Not a TEACHER'S house!; Mary Frances - fell and got stuck.

          December 28, 2011.

I phoned my friend 'way up north this morning to find out Pat and Gene's street address. She said I could just put P.O. Box, blank space. They would get it, and I agreed, because Croghan is such a small rural  town. She said that Gene walks to the Post Office every day to get the mail. Pat and Gene still live in my heart, and I want to send my Christmas Letter to them belatedly. 

I remember when we first moved to Belfort, and I was VERY pregnant with Gerald. Father Canice had told the ladies at church to go to visit "the new teacher and his wife" to say hello, and welcome, and to introduce themselves. 

So Mary Frances was chosen to be the first. She didn't dare come to our house alone (NOT a TEACHER'S house!) and she said to herself, "I am NOT going to any TEACHER'S HOUSE to SAY HELLO!" so eventually she asked Pat to come with her.

I had just taken out of the oven a couple of loaves of homemade bread from the oven, it smelled SO delicious!  And there was a bowl of spaghetti sauce on our table ready for dinner. The aromas were abundant. 

They knocked at the kitchen door, I opened the door to greet these strangers, and they were quite happily surprised to see all the little kids running around, and the round looks of my maternity outfit, and they smelled the incredible beautiful aromas of freshly baked bread and spaghetti!  They immediately relaxed, because I was JUST LIKE THEM, always pregnant with lots of kids running around and always making homemade bread!!  They became the best of friends.

I haven't told you all that a few weeks ago, Mary Frances turned her ankle near the back door of their house; she was coming back from covering the Burn Barrel, and her ankle wasn't just 'turned', there was a small bone that broke. Her ankle now has one of those heavy BOOTS on it, and she is using a walker, crutches didn't work. She is staying at Darlene and Dennis's house. 

Well, when I called her this morning, she's got a bad cold, and is coughing a lot, and BESIDES having this awful cold, she fell in the bathroom two mornings ago at 4 am as she rose from the commode, got stuck between the toilet and the bathtub, and hurt her ribs and back and arm. They wanted to take her to the ER but she refused. She said they'd be there for HOURS, and she didn't want to go. The poor lady! It doesn't rain, but it pours! She is eagerly waiting in pain for the New Year to come, and hopes it will be better than 2011.

As she was describing her little/big accident, my mind was racing backward a month, to one little episode I had in MY bathroom. I got up to go to the bathroom in the wee hours (forgive me for the pun) and nearly lost my balance as I sat on the commode. I quickly said a prayer, Oh, please, don't let me get stuck here between the toilet and the bathtub! 

So it CAN happen - I know. 

          Get well fast, Mary Frances!




          I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Two Things: Walking Is Good For Arthritis; "The Ships of Yule".

December 19, 2011. My arthritis doesn't want me to take a walk every day, but walking is quite necessary in my family's thinking. I don't mind a bit their thinking thus, because it really IS necessary to keep me moving. Sorry to say, I neglect it very frequently, so I like to include the news of a walk in my family emails. I take note of things I see on my walk, and I include the littlest of details since I love to write.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

News Blast: The woman at 7802 has taken a walk, and this is news, my citizens! The time that elapsed during her walk was fifteen minutes, she was seen to be walking at a brisk pace, because of the very cool air. She walked up to one of the main streets, and then crossed her own street at that intersection to return home. But the return trip back to her home, was a bit different, the breeze was nipping at her nose and ears a bit more. The breeze before that was at her back. So she continued her brisk pace. THEREFORE, the time in the usual minutes was shortened. She did not run, but she did walk a tiny bit faster.

She stopped at one point in the beginning of her walk to admire a whimsical decoration on a mailbox. It was a very lazy snowman lying on top of the mailbox. His plastic bag body 'flows', making it look as if he melted a bit in the past few days. There was a woman across the street just getting into her car, and the two ladies exchanged a brief tidbit of gossip about wanting one of those for HER mailbox!

Then on the return trip to her house, this eager woman had to stop for a few moments to greet the 'poodle in the window' who suddenly set up a ruckus about this stranger who was walking past HIS house! The woman stopped, of course, to wave several times at the Poodle Guard, and lo!, and behold! there was a brown shaggy dog poking his head up inside the window muttering "... so THIS is what interrupted my morning nap!" and joining in the chorus. Of course Madame had to stay a few more moments to wave vigorously at the two of them. The people who live in that house must be very proud and grateful and at ease, to have such vigilant Guardians of Their Home. These people must also be thinking, "Who IS that crazy lady?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other item is this poem from today's <YourDailyPoem.com>, which site I dearly love.

The Ships of Yule by Bliss Carman

When I was just a little boy,Before I went to school,I had a fleet of forty sailI called the Ships of Yule;Of every rig, from rakish brigAnd gallant barkentine,To little Fundy fishing boatsWith gunwales painted green.They used to go on trading tripsAround the world for me,For though I had to stay on shoreMy heart was on the sea.They stopped at every port to callFrom Babylon to Rome,To load with all the lovely thingsWe never had at home;With elephants and ivoryBought from the King of Tyre,And shells and silks and sandal-woodThat sailor men admire;With figs and dates from Samarcand,And squatty ginger-jars,And scented silver amuletsFrom Indian bazaars;With sugar-cane from Port of Spain,And monkeys from Ceylon,And paper lanterns from PekinWith painted dragons on;With cocoanuts from Zanzibar,And pines from Singapore;And when they had unloaded theseThey could go back for more.And even after I was bigAnd had to go to school,My mind was often far awayAboard the Ships of Yule.

This is Proof that little boys DO daydream, and I am very happy that this is so.

I'll see you at the Corner Post...

I Wanted To Be A Mommy; Song "Two Little Roses"; Long Labor; Singing.

December 9, 2011

It may have been while we were living on Drinker Street that I decided I wanted to be a mommy when I grew up. My mother told me that is all I wanted to be. Could I have expressed that desire when I was only two – three – four years old? Or were we living in Larksville/Plymouth when I said that? My brother was born in the spring of 1934, in Dunmore, and I don’t know when we moved to Larksville/Plymouth where there would be more work for my father. I remember seeing the flood waters in Wilkes-Barre, from the higher elevation of Larksville, and I think that flood took place in 1936.

Sometime during the Buttonwood School years, we sang “Two Little Roses” in class. I remember liking that song so very much. It tells the tale of two little roses which ‘crawled along the fence, clambered up the wall, and climbed into the window, to make a morning call.’ How sweet a song! It has stayed in my heart and mind all these many years.

After my marriage at the age of twenty-one, I was so terribly disappointed when my menses still continued to occur. As I mentioned in my first paragraph, I so wanted to be a mommy! But I had to learn to be patient. Fate would decide if and when I would be a mommy.

My husband was still attending college at Penn State, and I was working in an office. I was living with my parents. Finally it happened. Over a year had passed, when at 4:30 a.m. on December 8^th, ‘the water broke’ and my Mom took me to Tyler Memorial Hospital in the small rural town of Meshoppen. We thought it best to get me there quickly. No one knows just how fast or how slow the series of steps occur. We THOUGHT there was going to be a baby born soon. Fate decided otherwise.

Well, all day, all night, again all day, most of the night, nothing doing; I was in labor for forty-seven and a half hours. The two grandmothers-to-be had been crying before each time they came to my room – I could see it on their faces. I remember that I had been hallucinating a little during that time period, due to pain, or to some medications given to me, I don’t know which.

At the same time, the Father-To-Be was at Coast Guard Boot Camp in Cape May, New Jersey. The doctor made up his mind at midnight that I had to have a Caesarean done as soon as possible.

The staff scrambled all over trying to get an anesthesiologist from Scranton or Wilkes-Barre, a surgeon from somewhere, enough nurses who could handle it, etcetera. I think they had to search in a few towns for all this help.

Finally everyone came from here and there, the crew was ready, and since the baby’s head was already engaged in the canal, anesthesia by spinal injection was chosen as the route. I had never thought of other than a normal birth.

The lower part of my body became numb, someone was pricking my chest with a straight pin, I felt no pain, just the pressure of the pin. All systems “go”. I could hear their voices, as I listened to their directions and decisions. I could feel the pressure on my abdomen of the instruments used. Then as the baby was extracted, I could feel no pain, but movement.

On the underside of the overhead ‘chandelier-type’ very large lighting system were reflected images of what was going on. I was not completely ‘in the dark’ as to what was happening. Then at exactly 3:33 a.m. –  since then, I always notice when 3:33 shows up on any clock -- my first child was born! I could see the clock’s face on the wall, because I was still awake and would remain so for a long time. At last! I became a mommy!

I’ll bet that everyone there was deliriously happy to have saved both baby and mother. The day was December 10^th. I am thankful, so thankful, and I feel blessed. The happy Father-To-Be suddenly became a Daddy in Cape May. But he didn’t see his first-born for another two weeks, when he came home for Christmas.

When I was presented with my first baby, who had a black and blue injury on his head due to the forceps, it was an indescribable moment full of thanksgiving, loving feelings, joy, and honor. At last I, as Mommy, could sing “Two Little Roses” to my new baby. (By the way, the injury was mild, and the blueness went away from his head. He was fine within two or three days.) 

I have sung that beautiful sweet song to all of my six children, all of my grandchildren, and even children I have cared for. That little song will live forever in this family. I even painted a little canvas of a house with two little roses at the windowsill.

TWO LITTLE ROSES

One merry summer day 
Two roses were at play; 
All at once they took a notion
 They would like to run away!
 Queer little roses,
  Funny little roses,
 To like to run away!

 To like to run away!                  They stole along my fence;
 They clambered up my wall;
 They climbed into my window 
To make a morning call!
    Queer little roses,
    Funny little roses,
 To make a morning call! To make a morning call!

                                                                            –Julia P. Ballard.

I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Tea; Shy With Guests; Clamp-On Roller Skates; Poem.

While we were going to school in St. Stephen’s School, my brother Joe had a classmate friend that he liked a lot. I don’t remember his name. When school was dismissed, I couldn’t find my brother Joe, so I walked home alone. I didn’t know where he could be.  When I got home, our Mommy asked me where he was, and I said I didn’t know.

Finally Mommy phoned (probably from the store down past the alley) to the school or the convent, asking if they knew where he was. They didn’t know either.

After a long while, my little brother Joe came home, and got a big spanking because he went away without asking if he could go.

The next morning the Sister or Mother Superior also gave him a spanking for going away without permission. Ouch!

He hadn’t asked the teaching Sister to go somewhere besides home. He didn’t even go home to ask if he could go to visit this little friend. These two little boys just left the school as classes were dismissed. They walked together to the boy’s house.

I’m not sure who asked him why he did that, whether it was our Mommy, or Daddy, or the Mother Superior, but the story is: “We went to his house for tea.”

I remember some visitors who had come from another state. It was when we lived in the duplex. The Griscavages lived in their house facing Poplar Street, the duplex was in the next yard away from Poplar Street. I was playing somewhere in our little neighborhood, and when the guests came, my mother may have yelled for me to come home. Most parents yelled for their kids to come home – I guess all kids stay within hollering distance.

I arrived at the back door leading to the kitchen, and must have heard strange voices, because I stayed outside on the stoop (the three or four steps into the house), and my mother called me in. I wouldn’t go in, because I knew that my face was dirty as usual from playing. She finally told me to come in – she must have washed my face somehow with a cloth, before I felt I could come in.

The company was from a distance. Could it have been from Michigan or Ohio? It was an older couple and I was quite shy. My Daddy had an old friend who had lived in Rudno in Slovakia in the same ‘yard’ that my Dad had come from.  They also had friends in the other state. I just remember I was very shy.

We used to roller skate on Chestnut Street on our clamp-on skates. My shin splints would get so sore, but I did enjoy roller skating. I’d go up and down on the street usually between one or two streets. I wasn’t allowed to go all the way down to Main Street, or all the way up to the next main street in Larksville. Sometimes there were many kids skating, and older ones, too.

There was an older girl, probably high school age, called ‘Fuzzy’ that was an acquaintance. I used to see her on Buttonwood Street. She’d say hello now and then. Now I wonder if she was Mrs. Helen Griscavage’s sister. I have been thinking of her once in a while, and recently, too. She had blonde hair and was a nice person.

This poem I wrote in August of 1989:

‘T Is Not I

I’ll try to prove

That I can do it

To show you there

Is nothing to it

That I can write

In any season

And make a poem

For any reason.

Sometimes it flows

Out like a stream

That’s when I think

I’m in a dream

It seems as if

I’m not the one

Who wrote this poem

As I am done.




I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Christmas Pickle; Listening to Christmas Music; Coal and A Tangerine in our Christmas Stockings.

I'm enjoying the Christmas music as I do a few little chores around here. This is Saint Nicholas Day and that makes me very happy too.  I look out the front door every once in a while to see if it is snowing out there. We may get some snow, it is said.

I've been hearing about the traditional "pickle" in the Christmas Tree. I clicked on the site that Susan suggested, to learn about it. I had not heard about this Christmas tradition.

           <  http://www.stnicksday.com/giftshop.htm  >    

Thanks to Susan, I now know, and I think it is such a lovely thing to do for our children. I also researched “Pickle in the Christmas Tree” and one of the sites was

< http://christmas.lovetoknow.com/History_of_Christmas_Pickles >.   JANINE, and any of you who crochet, you can find directions to crochet a Christmas Pickle on this site, almost at the end of that page.

On the gift shop site, I also saw some 'coal' to put in the children's stockings for sometimes being 'bad' and it is a kind of candy with a black coating. They look like raisins and are said to have a fruity bubble gum flavor.

Shucks! When we were kids, we got the REAL STUFF, right there in the coal town. NOT EDIBLE. Santa Claus picked it out of the coal scuttle by the stove, and put it in our stockings.

Yes, I guess we   w e r e   sometimes naughty. 

In our stockings, the coal was always at the bottom, and then a tangerine. Gosh, that was a very wonderful treat in those days, having a beautiful and so delicious a tangerine!

Just a thought: if Santa Claus had to bring that coal from the North Pole, he’d never make it, carrying tons and tons of coal. ALL children are naughty sometimes, and get coal in their stockings. Many of the children are corrected and taught to be good. That’s how they grow to be great children and perfect adults…

How many of you got coal in your stockings? Hmm? Hmm? You don’t want to talk, do you?

I knew the word was 'coal scuttle', but my computer dictionary didn't have it when I checked it out later. But my handy, dandy HUGE 4 ¾- inch thick dictionary affirmed my choice of nomenclature. It is a bucket-like metal container for holding and carrying coal to be used in one's stove. It has a narrow 5 inch extending 'lip' on it so you can easily pour some coal into the stove. I can still see in my mind's eye, the coal shuttle that was always at the side of the kitchen stove. 

By the way, the kitchen stove was pale green and cream colored, which I liked very much. Those stoves made the kitchen so cozy and warm.

Christmas Pickle: 2-3/4 inch long Glass Pickle and includes the "Legend of the Pickle" on a printed card.

LEGEND OF THE CHRISTMAS PICKLE

A pickle used as decoration on the Christmas Tree seems odd at first, but it is an old German tradition. When decorating the Christmas tree, it is traditional to hang the pickle last, hidden among the branches. The first child on Christmas Day to find the Christmas pickle receives a special blessing for the year and an extra gift! Great tradition to share with your family this year and for years to come!

This tradition encourages children to appreciate all the beautiful ornaments on the tree rather than rushing to see what Santa has left for them. 

Snowman Poop Topper is also sometimes put in their stockings.

    And here is another bit of information, in case you've been bad during the year: 

You've been naughty so here's the scoop.

You're getting nothing but snowman poop.

Snowman Poop Topper, our original package of Poop still preferred by many of our established customers. Simply packed in a sealed cello bag closed with a colorful header card. Contains a single serve Hot Chocolate pouch full of our creamy white Hot Chocolate with marshmallows, a chocolate dipped spoon and a pouch of extra marshmallows to sprinkle on top of your drink.

So there you have it, what I've been doing this evening, having a great time on Saint Nicholas’ Day. Listening for hours to Christmas music and Carols. Doing some research on my computer and sharing the information. ‘T was a perfectly happy time.

G’Night.

I'll see you at the Corner Post...

A Senior Center; John, A Gentleman.

In the early spring of 2002 I began go to the local Senior Center near the town where I lived. Usually people sat at the round tables near their acquaintances or friends. Newcomers soon found a place to sit, and friendships began.

There was an elderly gentleman usually full of fun whose voice was cheerful and heard all over the large room. There was such a twinkle in his eye, because he loved people.

After a few months we would have a few words to say to each other. One day he ‘happened to be’ behind me in the line for lunch. He told me that he found out what my telephone number was and tried to call me the evening before. I told him that I had been visiting my friend Phyllis. We chatted for another minute and got our tray of lunch. He went to his friends’ table, and I sat at the table I had chosen.

That evening he phoned and asked me in a jovial way if I would have lunch with him the next day. I in return answered in a jovial way “At the Senior Center?” with a slight chuckle in my voice. I thought he was kidding! He said, in a more intentional way, “Will you go to lunch with me?” Of course I said yes. That was on August 20^th.

We seemed to get along very well and immediately respected each other. We began to see each other almost each day, and then it was every day. Nine days after he invited me to lunch, I sent him the following poem to let him know that he was indeed a very nice person to know.

Almost three months later he had a mild stroke, and we still saw each other. I would go to his house to assist him, or drive him where he had to go. We had lunch or dinner out quite a few times, and sometimes we would make some meals at his house.

Less than two years later, he had a very serious medical condition, and along with his daughter, I was at his side at Hospice, when he passed away. 

For John

What shall I write about?

Your infectious hearty laughter?

The way you tip your head

With certain emotions?

Your gentle, caring touch

As we walk together!

Your eagerness to accept a challenge –

Your flavorful evening cigar?

The vast supply of treasured memories

Which you tenderly hold;

Your reticence regarding gossip?

The joy you display

When you talk on the telephone with your friend.

Your obvious pride in your family,

Your clever repartee?

Your unspoken hopes and dreams?

These, and much more, my dear sir!

May God forever keep you

In The Palm of His Hand!

Anna Mae Schroeder aka Allegra

                               August 29, 2002 








I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Saint Nicholas; A Recipe for Christmas Joy; Polish Newspaper.

Saint Nicholas Day.

This is an article I found in an old newspaper, and I am posting it because Saint Nicholas Day is December 6, I believe. This newspaper was given to my mom from a Polish friend. And Mom then gave it to me. This is a Polish newspaper printed in mostly Polish, and a couple of pages in English.

There are some very good recipes in here too! But they're written in Polish! I don't know how to read Polish. You ask how do I know the recipes are very good? Because ALL Polish food is very good!

A Recipe for Christmas Joy

Use one crisp-cold December eve topped by sparkling stars. 

Add a pinch of frost and a layer of crunchy snow.

Prepare a crackling hot fireplace. 

Sprinkle in some holly and a dash of fir.

Mix gently with a preparation of family and friends.

Top this mixture with the joy of a get-together. 

Let simmer in the warmth and good will of each one's heart.

Season with a few smiles and a bushel of love. 

Set before an evergreen tree tinseling with silver and topped by the star of hope. 

Serve to the strains of a Christmas Carol. 

Feel the goodness of living. 

And the yield is one VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS. 

          There was no name of the author, maybe it was A nony mous.

And now I'll add this small description and little story that was in the newspaper along with the 'recipe', about Saint Nicholas, who will be coming around very soon to all the houses of those who know and like him, to leave some candy in the shoes of the children. I believe they must set their shoes out by the fireplace, or inside the front door, or wherever they usually leave them for Saint Nicholas.

He was the patron saint of European schoolboys during the Middle Ages, a saint who was thin, very tall, quite strict, and extremely serious. Early Dutch settlers brought this to the New World, and American writers and artists changed him. Washington Irving wrote of him as the guardian of New York City in his "Knickerbocker's History of New York". The Saint was described as a jolly fellow with huge breeches and broad hat, and he was smoking a long pipe. Additionally, he rode a wagon over trees and houses and dropped gifts from his huge pockets down chimneys. 

In 1822, Clement C. Moore pictured him in his famous "A Visit From St. Nicholas" as a rounded, jolly person with twinkling eyes, a red snub nose, and a white beard. The saint's long pipe was reduced in size; the wagon was changed to a sleigh; and his Dutch clothing altered to a suit that was trimmed with fur. The sleigh, of course, came complete with reindeer, probably borrowed from the Scandinavian settlers in America. Oddly enough, the name Santa Claus was not mentioned. 

Then, Thomas Nast, the cartoonist, changed the saint even more in his famous picture, "Santa Claus and His Works", which appeared in the Christmas, 1866 issue of Harper's Weekly. That picture is exactly what Santa Claus looks like today, together with sleigh, reindeer, toys, and stockings hung by the fireplace. 

Isn't it interesting what American ingenuity can do to a solemn, middle-aged saint from Europe…

The newspaper is ORGAN ZWIAZKU POLEK W AMERYCE          

-- THE POLISH WOMEN'S VOICE.  Dated Thursday, December 19, 1974. 

To all those who know and love Saint Nicholas, Happy Saint Nicholas Day!

I'll see at the Corner Post...

Bouncing Balls; The 5 and 10 Cents Store; Santa Claus and the Radio.

Bouncing Balls; The 5 and 10 Cents Store; Santa Claus and the Radio.

While we lived on Buttonwood Street, I was fascinated with balls. There was the game of Jacks, with the ball about only an inch in diameter, and balls of varying sizes larger than that, for different games. Many of them had stripes around them, stars, circles, and other figures, in red, white, and blue.

One day I was given some change to go to the Five and Ten Cents Store to buy a ball. I had to walk quite a distance down into the midst of Plymouth, almost to where the St. Stephen’s School was that I would attend for third and fourth grades.

What excitement that was for me! There were so many balls on display, in various compartments on the showcase, with heavy glass panes about three or four inches high, to separate the different sizes and uses.

I looked and looked, feeling the ball, turning it ‘round and ‘round, trying to decide which one I would buy. I think what I wanted was one that could be grasped with one hand. I was looking for one just right so I could play Bouncy-Bouncy-Bally.  What a pleasure to find and buy ‘just the right one’!

That was a very popular game. You bounced it in front of you and lifted one leg over the ball as it bounced up. We certainly got our exercise that way! You’d bounce and lift one leg up over the ball before it would bounce again, repeating this maneuver while you sang little ditties, as long as you didn’t make a mistake hitting the ball with your leg, or the ball bouncing away.

It is somewhat like Jumping Rope. At least you could play alone if you didn’t find a girl you could play with. You needed a trio of girls to play

Jump Rope: two to twirl the rope and one to jump, taking turns with each other. In Jump Rope you sing little ditties as in Bouncy-Bouncy-Bally.

Today when I think of this little trip downtown I am wondering if my Mom went with me, and I studied all those balls while she was busy buying something else. It could also have been when a young aunt of ours would come to visit and go along with us. I dislike thinking that a child would walk all that way alone. But I guess we were old enough by the time we had to go to St. Stephen’s School.

And there’s another thing – things were different in those days. There was a feeling of safety.

While living in the house on Poplar Street, we sometimes listened to the radio. There was a special program on the weekdays during the Christmas Season, and at the beginning of the program you would hear genuine sleigh bells ringing and sometimes during the program. Then ‘Santa Claus’ would call out the name of a child who wrote a letter to Santa Claus, with a kind and happy voice.  

(The children’s parents would mail the letter to the radio station, and the people there would have it taken to the North Pole to give to ‘Santa Claus’. Or perhaps ‘Santa Claus’ came by frequently to read the letters to get things for his list… ?)

Each letter would be read aloud, by ‘SANTA CLAUS’! We could listen attentively. He would tell what the letter was about, and the things that the child would like. Imagine the thrill of hearing your name on the radio and his reading what you wrote (or had Mom or Dad write for you), about what you would like Santa Claus to leave for you on Christmas Eve. Such joy to be had by listening to him in his “Ho-Ho-Ho”

voice! The program would last for fifteen minutes, and you would eagerly await the next day’s program.

I also liked the music that was played on the radio, and the announcer saying what the title of the song was. How I loved the sounds of the Big

Bands! There were so many well-loved bands and orchestras during that time period of the late 1930s and early 1940s.

I learned how to do the polka in the living room of that house, by doing the polka steps in the foot-wide border of the rug. My Dad helped me to learn. I remember dancing with him as he was showing me how to move my feet. To this day I love dancing and dance music.

Google Bouncy, Bouncy Bally, to hear and read the words. Nostalgia!

I'll see you at the Corner Post...