Welcome to
My World
by
SHEILA LINTON
"You can take the gal out of the Bronx, but you can't take the Bronx out of the gal" !
My
spoken introduction...download a short Mp3
TO ALL MY FRIENDS,
BOTH NEAR AND FAR,
IF YOU LOOK TO YOUR HEARTS,
YOU'LL KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
******************************************
"Let
My Spirit Soar" by Bev Doolittle
"My thoughts fly up like birds it the sky.
I am free. I can fly.
I go everywhere. I see everything.
Towering mountain ranges
and a tiny flower growing in the desert.
I see cities and highways and a fallen tree
I see a grandmother telling a story to a child.
I sit quietly
But my thoughts fly up like the birds in the sky.
Only I know where they go.
When you sit quietly,where do your thoughts go?
What do you see?"
******************************************
TWO OCEANS
~ by Sheila M. Linton
I am by the shores of the Atlantic.
You are of the Pacific ,
yet our spirits meet in harmony.
In tune with Earth
the essence of each of us
leaps and
rises as mists from two oceans' wild waves ;
mist rises from the Atlantic ,
mist
rises from the Pacific
swirling upwards into a velvet sky
as in Vincent's Starry Night.
The mist is a paradox.
A veil
that masks, yet reveals to one, who really discerns ,
that each droplet embraces within,
a
rainbow of perfect joy.
Mist floats from the Atlantic.
It drifts from the Pacific
over
city windows lit as celestial constellations ,
over
mountains with deer prancing in the snow ,
over prairies of wildflowers waving to the winds .
Seeking to join ,
two
streams of mist unite
as if a ribbon in S p a c e
reaching far
back through Time
coming
to settle upon a raw frontier town
in South Dakota.
There at dawn,
a dark
eyed gal in red calico
hums
a tune, opens the door of her cabin
and is welcomed to a carpet of dew
with each droplet embracing within ,
a rainbow of perfect joy.
With petticoats and homespun sensibilities
the dark eyed gal dances into a new day.
Then with purpose and passion
she dances ahead into a new century
becoming a part of me.
There at dawn ,
an Old West sheriff
in leather boots
whistles
a tune, opens the door of his hardware store
and is welcomed to a carpet of dew
with each droplet embracing within ,
a
rainbow of perfect joy.
With a gold star badge and integrity
the sheriff strides
into a new day.
Then with purpose and passion
he strides ahead into a new century
becoming
a part of you.
~~
Today on misty dawns over skyscrapers by the Atlantic
and misty
dawns over freeways by the Pacific
there linger
intimations of
a
raw frontier town,
a dark eyed gal in red calico,
an Old West sheriff
and
carpets of dew with each droplet embracing within,
a rainbow of perfect joy.
Sometimes
our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter
Who would think that those branches
would turn
green again and blossom
, but we hope it,
we know it.
~
Goethe
Snowflakes are one of
nature's most fragile things,
but just look what they can do when
they stick together.
~
Vesta M. Kelly
once a snowflake fell on my brow
and I loved it so much
I kissed it and called its cousins
and brothers and a web
of snow engulfed me then
I reached to love them all
and I squeezed them and they became
a spring rain and I stood
perfectly
still and became a flower.
~ Nikki Giovanni
Winter is the king of
showman
Turning tree stumps into snowmen
And houses into birthday cakes
And spreading sugar over lakes
Smooth and clean and frosty white
The world looks good enough to bite
That's the season to be young
Catching snowflakes on your tongue
Snow is snowy when its snowing
I'm sorry it's slushy when it's going.
~ Ogden Nash
ONE POTATO, TWO POTATO
by Sheila Linton
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Food fads come and go,
but basics like the humble potato endure. This was my favorite vegetable as
a child and it remains so today. As a pigtailed youngster playing street
games in the Bronx I recall this chant :
" One
potato, two potato, three potato, four,
five potato, six
potato, seven potato, more.
Icha bacha, soda
cracker,
Icha bacha boo.
Icha bacha, soda cracker, out goes
Y-O-U ! "
Back then,
involved with the action of the game I paid scant attention to the meaning of
the verse. In retrospect I wonder if the words suggest that potatoes could
be prepared differently for each day of the week . . . and more .
My mother, Sophie, may have
thought so too as she cooked them at least eighteen ways when last I counted.
Potatoes, chameleon of the vegetable family, proved their versatility for so
many dishes. She frequently marvelled aloud that they were such a great
resource for our table being, plentiful, flavorful and economical.
In our home certain occasions
unquestionably called for specific recipes from my mother's repetoire : only a
hot boiled potato was a compatable counterpoint to summertime's cold beet
borscht, baked sweet potato pie complimented the Thanksgiving turkey and fried
potato pancakes ( latkes ) were as expected for Hanukkah as were
the menorah lights and dreidels.
KNISHES :
My father affectionately teased my
mother that knishes were a part of her " K - Rations " with
the other treats being Kugel ( potato or noodle pudding ), Kasha ( buckwheat
groats ), Kneidlach ( dumplings for chicken soup ), Kishka ( stuffed casing or
the Jewish version of sausage ) and best of all . . . Sophie's Kisses
! She created two types of knishes. One was for company or special events
were baked in rows on a cookie sheet. Each fluffy knish , approximating the size
of a hamburger, had a dab of my mother's chopped liver with sauteed onions pressed
into the center as a finishing touch. The liver became crusty along with the
entire exterior while the interior remained meltingly soft.
Her second kind of knish was a , "
quick knish" , a thrifty way to use left-over mashed potatoes because
our home was one where nothing was wasted. Egg, onion and seasonings were
added before coating the little rounded handfuls with matzoh meal or bread
crumbs. Then they were fried in hot oil. Drained on a split-open brown paper bag
these knishes bore little resemblance to the store bought ones which often became
sodden from hours of steaming on a grill.
My voracious appetite for knishes
peaked in adolescence when I mistakenly anticipated that commercial ones
would be as appetizing as my mother's. In winter my girlfriends and I
would look through a frosty delicatessen window at a grill of sizzling
frankfurters resting beside hot pillows of square " Coney Island
style " knishes. Most of my friends opted for the franks , but I usually
favored a knish with a smear of mustard. Wrapped in waxed paper, I ate it out of
hand on the long walk home from Taft High School as we wended our way past the
Grand Concourse, then down through 170th Street and onward and upward to
our hilly Highbridge neighborhood. The store bought knish was
warming, but it never as satisfying and memorable as my mother's.
LATKES ( PANCAKES ) :
Potato pancakes seemed a part of my
family's regular diet because my mother was so ready and willing to prepare this
Hanukkah delicacy all year round. It was only when I was twelve or so that I
began to appreciate its frequency on our table. I heard some of my
mother's neighbors grumble it was such a chore to grate enough raw potatoes
to feed their families. It was then that I began to appreciate my mother's
efforts and her latkes , both of which I had always taken for granted.
I was taught to peel the potatoes
under running water and to place them in a bowl of water and finally to
grate them as quickly as possible to avoid discoloration. Then the
grated onion, egg, matzoh meal, salt, pepper and a dash of paprika were combined
with the grated potato. A heaping tablespoon of the savory mixture was placed
into a skillet of hot oil and my mother's special technique was to spread
the mixture with the edge of the spoon to achieve a paper-thin, crisp pancake. I
learned they were ready to be turned when the edges wore a lacy golden ruffle.
We enjoyed the latkes with my mother's
homemade applesauce aromatic with vanilla or else with dollops of sour
cream. Usually she advocated well- balanced meals composed of a variety of
foods, but once in a while we were indulged with a glorious treat of nothing but
a mountain of pancakes. Even as we became satiated we still anticipated the
the next time we would enjoy this delicacy !
GRANDMA
SOPHIE'S COLD WEATHER FOOD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SPAGHETTI SQUASH SPAGHETTI
1 box angel hair pasta, boiled &
drained
1 spaghetti squash cut in halves,
baked for 1 hr. Then scrape with a fork to obtain strands.
5 tomatoes, cut in chunks ( 2 cups )
1 head of garlic, sauteed
basil, chopped
salt & pepper to taste
olive oil
parmesan cheese , grated
While squash is baking and spaghetti
is boiling prepare tomato mixture by sauteeing garlic in olive oil.
Add tomatoes, basil and seasonings
.
Combine spaghetti, spaghetti
squash strands and tomato mixture. Toss well. Top with grated parmesan
cheese. Serves 2.
SWEET & SOUR CABBAGE BORSCHT
2 lbs. brisket
1 marrow bone
1 large onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, crushed
2 cups crushed tomatoes
1 head of cabbage, shredded
1 / 2 cup seedless golden raisins
juice of 2 lemons
1 / 4 cup brown sugar
2 teasp. salt
pepper to taste
Bring meat, marrow bone and 1 1
/ 2 quarts of water to a rapid boil. Skim surface.
Add onion, garlic, toomatoes. Bring to
a boil again, reduce heat and simmer until meat is tender ( about 2
hrs. ).
Sprinkle the shredded cabbage with a
handful of salt and let stand while soup is cooking. Then drench with hot water
and drain the cabbage. Add cabbage and raisins to borscht. Cover and
simmer ntil cabbage is tender. Add lemon juice, brown sugar, salt and pepper.
Adjust seasonings to taste. Simmer 10 minutes more. Serves 8.
Present piping hot and with crusty
bread.
SWEET POTATO BALLS
4 large sweet potatoes
2 / 3 cup packed brown
sugar
2 Tabsp. orang juice
1 teasp. orange zest
1/2 teasp. grated
nutmeg
1 teasp. cinnamon
pitted prunes
pineapple chunks
pecans, crushed
Boil, peel, mash
potatoes. Add sugar, orange juice, orange zest, nutmeg and cinnamon.
Keep wetting your hands
with cold water. Select a prune or pineapple chunk and enclose with sweet potato
mixture to form a ball. Roll in crushed pecans. Place balls on a lightly greased
cookie sheet and bake for 15 to 20 minutes.
POTATO PANCAKES (
LATKES )
4 large potatoes ( 2
grated cups )
1 medium onion, grated
1/2 cup matzoh meal or
flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
2 eggs
salt, pepper, dash of
paprika
1/4 cup oil
Wash, peel, grate raw
potatoes and onion. Add all remaining ingredients except oil. Mix
thoroughly & rapidly.
Heat oil in a skillet.
Place a heaping Tablespoon of mixture in pan , spreading it thinly with spoon's
edge. when edges of latke turn golden and lacy turn with spatula.
Set oven at 450 degrees
F. for 15 minutes ; then reduce to 350 degrees F. Drain latkes of oil on brown
paper bag or paper towel. Place latkes in oven to keep them hot & crisp up
to 1 hr.
Serves 4-6 with
applesauce / sour cream / plain yogurt.
MY POETRY
CORNER
********************************
THE SHAWL
With silver hair
and a gaze reaching into
the long ago,
she draws the shawl
about herself,
remembering
the enfolding embrace of
her beloved.
DESSERT
Walt Whitman described lovers who
" were very tired and very merry,
we had gone back and forth
all night on the ferry ".
Rather than a ride on the ferry,
I gave my love many a strawberry.
They were succulent, juicy and red,
We feasted until satiated and overfed.
He whispered I was sugar-sweet,
We were each other's celestial treat.
Then as he poured forth the cream,
And I murmured, " Oh, what a
dessert . . .
"Our Strawberry Dream " !
CONTRADICTING
MR. WOLFE
Thomas Wolfe writes,
" You can't go home again "
But I take the journey every now and then.
I close my eyes or contemplate a tree,
The magic of imagination transports me.
I behold my springtime youth of long ago,
Blazing Bronx summers, steep hills of snow,
Jelly apple on a stick when autumn breezes
blow.
Harlem River and Jerome Avenue bordered our
plateau.
There was P.S. 73, our Anderson Avenue school,
The Jewish Center of Highbridge, our Nelson
Avenue shul.
Exciting movies at the Ogden and Crest,
Musicals, dramas and the Old West.
Street games were our year-round joy.
They included every girl, every boy.
Stick ball, hopscotch, pretzels and a pop,
We were certain our fun would never stop.
Long departed dear ones vividly appear,
So in my mind's eye they are truly here.
Talking, laughing with hugs and a kiss,
Seeing our loved ones is absolute bliss.
If thoughts are a part of who we are,
My beloved Highbridge neighborhood
Is never that far.
So you see, Mr. Wolfe, with all respect due,
You can go home again
With a Bronx point of view.
A TASTE OF PARADISE
Why am I grinning when I'm all alone ?
It's because . . .
I have a double scoop chocolate ice cream cone
!
INNOCENCE
IN MY TEENAGE YEARS
I WASN'T " FAST AND LOOSE".
NAIVELY, I WAS CONTENTED
WITH JUST A CHARLOTTE RUSSE.
)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
SUMMERTIME IN A JAR
by Sheila Linton
As
predictable as the turn of the seasons there always came a special day in late
summer when my mother Sophie's small Bronx kitchen resembled one in a country
farmhouse. It was time to make peach preserves with Aunt Sylvia, Grandma and
cousin Clare. Our family regarded this day as our unique annual adventure
since we knew of nobody in our Highbridge neighborhood engaging in such a time
consuming process.
A day before the event we bought
two bushels brimming with unblemished peaches carefully selecting ones whose
natural pectin was at its peak. My mother and my aunt each held the bushel's
wire handle and walked up Nelson Avenue with the load between them. Like a
Noah's Ark pair Clare and I followed closely behind with our Grandma "
Baba " relieving one of us whenever the load became too heavy.
Overnight the fruit was stored under
our kitchen sink. Such an abundance of fresh peaches produced the fragrance of
a blossoming orchard. Closing my eyes I imagined I was amidst flowering
trees that I knew of from Van Gough's paintings in Art Appreciation class.
Making preserves was an all-day
enterprise so early the next day my relatives returned with shopping bags of
prudently recycled jars matching my mother's hoard . There were a few classic
Mason jars, but primarily our collection consisted of ones from Hellman's
Mayonnaise, Vita Herring and Yartzteit glasses that once held memorial
candles. Ecologically ahead of our time our home was one
where nothing was wasted.
I recall that my mother always hoped
for a cool day that hinted of autumn rather than the more likely sultry day
that turned our kitchen into a sweet sauna. The full kitchen became even
fuller with every available surface occupied by a profusion of luscious
peaches, delectable peaches heaped into bowls, tumbling out of serving dishes
and piled up in pots as they sat among bags of sugar, wooden spoons,
strainers, paraffin and freshly laundered towels.
First my mother washed the peaches in
the deep tub-side of the kitchen sink. Then sucessive batches of jars and
batches of peaches boiled in four big pots producing clouds of steam. Our
apartmet door was held open by a telephone book and our wide open windows did
little to cool us while aromatic ribbons of peach preserves wafted through the
air to neighbors on other floors. Our faces became flushed as we sat around
the dining room table talking while we cut up peaches. Sporting aprons like
our elders Clare and I licked peach juice from our sticky fingers. We
played with softened pieces of paraffin shaping them into false lips
like the red wax ones we bought for a penny in Jack's Candy Store on
Woodycrest Avenue.
The busy women grew even busier.They
stirred pots, added sugar without measuring, they made judgements, they waited
for bubbles to subside and tested viscosity by dropping the hot preserves on
cold saucers. Then, at last, they poured into the gleaming jars the
first morsels of peaches floating in liquid sunshine. We waited for the
mixture to cool in the sterilized jars before sealing them with boiled
paraffin that hardened into a tight seal.
Now came time to divide the precious
preserves between us. My mother and Aunt Sylvia took an equal amount because
our families were mirror images : Clare and I were of the same age and in the
same class at school, we each had a brother Lewis and our fathers were
pharmacists. Baba said that she required fewer jars because her houselod was
smaller consisting of herself and our bachelor Uncle Sam who also was a
pharmacist.
When the weather grew colder I remember
how satisfied my mother felt seeing the bottom shelf of our refrigerator
entirely filled with the results of our family's labors from that late summer
day.
The preserves were used in so
many of my mother's recipes : for glazing chicken, baking apples, in ruglah,
streudels, muffins and layer cakes, for spreading on French Toast. She
generously gifted favored friends and family
with her peach treat.
Linked by genes and also our common
effort and a spirit of harmonious sharing my family had captured golden
summertime in a jar. Throughout a brisk autumn and deep into winter we shared,
under separate roofs, a common pleasure on our morning toast. Surely, my
family tree must be a peach.
---------------------------------------------
Definition of love according to
Wikipedia & Webster ( What's yours ? ) :
The concept of love is not
amenable to one authoritative definition. It is the subject of considerable
debate, enduring speculation, and thoughtful introspection.
Love is a basic dimension of human
experience that is variously conveyed as a sense of tender affection, an
intense attraction, the foundation of intimacy and good interpersonal
chemistry, willing self-sacrifice on behalf of another, and as an ineffable
sense of affinity or connection to nature, other living beings, or even that
which is unseen. It manifests itself in feelings, emotion, behavior, thoughts,
perception and attitude.
1 : strong
affection for another rising out of kinship or personal ties < maternal
love for a child ;
attraction
based on sexual desire : affection and tenderness felt by lovers ;
affection based on admiration, benevolence or common interests < love for
his old scholmates
2 : warm attachment,
enthusiasm, or devotion < love of the sea
3 : the objectof
attachment,devotion,or admiration ; a beloved person : DARLING often used as a
term of endearment
LOVE QUOTATIONS THROUGH THE AGES
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
" Absence
is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the
great. "
~ Comte de Bussey-Rabnutine
" All you need is love
".
~ John Lennon / Paul McCartney
" And remember, my sentimental friend,
that a heart is not judged by how much you love, but how much you are loved by
others ".
~ Professor Marvel in Wizard of Oz
" The conscoiusness of loving and
being loved brings a warmth and richness to life that nothing else can
bring."
~ Oscar Wilde
" Do you know what it means to
come home to a man who'll give you a little love, a little affection, a little
tenderness? It means that you're in the wrong house, that's what it means
".
~ George Burns
" Do you want me to tell you
something really subversive ? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. "
~ Erica Jong
" Gravitation is not responsible
for people falling in love. "
~ Albert Einstein
" Love ain't nothing but sex
mispelled ."
~ Harlan Ellison
" If I know what love is, it's
because of you."
~ Hermann Hesse
" Love : a wildly misunderstood
although highly desirable malfunction of the heart which weakens the brain,
causes eyes to sparkle, cheeks to glow, blood pressure to rise and the lips to
pucker."
~ Anonymous
" It is only with the heart that
one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye."
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery
" Love is that condition in which
the happiness of another person is essential to your own."
~ Robert Heinlein
" We are not the same persons this year as last ;
nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing , continue to love a
changed person."
~ W. Somerset Maugham
" Where there is love, distance
doesn't matter."
~ Mata Amritanandamayi
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
A GIFT OF LOVE
by Sheila M. Linton
January, 2007
On September 1, 1939
Poland was invaded by Germany. It was the start of World War II , an era of
immeasurable tragedy and ultimate triumph over the evils of
totalitarianism.Just a few days before, on August 28th in the safe haven
of the Bronx, N.Y., my brother Lewis was born . To my six year old
sensibilities it was as though I was given a new doll with which to play. That
early bond between us matured as we did and it grew into a
loving friendship during those wartime years of ration books, air raid drills
and relatives serving in the Armed Forces from Italy to the Philippines.
My parents, Morris and Sophie,
possessed a great " sense of occasion " and we always celebrated
our birthdays, their wedding anniversary and various religious and secular
holidays with great fanfare. Our plans included surprises for the
honoree' so often there were homemade gifts or simple store-bought
ones that my brother and I saved for from our weekly allowances of twenty-five
cents. In the economic context of the 1940's a nickel bought a phone
call, a subway ride, an ice cream cone and a lamb chop. My father's weekly
salary,as a registered pharmacist with a degree from Fordham University, was
thirty-five dollars. The monthly rent for our four room apartment on Nelson
Avenue in the Bronx was fifty dollars.
Central to our celebrations were my
mother's sumptuous dinners epitomized by her annual Thanksgiving feast.
Hospitality was one of the elemental threads that were woven through the
tapestry of our HOME-SWEET-HOME and a steady flow of family and
friends were entertained around our table throughout the year.
For these special occasions my
mother presented her flavorful food on a set of magnificent Bavarian china
given to her by my father who probably paid no more than one hundred
dollars back in the 1930's. When set with the fine porcelain china decorated
with bouquets and intricate garlands my mother called the table ,"
her garden ." The name of the china pattern is Schumann Empress
Dresden Flowers.
I recall the ritual of cleansing
the dishes which usually were a bit dusty from being stored well out of harm's
way on the topmost shelf of a kitchen cabinet. My brother and I watched, with
baited breath as my father carefully lowered the fragile set from the cabinet
to a countertop. Preparatory to immersing each piece in tepid water,made
frothy from Lux soap flakes used at other times to wash delicate
lingerie, my mother lined our sink with a thick turkish towel. This
served as a cushion and reduced the chances of chipping the precious3333 dishes.
Inevitably my mother's ritual included a momentary pause from the chore at
hand when she would hold up a cup to the light to instruct me about
fineness of the porcelain. One hallmark of quality was the
thiness of the piece as I could discern colorful patterns
visible through the other side.
The rotund teapot did not come with the
original set, but was acquired by Lewis and me when I was a fifteen years
old. At 5th Avenue & 52nd Street there was an upscale gift shop called, Ovington's
Department Store founded by Edward Judson Ovington ( b. 1831 - d. 1931 )
and his brother Theodore. On one of our window-shopping sprees with
cousin Clare Eichenbaum ( which meant that we observed far more than we
actually purchased ) I was astonished to see on display a teapot that was
the identical Empress pattern of my mother's dishes ! I asked the
saleslady the price and was quoted twenty-five dollars, a huge amount at
the time. That autumn my brother and I agreed that the teapot would be a
perfect gift to celebrate our parents' springtime wedding
anniversary. They were married on May 27,1929 in a simple ceremony at the home
of Sophie's brother Jacob and sister-in-law Sylvia. It was Aunt Sylvia's
relatives, the Grubmans who were furriers with various business
connections, that obtained the set of Bavarian china. Our family legend
had it that the dishes were smuggled out of Germany just before the outbreak
of war circa. 1938.
All though that winter of 1948 Lewis
and I saved coins from our weekly allowances and small earnings from chores
until the quoted grand sum was obtained. I returned to Ovington's,
dumped out on a counter twenty five dollars worth of coins from a little box
that served as our bank and the teapot became ours ! As I write, this
very teapot sells for four hundred seventy five dollars according to
a website for fine European antiques run by :
Sharon Dickinson Fine Antiques
P. O. Box 118
Lancaster, Texas 75146 - 0118
Phone
: 922-227 - 0640 ( Dallas Area )
efineantiques.com
In 1964 my family moved from the Bronx
to an apartment in Stuyvesant Town on the shores of Manhattan's East
River. For the journey few of our possesions were packed as carefully as
my mother's dishes. They were used less and less as Morris and Sophie grew
more frail with the passing years until finally the set lay unused and
stored away in my closet for ove a decade.
In 1998 my late brother Lewis'
daughter Deborah , my cherished niece,called me from a resort in Bali to
announce the happy news that she was going to marry Howard Saunders ! He was
from Philadelphia, the city where she and her sister, my dear niece
Stacey, were residing and employed as social workers. Debbie said
that she and Howard wanted their wedding ceremony to be in New York
City. I expressed my puzzlement at their choice of location because I
knew all their friends and Howard's family were from Philadelphia. Then
Debbie presented me with one of the greatest honors of my life. She told me
that they wanted my presence at their wedding and wondered if they could be
married in the bedroom that is my year-round haven ? I was overjoyed
and excited that among my plans for this milestone event my mother's Empress
dishes would be used for the buffet ! They made an impressive
presentation along with her crystal goblets and sterling flatware.
After the wedding the dishes were
packed away once again until 2007 when Stacey moved into a rambling fieldstone
house in Mt. Airy, Pa. that is a mere bicycle ride away to Wynwood where
Debbie and Howard are raising their growing family of Leor and
the twins Gram and Lola.
Debbie favors contemporary design while
Stacey likes the more traditional. With Stacey settling into a cosy home,
" where I could stay forever ", it was the perfect time for me
to pass along to her Grandma Sophie's Bavarian porcelain. She was so
appreciative of the esthetics of the dishes and the family heritage imbued in
each of the hundred pieces that I was both touched and gratified.
We held hands as I gave her my blessing
that "her cup runneth over, that her table should always be bountiful and
surrounded by loving family and friends". My sole wish is that the dishes
never be sold, but remain in our family. Stacey will pass them to Lola or
to the loving partners of Leor or Gram.
Certainly my mother Sophie would
be as happy as I that, unknowingly, her dishes would be passed
along as a family tradition associated with happy events. In 1938
how could any of us imagine that my father's gift of love to her
would touch generations far beyond her lifetime ?
Historical notes :
According to the Schumann Porcelain
website :
" The Empress set was manufactured
in a porcelain factory located in Arzberg, Germany that was established in
1876 by with production ceasing in 1994. The founder of the factory
underneath the so-called " Jakob Castle " at the railway line, by
which Arzberg was attached to the Eisenbahnnetz*
since November 1879, is Christopher Schumann from Angelroda in Thuringia. His
father Heinrich Schuumann had operated a small clay goods factory which the
building of railways had to yield since 1876 in Arzberg. 1881 developed
in the market place, in the middle in the city, the parent plant of the late
porcelain factory Carl Schumann designated after the older son. Starting from
1881 production was changed over to porcelain. "
About
me ...
Born and raised in Highbridge, The Bronx. Attended Taft H.S.,
graduating in 1951 with plans to attend Hunter College in the Fall semester.
In the same year volunteered teaching art to children at a Lower East Side
community center which was affiliated with a summer camp in Central Valley (
near West Point ), N.Y.
While volunteering at camp, as a counselor, I contracted poliomyelitis and was
admitted to Willard Parker Hospital in Manhattan with total paralysis and
respiratory insufficiency requiring a tracheostomy and dependency upon a
ventilator [ known then as an 'iron lung" ]. Weaning from the ventilator
took approximately one year.
Then began a long course of rehabilitation for a year at the facility in West
Haverstraw, N.Y. This was followed by a six month stay at The Warm Springs,
Georgia Rehabilitation established by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who
also survived polio. Fitted with a back brace and other aids I made considerable
progress in a relatively short time and was finally able to sit up for 12+ hrs.
at a stretch.
I returned home , functioning from a wheelchair and received further physical /
occupational therapy as an out-patient at Hospital for Special Surgery. Also had
elective surgery for a muscle transplant in my dominant hand.
With the unconditional love and support of my remarkably devoted parents I made
the decision to attend Hunter College. I began with evening classes while
continuing physical therapy during the day. After one year I switched to day
classes as a full time matriculated student majoring in Speech with a minor in
Psychology. I received a B.A. in 1958 and proceeded to Brooklyn College for
graduate work in Speech Therapy. Saturday sessions of physical therapy continued
at home with Henry Stano, a therapist who became our family's friend
extraordinaire. [ Henry is now a young-at-heart 95 year old who still plays the
piano beautifully ! ].
At the suggestion of my Hunter College professor, Dorothy Doob, I took the N.Y.C.
Civil Service Test and the qualified for a position as Speech Therapist in The
Hearing & Speech Clinic of the Ear, Nose & Throat Dept. at Bellevue
Hospital. My twenty year experience there was an enriching one of service,
constant learning and of endearing friendships that color my life with happiness
to this day.! Primarily, my patients were children with deafness, cleft palate,
neurological impairments, autism and retardation. I did parent counseling and
lectured to students. Also, it was gratifying to be able to use my interest in
art for creating therapy materials and for enhancing the drab hospital corridors
with colorful seasonal / holiday decorations.
In 1968 my parents and I vacationed for two months in Los Angeles where my
brother, Lewis, a professor, worked in the aero-space program of NASA.. We made
side-trips to San Francisco, the Grand Canyon and to relatives in Phoenix.
Photos recall this memorable time.
Another highlight of that decade was my exhibiting in the Greenwich Village Art
Show. Also , unbeknownst to me, my brother entered my painting "Knowing Eye
/ I " in the N.J. State Fair and it won a 2nd place red ribbon.
Enjoyed designing and executing needle-points and gave many as gifts.
In the 1970's I unexpectedly lost my thirty four year old brother, Lewis, to
Legionnaire's Disease. He left my two nieces, Stacey and Deborah who have become
like daughters to me. I began to have a series of serious health challenges and
decided it was time to leave Bellevue..
The transition to retirement was a surprisingly comfortable one because I always
had interests beyond my career and had the luxury to pursue them full-time.
Reading, writing, art, flowers, cooking ----------
I collected all of my mother's recipes and was able to get her to specify
amounts of ingredients other than "a little of this, a little of
that". These recipes were compiled into a scrap book with illustrative
materials. I added essays that eventually turned into a column for the food
newsletter, "Eating Reading". Over time more essays and an
Introduction grew into the unpublished manuscript, "A Handful of Raisins :
Bronx Recollections & Recipes From My Mother's Kitchen".
During1957, in my college bookstore ,I was drawn to the cover artwork of a
paperback, " The Vagabond " by Colette, an author with whom I was
unfamiliar. The discovery proved to be a watershed moment ! Enchanted by her
work ,I tried to find her other writings in translation from the French, but
little was available. A fascinating woman, ahead of her time, in many ways,
Colette's appeal accelerated in the 1970's with the advent of the Womans'
Movement. More of her writings began to be published in English by Farrar,
Strauss.
During my working years I obtained every book I could find and excerpted
quotations of particular appeal.. Copied on index cards and thrown randomly into
a shoebox, the quotes gradually accumulated into a sizeable amount. and lay
half-forgotten in a drawer. One day , early in my retirement, I chanced upon the
shoebox and began sorting the index cards. Did the subject matter fall into
categories ? Would they lend insight into into my identity ? The answer was
"yes" to both questions !
So began an absorbing project of extracting over 1000 quotations from over forty
Colette books. Her quotations filled six binders, e.g. "A Woman of
Taste", includes quotes on food and spirits with accompanying recipes taken
from other sources.
Over the course of thirty years I assembled a scrapbook of newspaper / magazine
articles/ theatre programs / photos from the media etc., that was the only
collection of its kind.
In the 1980's I was thrilled to read a feature article in "The N.Y.
Times", Travel Section, that a "Colette Museum" had been
established in the Burgundy village of her birthplace, "St. Saveur en
Puisaye" .I wrote to the museum offering to contribute my note-books. I was
delighted and honored that they were accepted along with a gracious invitation
to a tour and dinner, "the next time I was in Paris" ! A few years
later, my cousins Aaron and Carole Werbin visited ,"Colette Musee'"
and brought me a poster with the museum logo.
Rather than gathering dust and space on my bookshelves, it is a warm, satisfying
feeling to know my Colette material is in its rightful home.
In the 1990's I wrote a column, "Once Upon a Time", for the "Highbridge
Horizon". It is a local bi-lingual newspaper published from my old Bronx
neighborhood under the editorship of my friend, Joe Ryan.
The years between 1985 and 1995 were challenging ones with the onset of, first ,
my mother's Alzheimer's and then my father's. They became my priority. I prayed
I would find competent, caring individuals who would help me to help maintain
them in their familiar surroundings. It was all made possible because of Dr.
Mary H. Efremov, who, devotedly, made almost daily house-calls .As superbly
dedicated caregivers to me, I could find no better role models than my parents
now that I was to care for them.
My own health began to fail, probably because of the slow onset of the
post-polio syndrome ( www.
postpolioinfo.com ) and accumulated stresses. Starting in 1990 I developed a
series of life-threatening pneumonias, was hospitalized at Beth Israel, given a
new trach > closed it and another pneumonia developed. The decision was made
to do another trach procedure and to maintain it permanently. That and sleeping
with a ventilator makes it possible for me to function during the day.
In 1991 I met Norma Huertas, my caregiver, friend and a rare individual who is a
daily blessing in my life. She is loyal, integrates her medical technician
background with techniques to assist me; she is endowed with sound instincts, a
high motivation to learn and has a great spirituality. I've learned much about
her Filipino culture and she's learned about mine. Norma is a teammate who makes
my household run smoothly and gives me the peace of mind to create and enjoy
,with gratitude, the happily-ever-after that is NOW !
oooooooo
Philosophy:
Live in the moment
If you don't try, you'll never know
Geography can't separate those of one mind & one heart
Love is all
Appearances in two recent video documentaries;
1. "The Human River"
produced and directed by Gae Kalthegener
2. "Homebound" by
Dr. Ben Freed of the SUNY College of Optometry
oooooooo
Websites of interest ...
www.bronxhistoricalsociety.org
http://www.bobbalogh.com(Highbridge, the
Bronx)
www.metmuseum.org
www.jewishworldreview.org
www.quoteland.com
www.ellisil.org
www.susanbranch.com
CONTENTMENT
With pomp, power & glory
the world beckons vainly,
In chase of such vanities
why should I roam ?
While peace & content bless my
little thatched cottage,
And warm my own hearth
with the treasures of home.
...Beatrix Potter
e-mail : sheilamartha@aol.com
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webmaster: benfreed@optonline.net
