A Grandfather's Love

I love this photo of my two year old son. It was taken in 1967. He's holding on to a little tree my dad planted the day he was born.

My son was only a couple hours old when my dad announced to my mom he had to leave the hospital. He had something very important to take care of. My mom wasn't very happy about my dad taking off and expressed her displeasure when she came in to visit me.

We both wondered what could be so important that he would leave. He had already seen the baby and was told that my son would be named after him. He seemed very emotional when he was given the news that his first grandson would carry his name. We assumed he had just wanted to go home for awhile. When my dad didn't return to the hospital after several hours my mom decided she better go home and check on him.

A little while later my mom returned to the hospital to tell me my dad was at home, and the reason for his departure. My dad left the hospital to go to the store and buy my son a brand new red tricycle and to plant a tree in the yard to commemorate the day my son was born. When my mom got home there was my dad, busy putting together the tricycle, and planting a tree.

My mom informed my dad that my son was only a few hours old and it would be awhile before he needed a tricycle. My dad didn't care. He wanted that shiny red tricycle there at the house waiting for his grandson when he was old enough to go for a ride.

When I brought my son home from the hospital the first thing my dad did was show him the tricycle. My dad was so proud of his grandson. He couldn't wait for the day he would be riding that little red tricycle up and down the street in front of their house. It seemed like in a blink of an eye that day arrived.

I recently saw a photograph of my parents home and the little tree that dad had planted is gone. I don't know why the new owners removed the tree, it had grown quite large and was a beautiful tree. I had hoped that tree would be there forever. The tree may be gone, but a grandparent's love is forever.

The Old Black Bridge

It amazes me how a photo of an old black bridge can stir so many memories. I walked over this bridge almost everyday when I was growing up in Pennsylvania. Crossing over the bridge if you turned right, it lead you to "downtown" if you continued straight and to the left you went "over town" I crossed this bridge going to school every morning, and when I came home in the afternoon.

Play Misty for Me!

The Universe is strange place, full of surprises. On the morning of March 22, 2011, I received an e-mail regarding a Yorkshire Terrier that was in a shelter in Tampa, Florida about an hour and a half from where I live. The photo of her was precious. She looked scared and lost. I mentioned the e-mail to my husband and he replied "We already have two Yorkies, we don't need a third". I agreed with him, but the photo of this little girl stuck with me.

Ten hours later, one of my beloved Yorkies, fifteen year old Abby Doodle, my precious little girl died in my arm. I had adopted Abby Doodle when she was just eight weeks old and weighed less than a pound. She was my baby. I spent the night sitting on the porch holding Abby until morning when my husband could dig a grave for her and we could put her to rest. There are no words to describe the pain and anguish I felt (and still feel).

Later in the day I received another e-mail regarding this little girl in the shelter in Tampa. I told my husband, "no more dogs, I can't deal with this". I continued to receive an e-mail regarding this other dog, for five consecutive days. Finally on Saturday I told my husband we needed to make the long drive to Tampa, to the shelter to check on this little girl. It was almost like someone was pushing me to do this. He agreed and off we went.

We arrived at the shelter and were taken to her cage. She was terrified and wouldn't come near us. We were told she had been brought into the shelter along with her fifteen year old sister who had just been put down. Misty was ten years old and had an eye infection and ear infection and had been at the shelter since Tuesday (March 22nd) and it was unlikely she would be adopted, that she would probably be put down also. We asked if we could visit with her. They removed her from the cage and we went to a visiting area.

The moment I held her in my arms she became a different dog. She started kissing me and then my husband and turned into this happy little ball of fur. We put her on the ground and she ran around all excited to explore the area and came running back to us. We knew in an instant we had to adopt her. Unfortunately we couldn't take her home that day as they had to have her vet checked and we had to fill out adoption papers.

Three days later, a week to the day that Abby passed away, we were able to go to the shelter and bring Misty home. Misty is the sweetest little girl. Her personality is totally different from that of my Abby Doodle. Misty is a happy little girl and I know that she knows she was given a second chance. She loves her new mommy and daddy, her new home, and her new brother Tucker. Her greatest joy is to go out in the back yard and chase squirrels.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't grieve for my little Abby Doodle, but I feel like somehow she knew that I needed this little girl to help heal my heart and fill the void she left behind. I can never replace Abby Doodle, she was one in a million, but little Misty is a dear sweet little girl that needed love and a home and I am so glad I could provide that for her.

One door closes another door opens.

Coming to America

When I was a child growing up in Pennsylvania I remember my dad telling me the story of how my great grandparents emigrated from Germany to the United States. He would tell me about their struggles in Germany and how they had to save money in order to secure passage aboard a ship that was less than seaworthy and make the long arduous journey across the Atlantic Ocean.

When my great grandparents left Germany they were traveling with their three children. Martha was nine years old, Adam (my grandfather) was seven years old and baby Johann was just eleven months old. During the long journey, baby Johann died and was buried at sea.

The family arrived in New York Harbor in February of 1880, during a fierce snowstorm. From New York they traveled to Scranton, Pennsylvania, where they had relatives and they would begin their new life.

My great grandfather was a coal miner as were his brothers and several of his sons. Coal mining in the anthracite region of Northeastern Pennsylvania was and always has been a very dangerous profession. One of the few occupations in which a person could face a very real risk of death everyday from all four elements, earth, air, fire and water.

I remember hearing about my great grandparents struggles growing up and while I thought it was interesting; it wasn’t until later years that I realized what these people must have gone through. They had to leave their family and friends in Germany, travel across the Atlantic Ocean in the middle of winter, and they lost their infant son along the way.

I think of the struggles I’ve had in my own life and it’s nothing compared to the hardship my great grandparents must have endured. They not only lost their infant son at sea, but they also lost three of their daughters in the 1918 flu epidemic. It’s hard to imagine what not only my ancestors, but a lot of our ancestors had to go through a hundred years ago.

We take so much for granted today: airplanes, computers, cell phone, nice cars, air conditioning, medicine, good medical care, just to name a few, that I am humbled by what my great grandparents were able to achieve. Seven of their surviving twelve children went on to have good productive lives. Their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren continue to grow, go to college and lead good lives thanks to their sacrifice.

For many years I took for granted the life I had, but in recent years thinking about the stories my father told me about my great grandparents, I am humbled and greatly appreciate what they did to have a better life.

Recover Your Soul

“Hey now, let’s recover your soul”, Elton John’s voice drifted through my conscientiousness as I struggled to wake up. I’d been floating on an air mattress in the pool for over an hour, feeling the warmth of the sun on my back, the cool fresh water on my hands and feet. “Hey now, let’s recover your soul”, there were those words again, telling me to recover my soul. I started to smile, my soul, exactly where was my soul? How does one recover their soul? Can you buy a new one? How do you repair the old one? As I drifted back off to sleep, I kept repeating the lyrics over and over in my head.

When I woke up for the second time, a new song was on the radio and Elton was long gone, but I couldn’t get the words of his song out of my head. “Recover your soul”. Maybe that’s what is wrong with me. I’ve lost my soul. I have a home I love and spent a lot of time refurbishing, a job that I adored and lots of friends. Was something missing? Oh yes, my marriage, it was as Elton John said, “torn and tattered”.

After eighteen years and one crisis after another, maybe it should be “torn and tattered”. Could it be fixed? Did I want to fix it? What would I do, where would I go? Recovering my soul would require me to leave, to go far away. With a husband whose middle name was “crisis”, I knew I couldn’t recover my soul and stay married.

As the days went by I kept thinking about my soul and how I would go about recovering it. I called my sister in New Jersey and told her about the song and how unhappy I was and how the words of this silly song would not leave me alone. She suggested I spend the summer in New Jersey with her and her family and try and put things into perspective. Fortunately I worked at a private school and had the summers off. In just three weeks the school year would be ending. I tossed the idea around for awhile and finally decided I was going to New Jersey for the summer.

My husband wasn’t too pleased and tried to talk me out of it. I tried to explain about “my soul”, but I knew he wouldn’t understand. The only thing he understood was that he would be alone and would have to take responsibly for the house and all that entailed, for the next couple of months.

As the days crept closer and closer to my departure date, I was becoming more and more excited, almost giddy. I felt like I was going away to camp, that for the next couple of months I didn’t have to deal with my husband’s endless problems, I could just think about me. What a novel idea! It’s been years since I actually thought about me and what I wanted and how I felt. I’d been sucked into a never ending drama that centered around my husband.

The day finally arrived, I packed the car with clothes and goodies for the trip and my two precious Yorkshire Terriers, Maggie and Abby, and off we went, to recover my soul.

Brodhead Avenue

Looking at this photograph of the house I lived in from 1961 to 1965 brings back so many memories. We moved into this house shortly after I graduated from 8th grade. The upstairs window on the left was my bedroom, there was also a master bedroom and one bathroom upstairs.

The front door led directly into the living room. Downstairs there was a huge kitchen and great room and another bath. There was a large picture window in the front of the house that you can't see because of all the bushes. Lots of sunlight would come in during the day and make the house warm and cozy.

The property that was adjacent to ours has an old stone house that is really beautiful but rather spooky. On that property there used to be a fort and it was there that the last Indian uprising occurred in our area. Several of the area settlers were killed by the Indians. I think their spirits must roam around the area as I never felt comfortable there at night.

After my son was born in May of 1965 he spent a lot of time with his grandparents at this house. To the left of the house there used to be a tree that my dad planted on the day my son was born. The tree is gone, this saddens me greatly. I wonder why the tree was removed? I had hoped that tree would be there forever.

I remember sitting on the front porch with my mom and our little dog Chico. It was a nice neighborhood when I was growing up. Now all the houses are neglected and falling apart. Mom and dad would be so upset if they saw it now. Dad took great pride in this little house. He put in a nice patio in the back and an above ground pool with a redwood deck. The yard was always mowed and there were flowers everywhere.

We had a lot of picnics in that back yard. Family and friends would come and dad would cook on the grill.

The house has been sold, new people live there now. I wish I could go back home and sit on the porch and visit with mom and dad one more time.   Mom and dad are gone now, but a little house on Brodhead Avenue still remains.

First Trip to Florida - 1956

The call came early in the morning, Bonma was very ill and in the hospital. She needed surgery right away and it was too early to tell if she would survive. A trip to Florida was inevitable. Dad arranged time off from work, mom called my school and explained why I would be absent. Our dog Midnight was taken to the vet's office to be boarded. Suitcases were packed, snacks and soda were purchased at Wiggin's Grocery Store, and off we went.

I seem to remember it being sometime in March, prior to Easter. The ride was long and tedious. There were no interstates then. I think we took Route 41 all the way to Florida. I'll have to check, I could be wrong. Dad liked to get as many miles in as he could before dark so we drove and we drove and we drove. I remember mom and I wanting to stop to use the rest rooms, but we kept on driving until dad was ready to stop.

Our first stop on the trip was a little place in Wilson, SC. It wasn't so much a motel as a group of small cabins. We checked in and then went to look for a place to eat. There was a place across the street so we went there. I ordered my usual (cheese sandwich). I only ate half of it and saved the rest for later. Mom and dad got into an argument about something and mom refused to order anything to eat. Later I gave her my half of the cheese sandwich.

Early the next morning, we were on the road again. When we crossed the state line into Florida, the first thing we did was stop for fresh orange juice. I don't think anything ever tasted as good as that orange juice. Cold and fresh, a gift from the gods.

Eventually we arrived in Tampa and made our way to Bonma's house on Sitka Street, in Sulfur Springs. Sulfer Springs is located about six miles north of downtown Tampa.

The house was closed up and we had to knock on the front door and all the windows to get Charlie and Bonpa's attention. Eventually they opened the door and looked surprised to see us. Didn't they know we were coming? We had just driven almost 1200 miles and were tired and hungry. After a tense conversation we left to go check into The Suflur Springs Hotel, just down the street from where the folks lived.

The Sulfer Springs Hotel was built at the turn of the century and had changed very little by 1956. The hotel covered an entire block with an arcade of shops beneath the hotel. The lobby was filled with old stuffed furniture and very dusty fake palm trees. The rooms weren't that much better. There was no air conditioning of course, the beds were hard and lumpy and the bathroom was a little scary. Outside the hotel there was a swimming area and of course the famous "Sulfer Springs", which were supposed to have healing qualities.

After unpacking we walked across the street to a little cafe to get something to eat. The cafe was about as old as the hotel, it was hot and dusty and it didn't look promising. Having only eaten cheese sandwiches for the past two days I decided on a chocolate milkshake. Once again I made a good choice as I seem to remember my folks complaining about the food they ordered.

Dad paid the check and we stepped outside where we got hit with a blast of heat. It was like walking into a furnace, and this was in March or April. God, what must it be like in the summer? We decided to walk up the street to Bonema's house and see what the news was regarding her condition.

The walk only took about five minutes but we were all hot and sweaty and exhausted by the time we got there. I prayed my grandparent's had air conditioning! My prayers were answered but my joy was short lived. They only turned it on in the summer (it was a small window unit that only cooled one room). Mom and dad sat down to talk to Bonpa and Charlie and I went outside and sat under a palm tree. So this is Florida.