First View of the World

           Many years later, I came about a dream sequence that happened regularly. However, it belongs here in this part since it seemed to have occurred the day I was born, a bit earlier than my first post.

          I would dreams of a person whose finger I was holding. It seemed to me that the whole body of that person had the same thickness as that single finger i held. I dreamt this particular dream for several years, during hte time I was married and living in Miami, Florida. It was comforting dream, and I never knew why it occurred so regularly.

          After a particularly difficult day, sometime during the seventh year of my marriage, I stopped to think more deeply about it.  I reasoned, that if I was holding only a finger of my comforter, it had to be just after the moment of my birth. I  was wrapped in a warm blanket and I was being cuddled, as all babies are when they are first born.  But it did not appear to be by my mother. It was someone else.  Who, i do not know. I never heard any details of my birth, only afterward, when one of my aunts, who my mother did not like very much, was helping her out during the time of her recovery.

           Neverthelsss, once I decided that it had been that very day and hour that i was born, I NEVER dreamt that drream again.  Apparently, I was having a particularly rough time during my marriage, but did not understand why it was so difficult.  My husband was never rude or contrary to me and it actually seemed that it was a strong marriage. Seven children were loved and appreciated. So, at that time I had no inkling of any difficulty.  Or maybe I did and refused to admit it to myself.

          As it was I later found out that a divorce would be better than staying in the marriage and with a little bit of help from a friend. i was able to do that.  Things actually got a bit worse, but with my dream in my corner (how if dream can affect one's feelings, i don't know, but it did seems to happan that way to me.) I actually survived and all the children are here near where I live and they are very content with their lives.  A good feeling that I got them all grown and happy in what they do finally. Hurray!

Irish Gandfather and Polish Grandmother

         Somewhere between two and three, it seems that we were homeless for a while. First we lived with my Polish Grandmother in Wilmington, Delaware, and then with my Irish Grandfather in Chester, PA.

My Polish Grandfather, I never knew, but my Grandmother was one I could never talk to since my father forbade my mother and I to speak Polish at home. My time in grandma's house, was one of getting drops in my eyes every night and waking up every morning, my eyes glued shut,

I had to walk down the stairs carefully, to find my mother in the dining room.  She would then unglue my eyes with a wet cloth.  My Aunt Anna would fix chicken soup for us children and she gave us special bowls. Each bowl had a different story or poem in the bottom and we had to eat all the soup, so we could have the story read to us, until we finally could read them ourselves. The kitchen had a big black wood stove where the most wonderful food was cooked by my Aunt Anna.

My Grandmother, had a outhouse in back yard where the garden was. Next to the outhouse, a big grey wolf-like dog was on a very heavy chain.  Apparently, it was let loose during the night, but in the day time, we children were just warned to stay away from it.  The garden had vegetables and flowers all summer long.

          My Grandmother had a problem with her legs so she was in her bed in the dining room. She was able to greet people and be taken care of when no one came by. Gradually, she lost parts of her legs to gangrene over a period of time and finally, she died. Her casket was in the living room in the front of the house.  My aunt Anna did the cooking and other relatives and friends brought their food offerings.  We all took turns going into the front room to pray at her casket.

          Later we moved to my Grandfather's house, after my Grandmother there died. Her casket was also in their living room. A steady flow or people came and went. My Grandfather sat in his chair by the front window saying his rosary every day after that time, and sometimes my uncle Tony would sit in the other chair across from him. Many times, I would see them together that way.

          I remember learning to tie my shoelaces, sitting on the commode seat cover by the back window in the upstairs bathroom. The window was open since it was early spring and the peach trees in the back yard were in full bloom. [The bathroom was large compared to bathrooms today.] There was on one wall a strop for sharpening a flip-open razor for shaving. I vaguely remember getting spanked with the strop at least one time, but I must had done something I was not supposed to do.

          One day I was sitting with my mother downstairs in the dining room. A neighbor came to visit and gossip a bit. She told my mom that a man was in the field across the way exposing himself and she should be careful. It was then I learned that there were good men and bad men in the world. Never thought much about it though. But did remember that one should stay away from some men.

          The dining room had a vintage chandelier shade made of colored glass over the dining room table for many years, It was there even after I grew up and visited my uncles on my own.  I do not remember when my grandfather died. It must have been shortly after we moved into an apartment over a shoemaker shop nearby.

         Our doctor was next door To y and parents house, and he had a ugly, bowlegged dog, all white and brown. The dog was a nice dog though and we were never afraid of it. So I did get a lot of medical attention. Nevertheless, I was healthy and active. I remember trying to entertain my grandfather by standing on my head in the living room. I think I did it very well that time,. I had not learned at that time to use my arms as a brace for my head, as I did later, but I never did manage to stand on my head successfully again. I guess I needed a pillow for my head also.  [Live and learn, I guess was my motto at the time.]

           

Why Did I Cry?

          Way back in Neanderthal days when I was two years old or so. I remember having a
birthday party. I do not remember who was there, or if I even had a birthday cake. I was wearing a violet dress; one that I remember wearing on stage in a Shirley  Temple contest at a movie theater down by my Aunt Hedwig's home. 

          All I remember about that day, was that I was crying about something. I do not know why. Modern psychology indicates that I was too young to have such a party and it was "nerve wracking" for me. I did survive that party and continued on to have other kinds of adventures.

          During that May, the twins (my brothers) were born. Mom had started the wash as usual and I was trying to help. The twins started to cry and Mom went upstairs to take care of them.  I, thinking I would be helpful, started to lift a sheet out of the wash tub into the wringer. I seem to have tried to help the sheet along and suddenly I found my hand went with the sheet under the wringer. I know then why I cried. It hurt.  

          A neighbor boy jumped a fence between his house and ours, and I was whisked away to the hospital. It was my very first experience hitchhiking. Of course, the boy had no car at that time, very few teens did. So hitchhiking was a normal thing for him to do. The trip to the hospital was quick and I was bandaged up and returned home. Because I was trying to help Mom, I did not get a spanking or a scolding. 

          My life from that point, [until the next adventure] was quiet and uneventful. I became an ordinary little girl in "Shirley Temple" curls. I even had a best friend called Ann Lavin, who was lucky enough to have gotten a Dutch haircut (no metal curlers to sleep on at night].  It was nice then being a young "grown-up" in the house. I helped Mom doing small jobs that she no longer had time for. The twins took up a lot of her time. 

          My dad would read the comics to me every day.  Some I remember very well, and others, not at all.  Those were the days, when comics were about real people and real events. They were not what we see today, as ugly cartoons, with weird clothes and supposedly "funny" one liner jokes that are not so funny any more. University comics now are even uglier and make no effort at being funny. Oh, well. It was a time of growing up for me and I was not unhappy with life as I found it then.

       

Over 65, Take care!

             Once upon a time, being over 40 years old mean one automatically had migraine headaches. I had Carbon monoxide headaches and was told to take a medicine for migraines.

            Now, I am well over 65 yo and find that the key to my existence has been offered as Lasik surgery for my [first]: Glaucoma, then when that did not work very well, it has become Cataracts.  I have had sales people adjust my glassesusing only the nose clips that gave me splitting headaches. Push them to the left and the right side of my head hurt; push them to the right and the left was worse.  I asked if the guys in the back room used pre-cuts and did not get a good answer.

           My first faulty eye exam was a hoot. I was told that I had 20% Glaucoma in my eyes. When I presented my prescription for glasses, I was told the change was too drastic and I should return for a second exam. The next day I did just that. The partner was there instead of the 20% man and after my exam was over I was told that I had 2% glaucoma.  H.m.m.m.m.

           As a result I went to where i was more comfortable. It was a disaster also. I attempted to get the same lenses as I had in my previous pair, but was told they no longer sold them. I did not know the glass prescription was still wrong. even though it was closer to correct.

          My next adventure with such people was when a new small eye examination store opened up. I thought maybe that might work. When I got there for my appointment and waiting my turn patiently; the owner  noticed that I was the next one to be called.  He disappeared into his office. I got instead a loud obnoxious examiner. He gave me a four lens exams for each eye and turned to me and told me that what I saw on the screen was the best I would ever see.

         I thought that was crude, but he had more to say: he told me that I would never be able to pass a vision test for driving again.  It seems he did not even bother to ask if I owned an auto. Since I did not, I was not inclined to believe this joker. He then proceeded to give me a sales pitch for something, but having been through the glaucoma pitch, I told him not to say another word. He insisted it was for my own health. I repeated twice: no more! Then I left. The receptionist was going to print out my prescription but I was angry by that time and I told him not to bother, I was not paying for such a obnoxious examiner. Was he going to talk about glaucoma or cataracts, I did not  

 know, but cataracts became the "next call to arms."

            One examiner even called me down and asked if I had Social Security Medicare and when I said No, he said. "Of course you do. And Medicare will pay for an eye operation."  $50.00 I was told later by a recipient.

          Glaucoma starts with a halo around the object you are looking at and includes pain in the eyeball and headaches.

             Cataracts starts with a white speck somewhere in the eyeball, usually the iris while pain and headaches are there also. These can be removed, maybe. . . . the Glaucoma can not be cured by any known factor. But my books are old—Tabor's #19 being one of them.

Funny how age puts one in the forgetful stages. All assume that we know nothing.

Strange,  I just had my current eye exam rechecked against my earlier exams and found out that my 2006 eye exam has the same prescription that my last exam yesterday has.  H.m.m.m Now I wonder why that happened. I think it is pretty obvious that when one gets older, one would need a stronger prescription, but never one that is eight years younger.  It is so strange to tell me that I need something that is not even here yet. I spend a lot of time reading, many times without my glasses…yes, I do have to wear them…but the glasses themselves have been getting worse, apparently it is a deliberate way to get one into surgery, since even Social Security will pay for it.

If I am older than I was in 2006, why are my eyes exactly the same?  Does that mean that I am not being suspicious—because I am a crochety old lady—of faulty eye exams for the last eight years or so.  Especially when I had such an interesting time with the "obnoxious examiner," He really was fresh out of a sales pitch seminar geared for selling houses. The speaker that I remember from that particular seminar was a presenter who bounced out on the stage in a red, white and blue Uncle Sam outfit, complete with a similar top hat.

His actions and advice was just as crude as the "obnoxious examiner." No one in their right mind would survive in sales if they took the advice of the fake "USA" presenter.  He must be old and grey by now though. The seminar I remember so vividly was in the 1960's. The O.E. must have had a video of that presentation of Uncle Sam. GADs!

              

THE ECLIPSE THIS YEAR, APRIL, 2014

        

Xiao in my Hammock

        Well, I went to bed early last night and thought I would sleep through the night. But it did not happen        that way.  My live-in companion Xiao refused to believe I wanted to sleep, so off we went and did some advance procedures. 

          He insisted we had to go outside, for what reason I did not know. I think we made about three trips outside before I actually checked my e-mail and the weather which had turned almost as cold as Easter Day in 1973 in Connecticut.

           Oh, my, I should have known. The eclipse was being broadcast from Hawaii.  Since I did not live in Hawaii, there was no problem, but a later newscast proved me wrong. [As usual]  

           There was to be an eclipse tonight. . . . .  I already up and it was after midnight. So I set the alarm for one hour later and set to work on a speech I intended to make Wednesday at Toastmasters.

Checked for my timing and it was to be 6 to 8 minutes long. A whole three minutes longer than I usually got. 

            Being so late, it seemed that I made more typos than usual. The print-out made 4 pages and five lines of text.  Since each page of double spaced typing is approximately 2 minutes, I figured that I had done pretty well . . . . but those typos. . . . .  Ugh.

             I spent the time correcting and adding a bit here and there and since it was a reading of a poem,  I figured it was good for about 5 minutes max. Put in lots of space markers because a good pause is worth its weight in gold.  If it is done correctly. 

              The first speech I ever gave was in a Technical Writing class at the university. I had my key notes set out on about 4 index cards and managed the first card very well, I thought. But when I went for the second card, I realized that I had already done it. Will try again later.

              Got an idea to make a scroll for the poem, but with all the odds and ends I keep, nothing fit the idea I had of a "rolling-up-at-the-top" and unrolling, "without falling-to-the-floor" bottom that I wanted to engineer. I did want to use my hands a little bit; not flailing, mind you, just a little bit. Had to give up the scroll idea for another time.

              The moon actually did look very Red and Yellow. It was worth staying up for it. AND I got the poem corrected to NO typos. Wunderbar.

To be Free of Conventions is an Attribute

           To be Free of  Conventions is the major attribute of reaching an Age where it is not necessary to be home- or work-bound on a daily basis.  Many times, one can drop everything and take time to smell the roses in the garden or take a walk in the early morning and appreciate the sunrise, or the evening and appreciate the sunset.  

         To be so tied down to one's aches and pains, makes one a complainer, to whom no one wants to listen.  I learned in my early days, after all my children were born and growing, that whenever I complained about the bad parts of my life, no one even cared. But when I started saying that Everything was fine—soon enough—everything began to be fine. The bad parts did not disappear but I had freed myself of the complaints.  I actually started to enjoy my children. We took bike rides together, swimming lessons together, and a great variety of other things got done. They learned to plait palm fronds to make belts and I even made a hat with a fancy looped edge.

            I also learned to make a corner in my mind for nicer things to do: like sweaters and dress-up clothes for my children, and some of their toys for Christmas. Imagination got a good workout during those days.  As a result, I could never grow old gracefully,  even if I would be able to stand on my head.

           One day recently, children in my area, pulled a starter pedal out from my bike.  When I pulled into a parking lot and put it on its stand, I turned to walk aways and I landed flat on my back. I just did an ab curl and I was up as if nothing happened out of the ordinary. And for some reason, no one even saw what had happened.  That was months ago, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was such an unexpected surprise.  One can never act in a graceful manner while flat on one's back.  I decided it was just a lesson for me not to be so persnickety.  Live and Learn. Boy, did I at that time!

Decided I Have No Time To Be Graceful

Yesterday was a long day, and I had a lot to do. Took another ride on my bike, then had to go to the Bank for my son so opted for the moped instead.  A lot easier..

Why in heavens name did I think I could do it gracefully? No time. I have too many other things to do which I like much better. Tried spinning my mohair and almost got done, but opted to spool it this time and not dye it.  It is a nice silky white. Like it better.

Wrote my book a while, but got blindsided by shifting paragraphs; so decided I should think a bit before doing any more, Then, suddenly, 'I remembered bits and pieces that would actually connect to what I had just changed and I realized that the fool book had started to write itself. It was amazing to me that it was possible to do things that way.
Gracefully?  Not much interest that way, but happenstance is and always has been more fun.