on each wrist and they are put on the pulse sea sickness can be almost totally eliminated. The other way to end sea sickness is to get off the boat. Within a few minutes you will be feeling alot better. If you were out for a full day you will still feel a bit drained, but your stomach, that trouble maker will be feeling fine.
Another Billy's boat story. This one had nothing to do with me. I just find it a little funny. It is the late 80's. I'm living in Stony Point, my dad has died and my mother is palling around with a family friend, his name is Bruce. I'm home in Stony Point. Someone gets the bright idea to go see the fireworks down around the Statue of Liberty. The get permission from my cousin Billy to use his boat and off down the Hudson they go. I don't remember who goes on the trip. There were more than my mother and Bruce on the boat. Now a strange thing about this boat. You fill up the tank and go down to Raritan Bay, you have a little less than half a tank. Somewhere along the way you will need to stop and buy gas. Everyone I guess didn't know this. Now the other thing to remember is this is pre-cell phone time. So if there is a problem you rely on the boat radio or you stop somewhere to find a payphone (ask your grandparents or older what they are) They head down the Hudson River late in the afternoon or so to moor up somewhere near the Statue of Liberty to see the fireworks. I was down to the city for July fourth firework when the Statue of Liberty was celebrated in the 80's. Those fireworks were the best until I saw the firework at Disney in Orlando at Christmas time around 2012 or so. The inexperienced boaters, no let me take that back. Bruce did know how to handle a boat. He just didn't know about the gas issue and didn't check it on the way down the Hudson. They get down to the Statue of Liberty and moor the boat. They have a wonderful time watching the fireworks. When they are over they have to wait to leave. There are boats ahead of them. Finally they get to go and start the two hour trip back up the Hudson. Sometime during the trip Bruce notices the gas gauge. It is bouncing under a quarter of a tank. He might have enough gas to make it home, but doesn't want to run out and be stuck on the river at night. Remember no cell phones, just a radio. They pull into a dock area to find a phone or some gas. It is late, after midnight, not much is open and even less near the water. Sometime around three in the morning Doug, Ruth's husband brings them some gas to finish the trip home. An adventure that was not necessary. I never knew about the trip. If I'd known, I would have told them about the gas issue having been on Billy's boat. Why Billy didn't I don't know.
Another story I have is the time Billy and I decide to do an overnight trip down the Hudson River into the Long Island Sound via Hell's Gate. Hell's Gate if you don't know is where the East River, the Hudson River and the Long Island Sound come together. We leave late on a Friday or Saturday, I don't remember. I don't remember even why I went. I remember being very ill prepared for the trip and not really a ball of fun. We go down the Hudson, go under the Spuyten Duyvil Railroad bridge take the Spuyten Duyvil Creek and get into the Harlem River. On The Harlem River we go under several bridges and I don't really remember this part of the trip. At Hells Gate where the East River, The Harlem River and the Sound all meet there is a swirling of currents and it can be a very dangerous place. My friend Fred was on a boat of his uncles that sank there. They had to swim to Rikers Island after the boat sank. We avoid going down the East River, one of the swiftest and one of the more dangerous rivers in the area. We make it into the Sound and drop anchor. Maybe we fished a little. The next morning we fish for Blackfish. I hook onto something I think are Black Fish. I fight it until it breaks my line. It was an underwater obstruction, not a Black Fish. We get no action for all of our troubles. Back when we go out on this trip the western portion of the Sound was experiencing hypoxia, a lack of oxygen in the water and all the fish had left the western end of the Sound or died. So much for that trip.
For every lousy trip I was on, there were dozens if not more that were amazing. I remember several trips taken from Silly Lilly's on Center Moriches. After a long day out fishing I'd bring the boat into the shallows that used to terrify me. I'd have the boat on plane, meaning it was up and high on the water. The water would be flat glass and I can hear it now the sush, sush sound the boat made as it cut through the water. The sun in a nearly cloudless sky would be getting close to the horozen. I'd come up a little too fast toward the dock and a voice from somewhere behind me would ask if maybe I'd want to slow down. I would even acknowledge it I was soaking up the last of an amazing day and contrasting on bring the boat in perfectly. At the right time I'd cut the engine, we'd drop off plane and then I'd put it into reverse and we'd gently glide up to the dock the boat's stern coming around so it was no effort to tie us up. The Fishing Station would be empty. everyone having gone home along time ago. We clean our catch, bag the fish pack up the car and head home not thing about the one hundred and two mile trip ahead of us.
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Monday, February 25, 2019
My Dad
I don't know if this will be redundant, but it seems necessary.
I am aware history is written by the victors. I don't claim victory and if you knew me, like I hope I know myself you would see this is just my memories, as flawed as I am and they are. Anything on this blog is how I remember it or how it was told to me. Writing about my Dad can be tough. I don't ever think I understood him. He worked and he worked and he worked. He never seemed to take time off except in the early seventies when he came upstate for a few days. We all thought it was the start of him having a life, it was not. It lasted maybe a second year and that was it. Oh and when he was up there, he worked.
My Dad has been gone for nearly thirty years. I was thirty-two when he died, now I'm sixty-one. I don't even remember what I used to call him. I think it was Dad, maybe occasionally Daddy, as in did you see Daddy at the trailers? He wants to talk to you. Heck, the Trailers have been gone nineteen years. For People like Denis and Billy and Cory and Ryan, who were born here and we're young when the trailers went away. To them that is all history, as in they might have no memory of the trailers behind Bill Vines' office.
I have been writing about my daughter's lives and some other thoughts on another blog and I went around at a family taco night in February 2019, asking a few people for good memories of upstate. Karl said he had few good memories of upstate or just growing up. I could understand, upstate became of the battle ground it became. I guess remembering how he and Daddy used to go at it when he'd come home from a night out with friends that can color your memories. He'd come in and sit down on the couch, an old, beautiful and uncomfortable thing we got from Aunt Emilie when she sold the farm. I believe it is upstate at Eric's now. Karl would sit down across from him, my dad in his chair and they would talk and before long they would both get angry. I would be in my bed room, two rooms over on the south east corner of the house lying in bed wishing they would stop. Fearful of what, I don't know. Nothing serious ever happened.
The front door was next to my dad's chair and he didn't go to bed early. Many times I can remember coming in late at night, him asleep with a line of cigar ash dropped onto his chest, his ever present cigar hanging from his closed mouth having gone out.
Back in the seventies, when I would deliver milk with him on Saturday morning, I would ask him to give up smoking. He would tell me to quit drinking soda and he would. I did for a week or something like that, he never quit. I think he liked smoking and like everyone else, he thought he was invincible. And like everyone else one day he was not.
The Story I heard how my dad's cancer was discovered started on his route. He was delivering to Dr King on ironically King's Hwy in Valley Cottage. Dr. King sees my dad and to him he doesn't look good. He brings him into his office in his home and checks him out. I think he is then sent for some tests which brings us to the big meeting a few weeks before Christmas 1987. I've talked about the family meeting, about the shocking news everyone knew was coming one day, but did it have to be today? Then how life went on. Life is a funny thing. When something big happens, good or bad, life continues to go on. The Winter of 1987-88 was just another winter. From the way the words were said I remember feeling my Dad's cancer was beyond cureable, but my mom who did the talking didn't come out and say that, so it wasn't true. She said it had spread, but he was going for Chemo.I don't remember when the first helper started with my Dad or who it was. Maybe it was Bob Schrader, a guy who became a friend during the eighties and early 90's until he and his girlfriend Keri moved to North Carolina. I find it interesting my Dad in his time of need would hire an alcoholic. Maybe it was just the type of job offered that bought in that level of person. Bob was not a bad guy, he could be very charming and nice. He was just an alcoholic. I remember my Dad saying he never caught Bob drinking on the job, but he could smell it. Years later another Alcoholic I knew, Gina, would tell me that when you drink so much alcohol your body reeks of it even though you shower every day and Bob reeked.
Around 1987 or so I'd bought a boat. I was in my late twenties, I worked for my Dad and I'd opened a video store recently. A Customer, Jim Derivan, who became a friend, along with another customer, Fred Roland, who also became a friend, would get me interested again in fishing.
When I was a kid, my Dad occasionally would take us fishing. I only remember the time I fell in the lake going fishing with him. Plus being a kid in pre-tight ass Rockland, kids did things like go fishing. We'd fish the Hackensack River down off Louise Drive. Head straight down Klein Avenue into the development toward the Thruway. At the bottom of Klein you'd make a right toward the river, that is where we fished. I don't know if you can even get there now. Last time I went down there in the 1990's I went through some tall grass and picked a small handful of ticks off me later that afternoon. Back then there wasn't a tick problem and there was a well worn path to the river. That was one place you got into mischief back then.
My Dad never talked much about his childhood. I never asked him either. Well that's not entirely true. After he was diagnosed with cancer and he was in bed near the end of his life, I asked to interview him and He agreed. I set myself up in the doorway to his bedroom, I had a video camera going and I start asking my questions. I start at the beginning, asking him where he was born and who were his friends growing up. About this point He says he is tired and could we do this at another time, it never happened, he died a few weeks later. I had waited too long. By even starting the interview, I had to admit to myself that he was going to die soon.
My Dad died on a Saturday night. I've told the story before in other blog posts, so I'll repost it here.
Near the end the Cancer had spread from his lungs to his brain and everyone knew it was the end.
He spent most of his time in bed until one Saturday he got up and went to his chair. He sat in it all Saturday and Sunday.
Everyone who was local came by to talk to him. That Monday he was back in bed. During those two days I thought he had rallied and might be OK for a while. Watching Someone die is never easy and you always think it is not going to happen today, but eventually the day does come. On Monday morning my Dad stayed in bed and didn't get out. I started interviewing him about his life, but I'd waited too long, After about ten minutes he asked if we could do this some other time. A Time that would never come. He lasted through to Saturday. That night, I needed to get out, so I went down to the Deer Head Inn on Western Highway. A Couple of Beers into the evening the bartender calls me and he says I have a phone call. It's my Mom and she says very simply she thinks my Dad has died. I remember going home and standing in the living room, off to the side as Lou Lafasciano, a lifelong neighbor and another man come into the house.They move anything that would stop them from getting my Dad's body out. Lou Lafasciano asks anyone in the house at that time to leave. I feel a hot flash of anger, the first of many over the next few years and I mumble to myself there is no way he is getting me out of my house. I needed to see this. All these years later all I remember is how wide open the living room was and that I was asked to leave. I know I saw my Dad's body leave, I think they used a gurney and his body was covered. But I still needed to be there.
He spent most of his time in bed until one Saturday he got up and went to his chair. He sat in it all Saturday and Sunday.
A Few Days later We went to Joe Sorce's funeral home, down the street and into his basement to a dug out area to look at caskets. He guides us to a mid-range priced casket, thank you. The Funeral was a few days after that. Before the wake started I bought in my video camera and took a quick video. I panned past the flowers and him, it took all of a minute. I didn't want people to see me doing it. I thought people in the past did it, why shouldn't I. That Video and the interview video, I think I have lost.
My Dad was born in 1922, September. I have a feeling that his parents really didn't want to be with each other, or maybe the drinking my grandfather was doing makes it seem that way through the haze and very limited stories I've heard about them. I only have one about my grandmother. really two I guess if you consider the one about her death to be true. Are any of them true?
The first Story about my grandmother Theresa, called Tessie by her family was told to me by my Aunt Doris. I was talking to her over the phone one night. I called her to ask about her life growing up in West Nyack and about her brothers, and specifically my Father. The one story I got after her saying she didn't remember much was during the depression her brother, Kenny and her accompanied their mother to the Hackensack River over behind Benson Ave so she could wash some clothes. Kenny is swimming, diving into the water when it is time to go. Kenny says just one more time and jumps in cutting his foot on something at the bottom of the river.
The Story about Tessie's death if true is really a sad one. This one comes from my cousin, Harriet. It was the depression and they were living up in a camp house next to Joe's brother Willie, having lost the house on Klein. The Story goes that Tessie is pregnant and has a miscarriage. She starts to bleed and Joe, I guess drunk (yes I'm trying to understand this story too and give a little context) says the only way someone is going to the hospital is if they are dead.
Harriett knew our grandfather. She tells a story about him living in Nyack in a second floor Apartment, leaning out the window and telling Harriett to catch, then spitting tobacco juice at her from his chaw. So Harriet has little love for this troubled man. A Man, who after giving up drinking seems to be trying to make up for the past with his new girlfriend's grandchildren. At least in the home movies I've seen that is what it looks like.
Another Story about my grandfather comes from my Aunt Elsie, who was around from at least the early forties. Her Version is Ken confronted his father about his drinking and said he has to stop or he'd be committed. Another Version is it was my Dad and Uncle Ken who confront him.
I found a notice in The Journal News, a paid notice by my grandfather,declaring any debts public or private owed by his wife Lottie, he was no longer responsible for. This was how people started to get a divorce in the fifties, I guess things between them had gotten pretty bad too. They did get back together. Either way he stopped drinking in the early fifties.
Sometime around 1957, it was discovered he had cancer. I was told by my mother he started drinking again. He went to a hospital in Massachusetts for treatment where he died. My Mom knew him from about 1952 until his death in 1958. She always said he was a gentleman to her. Both Joe and his brother Willie were alway very nice to her. I was named after him, Joseph and my other grandfather, Milton, both big drinkers.
I don't know what my Dad's first jobs were. I only know he got a job at Krug Baking company in New Jersey. He was in a relationship with a girl around this time, whom I heard he wanted to marry and I get the impression she broke his heart. Until my Mother came along Uncle Ken and Aunt Elsie thought he was always going to be a bachelor.
My Dad was drafted in 1942. I have all the information about his career in the Army. I have his draft notice, where he was to report and the different camps he was in before he went over to Europe.
He reported to the draft board in New York City on 16 Nov 1942. He did basic training in Arkansas at Camp Rucker. He spent some time at Camp Crowther in North Dakota at a radio tech school and he also spent some time in Florida. He shipped out for England, as part of the Black Panthers 66th Division, 262nd Unit in the fall of 1944. He is in Dorchester, England for about a month. On Christmas day 1944 he boards one of two ships crossing the English Channel to Cherbourg France. Upon arrival it is learned the other ship, The Leopoldville was torpedoed and sunk, 748 lives are lost. The Black Panthers are sent to St. Nazaire, France area to relieve the soldiers trapping a German Army there. Sometime during the siege of St. Nazaire they capture a german soldier.
In one of the few brief stories about the war my dad told me he said they never turned him in. I have a picture of a german soldier and
some German Army insignias I think are from him. After St. Nazaire is liberated and the war in Europe is won, my dad goes to the south of France to help set up a camp preparing
soldiers to be transferred to the Pacific. Winning the war in Europe and being transferred to the Pacific always seemed cruel to me. After the war in the Pacific is won the Black Panthers are demobilized. Soldiers with enough points for service are sent home. My dad a low pointer is transferred to the Rainbow division and does guard duty in Austria. He guards the famous Lipizzaner Stallions possibly in Wimsbach Austria. Around this time he thinks about visiting relatives in Germany. He then decides it is not really the best time. I wish he'd gone. Maybe they would not have been angry, maybe they would of been pleased to see their American relative. I have a picture of my dad I think was taken in Rome. I guess he did do a little sightseeing while over in Europe. He just never talked about it.
Uncle Willie supposedly kept in touch with the relatives back in Germany until Hitler asked all Germans with relatives in America to write to them to send them money. This supposedly happened in the thirties. Uncle Willie cuts them off. Uncle Willie dies in the fifties and no one know where the relatives lived now. No one was interested back then.
My Dad is in the Army until 1947 when he is shipped back to America and he goes to Fort Dix in New Jersey. He separates from the Army and goes back to his job at Krug Baking Company.
While making a deliver in Sparkill New York sometime around 1950 he meets a tall dark haired women of about 18, my mom Cornelia. I have bben told on their first date, her cousin, Wally goes along. .
/
My Dad was born in 1922, September. I have a feeling that his parents really didn't want to be with each other, or maybe the drinking my grandfather was doing makes it seem that way through the haze and very limited stories I've heard about them. I only have one about my grandmother. really two I guess if you consider the one about her death to be true. Are any of them true?
The first Story about my grandmother Theresa, called Tessie by her family was told to me by my Aunt Doris. I was talking to her over the phone one night. I called her to ask about her life growing up in West Nyack and about her brothers, and specifically my Father. The one story I got after her saying she didn't remember much was during the depression her brother, Kenny and her accompanied their mother to the Hackensack River over behind Benson Ave so she could wash some clothes. Kenny is swimming, diving into the water when it is time to go. Kenny says just one more time and jumps in cutting his foot on something at the bottom of the river.
The Story about Tessie's death if true is really a sad one. This one comes from my cousin, Harriet. It was the depression and they were living up in a camp house next to Joe's brother Willie, having lost the house on Klein. The Story goes that Tessie is pregnant and has a miscarriage. She starts to bleed and Joe, I guess drunk (yes I'm trying to understand this story too and give a little context) says the only way someone is going to the hospital is if they are dead.
Harriett knew our grandfather. She tells a story about him living in Nyack in a second floor Apartment, leaning out the window and telling Harriett to catch, then spitting tobacco juice at her from his chaw. So Harriet has little love for this troubled man. A Man, who after giving up drinking seems to be trying to make up for the past with his new girlfriend's grandchildren. At least in the home movies I've seen that is what it looks like.
Another Story about my grandfather comes from my Aunt Elsie, who was around from at least the early forties. Her Version is Ken confronted his father about his drinking and said he has to stop or he'd be committed. Another Version is it was my Dad and Uncle Ken who confront him.
I found a notice in The Journal News, a paid notice by my grandfather,declaring any debts public or private owed by his wife Lottie, he was no longer responsible for. This was how people started to get a divorce in the fifties, I guess things between them had gotten pretty bad too. They did get back together. Either way he stopped drinking in the early fifties.
Sometime around 1957, it was discovered he had cancer. I was told by my mother he started drinking again. He went to a hospital in Massachusetts for treatment where he died. My Mom knew him from about 1952 until his death in 1958. She always said he was a gentleman to her. Both Joe and his brother Willie were alway very nice to her. I was named after him, Joseph and my other grandfather, Milton, both big drinkers. I don't know what my Dad's first jobs were. I only know he got a job at Krug Baking company in New Jersey. He was in a relationship with a girl around this time, whom I heard he wanted to marry and I get the impression she broke his heart. Until my Mother came along Uncle Ken and Aunt Elsie thought he was always going to be a bachelor.
My Dad was drafted in 1942. I have all the information about his career in the Army. I have his draft notice, where he was to report and the different camps he was in before he went over to Europe.
He reported to the draft board in New York City on 16 Nov 1942. He did basic training in Arkansas at Camp Rucker. He spent some time at Camp Crowther in North Dakota at a radio tech school and he also spent some time in Florida. He shipped out for England, as part of the Black Panthers 66th Division, 262nd Unit in the fall of 1944. He is in Dorchester, England for about a month. On Christmas day 1944 he boards one of two ships crossing the English Channel to Cherbourg France. Upon arrival it is learned the other ship, The Leopoldville was torpedoed and sunk, 748 lives are lost. The Black Panthers are sent to St. Nazaire, France area to relieve the soldiers trapping a German Army there. Sometime during the siege of St. Nazaire they capture a german soldier.
In one of the few brief stories about the war my dad told me he said they never turned him in. I have a picture of a german soldier and
My Dad is in the Army until 1947 when he is shipped back to America and he goes to Fort Dix in New Jersey. He separates from the Army and goes back to his job at Krug Baking Company.
While making a deliver in Sparkill New York sometime around 1950 he meets a tall dark haired women of about 18, my mom Cornelia. I have bben told on their first date, her cousin, Wally goes along. .
/
Wednesday, December 12, 2018
Christmas over the years- boy will this take some time.
Christmas over the years- boy will this take some time.
If You think the milk business entry was long, talking about Christmas over the last 60 years will take some time too.
I started this entry as a blog in 'New Life'. After it went on for several feet I thought it more appropriate to edit it for there and do the long version here, so you might feel you've heard some of this before, but it won't be the first time I've repeated myself.
Christmas in the 60's was a magical time. When I was a kid the sure sign Christmas was close was when the Sears Catalog came in the mail. The two, three, eventually four of us would take the catalog and either fold down pages where we wanted something or show it to our mother at a time usually she was busy cooking dinner or something like that.
In the Catalog there was always a ham radio set up. It was always one of the most expensive gifts in the catalog. Every Year I would always tell my mother I wanted it and she would always say it was too expensive. Looking back on it, what the hell was I thinking I was going to do with it. The Ad made it look so cool, but how much fun would it have been on Christmas day to use?
The next Sign Christmas was coming was a pine tree appearing in our backyard. I guess my Dad would pick one out from a place he passed on his route, or maybe, more likely he knew someone and they sold/gave it to him. The Tree would seem to sit outside for ever. Some Years it would snow and how were we going to bring the tree in all covered with snow and would all that snow ruin the tree? Finally my Mother would start to move around the furniture, a sure sign Christmas was coming. The tree is up, now the trip to the attic to bring the ornaments down.
When I was young, a trip to the Attic was like going to a whole different world. It was strange, different and not easy to get to. To start the Trip, the cellar door is opened. Four Steps down to a small landing, where the back door was at one time, then half a dozen stairs further down into the darkness where all the monsters of your childhood resided was the dark cellar. Back at the top of the stairs on the Right wall leaning against the upper landing and the top step was the ladder. Two thin pieces of wood with slats cut in them for steps. The Ladder leaned quietly in it place, a veteran of many trips between the top cellar step and the upper landing to the attic. When the Ladder is put in place, I swear it will fall between it's two points and tumble down into the black hole of the cellar, the Creatures of the cellar would chuckle at your misfortune, looking forward to scaring you in their darkness.
My Mother puts the Ladder of death, it's top angled to fit comfortably against the edge of the upper landing, A wave of amazement flows over me that it is not too short. Mom climbs up the ladder first, saying something about only one person on the ladder at a time. What does She know that she is not telling me. Her Voice is muffled and distant, blood is flowing fast and thick in my ears. A steady thumb of my heart is all I hear as I take a test step onto the bottom rung. In the distance my Older Brother says something about a chicken, I don't understand. The Ladder wobbles a little left and right. It knows it has a five year old virgin in it grasp. I look down at the suddenly distant steps to the cellar.The Shelves against the wall on the left starting at the lower landing disappear into the darkness of the cellar. Full Shelves filled with can goods tended by survivors of the great depression fill my vision. Halfway to the upper landing with the kitchen floor too far away to touch and the upper landing still out of reach the Ladder of Death smiles at me. It shakes back and forth, a distant voice is talking about a chicken again and he sounds impatient. The Ladder gives a heavy shake, I brace for the fall into the darkness of the Cellar and the creatures living there. My older brother has gotten on the ladder and wants me to move quicker. I hear screaming, it must be my mother screaming, the ladder of death is giving away she is going to lose both of her children. I hear the words, 'Get off the ladder, it's going to fall. It gets louder and suddenly I realize I am screaming like a girl at my brother. He attempts to push past me, but the horror of my brother going first is worse then the ladder falling. I scramble up the ladder onto the upper landing. Being up there feels no safer then the ladder. The Upper Landing is crowded with stuff that didn't quite make it up into the attic. It gets more crowded when my brother get up there. The next part of my journey is scary and a little tricky. There is a small homemade ladder on the wall to the right, which I am to climb, it's short, but once I am up about two feet, I must turn to the right and head above were the ladder is. So if I slip from the short ladder and miss the upper landing I would assuredly hit the ladder, breaking it and tumble down into the dark of the cellar and the creatures in the dark. I hesitate and my brother pushes in front and climbs up saying something about a baby could do this. I slowly stand on the first rung of the ladders three steps. I can look down into the wall cavity and I briefly wonder if someone could fall down there and get stuck. I reach for a hand hold and realize the only thing I have to grab to steady myself is the floor. I bend at the waist plastering myself to the floor, my legs stumbling for the second rung. When I find it I claw at the fibers of an old rung and haul myself over the edge. I'm not William Parry arctic explorer, but I've reached the summit and it's an amazing place. A World unknown to me. The chilly Air mixes with the smell of Old Books and Toys put into storage and forgotten about. My Mission is to retrieve Christmas ornaments. A medium sized box is shoved into my hands. It says Tree ornament 1962. It's crossed out and Village 1964 is written below it. I examine the box, it is familiar. It is the box the Christmas Turkey comes in my Dad's job gives away each year. There are several old Turkey boxes filled with ornaments for the tree. The Boxes are piled in front of our exit, yes it is time to retrace your journey. Do You remember climbing somewhere and when it was time to go back down you can't remember how you got up there making it impossible to get down? My older Brother jumps off onto the landing. I imagine the words, "Geronimo" come out of his mouth. He lands with a thud on the upper landing. My Mother goes next telling my brother and I to hand the boxes down to her. She climbs down the ladder it shakes, but does not fall. I gently make my way down onto the landing being careful to place each foot securely onto the next step. I look for places to grab onto . Several years from now a carpenter will put some wood near where I'm going down that make excellent hand holds, but now all I can do is hold onto the floor and hope for the best. The upper landing has never seemed so far away. I blindly stretch out a foot, further and further. The Landing seems to move further and further away. A Toe comes into contact with the wood. tension and fear are replaced by relief. I will not fall today and die.
In all the years I went up and down the ladder no one ever fell.
The Christmas tree needs to have a fresh cut to help it take in water during it's two or so weeks it will be up. A fight between my brother and I over who will get to cut the tree was a tradition almost as much as going up stairs to get the decorations. My Brother, being the oldest usually got to cut the stump. In later years it would be mine to do until it was passed to my younger.
Inpatients was as much a part of the holiday as gift giving. After the tree was in its stand, my Mother had to make sure it was straight and all the L bolts in the stand were turned as tight as possible. Then a rope or string, whatever was found was used to tie the tree to a nail that had been put in the wall specially for the purpose. A step back was taken to admire the job, the smell of pine filling the air. Was the Tree tilting any, did it look safe. Had to make sure if the cat jumped into the tree it wouldn't tip over.
It always seemed easier to set up and decorate the tree. Opening Boxes of ornaments, finding the exact right spot for each, with the joy of Christmas still in the distance, but growing closer. Boxes with Young Tom Turkey embossed on the side, gifts for the Thanksgiving tables of the past from my father's employer filled with all the trimmings of Christmas would be gathered from the attic and piled in front of the tree. A box filled with the village. Houses, a church and light that would light up the houses memories from my mother's childhood. A box with the nativity. Camels, one with a broken leg, wisemen, shepards, Jesus Mary and Joseph. I always wondered what Joseph felt about all of this, his wife giving birth to the son of God. Did he ever wish God had picked someone else?
In the boxes of ornaments were all the traditional ones we'd had for years. Ones my mother had made, a few my dad had brought and some real old ones my mom said were my fathers from when he was young. It's funny in the 60's we bought some cheap ornaments to put low on the tree so that if the dogs hit them and broke them it would be OK. Now fifty odd years later they are some of the ornaments I treasure the most.
I've told this story before, but it belongs here too. Back when I moved out of my parents house my mother gave me one of my father's ornaments his family would ut on their tree. I don't know anything about them except they are old. I don't even know if they went on his tree or if they were from Uncle Willie's tree. All I know is they were considered old when I was a kid and when my mom gave me one back in the nineties I vowed to keep it safe for ever. Ever year I would put it up on my tree and when I got married I'd put it up on my wife's and my tree. Then we adopted the girls and I put it proudly on our family tree. Now what happened in about 2015-16 was going to happen one day and Nastia there is never a time I blamed you for what happened. It could have happened to anyone including me. In fact one year it did, but the ornament hung on long enough for me to grab it.
I think it was 2015, might be another year. We were decorating the tree. Nastia picks up an ornament that is near my dad's. The hook of one of them catches on the other. Like I said it happened to me. This time as the hooked ornaments come up, they seperate and my dad's ornament flies off and hits the hardwood floor shattering into a million pieces. I look at it disbelieving it has shattered so completely. I knew right away what has happened and that it was no ones fault. Nastia is real sorry and apologises to me. I know it is a mistake and I'm not mad, but yes I am sad. It was something I wanted to keep forever, but my daughters are more important than that ornament.
In the 60's there were two types of bulbs that were used during Christmas. The Large bulbs, about half the size of a banana were the outside only bulbs. The smaller ones about the size of the size of a good sized grape were for the tree. The Colors were the basic, green, red and blue. Sometime in the early 60's bubble lights were added to the lights on the tree. I could look at a decorated tree, watch the lights blink softy on and off. The Bubble Lights in red, blue, green and yellow bubbling away. Occasionally You'd go over and straighten a Bubble Light that had tilted and wasn't bubbling. They like pinwheel cookies became symbols and to this day invoking warm memories of early Christmases. I remember sitting on the old Couch in the old living room with my mother watching the newly finished tree. It was a magical time.
I went to West Nyack Elementary school. Every year the school put on a Christmas play. In it all the kids would sing songs. I always hated it. I didn't like getting up in front of groups of people and having their attention on me. But each year just like Christmas, there was the Christmas play. We also did a Christmas event in Church each year. It was more religious. The play was in the evening near the last day before we had our break. The break was from a few days before Christmas until the Monday after New Years. It was freedom from getting up too early and it meant Christmas was ever so close.
One year, I must have been four or five my Dad takes me and Karl to go Christmas shopping. We go to John's Bargain Store in Central Nyack. It was located just past Waldron Avenue on the right in the set back strip mall. You enter and the store was filled with wooden bins of toys. I'm sure there were other things there, but I was a kid and all I was interested in were toys. The three of us went one night and my Dad helped us pick out gifts. I don't remember much except realizing to our horror that Karl and I had given my mother the same gift, a night gown. How could our father let us do that. I don't remember ever trying to do something about it. And of course it was one night gown and it was from both of us.
Christmas eve filled with so much anticipation
Setting up the Christmas Tree has become a chore. Way back in the before time (When is that?, Well I guess that was when it was fun to put up the Christmas Tree) it was fun to put up the tree.
Since I have known Teri, she has had something against putting up Christmas Trees. The first year We were together, my Mom gave her a small tree put put up in her apartment. It was a foot or so tall, fake and of little bother. She at first didn't want to take it. She thought since she was not celebrating Christmas their it was not necessary to have any Christmas decorations. She took the tree and put it up in her cramped little Apartment.
I'd been out of my mother's house for a few years before I met Teri and I'd had a Christmas Tree every year and begun collecting Hallmark ornaments for the tree. More about that later. The Trees had always been real and full sized. My Mother gave me some ornaments for the family collection to start me off. I chose several of the ornaments that I had memories of putting up on the tree. A bird with faded paint, some thin glass ornaments that when they were bought were felt best put on the bottom of the tree so if the animals knocked them off and broke them who cares. They now held a place of value in my heart. The most important one was an ornament so old the writing was barely legible. It was silver and one of m,y Dad's. I wrote in another blog, in an other life about how I imagined it came to the family and then how It was given to me by my mother and several years ago broken purely by mistake. One of those events, that no matter how you spin it could of happened to you, it just happened to someone else.
Teri's and my First Christmas together she suggested we not have a tree. "Why have one when We are not going to be here" She said. A Valid point, but I wanted one and I needed one. It wouldn't be festive without one. So We got one. It was a real tree and Teri didn't like the mess of it. Needles falling off it every day, watering it every day and the fire hazard. We came to a compromise, fake one year, real the next. We did it for a few years until one year I thought, "Man real trees are a pain. let's go fake." so We did.
The Fake Tree we used for years required you to put up a three piece center pole, then take a lower branch, smooth out the needles and limbs, then put it in the correct slot. Each Branch took several minutes to straighten after it had spent eleven months in a bag.
A new Tree was purchased two years ago. It has two separate strings of lights already hung on it and all you have to do is set up the three pieces of the tree, the branches are pre-hung along with the lights. Of course, you still have to smooth out the needles and branches.
This piece was not supposed to be the length of 'War and Peace' so I am sorry I have rambled.
On the night We,Teri decided to set up the tree, a discussion between Teri and I erupted, yes discussions can erupt. It centered on the thought from Teri that the Tree had to be put up on this night.(December 9) before it got too late.
In fairness We have done a bad job of getting decorations up in a timely manner. We scoff at the people who put them up just after Halloween, We laugh at the amateurs who insist just before Thanksgiving is acceptable. "Fools!!" We decry, "How can You have the Christmas spirit when we have not even celebrated the day of giving thanks declared by Abe Lincoln, himself after the Civil War!" "Cynics, money lenders, Store Owners you all...." I guess I've gone off topic again, sorry.
After all that decrying, suddenly it's the week before Christmas and We are the only Christian house without lights. Even the Jew have their Hanukkah lights up. So in our hast We put up some lights on the house, never the way it was planned, try to stick stakes in the frozen ground to hold down the light up deer (really feel Christmasey doing that) and finally the tree gets up. After it is all up and We sit back, we wonder why we waited and didn't do it sooner. Ah, life is funny.
Well, Teri wants to put up the tree on December 9th, Sunday. It had not been a day of rest for me. I started cookie baking because just like the Christmas tree, cookies never seem to get baked like they did back when I was a kid and my mom would set aside a day to do it with us. I started out with my Christmas cookie, the pinwheel cookie. I don't know how or why I associate this non denominational cookie with Christmas except it was baked around Christmas one year and I guess I loved it and decided I needed to have it again when I thought about cookies for Christmas the next year. After that I made Russian nut balls. The Name get Nastia's attention until she hears nuts are in them. Crazy Kids, one day she will grow up and realize life is incomplete without some nut, relatives or from a tree, it doesn't matter. I thought I was making Teri's favorite Christmas cookie, it was not her's it was her sister's, opps. And finally I made Raspberry chocolate bars, but I put all of the raspberry jam into Nastia's cheesecake that I had, so I used Blackberry Jam. It was almost as good.
So I guess after all of that I was tired. Plus We went to see a real good movie called......
If You think the milk business entry was long, talking about Christmas over the last 60 years will take some time too.
I started this entry as a blog in 'New Life'. After it went on for several feet I thought it more appropriate to edit it for there and do the long version here, so you might feel you've heard some of this before, but it won't be the first time I've repeated myself.
Christmas in the 60's was a magical time. When I was a kid the sure sign Christmas was close was when the Sears Catalog came in the mail. The two, three, eventually four of us would take the catalog and either fold down pages where we wanted something or show it to our mother at a time usually she was busy cooking dinner or something like that.In the Catalog there was always a ham radio set up. It was always one of the most expensive gifts in the catalog. Every Year I would always tell my mother I wanted it and she would always say it was too expensive. Looking back on it, what the hell was I thinking I was going to do with it. The Ad made it look so cool, but how much fun would it have been on Christmas day to use?
The next Sign Christmas was coming was a pine tree appearing in our backyard. I guess my Dad would pick one out from a place he passed on his route, or maybe, more likely he knew someone and they sold/gave it to him. The Tree would seem to sit outside for ever. Some Years it would snow and how were we going to bring the tree in all covered with snow and would all that snow ruin the tree? Finally my Mother would start to move around the furniture, a sure sign Christmas was coming. The tree is up, now the trip to the attic to bring the ornaments down.
When I was young, a trip to the Attic was like going to a whole different world. It was strange, different and not easy to get to. To start the Trip, the cellar door is opened. Four Steps down to a small landing, where the back door was at one time, then half a dozen stairs further down into the darkness where all the monsters of your childhood resided was the dark cellar. Back at the top of the stairs on the Right wall leaning against the upper landing and the top step was the ladder. Two thin pieces of wood with slats cut in them for steps. The Ladder leaned quietly in it place, a veteran of many trips between the top cellar step and the upper landing to the attic. When the Ladder is put in place, I swear it will fall between it's two points and tumble down into the black hole of the cellar, the Creatures of the cellar would chuckle at your misfortune, looking forward to scaring you in their darkness.
My Mother puts the Ladder of death, it's top angled to fit comfortably against the edge of the upper landing, A wave of amazement flows over me that it is not too short. Mom climbs up the ladder first, saying something about only one person on the ladder at a time. What does She know that she is not telling me. Her Voice is muffled and distant, blood is flowing fast and thick in my ears. A steady thumb of my heart is all I hear as I take a test step onto the bottom rung. In the distance my Older Brother says something about a chicken, I don't understand. The Ladder wobbles a little left and right. It knows it has a five year old virgin in it grasp. I look down at the suddenly distant steps to the cellar.The Shelves against the wall on the left starting at the lower landing disappear into the darkness of the cellar. Full Shelves filled with can goods tended by survivors of the great depression fill my vision. Halfway to the upper landing with the kitchen floor too far away to touch and the upper landing still out of reach the Ladder of Death smiles at me. It shakes back and forth, a distant voice is talking about a chicken again and he sounds impatient. The Ladder gives a heavy shake, I brace for the fall into the darkness of the Cellar and the creatures living there. My older brother has gotten on the ladder and wants me to move quicker. I hear screaming, it must be my mother screaming, the ladder of death is giving away she is going to lose both of her children. I hear the words, 'Get off the ladder, it's going to fall. It gets louder and suddenly I realize I am screaming like a girl at my brother. He attempts to push past me, but the horror of my brother going first is worse then the ladder falling. I scramble up the ladder onto the upper landing. Being up there feels no safer then the ladder. The Upper Landing is crowded with stuff that didn't quite make it up into the attic. It gets more crowded when my brother get up there. The next part of my journey is scary and a little tricky. There is a small homemade ladder on the wall to the right, which I am to climb, it's short, but once I am up about two feet, I must turn to the right and head above were the ladder is. So if I slip from the short ladder and miss the upper landing I would assuredly hit the ladder, breaking it and tumble down into the dark of the cellar and the creatures in the dark. I hesitate and my brother pushes in front and climbs up saying something about a baby could do this. I slowly stand on the first rung of the ladders three steps. I can look down into the wall cavity and I briefly wonder if someone could fall down there and get stuck. I reach for a hand hold and realize the only thing I have to grab to steady myself is the floor. I bend at the waist plastering myself to the floor, my legs stumbling for the second rung. When I find it I claw at the fibers of an old rung and haul myself over the edge. I'm not William Parry arctic explorer, but I've reached the summit and it's an amazing place. A World unknown to me. The chilly Air mixes with the smell of Old Books and Toys put into storage and forgotten about. My Mission is to retrieve Christmas ornaments. A medium sized box is shoved into my hands. It says Tree ornament 1962. It's crossed out and Village 1964 is written below it. I examine the box, it is familiar. It is the box the Christmas Turkey comes in my Dad's job gives away each year. There are several old Turkey boxes filled with ornaments for the tree. The Boxes are piled in front of our exit, yes it is time to retrace your journey. Do You remember climbing somewhere and when it was time to go back down you can't remember how you got up there making it impossible to get down? My older Brother jumps off onto the landing. I imagine the words, "Geronimo" come out of his mouth. He lands with a thud on the upper landing. My Mother goes next telling my brother and I to hand the boxes down to her. She climbs down the ladder it shakes, but does not fall. I gently make my way down onto the landing being careful to place each foot securely onto the next step. I look for places to grab onto . Several years from now a carpenter will put some wood near where I'm going down that make excellent hand holds, but now all I can do is hold onto the floor and hope for the best. The upper landing has never seemed so far away. I blindly stretch out a foot, further and further. The Landing seems to move further and further away. A Toe comes into contact with the wood. tension and fear are replaced by relief. I will not fall today and die.
In all the years I went up and down the ladder no one ever fell.
The Christmas tree needs to have a fresh cut to help it take in water during it's two or so weeks it will be up. A fight between my brother and I over who will get to cut the tree was a tradition almost as much as going up stairs to get the decorations. My Brother, being the oldest usually got to cut the stump. In later years it would be mine to do until it was passed to my younger.
Inpatients was as much a part of the holiday as gift giving. After the tree was in its stand, my Mother had to make sure it was straight and all the L bolts in the stand were turned as tight as possible. Then a rope or string, whatever was found was used to tie the tree to a nail that had been put in the wall specially for the purpose. A step back was taken to admire the job, the smell of pine filling the air. Was the Tree tilting any, did it look safe. Had to make sure if the cat jumped into the tree it wouldn't tip over.
It always seemed easier to set up and decorate the tree. Opening Boxes of ornaments, finding the exact right spot for each, with the joy of Christmas still in the distance, but growing closer. Boxes with Young Tom Turkey embossed on the side, gifts for the Thanksgiving tables of the past from my father's employer filled with all the trimmings of Christmas would be gathered from the attic and piled in front of the tree. A box filled with the village. Houses, a church and light that would light up the houses memories from my mother's childhood. A box with the nativity. Camels, one with a broken leg, wisemen, shepards, Jesus Mary and Joseph. I always wondered what Joseph felt about all of this, his wife giving birth to the son of God. Did he ever wish God had picked someone else?
In the boxes of ornaments were all the traditional ones we'd had for years. Ones my mother had made, a few my dad had brought and some real old ones my mom said were my fathers from when he was young. It's funny in the 60's we bought some cheap ornaments to put low on the tree so that if the dogs hit them and broke them it would be OK. Now fifty odd years later they are some of the ornaments I treasure the most.
I've told this story before, but it belongs here too. Back when I moved out of my parents house my mother gave me one of my father's ornaments his family would ut on their tree. I don't know anything about them except they are old. I don't even know if they went on his tree or if they were from Uncle Willie's tree. All I know is they were considered old when I was a kid and when my mom gave me one back in the nineties I vowed to keep it safe for ever. Ever year I would put it up on my tree and when I got married I'd put it up on my wife's and my tree. Then we adopted the girls and I put it proudly on our family tree. Now what happened in about 2015-16 was going to happen one day and Nastia there is never a time I blamed you for what happened. It could have happened to anyone including me. In fact one year it did, but the ornament hung on long enough for me to grab it.
I think it was 2015, might be another year. We were decorating the tree. Nastia picks up an ornament that is near my dad's. The hook of one of them catches on the other. Like I said it happened to me. This time as the hooked ornaments come up, they seperate and my dad's ornament flies off and hits the hardwood floor shattering into a million pieces. I look at it disbelieving it has shattered so completely. I knew right away what has happened and that it was no ones fault. Nastia is real sorry and apologises to me. I know it is a mistake and I'm not mad, but yes I am sad. It was something I wanted to keep forever, but my daughters are more important than that ornament.
In the 60's there were two types of bulbs that were used during Christmas. The Large bulbs, about half the size of a banana were the outside only bulbs. The smaller ones about the size of the size of a good sized grape were for the tree. The Colors were the basic, green, red and blue. Sometime in the early 60's bubble lights were added to the lights on the tree. I could look at a decorated tree, watch the lights blink softy on and off. The Bubble Lights in red, blue, green and yellow bubbling away. Occasionally You'd go over and straighten a Bubble Light that had tilted and wasn't bubbling. They like pinwheel cookies became symbols and to this day invoking warm memories of early Christmases. I remember sitting on the old Couch in the old living room with my mother watching the newly finished tree. It was a magical time.
I went to West Nyack Elementary school. Every year the school put on a Christmas play. In it all the kids would sing songs. I always hated it. I didn't like getting up in front of groups of people and having their attention on me. But each year just like Christmas, there was the Christmas play. We also did a Christmas event in Church each year. It was more religious. The play was in the evening near the last day before we had our break. The break was from a few days before Christmas until the Monday after New Years. It was freedom from getting up too early and it meant Christmas was ever so close.
One year, I must have been four or five my Dad takes me and Karl to go Christmas shopping. We go to John's Bargain Store in Central Nyack. It was located just past Waldron Avenue on the right in the set back strip mall. You enter and the store was filled with wooden bins of toys. I'm sure there were other things there, but I was a kid and all I was interested in were toys. The three of us went one night and my Dad helped us pick out gifts. I don't remember much except realizing to our horror that Karl and I had given my mother the same gift, a night gown. How could our father let us do that. I don't remember ever trying to do something about it. And of course it was one night gown and it was from both of us.
Christmas eve filled with so much anticipation
Setting up the Christmas Tree has become a chore. Way back in the before time (When is that?, Well I guess that was when it was fun to put up the Christmas Tree) it was fun to put up the tree.
Since I have known Teri, she has had something against putting up Christmas Trees. The first year We were together, my Mom gave her a small tree put put up in her apartment. It was a foot or so tall, fake and of little bother. She at first didn't want to take it. She thought since she was not celebrating Christmas their it was not necessary to have any Christmas decorations. She took the tree and put it up in her cramped little Apartment.
I'd been out of my mother's house for a few years before I met Teri and I'd had a Christmas Tree every year and begun collecting Hallmark ornaments for the tree. More about that later. The Trees had always been real and full sized. My Mother gave me some ornaments for the family collection to start me off. I chose several of the ornaments that I had memories of putting up on the tree. A bird with faded paint, some thin glass ornaments that when they were bought were felt best put on the bottom of the tree so if the animals knocked them off and broke them who cares. They now held a place of value in my heart. The most important one was an ornament so old the writing was barely legible. It was silver and one of m,y Dad's. I wrote in another blog, in an other life about how I imagined it came to the family and then how It was given to me by my mother and several years ago broken purely by mistake. One of those events, that no matter how you spin it could of happened to you, it just happened to someone else.
Teri's and my First Christmas together she suggested we not have a tree. "Why have one when We are not going to be here" She said. A Valid point, but I wanted one and I needed one. It wouldn't be festive without one. So We got one. It was a real tree and Teri didn't like the mess of it. Needles falling off it every day, watering it every day and the fire hazard. We came to a compromise, fake one year, real the next. We did it for a few years until one year I thought, "Man real trees are a pain. let's go fake." so We did.
The Fake Tree we used for years required you to put up a three piece center pole, then take a lower branch, smooth out the needles and limbs, then put it in the correct slot. Each Branch took several minutes to straighten after it had spent eleven months in a bag.
A new Tree was purchased two years ago. It has two separate strings of lights already hung on it and all you have to do is set up the three pieces of the tree, the branches are pre-hung along with the lights. Of course, you still have to smooth out the needles and branches.
This piece was not supposed to be the length of 'War and Peace' so I am sorry I have rambled.
On the night We,Teri decided to set up the tree, a discussion between Teri and I erupted, yes discussions can erupt. It centered on the thought from Teri that the Tree had to be put up on this night.(December 9) before it got too late.
In fairness We have done a bad job of getting decorations up in a timely manner. We scoff at the people who put them up just after Halloween, We laugh at the amateurs who insist just before Thanksgiving is acceptable. "Fools!!" We decry, "How can You have the Christmas spirit when we have not even celebrated the day of giving thanks declared by Abe Lincoln, himself after the Civil War!" "Cynics, money lenders, Store Owners you all...." I guess I've gone off topic again, sorry.
After all that decrying, suddenly it's the week before Christmas and We are the only Christian house without lights. Even the Jew have their Hanukkah lights up. So in our hast We put up some lights on the house, never the way it was planned, try to stick stakes in the frozen ground to hold down the light up deer (really feel Christmasey doing that) and finally the tree gets up. After it is all up and We sit back, we wonder why we waited and didn't do it sooner. Ah, life is funny.
Well, Teri wants to put up the tree on December 9th, Sunday. It had not been a day of rest for me. I started cookie baking because just like the Christmas tree, cookies never seem to get baked like they did back when I was a kid and my mom would set aside a day to do it with us. I started out with my Christmas cookie, the pinwheel cookie. I don't know how or why I associate this non denominational cookie with Christmas except it was baked around Christmas one year and I guess I loved it and decided I needed to have it again when I thought about cookies for Christmas the next year. After that I made Russian nut balls. The Name get Nastia's attention until she hears nuts are in them. Crazy Kids, one day she will grow up and realize life is incomplete without some nut, relatives or from a tree, it doesn't matter. I thought I was making Teri's favorite Christmas cookie, it was not her's it was her sister's, opps. And finally I made Raspberry chocolate bars, but I put all of the raspberry jam into Nastia's cheesecake that I had, so I used Blackberry Jam. It was almost as good.
So I guess after all of that I was tired. Plus We went to see a real good movie called......
S
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