July 2009 Archives

I share my birthday with some very famous events. The first moon walk, the real one, not Michael Jackson's. Unfortunately, it also happens to be the time of the race riots back in '69. And for some reason, many Yorkers feel the need to dredge up the infamous event every year. It was resurrected in this morning's YDR edition, (August 3)

I have to say it, it is time to move on and ABOVE those events. For those of us who were in York at that time, we understand a lot better what was going on than do young people who weren't even born yet, or people who didn't live in York at the time.

I really just want to say, can you please let the dead horse RIP.

The invisible dome over the city at that time, or the entire county, was not rational. It was fear and rumor that drove any kind of incidents. The actual catalysts that made the riots national news were fiction, overblown and the direct result of confusion. Outsiders happily escalated the fervor and encouraged anyone who'd follow. It wasn't the young men in our neighborhoods that went looking for trouble.

Every time I see an article recapping the events of those days, it is hard to swallow who was deemed heroes. I was not there on that infamous corner at that moment, but from accurate accounts from those who were, it just "ain't what it seemed." Why do we always hear so much more about this incident than the quiet dignity of the "other" seemingly less important even of a true hero killed trying to protect others? Has that family ever made headlines trying to collect money for his injustice all those years ago? Is he less important because he was just after all, doing his job? Over the weekend, I saw just a small memoriam put in by Officer Schaad's family commemorating the day he died, being an actual hero.

Each year, in celebration of my birthday, I can look forward to going backwards to that time. People pat themselves on the back for the "justice that was done 30 years later. Was it truly justice, or was there another agenda of some kind? Say, political?

Sure we can recall the bad times. There were several incidents, after football games for example, that we went through some terrifying experiences. They're permanently embedded in our memories. Truly horrifying experiences, where we students wondered if we were going to be able to actually get out of our school building when students came in andtook over. Blood in the hallways, such tension in the cafeteria that it was thicker than any of the food in front of us--we'd love to let go of those memories, but they kick up so often, it's easy to forget what else we did learn during those days. Then again, so, so, so many of York High graduates went on to do amazing things. Spotlight them!

The same thing keeps going over and over in my mind. What if there were a KKK meeting, or whoever those idiots were who met at the library several years ago, but what if there were a gathering and no one came, except a few diehards who haven't come into this century? What if the news coverage had been limited to 2 lines on the calendar of events page? What if they hadn't been given so much publicity?

There are great things going on in York. I don't want to keep getting stuck like there's a piece of gum on our shoes that won't let us move forward. Focus, focus, focus on the good things. The majority of Yorkers are fine people. Let's celebrate them. Let's celebrate the fact that in spite of those bad times, that we, the people, moved on.

I was in Dallas, Texas when the supposedly "fair trials" were going on here re the race riots. York was the laughingstock down there. The fact that Charlie Robertson was acquitted isn't what is remembered. It was the travesty of the whole thing.

Instead of patting ourselves on the back for delayed "justice," downplaying that period would be so much healthier than the frequent reopening of the scar. The "recognizing history so it's not destined to repeat itself theory" doesn't really apply here. What needs to take its place is accuracy, actuality and the desire to truly learn from it. And ask those who were there, in the middle of it, for the accuracy part of it.

But please, there's much more ahead than there is behind us. Let's address the here and now. We still have racism, there's no denying it. But why not downplay and give less fuel for that fire and instead focus on the crimes of the here and now. There are plenty to go around, and they need all our attention. Crime is crime, whether you're purple, green or orange.

We just came back from a few days at the beach, and leaving the sand and those fantastic waves, we'll it's just always hard to depart. Parting isn't even just "such sweet sorrow." It's just sorrow, plain and simple.

I spent those few days literally being "one with the beach." I barely moved, and could only be differentiated from the seaweed, because my suit had some funky colors in it. Okay, maybe I wasn't quite that immobile, but pretty close. To me, there's nothing like the beach to restore, refresh, and all the other appropriate "r" words.

And speaking of pizza, (what, you didn't get the segue? You must not be a beachgoer. I'll fill you in.)

In Ocean City New Jersey, there is the best pizza in ther world. You got me, I haven't had pizza all over the world, but there's really no need to. Mack and Manco's IS pizza. They've been down at the beach forever and ever, or at least 40 years I think.

If you're looking for candlelight and soft music, you need to find another place. But if you're looking for savory, perfectly baked, unparalleled, perfectly blended pizza ingredients, all you need to look for is the noisy green and white parlors on the boardwalk, where it's always filled with handsome young lads, or if I were decades younger, they'd be hotties, tossing pizzas in the air in perfect symphony with life.

I don't know where they find all the personable guys to work there, but they're always in perfect sync and rythm as they dole out slices and whole pies. Since we don't get down to the shore as often as I'd like, which would be daily, sometimes it's almost an entire year before we make it to the green bar stools at Mack and Mancos.

That first bite, right up to say, the 30th bite, depending on how many slices I get, is pure bliss. It takes me back, turns me into a teenager again, then a young mother, treating my young'uns to the time of their pizza life.

I really, really like Mack and Mancos.

And now we've introduced another whole generation, our grandchildren, to the delights of Mack and Mancos. In fact, they don't call pizza, pizza anymore, they just refer to it as Mack and Mancos. And while other kids ask for all sorts of toys and "stuff" from the shore, our grandkids ask for Mack and Mancos.

It all started decades ago with my parents, That's a lot of pizza.

Now I'm sure there iS other pizza out there, and if you would like to tell me about it, I'm game to try. I'll give it a fair try, but it really, really better be GREAT pizza to get into the competition at all.

I'm putting all my dough on the great M & M!!!

There were HUGE problems going on yesterday as I walked into the center to help victims of the horrendous Chestnut St. fire.

Like so many others, I just wanted to help, so I set aside time yesterday to go in and do whatever was needed.

Therein lay the problem.

Because of certain people, there was LITTLE work to be done!!

Looters? Greedy imposters? Shortage of donations? Apathy?

York has its problems, but caring for our own doesn't seem to be one of them at this point.

The biggest problem yesterday, was that most of the work had been done so efficiently, and so quickly, that there was almost nothing to do yesterday. I'm sure there wil be another wave of need, but what a fantastic problem to have.

There were people like Bill who had been there since Monday, and was going strong yesterday, seeming to be whereever there was need. A beautiful 15-year old girl named Nashaya had been there 2 days already. Her grandmother knew some of the victims, so she'd been hustling around for those 2 days doing whatever needed to be done.

Janet Deardorf, arrived at the center on a cane, which obviously wasn't an excuse for her not to help. Nope, she disregarded the cane, and didn't seem to want to be treated any different because of it.

A woman named Brenda had been there for several days and was adept at popping up wherever someone needed something.

A group of teenaged boys with identifying t-shirts from a leadership development program zipped around when a call would come from one part of the room for some help.

And actually finding things could have been a huge problem, since donations were above and beyond what you would expect.

A whole room just for kids' clothes, piled high in bins separated by size and season. Kitchenware, towels, sheets, bedspreads, clothing, clothing, clothing everywhere, some still with tags dangling from them. Generosity was apparent.

Somehow over time, I hope we can replace the images in our minds of those horrible fires, with images of Yorkers pitching in and being on fire for helping our own. We can't make the fire unhappen, but we can do what we can to help as though it were our loved ones who can use the extra hands.

In this morning's edition of the YDR, (Sat, July 11) there was a disheartening article about Giant Food Stores shutting down some of their Treehouses.

The Treehouse, iw what I personally think was one of their best marketing ideas EVER! While I'm an old mom now, how great it would have been when my kids were young to let them hang out there, while I went about my least favorite chore, grocery shopping.

If you're about my age, or even older, (gasp) and don't know about the concept, Treehouses are these wonderful supervised and secure little places within the Giant stores where while mom does the hard part, the kids get to go in there and play with allkinds of regular toys, computerized toys, and areas where they can even "shop" like mom or dad, (sorry, should have said that awhile back.) The shopping part was another great marketing idea, hear me Giant execs.

I personally met some of the staff as they have become friends with my daughter's family, and they were invited to my granddaughter' birthday party.

Now, "word on the street" is that they're going to close the majority of area Giant "Treehouses."

Here's just one reason you shouldn't. Back around Christmas, we were taking two of our grandchildren to the movies for a surprise. On the way there, they were trying to guess where we were going, and to "disappoint" them, I kidded about we're going to the grocery store, thinking that was one of the most boring things we could thing of. Instead, both of them yelled "Yea, we're going to the Treehouse!!"

Enuff said. Giant powers-that-be, there must be other ways to cut expenses, without cutting one of your best ideas and a haven for those who have to grocery shop. Cut us a break!!

After my dad's successful trip to the Veterans Administration hospital in Lebanon, this must be what seems to be his 50th trip, I just have to comment on the whole experience.

The volunteers that drive these veterans from the York VA center over to the Lebanon facility are true heroes. They get up early in the morning for free, do all the driving of course, fighting traffic, deliver these special people, the veterans for their various medical appointments. They wait there, until everyone has been taken care of, and all appointments are finished to make the trip back to the York facility.

They do this all for free. They are reliable and dedicated, and my heroes since my dad gets a safe trip for his health treatments, along with the other vets that use this service.

With all the brouhaha surrounding Michael Jackson's funeral, it got me thinking. That happens occasionally.

Why can't our society move towards preview funerals, or rehearsal funerals? We could refer to them as pre-burial, dry runs, or before- the- big- exit- funerals. Seriously, all the nice stuff that was done surrounding his funeral, people said NICE things, positive things, and all the negative junk was left out of the script. I kept thinking, it would be prudent for him to have heard some of these things BEFORE he died so he could've enjoyed his life a little better.

But same for us, the little people. (no cross reference meant here for the new politically correct verbage regarding people under 3 ft), but the regular people who only get the good things said about us after we're gone.

Truly, I'd rather hear it now. Who really benefits if friends and family wait until after you're gone to point out something special about you that they never told you? Will I care if I'm not here to hear it? Probably not. Where I'll be, there won't be any pain or bad gossip, nastiness, or anything like that. Why can't we tell each other while we're HERE?

Same with flowers. I love flowers. But I love them HERE. I can't smell them after I'm gone. I can't enjoy their beauty if I'm in a closed box, underneath them.

I could care less what my useless body is put into when my soul has moved on. I'd rather use that money now, for a vacation or a party or something. The earth doesn't need another fancy satin lined box put into it. We're all encouraged to go green. Here would be a great start, or finish, depending how you look at it.

I move that eulogies should be given at a rehearsal funeral. This would be the relaxed, true event, and after the person is gone, it would just be a re-run, like on TV. That way, the person who has moved on gets the benefits too. For me, the more humor at my pre-funeral the better, and heartfelt words from anyone who thought I was an okay person, or was special, now THAT would be a party!! I'd hang around just for that! That's what I call a real savor of life.

Mike Argento's column this morning, (Friday, the 3rd) on his colonoscopy was a bit more than I wanted with my breakfast, but I can say it was accurate.

Which would not be the case on my part. I'll skip over all the day-before stuff. The whole process isn't all that much, and I was expecting a real unpleasant event. The prep and procedure are just another blip in life.

My procedure was maybe a bit more blip than anything though.

I won't name names of the facility or the doctor or the nurse or the maintenance man to allay fears of using this facility. I'm sure it was a one-time incident. You can only hope.

I arrived at the proper time, a feat for me all on its own. I was taken back, pretty much on time, and put into what I thought was just someplace to put me until my "room" became available. The reason this crossed my mind was because there were cleaning supplies, and hospital supplies and other things in this room. And there was something with a long handle in the corner.

They told me to take off my clothes and put on the gown type thing, and that's when I noticed there was "THE TABLE" covered in sheets and stuff, looking all medical and everything. It hit me then, this closet was going to be my debut into the world of colonoscopies.

I barely had nough room to get all adorned up in my gown, and I had brought magazines with me in case I had to wait. No place to put those babies either.

Still not a really big deal. I got up on the table in my glamorwear and waited for the next step. Which was, the nurse coming in and getting me ready for my excursion. Took a little while, but it wasn't as bad as I thought. Enter the doctor, who speaks doctor to me, everything's going fine. The phone rings. There's a phone in here??

Uh hum, Okay, I'll be right there, says the doctor.

He explains that there is an emergency surgery he needs to perform. Okay, I think, I don't care if I get the second string. I never met the doctor before, so it's not like we're attached or anything. And if I were the emergency patient, I'd certainly appreciate having my own doctor there.

But then, the nurse zips right out of the room right afer him, leaving one of the those cartoon like clouds behind her, she ran so fast.

Me. Okay. There's going to be another crew coming in. I'm okay with that, and I begin to think of other things. Okay. Still alone in here. I decide to read my magazines, and congratulate myself on bringing something along to keep me occupied. At that moment, the magazines slip off my lap onto the floor. Of course the table is what seems to be 10 feet high, but in reality was probably only about 4 feet high. Doesn't matter, as leaning as far as I can, I still can't reach them, and I'm hooked up to stuff. So much for rreading.

Okay. Still alone in here. When the nurse first came in, she had put a CD into the boom box, I don't know what they call them these days. BUT, now, the entire CD has played through, an it is silent in the room.

Okay, Still Alone in here!!!

The phone is of course across the room, and without Go-Go-Gadget arms, there's no way I can reach it, even though I tried to extend my leg and get it. Sure, the room is the size of a closet, but just big enough to keep everything out of reach.

Still alone in here, and not happy about it!!

My husband is out in the waiting room, and I think if he were back here, it wouldmake things better, I'd at least have company. Surely there must be someone close to the room that could help me out. Heellloooo!! Anyone out there? Silence. I mean REAL silence.

I love birds. I hate bugs, which is why I love birds. They look at bugs as a culinary treat, whch works out fine with me. I'm not talking ladybugs, they're just cute. And I know we need bees, I just don't NEED them stinging me. I prefer that they just go do their little honey making jobs and whatever wasps are good for. Wasps are one of the few things in life I'm terrified of.

Back to the birds. For some reason, our house has becme a great hangout for the birds' building projects here this year. There is NO housing crisis here as far as they're concerned. OR, maybe we are now considered low-budget housing, or maybe our fowl-weather friends offered some of those subprime mortgages here.

Okay, the point is they love it here and have invited all their friends, and apparently extended family.

At last count, there were 5 birds nest under our deck, nestled between rafters. On our front porch, we have played bed and breakfast for 3 different bird families.

The latest is just about ready to send the kids off to college, because they're stuffed in there like little sausages and yell at just about everything. So I think they're going to be let go real soon. Unless they follow the trend of grown kids hanging around their parents' home due to finances, the food, or having their laundry done.

The nests on our front porch have been in 3 different locales, none of which were convenient for us, nor for the birds.

The first one, a single family style home was built right outside my parents' front door, inside a planter that was meant for, well, plants. Each time one of my parents tried to leave the house the mama robin would get irate and squawk and flounce around like she was making the mortgage payments on the house. Several times, while my dad was just trying to enjoy the out of doors, the mama robin put on such a production that he'd come back in the house. Same with my mom, even though she told the mama robin she had nothing to worry about. Seems mama robin had some trust issues.

Which, may have some foundation to them. Since the next two nests to appear, in rapid succession, were one each in my mom's hanging ferns. Mom loves the ferns, and tries to take very good care of them, so how was she to know there were families in them when she watered them, oh so carefully. My mom's not real tall, and couldn't see anything in the ferns when she watered. I don't want mom to feel any worse than she does, but the next day I saw the little guys had little bird goggles, snorkels and swimmies on.

We're thankful for several things:

That the sun did not become so hot as to boil the water mom watered her plants with,when they were eggs
That they did not drown after they were born (hatched just sounds so politically incorrect)
That PETA does not know our address
That our cat may talk a "big talk" but is basically afraid of most things, so that he at no time tried to make any of the birds his meal

These are truly things to be thankful for--at least for the birds.

All I can say is, as I'm sitting here scratching my newest mosquito bites, if they don't soon start earning their keep in bug-eating, we may not be so hospitable next year! Although mom has already been thinking of next year. Please see attached picture.