My Early Writings

Sometimes I wish that I still had copies of my very early writings, especially the stories and poems I wrote before I was a teenager.

I wrote the first one when I was in third grade.  It was the weekend, the library was closed, and I had finished my books.  I wrote a story so I'd have something to read!

This is what I remember about that story, which was an adventure, written in the first person, in which I starred.

I went exploring and, among other things, picked berries in the falling snow.  After I had walked for awhile, I came to a cave filled with jewels... and some thieves!

I captured the thieves and ended up with a great reward, PLUS the jewels.  Then I went home.

The story ended with me asking my mother the next week, "Can I go exploring?"

 In retrospect, I wonder how much that story was influenced by the stories Little Lulu told to Alvin in the comic books. 

I remember, just barely, a humorous poem I wrote in the sixth grade.  It was about someone who robbed a supermarket, and was chased and caught.  The last line, spoken to the thief, was, "You forgot your trading stamps."

(Mom and I collected Plaid Stamps; I've forgotten what prize or prizes we got.)

And then there were the stories and poems I wrote in my early and middle teens.  At least one was written as an English-class assignment;  I later re-wrote it as a fanfic.

Someday, maybe I'll remember enough about at least SOME of my old stories to be able to rewrite them.  Perhaps not for publication though; perhaps just for myself.

So Judgmental, And So Wrong

Remember this scene from 7th Heaven?  Honestly, how judgmental can people get???? Did it occur to anyone that
Lucy might have been babysitting?  Did they consider that she might actually have been telling the truth?

I loved it when she told that woman off!

Yes, I realize it was just a tv show, but things like this also happen in real life.  My niece was well into her teens when her

baby sister, and, a year later, her baby brother, were born.

And I, myself, had a similar experience years ago, when I was fourteen.  I was buying a book of baby names (I've always been fascinated by names and their meanings) when a woman asked me, "Is that for your mother, or an older sister?"

"It's for myself," I answered.

She then asked my age, and I told her that I was fourteen.

"Why," she gasped, "you little slut!"

I glared at her and said, "I am NOT PREGNANT, and YOU have a FILTHY MIND!"

"If you're not pregnant," she demanded, "why did you buy yourself a book of baby names?"

"I don't owe you an explanation. You owe me an apology!"

Yes, I could have told her why I bought the book, but at the time I didn't think it was any of her business.  I still don't think so!

AAARRGGGHHH!!!!

One evening years ago, at a party in the Church Hall, (I forget what the party was for) a woman sitting at the same table as I was asked me what I did for a living.
Well, I had recently sold a couple of my writings... not, I'll admit, for a great deal of money, but enough to make me feel
like an almost professional writer.
I smiled and said, "I'm a writer."
"But what kind of work do you do?" the woman wanted to know.
"I write," I replied, resisting the temptation to add the word duh.
"Oh," my interrogator went on, wrinkling her nose, "then you don't work?"

I muttered under my breath, "Murder is a mortal sin, murder is a mortal sin, murder is a mortal sin...."

Ordinary Things, Not An Ordinary Day (Old post, slightly edited)

Tomorrow is the 15th anniversary of 9/11. That morning, I was warming up some biscuits. This was such a normal, ordinary thing for me to do. So was turning on the radio, but that day, for some reason, I didn't turn it on until it was time for Dan Daniel (Dandy Dan Daniel, Daniel Daniel Daniel, Triple D) to play the Backwards Oldie. This was a contest they had every morning around 9:00
on WCBS-FM. The beginning of a record would be played backwards, and the
listeners would try to identify the song.
About the first thing I heard was Dandy Dan telling us that there would be
no backwards oldie that day. I took out my biscuits, and wondered why.

I had just bitten into a warm, well-margarined biscuit when I found out why we weren't getting the backwards oldie that day. I rushed, biscuit in hand, to turn on the TV (but did not shut off the radio.).
It was a long time before I could eat biscuits again.

My First Prayer as a Catholic [reposted, slightly edited.]

Today is the anniversary of my baptism into the Catholic Church. I was 20 years old at the time.
I knew that my first prayer as a Catholic would be an interior one, and I hoped that it would be something beautiful, something profound, something almost, note that I said almost, good enough for this wonderful event.
That, however, is not what happened. My first prayer as a Catholic was neither beautiful nor profound.
My sponsor was a young woman, just a few years older than I was, who lived in the same building. Because she was a bit nervous, she chomped on bubble gum during the rites. I don't think Fr. Conroy, the priest who baptized me, was impressed.
And so, this is what I prayed inwardly as the water was poured over my head:
"Please, Lord, don't let her pop a bubble!"

B Is For Brighton Beach

I've just discovered this book, which was published last year.

Of course, I went right to smile.amazon. com and, to my utter delight, saw that they had it
on Kindle... at a very low price!
CLICK!

All through the book there  are places I've been so many times.
Asser Levy Park, which I called "The Big Park" when I was a little girl.
The boardwalk.
The Ezra Jack Keats School (known as P.S. 253 when I went there.)
And, most meaningful of all to me, Guardian Angel Roman Catholic Church,
unnamed in the book because it is on the J page along with the Jewish Center
across the street.

This book makes me feel so happy, but at the same time, a bit homesick.

I'm just sorry that I didn't know about it last year.... I would have gotten a physical
copy for Mom.
She would have loved it.

Mom's 86th Birthday

Mom's 86th birthday was one year ago today.  I'll always like to remember.... I telephoned her and said, "Mom, I have a message from Winky."  

And then I sang "Happy Birthday," not in the English words, but in meows!

I didn't know, then, that that was to be Mom's last birthday.

A Book I Never Finished

Less than a year after I joined the Church, I borrowed a book

called Saint-watching, written by Phyllis McGinley, from the public library.  I've just borrowed it again, this time from openlibrary.org, but, once again, I shall NOT be reading this book in its entirety.  I only want to quote a certain passage
accurately.  This book won't appear on my weekly reading list!

I remember being interested in the book, until I came to these
words on page 21:

"Then, as if to display the broad spectrum of sanctity, there are ignorant or clumsy-minded saints like prattling Theresa of Lisieux."

Ignorant? Clumsy-minded?  Actually, she was a subtle genius when it came to spiritual matters. 

I slammed the book shut, and did not read any more, nor have I ever read any other of Phyllis McGinley's works.  Perhaps I've
been missing out; I did enjoy her style until I came to her words
about my Patron Saint!

It may very well be time for me to give this writer another chance, to read one of her books. It won't, however, be a

book about the saints!

Old Hat, New Hat

I recently ordered and received a book I hadn't read in years...

A Pageant of Hats, Ancient and Modern, by Ruth Edwards Kilgour, which I am currently reading.

Well, that book got me to thinking about a hat I used to have,

one that I owned for years, and got a great deal of use and

enjoyment out of.

It was a blue felt shapeable hat....very shapeable.  And I shaped it in every possible way.  I also liked to use different

accessories on my hat.  Sometimes it would be one of several

pins I had. Sometimes it would be a scarf,with the ends tied into a bow.

I had that hat for more than ten years, not unlike the hat Miss

Opal wore in Lenora Mattingly Weber's Beany and the Beckoning Road.

"Her black hat had seen years of service.  It was only the flowers, Beany realized, which blossomed anew on it every

spring.  This spring Miss Opal had chosen pink, yellow, and blue

daisies."

Well, between that passage and the book about hats, is it any wonder that I began to miss my hat, which also saw "years of service," more than I did before?   Is it any wonder that I decided it was time to get a replacement?

I went to amazon.com to search for a hat as much as possible like my lost, lamented one.  And yes, I found one,  and, after reading the reviews, I ordered it.  

Yes, it is shapeable!  And yes, I will be accessorizing it, but I

won't change the accessory every day, and I will never use a

pin on this hat... it's made of paper, but, according to the reviews, it doesn't feel like paper, and it is durable.  The original price was $25.99, but it was on sale for only $6.06, and the shipping was free.  I thank God for that; the original price would

have been a bit much for me at this time.

I've also ordered a sunflower self-adhesive embroidered applique sticker patch, which I'd actually selected before I found the hat. I have to laugh when I reflect that I spent more... but not much more... for the accessory than I did for the hat... just as I've spent more money on Bible covers than I did for my favorite Bible!

So when and where do I plan to wear this hat?  Wear it where?

Where wear it?  Not outside; I couldn't run after it if it were to

blow away.

I'm going to wear it, instead of a prayer veil, when I watch the Mass on EWTN... and perhaps when I just feel like wearing it!

But am I giving up on veils? No; I will still wear a veil when I

pray the Liturgy of the Hours, and when I make Online Adoration.

Was it necessary for me to buy the hat, and the sticker.  No, and I realized that before I placed my order.   Every now and then it is good to make a completely frivolous purchase... provided, of course, that it is something you can afford, and

something you really want.

Why The Yada Yada Prayer Group Series Appeals To Me

Wow!  That sounds like the title of a composition or essay for school. 

So, why do the books appeal to me?   Do I agree with everything in them, with everything the author says?  No,

but that is not what this post is about.  Besides, it isn't necessary to agree with everything in a book or series in order to love it.  After all, friends and family members don't always agree with each other, but they still love each other... even if that love is covered for a time by anger and/or hurt feelings.

One reason that I like these books is that I love books about clubs, and the Yada Yada Prayer Group is, essentially, a club. It has the basic elements needed for a club, that is to say, an offline club. [Online clubs are different in some respects... I'll

cover that in a separate post.]

1: The Yada Yadas have regular meetings.

2: They meet for a specific purpose: prayer and fellowship.

3: They get involved in causes.

Moving on to the next reason:  I love religious fiction.  I was going to say Christian fiction, but anyone familiar with my book lists knows that I also love Jewish fiction.

Finally,  I love the way the Yada Yadas visit each others' churches.  I had to dig into my own memories to understand why.

At the time that I was going through my conversion experience, I explored various churches.  I visited many different Protestant churches, and, of course, the local Catholic parish.

I saw, and enjoyed, the various forms of worship.  I've only recently realized that the Yada Yada books reminded me of that time.

Amelia Bedelia (Warning: SPOILER!)

I've just re-read a favorite picture book: Peggy Parrish's delightfully funny "Amelia Bedelia."

Amelia Bedelia is a maid, and it is her first day working for Mr. and Mrs. Rogers.

Mrs. Rogers has to go someplace, but she leaves a list of instructions, which Amelia Bedelia follows literally... and I do mean LITERALLY

The next part is a spoiler, so I'll put some X's here.  Please scroll down.

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Years ago, I read this book to a little girl, and when I came to the words, "and please dress the chicken,"  she said, "Oh, NO!"

and cracked up.  I couldn't blame her, I always lose it at that point!

Incident In A Store

I was in a store quite a few years ago, and I went up to a saleslady and asked her where a certain item...I forget what... was.

She pointed.

"Could you please tell me in words?" I requested politely.  "I have a perceptual disability, and it's hard for me to tell just where you are pointing."

"Well, tough on you!" she snapped in a VERY nasty voice, and walked away.

I followed her, tapped her on her shoulder, and responded.  "You are right.  You're absolutely right.  It is tough having a handicap that people don't understand.  But do you know what makes things so much tougher for me?"  I looked right at her and answered my own question.  "People like you."

Sibling Kitties

Before we had Winky, Mom and I had Heather, and before we had Heather, we had Ollie and Cleo, who were brother and sister... they really were siblings.  

Ollie was more talkative (meowative?) than Cleo.  Quite often, he would stand in front of  Mom and/or me and make a speech.
"Meow, meow, meow, meow," and so on.

When he finished, Cleo would give one single "Meow."

I used to say, "Ollie does the invocation and Cleo does the 'amen'. "

Part Of A Conversation

Once, during a discussion about abortion, I said, "There is never any good reason for an abortion.  It might be best, in some cases, for the mother to give the baby up for adoption, but abortion is never the answer."

"The trouble with you," my friend [yes, we were friends, but we drifted apart] said, "is that you allow your religion to influence your thinking."

I looked right at her and responded, "Well, if it didn't influence my thinking, it wouldn't be much of a religion, would it?"

Two Fathers, Two Little Boys

Two incidents have remained in my mind for years.  I'll take the later one, which happened when I was in my early twenties, first.

I saw a little boy, who couldn't have been more than six [if he was that old], walking with his father. The child looked up and said, "I love you, Daddy."

But did his father hug him the way a normal father would?

No.

He shook his finger in the boy's face and said in a tough, hard, completely unfatherly voice, "MEN don't say I love you to other MEN!"

I felt so bad... so sorry... for both of them.  And I remember thinking, "I hope I never marry a man like that."

Now for the earlier incident.. which is a good memory. I was only a little girl, not even eight years old but I've never forgotten.

I was sitting on a bench on Ocean Parkway with my Baba and her sister, my Aunt Lily.  On the bench across from ours sat a little boy and his father.  They were looking at a picture book.

And then the father said, "Let's go home now and fix dinner and surprise Mommy when she gets home from her club meeting."

I hope that boy grew up to be like his father.

Mary Never REALLY Suffered

Did that heading grab your attention?  Did it shock you?

Years ago... not long after I'd become a Catholic, a woman said to me, "They shouldn't call Mary Queen of Martyrs, because she never really suffered."

"Oh?" I responded.  "Well, you just close your eyes and imagine yourself watching [I said her son's name] die the way Mary watched Jesus die... and then tell me Mary never suffered!"

Judging Others

I'd like to share a conversation I once had. A friend of mine said

about someone we both knew, "The trouble with her is she is so

judgmental."

I responded, as gently as I could, "When you call her judgmental, aren't you judging her?"

Cigar

I''d like to share an incident I witnessed years ago.  

There was a luncheonette in my neighborhood where I often ate.  Everyone on the staff was polite to me.   The waitress brought my toast cut and buttered, no questions asked.

One morning I went there for breakfast.  The area I sat in had two tables

next to each other.  At the table in front of me sat a woman and a baby in a highchair.   At the table next to theirs sat a man whose breakfast (which included eggs sunnyside up) had already been served.

The man lit a cigar, even though we were in a nonsmoking section.

"Excuse me," the woman said, "but this is a nonsmoking area."

"So?" the guy asked.

"So please put out your cigar.  The smoke is bothering my baby."

I'll never forget what happened next, what that jerk did.

"Oh, yeah?" he said...

 and then he BLEW THE SMOKE INTO THE BABY'S FACE!!!!

The mother stood up, and seconds later that creep was WEARING

his breakfast!

Good for that mother!

I Didn't Take it Seriously

When I first heard about abortion, years ago when I was in my early teens, I did not take it seriously.  This had nothing to do with the fact that I wasn't a Catholic at the time, it had nothing to do with the fact that abortion wasn't legal in the United States of America at the time.

Was I, then, too young and immature to understand what abortion was?

Oh, no; I understood, all right.

So why didn't I take it seriously?

Because I didn't believe it.  I didn't believe that such a thing was possible.   I did not believe that a mother could ever deliberately choose to have her baby killed.

My reaction was, "That's baloney!  A mother will kill, if she has to, to protect her baby.  A mother will die to protect her baby.

A mother will not KILL her baby."

Oh, if only I had been right about that.

Run That By Me Again

Someone once told me that she was against the death penalty because, quote, innocent people have been executed, unquote. Later in that same conversation, she said that she was in favor of abortion.
I responded,  "Excuse me?  And you are against the death penalty because....?"