Reflections of Time

Reflections of Time

I guess I have been thinking about the past fifty years of my life and I thought I would share them with you, my friends, and my family.

Believe me I am no Barbara Taylor Bradford nor Laura Ingalls Wilder, just me, an ordinary person, who has lived half her life already, some of it good, some fantastic and other times, not so good.

My life has been filled with many ups and downs, but for the most part more ups than downs.  I want to share these reflections with all of you, so onward and upward.

I was born in 1959 into a (at that time), a very strict Catholic family, and Italian to boot .  My father was a strapping young man, about 5'11 with dark eyes and hair, slender (until my mom got him to eat her cooking), and he has a heart of gold.  He worked for the General Electric Company making parts for the F111 fighter jet.  Dad never went onto College (to his mother's dismay), but he had the common sense that most college graduates do not have. Mom was a very tall and statuesque woman of about 5'7, blue eyes and had brown hair and it was very curly (kinky) is more like it with ocean blue eyes.  Mom was a secretary and a damn good one at that.  She worked at a company called Abe love's until 1965, and then she went onto work at Mohawk Valley Community College in the Registrar's Office as the Registrar's Executive Secretary, from which she retired from.  She held that job through the CSEA (Civil Service Employee's Association) for about 30 years.

Dad's family included his mom, Amelia Joan, and his father, Joseph, Sr.  Gram was his dad's second wife.  Gram grew up around the Amsterdam, NY area and many of my cousins still live in and around that area.  Grandpa's family was settled in the tica area and most of them are still there, either living or eternally resting.  (I still run across some of my cousins, oh too many of them).  Dad has a sister, Macc (her nickname) and a brother (an alcoholic who is not even in the picture anymore.  Both Macc and Dad basically disowned him).  I was very close to my Grandfather, mainly because he was like my dad, so compassionate and loving and he shared my birthday. (More of that later in another segment).

Mom and Dad were married on July 7, 1957.  They recently celebrated their 50 year anniversary.  From all the pictures that I have seen and the stories that were told, it was a very nice event.  Mom said she had a rainbow wedding.  Their wedding album was in black and white so I had to rely on mom's memory of the colors in her wedding. 

Mom's family included her mom Rose, her dad Dominick, her brother Dickie, and her sister Carol, along with her grandparents Amelia and Thomas.  Her grandparents were from Italy and they settled in Old Forge, Pennsylvania.  Both of mom's parents and grandparents have passed on now and greatly missed.

After Mom and Dad were married, they moved into her parent's house, which was a two-family house in the East End of tica.The house was of green and white shingles (pin-stripe is the only way I can describe it); two very large front porches, a small driveway and an average sized back yard (for the city).

Our apartment consisted of a kitchen living room, one bathroom and three bedrooms. Wooden floors were throughout the living room and bedrooms.  Mom always kept a beautifully clean home and that trait was passed onto my sister! .  When I think back to those times, I am to remember the times spent in the backyard.

When you walked to the back of the house, there was a small gate that you had to unlatch. The backyard had a patio with a grapevine (yes real grapes that my grandparents and great grandparents made into wine), with a large backyard swing.  It was very small but big enough to have Sunday dinner outside on nice summer days.  The "patio" had an entrance gate that led to the "strip of grass that we called a lawn (which was mowed, yes with a hand mower, no electric ones at that time) and a vegetable garden.  The side with the lawn was well manicured and had a flower garden.  The vegetable garden grew tomatoes, peppers and hot peppers.  All of this was taken care of by everyone in the house. 

On February 2, 1961, my sister Joanne was born.  She picked a wonderful day to be born...the Blizzard of 1961 on Ground Hog's Day.  I remember my dad picking me up, taking me out to our front porch, and we were looking out at the street, which had snow piles to the heavens!  It was fabulous.  I know Dad has pictures of this and when I can get them, I will include them in.  We have had had many snowstorms since 1961, but this was my first memory of the ones to have come.

Let us fast forward now to the year 1963.  I was four, and Joanne had just turned two.  Everyone says when something catastrophic happens; we remember just what we were doing and where we were.  Well, I remember exactly what I was doing on a particular day.  It was a normal day and I was sitting on our living room floor with dad and Joanne.  Joanne was nestled around my dad's chest as he lay on the floor with his head propped up by his arm, and I was snuggled in the crook of his legs, my head resting on his knees watching TV.  We were watching a special report of President Kennedy's motorcade through Dallas, when I saw Jackie get up on the trunk of the car and pull some man into the back seat and then within a couple of hours from that point, the TV announcer said that President Kennedy was dead.  I remember my mom and dad looking at each other with "sadness and tears in their eyes".  A couple of days later, we watched the funeral of President Kennedy and I remember looking up at my mother and she was crying.  The image of John Jr. saluting his father's casket is a memory engraved in my head that I will never forget.  This was history in the making and I was a part of it.

The Neighborhood

Now that I have introduced my family, I would like to share part of my growing up.

Living in the city in the early 1960's, especially the area in which I grew up, is like "Little House on the Prairie" meeting "The Walton's.

We lived on a small city block in the East end.  It was tree lined, and neatly manicured.  Back in the day, everyone took great pride on how their homes looked, inside and out.  Our neighbors were older folks like Jerry and his wife who lived next door, the Armenian family, who were our best friends.  Mary Theresa and Rocky were regulars at my Gram's house.  Rocky was a close friend of my uncle.  They went to school together, played ball together. 

We were in walking distance to the church, St. Agnes, in which to this day Mnsgr. Willenburg, God bless his soul, is still saying mass and across from the church was the Catholic school (no longer there ).  On the opposite corner was the corner store.  So many memories there. 

It was a time when the neighborhoods were pleasant, community oriented and there was never any violence.  You were never afraid to walk up the street at night.

The corner store was called Domincone's.  It was owned by two brothers, Jerry and Babe.  It was a small wooden structure that had three steps to enter into the store.  The front window always had fresh fruit in the baskets for all to see and hanging in front of the window were aged cheeses and aged sausages.  The aroma of the store was one to enjoy.

Once you entered the store, to the right was the candy counter.  You could always find Jerry sitting behind that counter.  Penny candy was always there.  Sometimes Jerry would give me and my sister a couple of pieces.  The store had wooden floors, the counter was also wooden.  There were shelves of paper goods and canned goods; and the meat counter was in the back of the store.  I must tell you, the store was very small.  The only way that I could describe how small it is, is to compare it to an efficiency apartment in today's world.

Gerry would make the Italian sausage and one could order it for Sunday dinner, either very hot or mild.  The brothers had a "tab" system (yes, like a bar tab).  You would order your groceries and they would bill it until the next time.  They also would deliver your groceries.  Babe, the younger brother would walk many blocks to deliver groceries to those that could not get out.  I remember when Gram Rose was feeling a bit under the weather and mom and dad were working, she would get on the telephone, call the store and within the hour, Babe would be at the back door with her groceries.  You don't find that service anymore.  If you did, they you paid high dollar for it.

Jerry and Babe lived above the store with Jerry's wife Frances.  On occasion, mom would take me and my sister to their house for a cup of coffee and good old fashioned conversation. 

Years later, when I would visit the area again, I would make a point to drive down that block and just stop in front of the store and within minutes, it would come to life!

My sister was a bit of hellion in those days.  Let me explain that.  One day, Jo and I were in the backyard, just playing with our toys and Daddy came home.  Dad had an old rambler that was a pukey brown (but had to have the color of the time), and it had a push button start.  Well, Jo decided that she did not want to stay in the back yard anymore, so she wandered down the driveway and she wanted to pretend to drive. .  She got into the car and was doing what any other kid would do and that is turn the wheel (no safety on the wheel.  The cars back then had buoyancy in the wheel even when the car was off).  She was having fun.  Well suddenly, I thought I saw "horns" coming out of her head .  I knew that she was thinking that just turning the steering wheel was not much fun; she wanted to do something else.  Well, she did!  She pushed a button in the car!  The car started rolling very slowing, following the curb line.  Mom happened to be on the front porch with dad and mom screamed!  Dad came flying down the front stairs, nearly killing himself, pop the car door open and pushed another button to stop the car from continuing on its quest.  Joanne had no idea what was going on.  She was laughing and enjoying herself while mom and dad had their heart attacks!  All I can say is Joanne learned her lesson from that little incident.

We always had Sunday dinner outside during the summer when the weather permitted it.  Oh, it was so nice having all of us, mom, dad, me, Jo, Dickie, Gram and Grandpa, Gram Caroline and Grandpa Tom and Aunt Carol together.  Sunday dinner was most always macaroni, meatballs, sausage and the trimmings.  We would set the table under the grapevine.  Tablecloths lined every extra table that we brought out there.  So after church on Sunday, the women of the house would start the dinner.

I think Joanne was about 2 or 3, still sitting in a high chair.  Dad was at the head of the table and Grandpa Dominick at the other end of the table with the rest of us surrounding them.  Food was plentiful.  That day we were having spaghetti.  Joanne was being her typical self, whining a bit, and not eating her food.  Dad put the plate in front of her and she decided that she was not going to eat dinner, but play with it. She kept picking up her spaghetti and putting it in dad's plate, sometimes just tossing it a bit.  Mom kept telling her to stop, but she gave the look of "nope" I won't.  Dad was also telling her to stop but in a more authoratative voice, but still Joanne would not listen.  She just kept tossing her food at dad and laughing a bit.

Well, you guessed it.  Dad had all he could take.  He took her plate of spaghetti and without a second thought, dumped the whole thing over her head!  Everyone was in shock!  Jo cried a bit, but looking back on that, we have to laugh.  It was so surreal and unexpected, but she never did do anything like that again!

There are so many good memories my growing up on Mary Street, and I haven't even touched the surface.  Just thinking back to that time, brings the "warm and fuzzy feeling" over me, that all of the memories just keep rushing in, just like the waves of the ocean breaking the surf.

My sister, Joanne and myself had always wanted a pet, be it a cat or a dog.  But because we were living in my grandparent's house, naturally, mom and dad had to do all the talking to get them to approve of any pet that came into the house.  They had to be reassured that there would be no doggie mess in the yard and the dog should not go into the vegetable garden. 

All that said and done, they finally approved a dog.  Mom and dad got a Mexican Chihuahua (Ugh!).  Mom named him Coco (should have been named Loco) .  If I remember correctly, Coco was white and to us, we were excited that we could hold him on our laps.  Well, Coco arrived.  The gates of hell opened up then.  That dog, I swear was the devil in disguise.  Coco did not want anyone to touch or play with him unless my mother was there.  He would play very nice with us as long as mom was in the room; however, once she stepped out of the room, he turned into one mean dog!  I did not want any part of him.  However, Joanne could not take no for answer.  I believe that in her little mind, she thought she was bigger than the dog, therefore, she will conquer and the dog will be subdued.  Not a chance!

Mom was making dinner one day.  Joanne and I were in the living room playing with our toys, when Joanne got bored and decided to go into the kitchen and start terrorizing the dog.  Mom told her not to get too near Coco because she just gave him a bone.  No way, Joanne thought.  I want to play with the dog.  Looking back now, I thought I saw some "horns" sprouting from her head and the little devil with the pitchfork sitting on her shoulder was egging her on.

Mom moved into the spare room and was getting ready to do laundry.  She told us that she wanted to do some ironing before dad came home from work.  I was content just playing with my dolls in the living room and Joanne was in the spare room with mom...and so was Coco.  Coco was sitting in his "area" with the bone nestled between his teeth and front paws.  Without hesitation, Joanne grabbed the bone from him and he just as quickly snarled, growled and sank his teeth into her ankle.  Well, talk about screaming!  Egad!  All of my grandparents came running up the stairs, crying and screaming in Italian and rushing around...who was going to get ice, who was going to do this and who was going to do that.  My god, nothing but a cluster of chaos!  Once Coco realized that he had "won the battle", he proudly took up with his bone and stayed in his little "area" gnawing at it and gleaming with pride.  The little bastard!

Well, that little incident was not enough to get rid of the monster.  I could not get him exorcised yet.  Mom and Dad just said it was Joanne's fault that he bit her. 

I don't know how soon after that incident that another one occurred.  Yes you guessed it, mistress Joanne struck again.

Mom and Dad were working and Grandpa Tom was taking care of us until they got home.  Both Grandmothers were downstairs getting dinner ready and Grandpa Dominick was in their living room reading the paper or taking a nap, I am not sure what.

Our living room had wooden floors with little scatter rugs under the tables, so the legs of the tables would not scratch the floor.  Grandpa Tom was sitting in the big recliner.  The coffee table was a foot away from him and of course the scatter rug underneath the table.  Joanne was about three and a half or four and she was just wandering around the house and then Gramps picked her up and put her on his knee.  She stayed there for a little while and then she got bored.  She wanted to do something else.  Grandpa let her down and she went off into the kitchen and spare room.

The next thing I heard was her "whoop, whoop" ing, like an Apache Indian.  She had taken one of mom's dish towels and was whirling it about the top of her head, and you guessed it, started chasing Coco, like he was a stray bull.  Both of them were running through the house, from the kitchen to the front room (mom and dad's bedroom) and back.  I think they did this three or four times and on the last time, Joanne lost her balance, slid on the scatter rug and nicked her head on the coffee table.  Well, Grandpa Tom just lost it.  Once again, all the grandparents flew up the stairs and they were yelling and cussing in Italian, grabbing for ice and a towel to wash away the bleeding from my sister's battle wound.

I remember going downstairs and hiding, I guess I was scared and my uncle Dick was occupying my time while the chaos was continuing upstairs.  Soon after I came downstairs, I saw my dad come in the back door and as he was walking in the door, the screaming and crying got to him.  He looked at me and I said Joanne got a booboo.  The booboo part did not upset him; it was the panic upstairs that he was hearing.  He was running upstairs and he tripped and almost fell back down the stairs.  He came running down the stairs with Joanne and proceeded to take her to our doctor.  Within an hour, he came back home with Joanne, her battle wound bandaged and a lollipop in her hand.

In all the commotion, no one could find Grandpa Tom.  Grandma Ameilo was checking outside, no sign of him.  She walked next door to our neighbors, not a sign.  When a few hours passed, Dad went downstairs to the cellar to get some soda or something, and he found Grandpa Tom.  There he was sitting in his chair at the table, with a glass of homemade wine and crying.  The poor man, he thought that Dad was going to be mad at him for letting something happen to Joanne!  He just needed a place to calm down and years later, dad had said that Gramps was so shaken by that incident that he felt like he was too old to take care of us...Dad just gave him a hug and reassured him.  I think Joanne scarred Grandpa for the rest of his remaining years.

The whole "Coco" episode passed on.  Dad and Mom decided that it would be best for everyone to find a new home for Coco.  They could not have a dog that was not adaptable to everyone, so they found a couple that they knew and they were very much interested in taking on Coco since they had no children of their own.  Coco went peacefully with them which in my opinion was incredible.  There must have been something that the dog sensed that he knew he would be safe with them.

Grandpa Tom finally became more confident again and everything was back to normal.

The year is now 1964 and it was time for me to start school.  There were two schools within walking distance from us.  There was St. Agnes School which was across the street from the church and there was Mary Street School a couple of blocks in the opposite direction.  St. Agnes was a "private school" which meant that my parents had to pay for the tuition and at that time, money was okay, but not plentiful, so they opted for me to go to Mary Street School.

I don't remember much about that school since I only attended it for a couple of years, but I do remember my grandmothers walking me to and from school.  When we walked to school, my grandmother (either Rose or Caroline), would take my hand and we would slowly walk the two blocks to the school.  Along the way, sometimes they would stop and chat with the neighbors.

Mary Street School was a very old building, red brick on the exterior and wooden floors and dark wood on the interior.  The classrooms had wooden floors and the desks were two-fold; chair and desk combined and the top of the desk you can open to store your supplies.  There was a playground out in the back with swings, slides, and benches for recess.  My memory does not serve me well there except for one small incident when I was in the first grade.

I can't remember the exact month and day, but I do remember that most of my "little" friends were having birthday parties at school.  At that time, the teachers announced the birthdays that day in class and the whole class would sing Happy Birthday and make cards for the child with the birthday.  Sometimes, after recess, the teacher actually had some cookies for the person of honor.  I guess I secretly envied that.  Well, one day I went up to my teacher (her name escapes me), and I told her it was my birthday (which it wasn't) and lo and behold, that same day after recess, I got a lot of handmade cards and some cookies to boot.  I even got a little hat from my teacher that said Happy Birthday.  I took all my things home in my little bag.  I did not know any better.  I went home with a big smile on my face. 

It was time for my mom to come home from work.  Her routine was to get us ready for dinner and go over the day's events.  She always went through my things from school.  I completely forgot about the birthday cards (Hey I was only six).  She asked me what it was about and I told her. 

My punishment was not that of not being able to play with my toys, it was to tell my teacher the truth, and I had to do it the next day.  My mom and I walked up to the school and before the school bell rang, we walked into my classroom and my head was hung very low and I had to apologize to my teacher for making up the story that it was my birthday!  I learned my lesson that day and from that point on, I never told a teacher that it was my birthday when it wasn't.  I just could not go through that embarrassment again.

Late that year, mom and dad decided that it was time to get a place of their own.  By the time Joanne was five, we were getting ready to move to our first home.   Mom and Dad had to tell the grandparents that the apartment was getting a might too small for us and that they wanted to get a house.  It was a mind bending experience for them, I guess because my grandparents had depended on my parents for a lot of things, but they did give their blessing.

We moved to a brand new development in NorthTicain a little town called Delfield.  Our house was a ranch style with red brick on the skirt of the house, white and red wood above the brick, a fenced in yard, double wide driveway (no garage), three bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen, living room with a very large picture window looking out into the front lawn and a full size basement.  There was an attic but you had to get on a step stool to open the tile in the ceiling to bring down the ladder. 

The front of the house had a small front porch with a screen door and in front of the picture window was nestled a large pine tree and two smaller pine bushes. 

Our new neighborhood was peaceful.  We could ride our bicycles all around the neighborhood.  From the backyard, we could chat with our neighbors on "Marnie Street".  We had so many new friends, some nice and then others not so nice, but never any troublemakers.  We made friends with the neighbors next door.  They had two kids, Connie and Albert, Jr. (Albee for short).  My sister and I were always over there as well as they were always at our house.

Mom took pride in the house.  She was always redecorating every room every other week it seemed.  Our living room went through two different redecorations inside of two months.  At first we bought a sectional living room set that was a light purple.  The whole couch was a very large "L" shape that lined the base of the picture window and wrapped around to the neck of the dining room.  That design did not last long.  Mom went out to the same furniture store about a month later and decided to get an "Early American" living room.  I can compare that living room set to the episode of "I Love Lucy" when they moved to the country and Lucy got brand new furniture.  That is what our living room furniture looked like.  It suited the house.

Mom had a lot of projects for Dad to do: Build a patio and to redo the basement.  Those were the most important things to do.  Dad added the patio inside of two weeks.  He first dug a hole in the back yard, evened it out and poured cement down to create a floor.  Gradually, he added a roof that overhung from the roof of the house, painted the cement floor and mom added out door furniture. Viola! The patio was done!  I have to add, that once dad started building the patio, our neighbors decided to help him out and every Saturday and Sunday, mom would make dinner for all of them and they would build and share in conversation.  It reminded me later on in my life like the Amish helping out others in their clan to build a barn.  It was so much fun!  Dad was really enjoying himself.

Next was the basement.  That took a little longer, but once it was finished, it had a bar, a pool table room, a kitchenette, a den, a laundry room and dad's pride and joy, his radio room.  When the weather was hot, then we would eat downstairs.  Some fantastic parties were thrown in our house.  Mom really loved to entertain and she still does.  (I guess that is where I get my party planning skills from).  I guess it was a year or so later, that Dad added an above ground swimming pool complete with a sundeck. 

One day, mom was outside hanging clothes and dad was inside tinkering with something when all of a sudden mom screamed out his name.  Dad dropped everything that he was doing and ran out to see what was wrong with mom.  She pointed to our neighbor's house in the backyard.  It was on fire!  Al, our neighbor also came running over.  Dad and Mr. Francis grabbed our garden hose which was quite long, some water buckets and both of them hopped the fence (I can see my father jumping that fence) to try to dampen the fire.  It was working.  A short time later, which seemed like hours, the fire department showed up.  The fire was put out and dad and Al came on back over.  While the firemen were fighting the fire, mom started making sandwiches and lemonade and she passed them through the fence on the other side to the women that were nearer the firemen so they could eat and drink.

That is how Dad became a volunteer firefighter and mom was on the Auxiliary committee.

Mom and Dad were always bowling so it went without question when they had to take a trip to Schenectady for a bowling tournament.  My uncle was to watch us for the three days with our neighbor, Mrs. Francis looking in every once in awhile.  When mom and dad came home (must have been during the night), we both were happy to see them.  I could sense something was up with Mom.  She seemed a bit giddy.  Joanne and I were playing in the living room, when I spotted something from the corner of my eye.  Joanne did too, but we did not see where it went whatever it was.  Again, we saw something, but this time it was under the couch.  We peered under it and out shot this brown and black puppy!  It had long shiny black and brown fur and it was sniffing us out!  Then it started frolicking with us.  She was so playful!  I asked mom if it was our dog and she confirmed that it was.  Now, the tough task was to name our new pup!  We both decided on Toodles.  It fit.  Toodles was with us for many years and was our faithful companion.  She was the best dog.  She was always there for us. (She would leave us after 15 years).  She was a part of our family for now!

It has been a year since we moved into our new home.  Dad was still working at General Electric and Mom, was now working at MVCC in the Registrar's Office.  She had taken the Civil Service Test and her scores were apparently very high to get a position like that.  Joanne and I settled into our new school with ease.

I really don't remember too much of those years at school, but I do remember that the name of the school was Delfield Elementary School and it was located off of the Old Route1 in NorthTica.  It was a modern, flat roofed building with a long circular drive way with a very large bus loop.  The flag pole was dead center in front of the main doors.  There must have been about 10 acres of land behind the school in which all of the kids enjoyed during recess.  I do remember looking out of one of the back doors of the school into the yard and there was this lone Maple tree that seemed to have grown on a small hill and it was the perfect place to sit under during lunch as its leaves shaded us during the sunny and warm days.  It was like a little meadow behind the school.  

I had made my first Communion about a year and half before, so now it was Joanne's turn.  We belonged to St. Peter's Church in North Tica.  A beautiful old church set off the main road amongst high Elm and Maple Trees with colorful perennials along the entrance to the church. Mom was busy getting Joanne ready a couple of days before her big day.  Communion was usually held on Saturday afternoon in May. 

Mom had bought Joanne's shoes at Endicott Shoe Store which was in the mini mall right across the street from the church.  My memory is a bit fuzzy at this point, but something had to be done to Jo's shoes before she could wear them.

It was getting a bit chaotic at the house the morning of the communion (you would think it was a wedding or something) with mom running around getting Jo ready, preparing for the gathering after the communion, setting up the table and giving instructions to our neighbor on what food to put out and when.  Mom was quite the organizer.

Anyway, the time had come for us to get to the church, when mom suddenly remembered that she did not have Joanne's shoes!  Panic stricken, she did not know what do.  After she had calmed down, she actually called the owner of the shoe store at home and he agreed to meet us down there.  (The store did not open until 11 am on a Saturday).  It was eight-thirty in the morning and it was pouring rain.  Dad had the movie camera (8 mm at the time...video recorders were not known then) and he filmed mom running into the shoe store and coming out with Joanne's shoes.  I have to say, my mother knew how to pull us out of a jam. 

Crisis diverted that day.  After that, school had ended and it was time for summer vacation.  Yippee.  Joanne and I got new bicycles for getting good grades in school.  My bike was a Schwinn, purple and I absolutely loved it.  Joanne's was also a Schwinn, but hers was white with a pink stripe.  We rode all over the neighborhood.  One day, Joanne and I were riding our bikes and of course, Joanne was being a little daredevil.  It was a Saturday afternoon and mom was inside doing laundry or cleaning. 

We had a white picket fence that divided the driveway from the back yard with a small gate in which we could unlatch to walk into the backyard and into the house through the kitchen.  Anyway, Jo was showing off as usual.  She wanted to see how fast and hard she could stop her bike!  Well she went to our neighbor's driveway as far back as she could (across the street), she gathered speed and came tear assing down the driveway and into ours, slammed on the brakes of her bike and BOOM! Right into the picket fence.  She hit the fence so hard that she almost catapulted over the top.  Man did she start screaming.  Mom came running out.  There was no bleeding or cuts, but she had one mother of a bruise.  That little memento was a very large circle around her naval that had every color of the rainbow in it.  It is amazing that my sister did not rupture anything internally!

Injuries were just not common with Joanne.  I had a little one shortly after that.  Looking back at it, I think that is why I am so cautious now.  Dad's sister Marianne and mom's brother Dickie were over at the house, just chilling out and swimming in the pool, supposedly keeping an eye on us.  But they were teenagers.  They did a pretty good job.  Our street was one of the longest ones in the development.  Joanne and I always rode up our hill (to us it was a mountain) right to the crest and then we would race down the hill to see who would win.  We proceeded to do so that day.  Our street was only pavement and the "breakdown" sides were just sand, just enough room for the mail man to deliver the mail.  We started up the hill and as usual Jo, beat me up the hill.  We got to the top finally and on 1-2-3, we were racing down the hill.  I was in the lead and I was so eager to win this race.  I must have hit a small pebble in the road when my bike tipped and I flew off the bike and landed smack dab onto the sand.  I was almost home when that happened.  I gradually got up and looked to make sure that I still had everything intact, especially my bike.  When I looked down, my knee was wide opened and bleeding.  I walked my bike back to the house and into the backyard and got my aunt and uncle to come take a look.  Both were amazed at my battle scar.  They washed it off and put a band aid on.  Joanne won that race and I got the scar to prove it!  Every time I look at my knee now, the memory of how I got that scar comes rushing back in like a tidal wave.

Joanne and I had many challenges growing up on Forrest Street.  There was another particular bike incident that is so fresh in my mind and again, it happened when mom and dad were out and our uncle Dick was taking care of us.  My poor uncle, we just could not let him be bored!

We always wanted to find new places to ride our bikes.  Mom and Dad let us ride our bikes basically anywhere in the neighborhood as long as we did not ride down to the main road which was Riverside Drive.  We could ride down to it, but never on it because it was the main road that led to the Mall and it was the annex to the main artery of the city, Route 12.

There was a place located at the top of Cosby Road (which connected to our development) that all the kids would ride their bikes to.  It was a little adventurous.  All the kids called it "Candy Land" (sounds really bad now, but then it was innocent).  It was about an acre of land, mostly made up of sand and woods with some vegetation.  There were hills throughout and the kids rode their bikes there so often that it created little trails.  Sometimes we would just go there for hours, park the bikes and walk through to see what we could find there.

Anyway, Joanne and I were riding through the thickets and down and around the hills, having a blast.  Joanne lost her balance on the bike and she went down with a bang.  She wasn't hurt bad, but enough to get wailing.  I took myself back to the house and got my uncle.  He came down there and "rescued Jo" from her ordeal.  Once again, Joanne made my uncle really nervous.  She never had any fear.

Let's fast forward to 1968.  Joanne and I just got home from school and mom and dad trusted us enough to stay home alone until they got home.  We had a few rules to abide by:  Take our school clothes off and put our "play clothes on", clean our rooms, do our homework if we had any, make sure the dog had water and food,  and if we had our friends over, they were not allowed to go swimming until our parents came home.  Safety was one of their concerns.  That we respected.

Joanne had finished her chores before I did and she decided that she wanted to make "dough".  She had learned how in school.  I came out of our bedroom and saw her in the kitchen mixing flour and water.  She had just enough to make a floury mess.  She was kneading the mix and soon she had a small wad of dough.  She started playing catch with me with the "dough ball".  Harmless, I thought.  Then she decided that she wanted to throw it up in the air.  She kept tossing it up higher and higher.  The higher it got, it got closer to the ceiling.  Then the look in her eye was that of curiosity.  She tossed the "wad of dough into the air as high as she could get it until it hit the ceiling.  It bounced off the ceiling and back into her hands.  She kept doing this for about an hour.   She told me to do it.  I, being the oldest one, should have said no, but hell, I was only 9.

Before I knew it, mom came home.  Immediately she knew something was amiss.  She looked up at the ceiling and saw these round spots of grease all over the ceiling.  It looked as though someone took a stencil of a basketball and stenciled all over the ceiling embedding it with grease.  Well, we never heard the end of it.  We got grounded for a week: no friends, no bikes, no swimming.  Damn, my sister did it again.  It took weeks for dad to prime, sand and repaint the ceiling.  Every time now, when making pizza or macaroni dough, I glance at my "dough ball" and I am tempted just to throw it to the ceiling again!

The year is 1968 and we have settled into our new house very nicely.  We started school and have loads of friends.  Mom and Dad were quite popular amongst our neighbors.  We were particularly friendly with the Francis' next door, Joanne and I always hung out with Connie and Albee (funny isn't it.  Who would ever nickname their son Albee? .  I had a girlfriend down the street by the name of Donna Ventura.  She was a little on the strange side as I think back and she was the youngest of two children; her older brother Nick Ventura lived on the corner with his wife and kids.  Nick was a Utica Police Officer and unbeknownst to us (until very later on) that he was not very well liked by anyone.  He seemed to have been a "Mr. Know It All".  His daughter Maria and I were friends but her cousin Donna and her did not get along well at all.  To say the least, there was tension in that household.

A look back before I continue on with this part.  1968 was the first full year at our home.  Within six months, Dad had the patio up and a new pool in the backyard.  His next project was remodeling the basement.  It was a drafty old basement but once dad got done with it (he worked on it every weekend and in his spare time before he went to bed), it became a "house within a house".

Once you walked down the stairs, Dad had made a bar complete with a long counter, a beer mirror and had it stocked with all the fine wines and beer.  He even put up a small frig behind the bar.  To the left of the stairs, dad had laid down an indoor/outdoor carpet, put up a living room set and a television and a kitchenette.  The kitchenette had a stove, refrigerator, sink and snack bar with high topped stools.  Beyond the breakfast nook as I called it, was a kitchen table which set on a tiled floor.  Once you entered the back of the basement, mom had her laundry room with a small clothesline in case it rained or snowed, she made sure that she hung up her clothes instead of using the dryer.  Next was the pool table.  This was in the room to the left of the stairs.  There was a small table in the back and cue sticks were on the wall in a case.  In the back of the pool room and to the right was Dad's masterpiece...his radio room.  He was a CB nut and a Ham Radio operator and he gathered friends from all over the world.  They would send him postcards and he had them posted to his wall in his little office.

Now that you have the layout of the new "room", it was time to inaugurate it.  Mom wanted to have a "room warming" party.  Mom was the best "event planner and still is.  She had everything covered to the max.  She even sent out invitations to this get together.

Joanne and I were very disappointed that we had to stay upstairs but at that time, kids were seen and not heard and we respected it.  Well, the party got started and mom was pleased that everyone has come to the house.  The last guest to arrive was Nick and his wife.  When they showed up, they brought with them Nick's entire squad from the police department.  Mom's face was frozen with horror. Instead of 15 people, she got 40+. As the night rolled on, it got noisy and noisier.  All we can say is that the Utica cops can really party. 

The next week, we were invited to Nick and Donna's house for a small gathering.  Of course, mom never went empty handed.  Nick wanted to show off his new pool table along with his "expertise in playing pool".  Dad let him play pool and I think let him win once or twice before dad socked it to him.  Nick was not happy.  All of a sudden, Joanne decided that she wanted to play.  Nick, being the kind of man that he was, (insecure, so he wanted to show off that he can beat a kid at pool) said why not?  Joanne was all of 8 years old and let me tell you, once she was done with Nick; he kept his mouth shut about being the best pool player in the neighborhood.

There were many other parties including New Year's Eve at our house.  We rang in 1969 with a bang.  The year started off very nicely.  Easter fell early that year; I think it was in March.  It was still cold and we needed to wear coats when we went out to Gram's house for dinner.  Mom always dressed us alike.  We had these green and blue floral dresses with crinoline underneath the skirt, with a wide bluish green ribbon as a belt.  We had brand new black patent leather shoes and our outfits were topped off by an orchid corsage that Dad gave us (he always gave all three of us a corsage at Easter).  We all piled into the Rambler, when Mom remembered that she had left something inside the house.  It only took a minute.  We saw her come out of the front door and go around the back of the Rambler and then she disappeared.  One minute she was there and the next, gone. Dad got out of the car and went to see where Mom went.  Well to his amazement, there was mom on the ground!  When she came out of the house and rounded the car, she slipped on some ice and went down with a bang.  Amazingly, she did not tear her stockings!  I still snicker at this when I remember this tale.

Fast forwarding to June of 1969.  It started out great.  School would soon be over and summer vacation would begin.  The phone rang late one Saturday night (the night before father's day).  I guess it was my Dad's mom calling.  I do remember waking up during the night and I saw Mrs. Francis in the living room.  She said that mom and dad had to go to Gram's house.  I woke up early the next morning and Dad was just walking through the door, mom was not with him.  He said she stayed at Gram's house to help Gram out.  I asked why.  He told me that Grandpa (his father) had gone to heaven.  I became really upset and I hugged my dad and that is the first time I heard him cry.  Dad said that Grandpa had a "hole" in his heart.  Years later and with more education, I realized that Grandpa suffered a heart attack and without the technology that we have today, there was nothing that anyone could have done.  Grandpa passed on Father's Day.  For many years after that, my father just wanted to ignore Father's Day completely.  My other two Grandpas' had passed on Father's Day within the next few years.

After the shock of Grandpa passing, weeks later, things seemed to get back to normal. I do remember Christmas that year was solemn.  Mom did not send out many cards, nor did they decorate the house as they had done in the past years.  I guess, in those days, celebrating after a passing of a loved one, was considered immoral.  Grandpa's death was especially hard for me.  We were very close, but whenever I seem to "lose control" or things are not going just as I want them to, I can feel his presence and sometimes, a glimpse of him in a crowd and with a blink of an eye, he's gone.  I know I am being watched over.

Things started to go downhill somewhat the following year.  Dad's job at General Electric was in jeopardy.  There were layoffs and firings.  Dad had seniority so when he got his "pink slip"; he just turned it over to someone else with less seniority and took over his job and the shift that he was on.  He worked the "graveyard shift for a couple of years".  Financially, that was horrific.  Between his job and mom's, things started to get tight!  Sadly, they decided that they had to put the house up for sale.  By the end of 1970, we had sold the house in Deerfield and moved to a little hamlet called Westford, .  It was just a hop, skip and a jump from Tica.  There we moved into a trailer and more memories were about to be made.

A step back in time for just a minute.  In 1968, monumental events took place.  I can't remember the exact month, but there was a nationalized murder in Los Angeles that happened that year.  While my sister and I were enjoying our life and friends, there was a lunatic in California who had a menagerie of people clustered onto a small farm who did his bidding for him.  This person was Charles Manson.  The story goes that he wanted to get into music and approached Terry Melcher (Doris Day's son.   For those of you who don't know who Doris Day is...She was a bright young actress in the 1960's who co-starred with Rock Hudson in several comedies back there.  She was also a singer).  When Terry Melcher did not accept any of the songs that Manson wrote, Manson decided that he would somehow make Terry Melcher pay.  He sent a select group of "followers" to his house and ordered all to be "terminated".  Everyone in that house was brutally murdered, mostly stabbed to death, some had over 50 stab wounds and one had her unborn baby cut out from her.  The victims were Sharon Tate (a starlet from the Valley of the Dolls who was very beautiful), Abigail Folger (heir to the Folger coffee empire) and about 5 others.  The next night, two more victims were brutally killed and they were Leo and Rosemary LoBianca.  When the police found Manson at the commune, he was curled up under the sink.  When his trial ended, him and four of his followers were sentenced to death.  But politics got in the way a few years later and they commuted their sentence to life in prison.  Every five to seven years he has come up for parole and each year he has been denied.  The next major event of that year was the assaination of Robert Kennedy.  He was holding his campaign for President when Shir Han pulled out a gun and shot him once in the head while he was walking through a corridor.  I could not fathom the importance of these events back then, but they made their way into history and still remain there for our children to read about.

We can now move forward to 1969 for a recap.  That is the year when things started to break down.  We lost Grandpa and Dad's job at GE was having some difficulties.  There were layoffs and paycuts.  It soon became obvious that we had to do the only thing that we could do and that was to sell the house (it is called downsizing).  We moved early in 1970 to a little hamlet called Westford.  It was difficult at first but mom and dad always told us that there was a reason for everything...what it was we did not know yet.

Our new home was a two bedroom trailer located in a small private lot of 4 others and directly across the road from the school.  We could look out of the living room window and see it.  We could not walk to school, we had to be bused in.  We were the last ones on the bus and the first ones off.  Mom made our new home very comfortable and warm as she has always done.  Our living room had a wood burning stove which we did not use. 

We had some good snowstorms then.  Dad decided he wanted to get a snow machine.  That Christmas my sister and I received all the gear for snowmobiling.  I loved it.  I would take the snowmobile out for a jaunt down to my friends house and ride all day long or I would take it up to the school and ride it through the back fields.  Back then there was hardly any traffic on the road and the land was abundant, full of hills and meadows and when they were snow coated, it was so much fun either riding the snow mobile or just sledding down the hills.

Mom made it a point that every week, she would take me and Joanne out to dinner.  Dad was still at GE and working the 3-11 shift.  Mom would usually take us to little family restaurants for dinner.  We would either go to the "Skyline", "Ventura's", "Frankie's" or "Oscunizzio's".  As you can see, they were all Italian Restaurants.  We would go to dinner and then bring the "doggie" bag down to Dad at work. 

Mom would usually leave us our "chores" to do while she was at work.  Joanne was usually the procrastinator.   She wanted to play instead of helping me with the housework.  By the time Mom got home, only half of what she had left us to do was done.  That really got her mad.  I guess Dad wanted to see what happens when we got home from work.  Unbeknowst to us, Dad had placed a tape recorder in the wood stove and he set it just before he left for work (which was about five minutes before we came home from school).  So in we walk into the house and I go and find the list that mom left us to do.  Joanne was giving me "attitude" and yes, I started cussing.  All I kept saying was "Jesus Christ Joanne, help me out."  She just would not listen.  The next day we were all gathered in the kitchen having dinner when Dad pulled out the tape recorder and started playing it.  I was mortified.!   There I was, screaming and cussing at Joanne and it was all on tape.  I started crying and apologizing left and right.  Years later, I think about that and have a great big laugh.  Dad does too. 

Our cousins, the Calacicco's owned a small convenience store on the East End of Tica and they had an apartment for rent and they wanted to know if we wanted to move there.  They preferred to have family living there.  Dad said sure.  So in the springtime of 1970, we moved yet again to Eagle Street.  The house was a corner house on Kossuth Ave and Eagle Street.  The house was an old brownstone house with a large brick exterior and a carport.  No lawn but it was nice.  Next door was my cousin's store.  Very convenient.  We were in walking distance to the school, church and my grandparents.  A couple of blocks down Eagle Street, closer to Mohawk Street (one of the main arteries) was a house that was owned by the Cacciottis. ( About 10 years later, we would become relatives with this family when my sister marries the son).  We attended Conkling School for the remainder of that year.  That school was our introduction to different ethnic groups.  When we were growing up in Delfield, we did not have any friends that were of different backgrounds or lifestyles.  This was a culture shock for me and Joanne.  I actually found it very intriguing and made some very close friends with some of the kids.  In school, we used to have different classes including health class.  One particular day we had a teacher who came in and taught us how to pamper ourselves.  It was our Home Economics class.  It was all female students and this was called our "charm class".  This woman taught us that we should allow time for a relaxing "bubble bath at least twice a week.  Well, that did not go over too well at home. Mom could not see the point of me spending an hour in a hot tub with bubbles at the age of 11.  I guess 1970 was a pretty relaxed year.  No major events and everything was calm.  So for now, we were enjoying our new home and rebuilding memories.

We had been living in my cousin's apartment for about six months, when I wanted a hamster.  God yes, a rodent! I had to have one.  For the life of me, I can't remember his name.  Dad and I had gone out and got this little furry creature with my promise to care for it.  We were very unfamiliar with hamsters.  All we knew was that we had to make sure the cage was an adequate size, had water and food and a "comfy" floor.  Oh, by all means, keep the cage up high so Toodles could not get to it. All of us soon found out that this creature slept during the day and came "alive" at night.  Midnight or thereabouts was his favorite time of the day!  He would get up and "stretch" and then exercise for the remainder of his day on that wheel!  The noise that it had made.  Mom and Dad could not get a good night's sleep.  The wheel just kept turning and turning.  Everyone seemed to be in "off" moods in the morning.  Mom said that we would have to get rid of the "little fella" if he did not stop his "exercising".  She thought if she put him in the spare room, that this would be his "punishment" and he would get the picture.  Not!  That made her even angrier.  The final straw was when Dad and I went to change out his cage.  I could never get used to holding that squirmy little thing, so Dad would.  Wouldn't you know it...that little guy, just sunk his teeth right into Dad's fingers.  The next day, off to the Pet Store to return him.  I was kind of heartbroken, but I figured that it was best before he turned up missing one day or god forbid, he would escape from my hands and end up in Mom's room...Yikes! 

During 1970, we lost Grandpa Tom to cancer.  Joanne and I were still too young to understand it, but we knew that he was with Grandpa Clerrico and was watching out for all of us.

Also during that year, Grandma C asked Mom and Dad if they would like to move in the downstairs apartment at her house.  She thought it best to have us there to take care of the house, the lawn and any maintenance since Grandpa was no longer with us and their downstairs tenant was moved to a Nursing Home.  So, we packed up yet again and moved to E Street, where we would remain for a good thirty some odd years.  Of all the places that we had lived, E Street  and Forrest Street brought the best memories and some not so good, but those places were actually "home" to me and my sister and that is where our childhood was.

Mom quickly made a home for us.  My mother was awesome at decorating and the upkeep of the house.  She was very organized.  I guess a little of "OCD".  Everything had to be perfect.  It usually was. 

Joanne and I shared a room off the kitchen and Mom and Dad had their room off the dining room.  Of course, Toodles had the run of the house.  Her and Suzy-Q (Gram's dog) got along quite famously.

We started school at St. Agnes School.  Joanne and I were very excited about it.  We always wanted to wear uniforms to school.  We went down to the "Boston Store" (the major elite department store) to get the uniforms.  Our uniforms were an "army" green pant and vest, canary yellow shirt and a green and black plaid culotte skort.  We had to pay for the uniforms.  I think for the both of us then, the total cost was $50.00 (that was a chunk of green then).

I guess you could say that I was the "geek" back then.  I was the new kid on the block and everyone there had already formed friendships.  I did manage to make some new friends, some of which I maintained through my high school years. 

There was one girl there who became one of my friends even though her "click" opposed it.  Her name was Kelli Toti. She was one of two children of a single mom.  Fifteen or so years later, I ended up working with her mother in the Emergency Room of the local Hospital.  Anyway, Kelli was your all American Girl.  I can best describe her as a petite girl, nice figure (for one that was in eighth grade), with long brown hair and big brown eyes.  When she smiled, she could light up a room.  She was the Captain of our cheerleading squad.  All the myths of cheerleaders held true for most of the squad except for Kelli.  She was very compassionate and friendly toward everyone.  Never had a cross word to say about anyone or anything.  She was very well respected and literally took me under her wing to guide me through this awkward time in my school year. 

I would like to have known what happened to Kelli after High School.  The last I heard she was living somewhere in Florida.  Every school should have a person like this.  Kelli was one of a kind and I am so thankful to her just for being her.