A December Tribute

Joann wrote a lovely piece about this month that paints a picture.  This is really not a wonder as Joann is also an artist and painter.   She stays very active at Plush Mills and has had a great 2017.   

              The Beautiful Renewal of December's Winter Season

Here we are at the end of December already after the beautiful Christmas holiday.  We received  a winter wonderland the Lord send us to enjoy.

How bountiful are the Lords Blessings for the Christmas Seasons and the end of the year!

I saw another fox run across the top of my hillside one afternoon while looking or glancing rather to the left of my living room.  He was pretty long - from the nose, which was hite again, to his white tail.  He seemed a darker color than last time; maybe dark brown or orange.

For Christmas Day I went to my brother's house in Wallingford, where Dale, Doreen, Daniel, and Samuel live.  We joyfully celebrated the Christmas holiday on December 25th 2017.

We exchanged our gifts we had for one another including a happy celebration of eating dinner together and our conversations about various things.  Dale mentioned how thankful we should be for doing as well as we are doing.  There never was a truer statement.

The Christmas tree in the corner, decorated by Doreen, Dale's wife of many years now was beautiful.  The love we enjoyed between one another as a family while exchanging gifts and the big gold balls on the tree seemed to radiate God's love for us, as well as for others remember the birthday of his son Jesus!

Our church services were also a great blessing to me this year of 2017.  They seem to give us rest and renew our spirits for the coming year of 2018- just around the corner this Sunday January 1st.

 JoAnn Petrovitch   

Italian Roots

Eleanor started this piece about her father during a writer's workshop session and read it to us after she wrote it.  One of the most enjoyable aspects of leading the group is hearing these stories read by the authors themselves.  As a group they provide respectful and important feedback to each other. 

                                      A Gentle Giant

                                               By Eleanor Bongiorno

     I recall my father as a strong, kind man who, despite numerous adversities, achieved much in his lifetime.

     The second oldest in his family, he was born in Italy.  His older brother died  of a childhood illness.

     He, age 7, his parents and younger siblings immigrated to the United Staes where, after learning English, he attended a one-room schoolhouse in the Pittsburgh area.  My grandfather worked the coal mines and the family lived in the "company house" and shopped in the "company stores."

     At age 14, because of economic necessity, my father left school to join my grandfather working in the coal mines.  Seeking a better future, the family migrated to New Jersey to work in the textile industry.

     My mom and dad were married in October, 1929, just before the beginning of the infamous Great Depression.

     They lost my younger sister in infancy.

     Though lacking in formal education, my dad read, and absorbed all he could.  I recall him reading poetry to me and my brother.

     When a failing textile business emerged, he seized the opprotunity, purchased it and truned it into a successful business.

     I will always be proud of his accomplishments in achieving the American dream. 

Thanksgiving: a time to remember grandparents

      Thanksgiving Story About My Relatives and Grandparents

                                                By Joann Petrovitch

     Mr. Hans E. Solum was my mother's father and lived in Marcus Hook, PA.  He was originally from Wisconsin and was from a Swedish and Norwegian background.

     He raised four children: three boys, Oliver, Eddie, and David and my mother Pauline.  He used to take them for a ride in a little red wagon like they still have today.  Every now and then one child would fall off the back and he would stop and pick them up.

     He met his wife, Mae, in Ocean City Maryland selling crabs at a crab stand.  Mrs. Solum was a good seamstress and hat maker, made all her dresses, and made and decorated hats for John Wannamakers.

     Mr. Solum worked at the American Viscoe in Marcus Hook, PA; he often called it the silk mill.

He loved children and was asked to be Santa Claus one year at, I believe, Wannamakers. Hans had a straight nose like Santa, blue eyes, and a happy face, his natural expression.  He refused the job because he said he could never give all those little children the presents he promised them because he couldn't afford it.

     One Saturday as I was driving down Faulk Road with my mother, she told me that her father would go into a wooden barn like structure in Boothwyn that we had passed on the left side of the road.  That was the place where he shoed horses.  Then we continued on down Faulk Road, a country road not far from here, sometimes singing "Over the River and through the Wood."   The same familiar Thanksgiving song many people enjoy at this time of year, just a week away.

     My uncle Eddie and Aunt Ruth lived farther down Faulk road and my mom, her mother and father the Solums often stopped and visited them.  We did this even when I was a school girl.  My two cousins, Eddie and Jane, also lived at the Early American style home their father, Uncle Ed,  built years ago.  The adults have long passed on, but Jane and Eddie are still living.  Jane lives in Maryland with her husband, Terry Innenmanne a former state trooper of Delaware.  Eddie lives in Delaware with his wife Susan.

     One memory my brother, Dale, mentioned at his last visit here to see me at Plush Mills was that Mr. Solum could bend a ten penny horseshoe nail between his index finger and thumb.  He was a strong Swedish man, my mother's father my grandfather.  

Tales of Family Romance

During our workshop time I asked the group to write a family story worthy of remembering.  Either a story they experienced first hand or one that should be passed down for generations.  Ken wrote about how his grand-parents first met and Eleanor wrote the story of how her daughter and son-law came to know one another with a nudge from a priest. Each worked on the story a bit more during 
the next two weeks and shared with the group.

                                  The Lord, Love, and Latte 

                                                          by Eleanor Bongiorno

My daughter Lynn was determined to put her Ivy League degree and grad school credentials to good use.  She relocated to Norwalk, Connecticut to further pursue her career.

Eager to involve herself in the community, she became an active member of er family oriented Church and sang in the choir.  She and her pastor developed a friendly relationship, and he offered her a bit of information:  "Young people usually attend Mass in Greenwich."

The next weekend, Lynn thought she'd give it a try.  During the service she noticed a young man seated in a nearby pew.  They made eye contact.  As they exited the church, Matt invited Lynn to Starbuck's for a cup of coffee, then a picnic lunch at the beach and "Shakespeare in the Park" evening.

This week they will celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary.

Starbucks was awed by their story and gave them small packets of coffee to use as favors at their wedding reception. 

 

A tribute to an amazing grandfather

Joan is a prolific writer and chose to share a story about her uniquely talented and inspiring grandfather.  She brought in the wonderful eggs he decorated to show our group his handiwork and flair for design.  Ken said that he could just picture Joan's grandfather and I think the rest of us would agree.

                                                Diddie

                                             By F. Joan Clelan 11/05/17

My grandfather was a very unique person in his later years.  His wife died the year I was born, and the only thing I know about her is that she was a Quaker by faith and what she looked like from a beautiful picture I have of her.

I called my grandfather "Diddie," and I loved him very much.  His occupation was a Painter and Paper Hanger, with his own business.  After he retired, he became Justice of the Peace for all of Bird-in-Hand, which was quite a large area in addition to the small town there.

On nice summer days he would sit on the porch of a large brick double house that he owned.  The policeman enjoyed stopping in to see him often.  He sat there with a cigar in his mouth, chatting with them for long periods of time.

We only lived down the road from him on the Old Philadelphia Pike.  As a young child I could walk up to visit him and he would always say gruffly, "What do you want?"  At that time he frightened me but I would reply, "I just came to see how you were doing and to say Hello."  Usually  he was in his study on my visits and there was always so much to look at.  He was a staunch Republican, and there was a very large bulletin board hanging on the wall with all the buttons for each Presidential candidate at least back from the 1900's.  Hanging with the buttons was all of the related paraphernalia.

He had many interesting abilities such as painting pictures of animals, houses, and flowers.  Beside that, at Easter time, he was well known for the hand-painted Easter eggs he designed.  For larger eggs, he obtained Goose eggs. On one I remember (and still have), he scratched the entire Lords Prayer with a penknife.  First he would paint them a solid color, then he would scratch designs such as Easter bunnies, chickens, stars, animals and so forth.

He carved many animals, some barnyard ones, a camel, a pencil-holder soldier, but mostly elephants.  On the elephants, he painted a cloth on their backs on which he would put individual names of family members.  He also made a set of wooden blocks which fit into a long rectangular wooden box that he made.  Today his great-great-grandchildren play with them.

One time when I was visiting him he asked me to pick out a picture that I wanted.  So I selected a house and when I look at it now, I think of him and what he would have to say about the world we live in today.

In earlier years he had a garden, which my Dad helped him with.  The two families canned many vegetables from that garden.  If you had a garden, Diddie would say "You have to plant sunflowers."

He had a good-looking black Ford automobile.  Each time it got dirty my eccentric grandfather painted it.  He became the talk of the town.

At Christmas, he always stopped by with a bushel of the largest Red Delicious apples I have ever seen.  My brother and I could pick out an apple and he always gave us both a silver dollar.

He lived with his 3 daughters, two of whom had careers, and he was proud of them.  I loved my Diddie who lived to be in his 90's.  There are many memories to hold dear in my heart.               

A game of darts that got out of hand...

Conflict between young boys typically ends in a bit of a brawl, but in the experience of many is over and done with as boys tend to move on or at least get other these things in a more timely way than girls.  The following true story was written by Ken Wright about a childhood experience involving his cousin.  We all a good laugh over it.

My cousin Scott and I really never got along. He was several years older than I and was bigger and tougher. Actually, he was a big bully. I didn’t see him often, but when I did, he was trouble. I never knew why he picked on me, but he surely did.

One Sunday when I was about 12 years, old my parents and I went to visit Scott and his family. After we greeted each other and the parents were talking in the living room, Scott and I went to play in the basement play room.

We played darts and Scott would keep hitting me and annoying me when I tried to throw my darts.

Oh, did I mention that he would cheat at everything?

Finally, I had had it. Scott and I were fighting for the darts on the dartboard, when I grabbed a dart and stuck it through his hand, pinning it to the board. He screamed, yanked the dart out of his hand and ran upstairs crying to his mother.

He never bullied me again, and I learned that when you are bullied, fight back. Hard. Bullies really are cowards!

Female friend or Foe?

The following story illustrates the age old problem of so many young girls as they struggle with that one other girl they are often competing against.  Typically they have similar interests and could be friends, however when one wins and the other loses jealously, anger, and hurt feelings ensue.  Thus enters what we today call, the "Tiger Mother"  to come in and defend her hurt cub.  I was fascinated by Joan's story from a different generation with this timeless theme.
  
When I was in High School there was a girl in my class named Lauren.  In extra curricular activities we had the same interests, namely piano, drama club and majorettes in the High School Band.

Lauren and I both tried out for majorette leader and both of us did very well at tryouts.  I was the chosen person and this created a very upset Lauren, but mostly her mother.  She called the principal of the school and demanded a meeting at the school that evening with the principal, my mother, myself, Lauren and her mother challenging my win over her daughter.

The principal stated that we girls were very close, however my academic record exceeded Laurens so I was the more qualified candidate.  He explained that there would be many times when it would be necessary for me to cut classes at various times to go to teach six, seven and eighth grade baton lessons in preparation for their experience to join the band when they were selected.

Needless to say there could be no argument so all went home.  The next day at school she would not speak to me and there was obvious resolution to the problem at this point in time.  However, she continued her challenge at every opportunity she could, but I also continued to perform to the best of my ability and I succeeded.

by Joan Clelan

Character and Conflict

The following story was written by Olive Padden 

     Small, and a year younger than her classmates she waited on the parochial school ground waiting for acceptance.  How was she to gain it from those bigger, older, wiser kids?
     She desparately wanted to be accepted so she decided to offer to do something that they all talked about but no one acted on.  It had to do with Sister Mary Martin's turned up shoe.
      Sister limped a bit when walking around the classroom in her heavy black nun shoes.
     One of the stories whispered among her classmates was that Sister had been married and in an accident where a train had sliced off the toes on her left foot.  That would explain the upward bend of her clunky black nun shoe, but no one knew how to kind out the truth.  What would happen if by poking around you brought on punishment, retaliation, even suspension.
     The stakes were high - finally acceptance or continual rejection.  Her thoughts were not obvious, so when she suddenly burst our, "I'll do it!"  The whole group listened while she told her plan.  Lollie, a teachers pet, would stay after school to help clean erasers and while there she'd find a way to step  on that curling left shoe.
     The group liked it.  They had their sacrificial lamb.  They could gain knowledge with no exposure.
     And now, classes were over.  Everyone gone but Lollie and sister.  She planned her route carefully.  Walk over to the blackboard, pick up an eraser in each hand, stagger a little, and land on that twisted left shoe ...would there be a reaction.
     Her heart in her throat, holding her breathe a little, she took the necessary steps down and down she came, as hard as she could on the ugly shoe.  No sound, not a facial grimace, or an ouch.  Sister merely cautioned to beat the erasers hard.
     When she stomped on the leather shoe it squished down flat.  The answer now she could make her report to the playground group.  Finishing up the erasers she quickly went to the waiting group to win her acceptance.
     "No toes."  She whispered.  The temporary mantle of acceptance fell on her small shoulder.  The spy had made her report. 

Writing about Conflict

Our group is currently working stories from their own lives that involved conflict.  The writers read their stories in class and we noticed several involved mean cousins, and everyone wrote about conflicts they had as young people.  We have been loosely following a DVD course, Writing Creative Nonfiction, given by Professor Tilar J. Mazzeo from Colby college.  We meet in the theater and read work outloud for feedback and then watch the DVD.  Initially we found Professor Mazzeos hand gestures during the presentations distracting, but she does improve with subsequent lessons.  The following is a new story by Olive Padden, one of the more experienced writers.

                                                    My Mother's Hat

When I was seven we moved to Chicago from Superior, Wisconsin.  My father, an attorney(graduate of Marquette Law School) had taken a job with the Reconstruction Finance Corporation and things were looking up a little.

After an early marriage, both 21, Daddy had been graduated and then struggled in a private law firm through those depression days, but ow there was a little light at the end of the tunnel.  He had quit drinking after the threat of separation forced his hand and this new job looked promising.

So my very pretty mother decided to go shopping, and bought a hat.  We- Mother, Daddy and I were all in the front hall of the 2nd floor apartment on Greenview when she decided to show off her new purchase.

She reached into a paper bag, and pulled out the straw hat. Placing it on her head, she cried out, "Look John, what do you think?"

 My handsome thirty year old father looked up, paused a moment and then said, straight forwardly, "It looks like a sewing basket." My mother threw the hat down the stairs and burst into tears.
I watched and listened, an onlooker to this small drama.  It did look like a sewing basket, one my grandmother had, round, straw, the size of a head with a bit of trim on the edge.

But that didn't mean that Daddy gave the correct answer, very incorrect.  On mothers torrent of tears he turned and walked out of the house with mama calling, "Come back, John, come back."  I ran after him.  He came back.

 Behind this little drama was years of strain and pain.  The ups and downs of living with a handsome football star trying to be a nondrinking father, dealing with the curse of his Irish family, alcohol, 3 moves and now in a big strange city.  It is surprising all she threw was small and made of straw.

Olive Padden

Fourth of July when we were kids

Residents enjoyed our fourth of July activities at Plush Mills, but were eager to share memories of
parades and parties when they were growing up.  Eleanor shared a very interesting and unique tradition from her home town in New Jersey.

                       Fourth of July, Oradell, NJ

                                        by Eleanor Bongiorno

The town or Oradell, NJ had and extravaganza on the 4th of July and the parade was extensive.
We would all bring folding chairs and select a good spot along the parade route to enjoy the event.  My children who were involved in little leauge, girl scouts, and brownies all marched in the parade.  There were grand marshall, several marching bands, live animals, dignitaries, and clergy involved in the festivities.  The final stop of the parade was the atheletic field where skydivers performed.  They ejected themselves from the airplane and landed on a precise spot on the field.  There was a solemn ceremony afterwards and local dignitaries spoke.  Afterwards there were games fro the children, dancing for the adults, it was a wonderful celebration.

                           
                                                  
                                                       

The Luau at Plush Mills inspires creativity

On June 14th the residents enjoyed a Hawaiian type luau with wonderful food, a signature drink and entertainment.  This  not only inspired a still life in our art class, but also a wonderful piece of writing by Jo Ann Petrovitch about her trip to Hawaii some years ago.  

                                       My Trip to Hawaii, our 49th state.  
                                                  
                                                               by Jo Ann Petrovitch

We flew to Hawaii on an airplane and it was the second airplane trip of my life.  It seemed I like sitting on the plane amongst the clouds of fluffy white.  We watched movies on the way and I sat next to Bert Thorne, a lady from Eddystone I had just met.

We had to go down in Chicago to check on an engine that went out on the plane.  It was soon repaired and was nothing serious so we were on our way.

We landed in Hawaii and went to the Outrigger West Hotel in Honolulu, where the beautiful seashore was.  I went on the beach soon and lay on a blanket in the sand near another girl from my hometown
of Eddyston.  The shore was so beautiful so I went in and stood in the white waves that came up pretty high.  Afterwards we shopped and I bought a blue towel for my brother Dale.  I was tickled to get it and it was huge.  I carried it all the way home on the plane.

The first morning I awoke I wrote a postcard about the pigeons on the railing outside my window that I was glad to see.  I addressed it to my home in Eddystone, PA.

We also went to the Big Island to see the volcanoes and road on unpaved roads on a bus.  We missed our flight back to Honolulu so we caught another plane later that night.

We also went on a tour of Maui, the island of beautiful flowers and birds.

These are my most special memories of my trip to Hawaii.

Water color still life painted by Jo Ann Petrovich

 

A new 'resident" in the garden

                                                      Esmerelda

                                                    By Joan Clelan

When you walk out of the front door of the lobby at Plush Mills be sure to look in the flower garden in the circle.  There you will find "Esmerelda" the large praying mantis.

This large sculpture was made and assembled by David Ffrench.  This was quite an arduous task, however David perservered.  If you think of it, perhaps you would like to tell David how much you appreciate his work and how wonderful we can all enjoy it.  Perhaps you may like to ask him how long it took him to carefully construct this piece.  I am sure he would appreciate discussing this with you.

Kudos to David from everyone at Plush Mills.  There is more work there than meets the eye.

Visual Art as inspiration

The following piece by Ken Wright was an in class writing assignment.  After our Fine Arts evening at Plush Mills there were a number of paintings done by residents left in the great room after the event.   I asked the writers to pick one and write about it in any form they choose.  

I was driving through Tuscany in the fall of ’76. It had never looked so beautiful – with green fields alternated by dark vermillion fields and soft, brown waves of grain.

As I rounded a turn, a strikingly white Villa rose out of the hills. It shimmered in the still, warm sun. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. I pulled over to take a photograph, got out of the car and suddenly a huge truck, loaded down with old cars, came around the bend on my side of the road and headed straight at me.

For a moment I stood rooted in one spot. Seconds before I was hit I dived off the road and the truck flashed past.

“Whew. That was close,” I thought. When I looked up the white Villa had disappeared. If I hadn’t stopped to take that picture, the truck would have hit me straight on. Wow!

Musical inspiration and third person

 Our in class writing assignment involved listening to a piece of music playing on the CD player for a few minutes with eyes closed.  At some point the writers were instructed to imagine a scene that might go with the music that was playing.  The initial assignment was written in the first person and in the next class we discussed third person narrative.  Jo Ann changed her piece about a monkey in the park from her point of view to that of an old man.

                                                            In The Park

                                                        By JoAnn Clelan

There are children playing and music is heard in the distance.  The old man is sitting on a bench in the park watching people coming and going.  Now approaching him is a woman who appears to be looking for someone she planned to meet here.

There are cars parking in the lot and many people coming and going .  Here comes a Mom and Dad with their children and a somewhat older daughter  and a son perhaps two years younger.  They wave to the woman who has been looking for someone and they are happy to have found each other!

He thinks to himself I am going to watch these people to see what they are going to do.  Oh, they are to going to where the music is and the little girl is getting all excited.  

"Oh, Daddy!" She exclaims, there is a monkey with a yellow ribbon on his head and he is jumping around clapping his hands and making faces at the crowd of people who have arrived. The woman reaches down to the little girl and whispers in her ear.  He wonders what she is saying to her.  Mother,  Dad, and their son are laughing as they work their way among the people until they are up front at the stage. The old man enjoys watching this family because many years ago he had a family too.  He thinks, " I am old and my children are all grown up, so I am recalling times with my family similar to this."  Perhaps the woman talking to the little girl is her aunt.  Now the monkey is really putting on an act, but the music is very loud and he has seen enough for today.

The little girl looks over at him and he waves to her.  She turns to her Daddy and tells him she wants to go home. Her little brother has had enough and also wants to go home.  He watches them leave the park. The aunt is going with them to the car and he can hear them all talking as they get in the car.  The children are tired now, but want to stop for ice cream.  As they all say good bye to the aunt the old man remembers how his family use to do the same.  Goodbye to a nice day.  He is glad he came to the park today as he was reminded of the good times he had with his own family when they were young.

He smiles as he stands up from the park bench and decides to call his daughter when he gets home.

Writing in the third person

So much of the work we've done in writers workshop has been written in the first person.  We talked about the novel, The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald and how Nick was the witness character who told the stories of others.  I asked the group to try writing in the third person a story originally written in the first.

Bay Village and Mary Wright’s summers there…

By Ken J Wright

 

When Mary Wright was 31, a friend of hers, John Maschal, built a village of shops on a boardwalk on Long Beach Island, NJ and he asked Mary to rent the stores for him. She did a great job and got the 8 or 9 stores rented in 2 weeks and so he asked her to come help him run some of the stores and especially the restaurant. 

 

It was just John, 29, and Mary with 168 college kids running a restaurant, a bakery, an Ice Cream Parlor and a Fudge Shop, the shop that made all the money. Several of the shops she rented to friends - a T-shirt Shop and a Book Store, so she had friends around. 

 

And, oh, she had 4 kids ages 3, 5, 7, 9, so she hired two babysitters that she knew from home, Swarthmore, and brought them with her to the shore. Husband Ken was then working for Scott Paper in Philly, so he could get down during the week and on weekends. 

 

The problem was that the job was really too big for just John and Mary, so they worked night and day. Her pay for all of this was that John would rent her family a house at the shore. It worked out. But when Mary asked John for her birthday off and he said, “Just half a day!” she later found out that he and Ken had planned a Birthday Party for her in the restaurant! When the family all came through the door with a big cake and one small candle, she couldn’t stop from crying. 

 

Mary worked at Bay Village for five years, running the restaurant, her own Creative Playthings shop “The Red Balloon,” a stuffed animal shop (Snoopy and Raggedy Ann & Andy) with books to match. Later, John and Ken built a kiosk where Mary sold engraved jewelry with a friend for a few years. Then she and her family moved to Belgium.

When she came back from Belgium she again took over the kiosk and sold different items every year for the next few years. Her family has had reunions at LBI - most recently in 2001 in the house in the picture. She loved my summers there and all the friends she met. How lucky she was…...

 

My Grandmother Had Two Dresses

By Olive Padden

My grandmother had two dresses for summer.  They hung in a ver small closer area off her bedroom when she was not wearing them ( in the daytime at home she wore print cotton house dresses which don't count.). The two I refer to were real dresses. One was light blue and white print, a soft cotton voile with a white ruffle around the neck and I loved it and thought she looked so pretty in it with her white hair and very blue eyes.  The other was a heavy black silk, almost stiff in its feeling.  Grandma had two different lace collars that could be sewn or pinned on to change the look. Those collars were always sparkling white and perfectly ironed. But the dress was always the same, just heavy black, and I didn't like it.  Grandma wore it for funerals and over serious occasions so she never. Had a particularly happy face when wearing it.  She would pin on the collar, put her small black hat on her white hair, and off she would go. The blue dress she wore at home to greet people who were coming to visit.  Grandmas hair was always lovely.  I remember her digging in a small jar to get 25 cents.  She would then walk across the street to where Carries beautiful shop was.  She would come home an hours later with her hair sparkling, it's curl controlled in beautiful waves, and the back in a bun.  She was then set for another week.  She always used face powder.  It came out of a round cardboard container which sat on the dresser in her bathroom.  There was a big, soft puff in it and I would watch as she generously patted powder over her fine white skin.  The only times I saw her with perspiration dripping off her pointy nose or chin was when she had been baking or ironing, and that was quickly rectified.  She was a lady through and through.

Haiku

Most of us grew up learning about and writing haiku in around the third grade.  However,  I discovered the seniors in our community, although they memorized poems in grade school, we're not familiar with haiku.  So we discussed that a traditional Japanese haiku is a three-line poem with seventeen syllables, written in a 5/7/5 syllable count  focusing on images from nature.  Haiku emphasizes simplicity, intensity, and directness of expression. Then we wrote a haiku together in the pub, which has become our meeting place of choice.  

Here are some of the haikus from the writers.

BRIGHT STARS 

Early spring morning 

Oldest and youngest sons shine

Service above self. 

Bob Moore

Early winter morn

New England buried in snow 

Red Sox in sunshine. 

Bob Moore

Forsythia bloom

Bright yellow in their color

Mustard in a jar.

Joan Clelan

The brown speckled trout

Rushing water over rocks,

Now it is dinner.

Joan Clelan

Practice playing scales

Fingers getting stronger

Clean the house it's time.

Joan Clelan

Hearing aids whistle

It is distracting to me 

So are my dentures

Joan Clelan

My tree is golden

Then winter comes, branches wave

"Good bye, until spring."

Ken Wright

     Paris13 Nov15

They came and killed,

And again, again, again,

But joie de vivre lives.

Ken Wright

             ISLAND IN THE SUN

Majestic, peaceful,

Volcanic ashes spewing,

Mermaid beckoning.

Eleanor Bongiorno

          

We Shall Overcome

Writers were asked to choose from various topics related to racism in America from their own experiences or those depicted in the media.  Some wrote essays about how things were in the 50s and 60s and the changes that have taken place since then.  In our discussion the writers agreed that as a nation there is still work to be done and discrimination still exists in many forms.  As senior citizens they lived through a time when there were signs forbidding blacks from eating, drinking, and sleeping in the same place as whites.  They also saw the the marches and sit ins on the nightly news and witnessed history first hand.  They did not shy away or sugar coat the discussions or examples they gave.  I have been involved in a number of diversity dialogues with mixed race groups, and found the candor and honesty of these seniors to be most enlightening  as they were not oppressed by "political correctness" my generation was taught.  The following is a poem written by Joann Cleland.

There was a time when discriminatin was part of our everyday lives.  We began to learn. That black or white, we are all the same - no matter what color.

We Are All the Same

"Get outta here nigger

This is for the whites only

You may be thirsty 

But you have your own drinking place."

"There is a special place in the city

Where them black people live

Don't go down there when you're in town

You don't know what might happen

If a black man stares you down."

"Went to the restroom where the whites had a place,

The blacks were not allowed there,

They had their own space."

"Bus came down the street to pick up people

Black and white were going the same direction

But blacks sat in the back

Up front was the whites

As was their right."

"Man came walking down the street

Looking kinda happy and whistling too.

Woman turns around with much disgust

Tells him to get going to his own part of town."

"Flip those pancakes, mama

Till they're just light brown

Turn them over easy

Cause those whites are coming down."

"One day this may change

And black and white will work together,

Live in the same place with no bother,

Come to church like any other

What could be better than all living together."

Sunday afternoon

Here it is, a beautiful Sunday afternoon in January.  The sun has come out after the snowstorm from yesterday.  The sun is shining over the hillside beside my apartment at 308. Plush Millls.  The sky is a pretty light shade of blue with white clouds. The remaining sunlight shows off the pretty scenery itself at 3:30 in the afternoon.

The hillside is all white with snow which shows off a few evergreen trees and there are tall hardwoods in the background.  Their bare branches reach upward towards the sky. It is truly a beautiful picture to behold, the lord certainly made us a beautiful world to enjoy.

I have a small patio right outside the window next to where I am sitting.  Now and then a small bird or two flies down the patio.  They are little brown sparrows, or maybe a couple of fat little snow birds with white bellies or gray and brown feathers.  They come in the morning or afternoon these days.

In front of me on the table is the little tree with ornaments red and gold.  It is truly a reminder of the good times we had at my brother's house in Wallingford.  My Guideposts book is also on the table and says, "Rejoice! The King is born!"  There is a picture of the manger scene where the Christ child is born.

I hope you have enjoyed the little story I have written you, the people of Plush Mills.

Happy New Years 2017

With Love,

JoAnn Petrovitch

Poet as a muse

On the last Wednesday of the month at 3pm a dedicated group of Plush Mills residents meet to discuss and read poetry out loud.  Last month they chose Emily Dickinson as the featured poet.  Jerry Murphy was so inspired he wrote a poem about her.

Emily

Why haven't I found you before today?

I've avoided contact with the poetic way

Instead, my literary path led me to interstellar frays.

Today your words on masculine remarks 

Rang true as I recalled the women's March

In Washington - when I described in harsh terms

"A protest on women's foot ware"

Where did that come from?  An insensitive burst

At my masculine worst

Like "Powder exists in charcoal 

Before it exists in fire."

Emily, you may have had something there when you wrote,

"...A remark...a quiet thing that may furnish the fuse unto a spark

In dormant nature lay."

Regrets, I've had a few, but then again too few to mention.

This was one for which I had no intention.

Emily, I'll look for you again,

When next I pick up my pen.

Jerry Murphy

A life in Photos

Eleanor Bongiorno choose the assignment that asked writers to look at an old photograph and  describe it and any memories or associations it brought up.  Below are photos from her wedding and 50 year anniversary, such a treasure.

At critical times in their lives, people often utter the statement, "My life flashed before me."  I can produce this phenomenon instantly with just a click of my computer​.

     My oldest grandchild, Sarah, produced for me a slide show set to "Amazing Grace."  It's a travelogue of photos of my husband's and my lives from our childhood

until several years ago.  It's six years old and I have never, nor will I ever, delete it from my emails.     

     When the desire enters my brain, I simply bring it up and "take a stroll down memory lane" through our early years, our wedding, three children, college graduations, their weddings and most of my grandchildren.

     I can truly rank this slide show at the top of any gift I have received.