When I was five years old, my family moved to a new house in the suburbs, vacating a walk-up apartment in Newark, New Jersey. We were fortunate to learn about a house for sale, not though a broker or For Sale sign, but by word of mouth. My grandparents knew a developer and his wife in town who had just built a row of brick…
It’s been a while since I posted on my blog, but now that spring is officially near, I decided to introduce myself to new readers and re-introduce myself to my longtime followers. The impetus for this resumption of activity may simply be the turn of the season, from the endless New England winter to the freshness of spring, with its light, color, scents, and moderate…
In my pre-teen and early teens, the highlight of the fall was new school clothes. The late fifties was a time of fads; we all wanted to have what the other kids had, and the other kids wanted what we had. September was my favorite time of year as a child. Meeting my new teachers. Meeting the neighborhood kids at the end of the block…
When I grew up in the 1950s, there was no such thing as a play date. We kids roamed the neighborhood backyards or up and down the side streets to visit the other kids, roller skate, ride our bikes, or hang out inside on rainy days playing Monopoly or Chinese Checkers. Most of the families knew each other; the mothers knew every kid, and we…
When I was four years old going on five, we lived in a top floor apartment in Newark, New Jersey – me, Mom, Dad, and my baby brother Stuart. I attended nursery school at the YMHA near our building and graduated summa cum laude (just kidding!). Next, I entered kindergarten at the public school at the bottom of the block. I walked down the hill…
On this date in 1942, eighty years ago, the Cocoanut Grove fire in Boston killed 492 poor souls in a night of horror and devastation, the deadliest nightclub fire in American history. The swanky club was filled with more than 1,000 people, over twice capacity. The nightmare scenario and loss of life could have been avoided, but for the fact that the only available exit was…
ACT ONE I never went to overnight camp, but for the summer between eighth and ninth grade, thirteen going on fourteen, my parents signed me up for a month-long teen program at the YMHA in the next town over, Elizabeth. You could say it was a coming of age experience; I had never been away from home in the summer. Staying with my grandparents didn’t…
My parents met at a Catskill resort catering to young singles in summer of 1942. After a torrid eleven month courtship courtship involving train and bus trips between New Jersey and Long Island and dress-up dates at the ballet, opera, and restaurants in New York City, fully documented in their midweek love letters, they married in the garden of my grandparents’ home in Glen Cove,…
My last trip on Amtrak to New York City was in March 2020. I sat next to a friendly lady in my age range for an amiable chat. I enjoyed one of my frequent stays with my grandchildren on the Upper West Side, taking them to daycare in the morning and picking them up afterwards. Other than those weekday responsibilities and maybe a few loads…
🐸 Did you ever dissect a frog? I did, in tenth grade biology, a mandatory subject in Linden High. I loved school and all my teachers, but when it came to geometry, I faltered, and shied away from taking calculus or physics in my senior year. I didn’t mind biology and could understand it well enough, starting with amoebas, but when I realized that lab…
❤️ Valentine’s Day was a huge deal in elementary school in the 1950s. My mom bought me a packet of Valentine cards at the five & ten to address to all my classmates. On February first, the teacher set up a box, covered in red crepe paper and paper doily hearts, with an opening on top to insert our envelopes. As the days progressed, I…
Greetings readers, I hope you are all well and have enjoyed the holiday month, whatever your tradition. I took a break from writing in my blog since my last piece on Visiting Royalty in early August. I do owe you a wrap-up, and this will be in the form of meandering through the year in no particular order. Annual Holiday Newsletters: I remember my parents receiving…
As a recent Boston College Law School graduate, engaged to a handsome hairdresser on the North Shore, I accepted a one-year judicial clerkship in Superior Court – Criminal Session in Newark, New Jersey, my home state. Judge Harrison, my mentor, assigned me to escort Lady Kenyon, a visiting magistrate from England, on a courthouse tour. She was an engaging and elegant woman who took an…
I’m scrolling through Facebook today where many are posting holiday greetings with bright red, white and blue graphics. Here in New England, it’s been an overcast and rainy week, continuing into the second day of the long holiday weekend. My perennials and young vegetables were on life support during the June drought. Evening watering didn’t help much during the heat wave, but the deep soaking…
I planted an Olga Mezitt shrub in my garden years ago, a Rhododendron with smaller leaves and blooms, and a more compact arrangement. It is in full flower now in the Northeast but the leaves will become warmly burnished in the fall and stay that way throughout winter. Genus name comes from the Greek words rhodo meaning rose and dendron meaning tree. Yes, it’s a…
I don’t remember being especially close to my brother when we were young, but for sure we were not close as young adults, or anytime beyond that. I decided to dig deeper into the past, looking through photographs and letters that might provide clues as to what happened, and why. I see a beautiful infant boy loved by his parents and grandparents. Hundreds of black…
The phone rang at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. The caller introduced himself as a Broward County homicide detective. I had no clue why Florida law enforcement was calling me in Massachusetts. He asked if I was the sister of Stuart Weiner. And in that moment, I prepared myself to hear something terrible. For a few seconds, I delayed it by remaining silent. “Mrs.…
Returning home, I enter through the front door recently sanded and painted Aegean Blue by my talented carpenter Frank. After many years of rather unwelcoming pea soup green, I dared to go bright and bold. But at this critical stage of the pandemic, I don’t expect to open my blue door for anyone . . . .
I wonder how my mom felt first seeing me, emerging from her drug-induced coma, the recommended delivery practice in 1944. On a rainy morning perfect for starting a project, I set out stacks of tattered shoe boxes to leaf through her letters from long ago, starting from her wedding day, ending on…
My grandfather had a saying that has been passed down through our family lore, “Honesty isn’t the best policy—it’s the only policy.” In this holiday season, with travel and in-person gatherings in doubt, I gain strength from my family heritage and the inspiring history of my predecessors. My dear grandparents on both sides set my moral compass. One of my goals in life is to…