Now I Know What It Was Like

[Three candles and a laptop. Photo is mine.]

Don’t get me wrong…I love history. But I don’t necessarily need to live in history. I have no desire to travel to someplace in North Carolina to ditch my reading glasses, my jeans and my iPhone to reenact a minor battle in the Civil War. I have a great interest in the Civil War, and I think it’s a national shame that these precious and hallowed battle fields are being lost to development. But I don’t really need to dress up in a Union uniform and fire blanks at some bloke who is probably a lawyer in real life and and living with four children and a wife in Richmond who doesn’t really like wearing muslin.

That’s all very interesting, isn’t it? But that’s not the purpose of this post. No, my story is a bit different.

I’m writing this by candle light. Don’t ask why I have WiFi and hardly any electricity. I wish I could answer. But this may help:

Last night, Franklin Co. NY, (where I live) had a heavy rainstorm followed by a wind storm that was simply Shakespearean. The heaven’s howled and the trees swayed ominously, with a disconcerting roar. (And I mean roar). I’ve rarely head such sounds of fury. It kept me up from 4:30 am until late morning. I fell asleep simply out of exhaustion.

We had been trying to make decisions. We had no idea then this problem would be fixed, so should we just tough it out with six more fleece blankets on our bed? Should we light a fire in our fire-stove in the down-stairs room and sit until it was 85 degrees? We have a new tent…should we try winter camping in our front yard? We decided against that because of the number of blown-down trees. Should we plug our cell phones and go for an eleven hour drive, for the warmth and for the charged iPhones? Maybe Quebec City?

Upon waking and getting out of a warm bed into a chilly room, I counted eight trees that were blown down during the night. Not one fell on our car.

I also woke up to a power outage that started about 6:45 am. Here I am at nearly 10:00 pm sitting in a brown-out.

Writing this by three candles, I feel like Nathanial Hawthorn, or Washington Irving. They didn’t have electricity. But they weren’t writing blogs either. They were writing great American literature. By dim lights.

Isn’t that is what I’m doing?

Sort of?…..

[Our coffee table at black-out time. Photo is mine.]

[P.S. The full power just came on at 10:01 pm.]

The Brown Lady Ghost

[Photo source: Google search.]

 

There are probably thousands of purported ‘ghost’ photographs available on the internet. Most of these images have been found to be faked. A classic example of an obvious double-exposure is the photo of a seated Mary Todd Lincoln. Standing behind her with his hand on her shoulder is her dead husband, Abraham. [Look this up on the internet.]

But, for my money, one the most well-regarded ghost photo is that of The Brown Lady.

The picture was taken by a Captain Provand and Indre Shira while on assignment to photograph Raynham Hall in Norfolk, England for Country Life magazine. It was published in 1936. It was reported that she was seen by King George IV in the early 1800s while visiting Raynham Hall. He said she was wearing a brown satin dress.

By all accounts it is the spirit of Lady Dorothy Townshend. How she came to be dead is a matter of much debate, mostly salacious.

I will leave any backstory in your hands. Google away!

I don’t admit to believing in ghosts, but I’m never one to let the facts get in the way of a good story (or in this case, photograph.

Casper “The Friendly Ghost” Reported Dead

I

 

It seems impossible. It seems beyond belief, but the news channels are reporting that Casper (aka The Friendly Ghost) has apparently been killed by an amateur Ghost Buster team operating out of Canarsie, Brooklyn. This unlicensed group called YOU FIND ‘M WE’LL SUCK ‘EM OUT OF HERE. LLC, apparently mistook Casper for a real demon ghost (we all know he’s not) and using a Neutrona Wand and Proton Pack (apparently ordered from eBay for $79.99 + tax) sucked Casper’s ectoplasm into their unit.

The groups spokesperson, Burt “The Buster” Banks had only this to say to waiting news reporters:

“Hey, he’s a spook…what do I know about friendly spooks?”

The initial report to police came in from some woman who only identified herself as “Wendy” and said that Casper was lonely and tired of scaring people.

“I don’t like this,” Casper was reported to say many times. “I want to make friends, but everyone is scared of me.”

According to background researchers, Casper was born Casper McFadden to an inventor father named J.T.McFadden, somewhere near New York City. Professor McFadden passed away years ago, but not before witnessing the death of his son Casper. The twelve-year-old child had been playing outdoors in cold weather and came in after midnight. He soon developed a fever and three days later died of pneumonia .

Meanwhile, Wendy has not stopped weeping. “He was so lonely. And now we don’t even know where he is.”

A spokesperson from the “YOU FIND ‘EM, WE’LL SUCK ‘EM OUT OF HERE. LLC. said that there may be ways to extract his ectoplasm from the unit, but the outlook looks dim since the physical facility is located on Staten Island.

As this reporter over-heard: “What goes to Staten Island, stays on Staten Island.”

And as this reporter cries, I can’t think about how lonely Wendy will be.

Casper was her only true friend.

 

 

It’s Not Easy

Elisa Pumpkins[Elias has to choose. It’s very important what to consider.]

[DEDICATED TO ELIAS MUIR GOLDSTEIN, MY GRANDSON]

It’s not an easy life being a child. No, the easy part of life is being a grown-up.  They can go to bed when they want, they can watch any TV show on the cable…like The Bachelor in Paradise or Hoarders, take a bath when they choose and even get to drive a car.

All is not perfect in child land at certain times of the year.

Like October. This is when the difficult choices begin to manifest themselves. The major issue at this time of the year happens to be pumpkins. Every year a child (except those that are home schooled and believe that Halloween is a satanic practice) has to choose the perfect pumpkin to display on the front steps of his or her house. This is not an easy matter. There are endless considerations to be made. To make a very long story somewhat shorter, I will use bullet points to illustrate my…points.

The usual first step for the parents is to take the child to a Pumpkin Farm. At such places, many choices come into play. Shall the child have a cup of cider? A candy apple? Or, perhaps a doughnut?

But then, reality begins. Choosing the absolutely perfect pumpkin. And this is the most difficult process of all. A child has to consider a number of factors in selecting the correct pumpkin. if I remember correctly from my childhood, this is what the youngster needs to consider:

  • How does the pumpkin heft? How do two pumpkins feel when held in each hand?  Is there a proper equilibrium?
  • How does the weight (or mass) compare with others with the same volume? This can be determined, in large part by the heft, but it is not based on solid scientific empirical data.
  • What is the carvability factor? How easy would the knife cut through the orange skin?
  • The size. Will the size support a proper face carving?
  • Is there enough surface area to support a carved face? Should it be scary or funny?
  • The specific gravity. How does the pumpkin relate to it’s volume in a bucket of water?
  • Does it have enough internal space (post-carving) to support a stub of a old dinner candle?
  • What is the Curb Appeal? Can this be seen easily from the street? Will it scare away trick or treaters or will it signal that goodies are to be had in the house that sits behind this special pumpkin?
  • What is the life span? How long can the child keep the pumpkin on the front porch before it becomes a moldy mass of yellow pulp that needs to be shoveled from the steps? Can it last into December?

So many things to consider when you’re a child. But the one thing that will not be a worry is that you will have a loving Mommy and Daddy that will tuck you into bed and tell you that the spooks and goblins are not real and that the candy will have to wait.

Then they can get back to Hoarders.

 

When Sand Turns Cold: Between The Seasons

[The Lake Colby Beach in Saranac Lake, NY. Photo is mine.]

This is an odd time of the year. The autumn colors are past peak (yes, there are a few places where the reds are blinding and the yellows can bring tears to your eyes)…but the peak foliage in its intensity is essentially gone until next October, or late September (depending on the summer rains).

It’s a sad time. The public beaches have hauled in the lifeguard chairs and the floating docks. No mothers wander about looking for toddlers, no cheerleader is working on her tan line. No quarterback is working on a Malibu bronze complexion. That’s all okay…it’ll all fade in three weeks time (unless they still use a bottle tan mixture like they did in the ’60’s.)

Still hikers take to the trails since most of the bugs are gone.  The kayaks are being put up in boathouses for the long winter. Year-rounders are stacking wood for the stoves in their cabins.

The skiers are busy waxing and sharping their edges at the local ski shops.

Sam Adams has come out with the Octoberfest brew.

Local micro-breweries are putting up the taps of the newest Pumpkin flavored IPA.

But the beaches are gone.  Sure one can go and wrap up in fleece and try to read a book…but’s its changed.

I have a distinct memory of jumping out of our family car in the parking lot of Golden Beach…sometime in the early 1950’s. We had a campsite, but none of my brothers wanted to put off the swimming. My feet, the tender feet of a child burned as I ran toward the water. I couldn’t make it. I ran back and jumped in the waiting arms of my father. He carried me, tenderly across the burning sands and gently put me down in the cool waters of Raquette Lake.

Summer is gone again. The first snowflakes are a few weeks away.

And, then the WINTER sets in. Sometimes until mid-May. I grew up in downstate NY, near the Finger Lakes. We had four distinct seasons. Up here in the North Country it’s more likely three seasons.

I live on Ibuprofen because of my back pain.

So, we are off to Portugal in mid-December for 2 1/2 months of warmth. It’s not Florida, but it’s cheaper.

I wonder what things will be like in five or seven years.

Will it matter?

Good-bye Rosie

[Rosie. Photo is mine.]

My mother passed away in her sleep on a quiet Easter Sunday morning in 1992. A sad event indeed. Just days before on Holy Thursday, she sat in the living room of our home and told the priest that she was tired and was prepared. She was ready. She also told him she wanted to depart this life on Easter. She got her wish. This event put into motion a series of events, a journey of sorts, in my life, that of my wife, Mariam and Cracklin Rosie.

A day later my wife and I drove to Tioga Gardens Nursery to pick out a spray of flowers for the funeral home viewing. The nursery was owned, I believe, by my high school classmate, Ed Kuhlman. He commiserated his sorrow at my mother’s passing and took an order for a floral display.

“Wait;” he said as we were leaving. “I have a gift for you, Pat.”

He disappeared into the depths of the greenhouse and emerged a few minutes later with a small potted plant.

“Here, this is from me. No charge. It’s a Begonia and I’ve named it Cracklin Rosie. I love Neil Diamond. Take care of her and she will bring back memories of you mom.”

[For all my botanists readers: Begonia x corellina hybrid. The plant scientist who created the hybrid named it after the Neil Diamond song. For years I thought it was Ed Kuhlman’s favorite song.]

We took the plant and departed.  After the funeral and all the necessary things that had to be done, we headed back to New York City. I was a teacher and my wife was a nursing administrator at a major city hospital. We had to go forward to our lives. We put Cracklin Rosie in a nice place in our one bedroom apartment.

The years passed.  We grew older and Rosie (we dropped the Cracklin part) grew up and out. Then up and out some more until she became as prominent a part of our home as a sofa or a library.

In 2000, we bought a lake side house in Rainbow Lake, NY. We rented it out on a weekly basis for several years. It helped to pay the mortgage. Then in 2005, I retired from teaching. Over thirty years of pushing chalk was now to become a memory.

In 2011, we let ourselves be bought out and left the City for our home in the Adirondack Mountains of northern New York State.

We brought Rosie with us. By now, she was the size of a china closet. Every time we travelled abroad we had to find someone to watch over her. It was like having a pet; but one that never crawled on to your lap or wagged a tail. In our dining room, she became a presence…a conversation starter…a center of attention. It was like having the skeleton of the Elephant Man watching you eat your pasta primavera.

Sadly, an era is about to close for us. My son, Brian and his fiancee, Kirstin are coming for a visit over Columbus Day weekend. They have agreed to take Rosie back to Queens and become her new owners.

I’m sitting here as I type this and staring at her in her floppy green glory. She has witnessed dinner parties, made way for a Christmas tree or two, watched us having a candle-lit dinner, an argument, a deep philosophical discussion and all the events of life that come with a happily married couple who live in the North Country.

Knowing how this plant/human relationship will eventually end, we gave cuttings to many of our friends. There are baby Rosies in many homes. And, when Mariam and I visit Brian and Kristin, we’ll meet up with Rosie and talk about old times.

She has felt us brush by her as we haul luggage out to the car or back into the living room from our travels. She sensed us. She welcomed us. I think she’ll miss us.

I’ll miss her just like I’d miss an old friend.

Just like I miss my mother.

 

 

Sometimes Losing is Winning

[Friends Seminary. [Photo credit: Google Search.]

I spent New Years Eve, 1990 alone in a bar in Binghamton.The only kiss I got was from the off-duty bartender who had started celebrating early.  He kissed the top of my head and said: “I love you, man,” and then fell backwards onto a table.

I was at the wrong end of a bitter divorce.  Working as a ‘temp’ at IBM in Endicott, NY, I felt I had nowhere else to go but down.

Fate stepped in and made me buy a copy of the Philadelphia Enquirer. (It was a legit paper, not the Enquirer that your thinking of).  I found an agency that placed teachers.  Without losing a moment to think, I circled the ad and sent in my resume.

I was hired after a single interview at Friends Seminary in the lower East Side of Manhattan.  So I packed up and headed to the Big Apple.  A month earlier I was walking in a park in Binghamton.  The local NPR station ran a public service piece.  The host read a list of ten questions.  If you answered yes to five of the ten the advice was to seek professional care ASAP.  Clear signs of sever depression.

I answered yes to eight of the ten.  Was I down or what?

Without boring you with the details, I got a 26th floor studio on W. 92nd Street.  It was perfect.

So, I started teaching again.  This time it was in a Quaker school.  Make no mistake, only a handful of staff and teachers were Quakers.  But, I learned what a unique place it was the first time I attended an Upper School “Meeting for Worship”.  It was not religious at all.  The students just sat quietly and only stood to say what was on their mind when they felt the need.  I heard sad stories and funny incidents.  I learned more about the adolescent mind in the two years at Friends that twenty years in public and private schools.

I was happy there.  I taught my way, but as it turned out, it wasn’t the ‘right’ way.  The head of the middle school didn’t take to my methods and I couldn’t understand her demands of me.

By contract, the Head of School was supposed to observe you teaching once before your two-year probationary period was over. He came into my Astronomy class on the last day and left before the class was over.

The next day, he and the middle school head told me that my contract would not be renewed.

Did I feel cheated?  Yes.  Did I cry on the phone to Mariam when I told her the news? Yes.

I found an agency that pointed me in the direction of The Town School on the upper east side.  I taught a class in front of the science head and others

I got the job and I never looked back.  I spent ten years at Town.  I was asked to join the board of The Association of Teachers in Independent School of New York.

I was even the science department chair a few times.

Sometimes it’s a glove…sometimes it’s a shoe or a coat.  But you always know in the end when the perfect fit happens.

[The Town School.  My best fit. Photo credit: Goodle Search.]