Today, like every Monday, I got my manicure at one of the multitude of Chinese/ Koren/Vietnamese /etc nail shops in the city. This one is right by me on 1st Avenue with a Grand Opening banner that has been up for as long as I can remember. It isn't very crowded but it is the cheapest place around at $8.50. I find that it doesn't matter if I spend $8 or $30, a manicure always last the same amount of time on my nails, five to seven days. This is fine, because by that time, I'm bored with the color anyway. My process of the manicure is always the same. I walk in without an appointment. If I make an appointment, I always am late or early or something, so walk in is what I do. If I have to wait, I walk down the street a few feet the the nearest salon even if I have to pay 50 cents more, and get my manicure there. I can repeat this until I hit a place, which has never actually taken me more than one try. I use the washroom, pick my color, which has lightened as I age, and open my book or magazine. If the person is good, the manicure takes about 20 minutes. If not, it takes 30. I have naturally long, strong nails. I don't need anything fancy, but the nails intimidate manicurists, especially the new manicurists. After the service, I sit for 20 minutes under the hand dryers waiting for my nails to dry before I head on out with my day. If I don't, they get all smudged and smeared. Therefore, it really doesn't pay to get them done if I don't have the time to let them dry.
While waiting for my nails to dry today, I got bored. I had finished my magazine and just didn't feel like starting another one. I decided to sit there and stare out the window overlooking 1st Avenue. It is a beautiful, cool day, the first of the season. I love summer, but this day is certainly making me think of a transition to fall. The salon had the doors open a few feet away from me enabling me to enjoy the cool breeze. I decided, for no particular reason, to check out New Yorkers shoes. We are such a "fashion" centric city, so I thought, why not. Maybe I can pick up a few tips. What I can tell you is that on a Monday afternoon, on 1st Avenue, New Yorkers follow function over form. There wasn't a fashionista in the bunch. Not a heal to be found, not even a kitten heal. Most people had on the most comfortable, ugly lace up street shoes they could find. There were a few flip flops, but not even nice ones -- more like shower shoes. I then noticed the sweetest looking puppy Husky. He was already getting big, but his beautiful coat was amazing. His shoes -- feet -- were immaculately clean. But more interestingly his steel blue eyes were fixed on something, something by the door of the salon. I followed his eyes to the big black rat that just entered the salon a few feet away from my feet!
Oh my GOD! An extreme case of the willies engulfed me. I couldn't even talk. I pointed and tried to speak with words that must have sounded like a foreign language to the manicurist.
"A .. a.. a mouse … black … rat … a ... I'm done. Sorry ... done!"
As the rat crawled along the wall deeper into the salon, I grabbed my stuff and ran as the manicurist yelled apologies at me down the street. For the first time in my memory, I didn't care that I wasn't even close to hitting my 20 minutes of drying time.
For all I know, the rat just needed a polish change, but I wasn't sticking around to find out.
Monday, 22 August 2011
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
Notes from "What Adults Need to Know and Do to Protect Children from Predators" workshop
Below are my notes from the CityWide Disaster Services Inc. (CDS) Emergency Preparedness Workshop, "What Adults Need to Know and Do to Protect Children from Predators" and "Emergency Two-Way Radio Workshop."
These are my notes and only my notes. I am not speaking for the CDS or the presenter. They did not handout a copy of the presentation. What I have below is from my six pages of handwritten notes. I do hope the information can help people. It is not pretty, but I do feel it is better to be informed than an Ostrich with its head in the sand.
August 12, 2011
CityWide Disaster Services Inc. (CDS) Emergency Preparedness Workshop
Friday, August 12th, 2011 from 10am until 1pm
New York Law School
featured guest speaker: Ms. Donna Christine Gueren, presenting,
"What Adults Need to Know and Do to Protect Children from Predators".
___
A predator can be from ANY walk of life.
Just because a person looks "safe" does not mean they are "safe".
Male predators who abuse boys have an average of 150 victims
Male predators who abuse girls have an average of 52
Only 3% of crimes are ever reported
(Personal Note: I have heard the stats at 1 in 4 girls have been abused and 1 in 6 boys)
90% of the time, the abusers are known to the child
Think First & Stay Safe
http://www.childluresprevention.com/
We have Built-in Sirens
She explains it as how we feel when we hear a fire or police siren. Do we get a sick feeling in our gut? Are we worried, anxious? The body has a built-in siren. If it doesn't feel right, it isn't. (Personal Note: I saw on Oprah where they said, only humans will go into a situation that isn't right. A zebra never walks through the lions.)
Teach children dignity -- we are all different. We are all priceless. There is not enough money to replace us in the world. She used the MasterCard example … value of a child, priceless.
Strangers that your child sees on a daily basis … store clerk, neighbors, doorman, newspaper person, etc. Adults know they are strangers, but kids see us saying "hi", "please", "thank you". The kids start to see them as not being strangers. We have to make sure they know these people are strangers.
People are like weather. It could be a beautiful sunny day at the beach, but storm clouds roll up. The kids don't want to get out of the water, but they can see the clouds coming. People can go from being very nice, to turning around a hurting the child or worse. If the child see the change, don't assume the person is still good (sunny). It is time to run away, as in the stormy weather.
Laws are there to protect children. If someone hurts them, or threatens them, the laws have consequences for that person.
Ten commandments say, "Thou shall not bear false witness." Kids are not to lie about someone hurting them just to get that person in trouble. They need to tell the truth.
Teach Kids "My Body Belongs to ME!" There should be no touching (by them or of them) in the bathing suit area of the body for boys and girls. They don't say "private parts", because depending on the age, the child may not know that term, or may get silly talking about it. This way, all kids know what the bathing suit area is.
No secrets if those secrets make the child feel scared or worried. Some predators/bullies will say things like "If you tell, I'll kill your family." The child doesn't want the family to be killed, so they keep their month shut. She did stress the "no secrets" isn't for everything … like a surprise birthday party. (My note: I heard once that we tell kids not to be tattle tells, but then don't understand why they don't tell us things later. Well, let them be the tattle tell if you want them to tell you things!)
+++++
Lures used by predators (Personal Note: I didn't see an order here, just a list)
- Bribery
- Money
-Toys
- Candy
- Fun and Games
- Online, Technology & Electronics
- Jobs
- Ego, Fame & Fortune
- Friendship/Affection
- Assistance
- Pets
- Authority Figures
- Emergency
- Porn
- Alcohol & Drugs
Bribery -
- Money, toys, electronics, candy, fast food
NO gift is to be kept a secret from parents, ever.
Money -
Free money comes with a price.
Big boy toys -
Remote control cars. Can be used to lure children to the "woods" or secluded part of the park.
Candy -
Jelly beans or drugs? Kids may not know the difference. Also, drugs can be colored or have sugar on them to make them taste like candy. Once a kid is drugged, the predator can do anything they like.
Fun and Games -
- NO Tickle Me Elmo type of game. The predator can use it to "tickle" the child in the bathing suit area.
- NO Twister
- NO cowboys & Indians or cops and robbers.
The child is never to play games where it is ok to be handcuffed or tided up. This is to never be done with an adult. It is also not suggested to be played by children. Many times, if a child is being abused in some way, they start to emulate the same behavior with there friends. This is never acceptable.
Technology and Electronics
- iPhones. Kids love iPhones. They can be lured with anything from letting the child play with the phone to a person asking confused with the maps and asking the child for directions. Kids love the maps and love to show how smart they are using the maps.
- Facebook
1 in 100 people are predators. If a child has 500 "friends" they most likely have 5 predators as friends. Unless the child really knows the person, they should not be FB friends. Many kids want to be popular, so the more friends they have, the more popular they think they are. She stresses that they should be much more selective, telling people that only the best get to be on their site. Examples of abuse come when a person is invited to a party, arrives, but there is no party.
- Be a safe surfer. NO personal information online. NEVER meet anyone without a parent. If two friends show up thinking it's safe, the predator just gets a 2-1 deal from it.
Jobs
A job in the paper, or online, can really just be a lure. If the child shows up for a job interview without the parent, they could be abused. Also, if a neighbor that you kind of knows, asks the child to come cat sit, pick-up mail, etc. this should certainly be watched to make sure it is safe first. The child should always tell the parent before accepting such work. (Personal note: After hearing this, I am now going to be asking all my high school babysitters to let me speak to their parents first. I want to make sure we all know it is a safe environment for everyone.)
Ego, Fame, and Fortune
In the past, ask a kid what they wanted to be when they grew up, they'd say something like doctor, lawyer, cop, but now, they say famous, rich, beautiful. (Personal Note: Sad statement on our society.) The predator can tell the child that they'll land them a modelling job, come over for the photo shoot, or the singing audition, or you get the idea. A lot of time this is not the first contact with the child.
Names on Shirts (Ego) -- a big NO NO
If the child has their name on a shirt, or even something like a baseball team, the predator can start a conversation. If they use the name, it makes the child feel as if they have to know the person, but just cannot remember. It is really all it takes for a four year old.
Friendship/Affection
We all want to be loved and accepted. If a child isn't feeling this, the predator can tell. If a person really loved or respected a child, they wouldn't be touching, asking to be touched, or looking at their bathing suit area.
Exclusion & Bullying Hurt! Predators can pick up on low self-esteem. Think of an animal predator stalking their prey. They go for the weakest link. If a child is bullied, the predator may see this at the school yard, park, where ever the kids hang out. They then can befriend that child usually over a period of time. Predators can see it and prey on it. Report Bullying to Schools. Intolerance is Intolerable.
Assistance
- Take three steps back and run away. Never ever get near a car. Adults should NOT be asking a child for directions, ever.
- If someone is lying on the floor, the child should run away to mommy or daddy (trusted adults) and report it. This is used a lot for the kids to get near, then the person can grab them.
- iPhone maps again.
- If a child tells you this has happened, CALL the police vs. saying that it's ok now.
Pets
- Newborn kittens and puppies. She said she can get an entire class of kindergarten kids to follow her anywhere with a new kitten. Some lures are "Would you like to see my kitten/puppy?", or "Would you help me find my kitten/puppy." and the person lures them away.
Authority Figures
Predators can imitate cops. If a predator sees a kid littering, the predator may say they are an undercover cop and they are arresting the child for littering. Kids get scared and believe it. ALL arrests are to be made by a uniformed officer in a MARKED car. The child should run away.
Predators sometime really are cops, or priests, or authority figures. In this case, the internal siren should go off. The child should still run and not just obey the authority figure.
Emergency
Predator will tell the child that mommy/daddy has been in an accident and that the child should come with them to the hospital. The child is now scared and afraid and follows. You should always have a code word with your child. If the child is abducted and can call you, they can use it. Also, if a person really does need to pick up your child, that person should know the code word or the child should not go with them. In this case the code word is a secret your child should keep.
Porn
Obviously works more with pre-teen/teens, and more with boys than girls. But it is certainly used. No porn should be in a child's environment, ever. It is illegal for ages 17 and under. Period.
Alcohol & Drugs
Kids may feel grown-up or cool, but they lose control over their bodies. Many cases of date rape, or other abuses.
Sober=Safe
+++++
No weapons, no exceptions.
Tell parent or teacher immediately.
No threats, No kidding.
All should be reported.
Child should always report an abuse. If the first adult doesn't believe them, then they should go to a second, third, fourth, etc. until someone listens. It is the adults responsibly to act, and report the crime.
Websites she suggested,
http://www.crime-safety-security.com/
www.childluresprevention.com (Personal Note: This is the company she works with)
CDS Emergency Two-Way Radio Workshop
This workshop was also interesting. Sure, I didn't think that I needed two-way radio training, but I did find myself presenting the material to my daughter's school that very afternoon.
The CDS System connects all the city's services … fire, police, EMS, 911. It is actually faster than 911 to report an incident. The CDS System was the only one that did not go down on 9/11. And if you think your cell phone can do this, well, just think of all your dropped calls, or when people cannot hear you.
Besides feeling that this is something that every school needs, I learned how to identify a "situations" to the dispatcher faster. For example, if you see a crime committed, and the person runs away, don't tell the dispatcher, "They were wearing a read shirt and khaki pants." You have now just described everyone who works at Target. Focus on things that do not change, such as skin color, hair color, height, weight, sex. Glasses and clothes can be changed and discarded immediately, and usually are.
Also, in scribing a car, remember that you usually are only seeing three quarters of the car. No visible damage, doesn't mean no damage. Try to remember you angle. Car make, model, color, license plate (at least color if you can't get the number.) All letter should be said as a work such as Alpha Beta for AB.
I did feel this session was worth my time. If I ever do need to call 911 or a similar service, I'll have a better idea of what to report.
These are my notes and only my notes. I am not speaking for the CDS or the presenter. They did not handout a copy of the presentation. What I have below is from my six pages of handwritten notes. I do hope the information can help people. It is not pretty, but I do feel it is better to be informed than an Ostrich with its head in the sand.
August 12, 2011
CityWide Disaster Services Inc. (CDS) Emergency Preparedness Workshop
Friday, August 12th, 2011 from 10am until 1pm
New York Law School
featured guest speaker: Ms. Donna Christine Gueren, presenting,
"What Adults Need to Know and Do to Protect Children from Predators".
___
A predator can be from ANY walk of life.
Just because a person looks "safe" does not mean they are "safe".
Male predators who abuse boys have an average of 150 victims
Male predators who abuse girls have an average of 52
Only 3% of crimes are ever reported
(Personal Note: I have heard the stats at 1 in 4 girls have been abused and 1 in 6 boys)
90% of the time, the abusers are known to the child
Think First & Stay Safe
http://www.childluresprevention.com/
We have Built-in Sirens
She explains it as how we feel when we hear a fire or police siren. Do we get a sick feeling in our gut? Are we worried, anxious? The body has a built-in siren. If it doesn't feel right, it isn't. (Personal Note: I saw on Oprah where they said, only humans will go into a situation that isn't right. A zebra never walks through the lions.)
Teach children dignity -- we are all different. We are all priceless. There is not enough money to replace us in the world. She used the MasterCard example … value of a child, priceless.
Strangers that your child sees on a daily basis … store clerk, neighbors, doorman, newspaper person, etc. Adults know they are strangers, but kids see us saying "hi", "please", "thank you". The kids start to see them as not being strangers. We have to make sure they know these people are strangers.
People are like weather. It could be a beautiful sunny day at the beach, but storm clouds roll up. The kids don't want to get out of the water, but they can see the clouds coming. People can go from being very nice, to turning around a hurting the child or worse. If the child see the change, don't assume the person is still good (sunny). It is time to run away, as in the stormy weather.
Laws are there to protect children. If someone hurts them, or threatens them, the laws have consequences for that person.
Ten commandments say, "Thou shall not bear false witness." Kids are not to lie about someone hurting them just to get that person in trouble. They need to tell the truth.
Teach Kids "My Body Belongs to ME!" There should be no touching (by them or of them) in the bathing suit area of the body for boys and girls. They don't say "private parts", because depending on the age, the child may not know that term, or may get silly talking about it. This way, all kids know what the bathing suit area is.
No secrets if those secrets make the child feel scared or worried. Some predators/bullies will say things like "If you tell, I'll kill your family." The child doesn't want the family to be killed, so they keep their month shut. She did stress the "no secrets" isn't for everything … like a surprise birthday party. (My note: I heard once that we tell kids not to be tattle tells, but then don't understand why they don't tell us things later. Well, let them be the tattle tell if you want them to tell you things!)
+++++
Lures used by predators (Personal Note: I didn't see an order here, just a list)
- Bribery
- Money
-Toys
- Candy
- Fun and Games
- Online, Technology & Electronics
- Jobs
- Ego, Fame & Fortune
- Friendship/Affection
- Assistance
- Pets
- Authority Figures
- Emergency
- Porn
- Alcohol & Drugs
Bribery -
- Money, toys, electronics, candy, fast food
NO gift is to be kept a secret from parents, ever.
Money -
Free money comes with a price.
Big boy toys -
Remote control cars. Can be used to lure children to the "woods" or secluded part of the park.
Candy -
Jelly beans or drugs? Kids may not know the difference. Also, drugs can be colored or have sugar on them to make them taste like candy. Once a kid is drugged, the predator can do anything they like.
Fun and Games -
- NO Tickle Me Elmo type of game. The predator can use it to "tickle" the child in the bathing suit area.
- NO Twister
- NO cowboys & Indians or cops and robbers.
The child is never to play games where it is ok to be handcuffed or tided up. This is to never be done with an adult. It is also not suggested to be played by children. Many times, if a child is being abused in some way, they start to emulate the same behavior with there friends. This is never acceptable.
Technology and Electronics
- iPhones. Kids love iPhones. They can be lured with anything from letting the child play with the phone to a person asking confused with the maps and asking the child for directions. Kids love the maps and love to show how smart they are using the maps.
1 in 100 people are predators. If a child has 500 "friends" they most likely have 5 predators as friends. Unless the child really knows the person, they should not be FB friends. Many kids want to be popular, so the more friends they have, the more popular they think they are. She stresses that they should be much more selective, telling people that only the best get to be on their site. Examples of abuse come when a person is invited to a party, arrives, but there is no party.
- Be a safe surfer. NO personal information online. NEVER meet anyone without a parent. If two friends show up thinking it's safe, the predator just gets a 2-1 deal from it.
Jobs
A job in the paper, or online, can really just be a lure. If the child shows up for a job interview without the parent, they could be abused. Also, if a neighbor that you kind of knows, asks the child to come cat sit, pick-up mail, etc. this should certainly be watched to make sure it is safe first. The child should always tell the parent before accepting such work. (Personal note: After hearing this, I am now going to be asking all my high school babysitters to let me speak to their parents first. I want to make sure we all know it is a safe environment for everyone.)
Ego, Fame, and Fortune
In the past, ask a kid what they wanted to be when they grew up, they'd say something like doctor, lawyer, cop, but now, they say famous, rich, beautiful. (Personal Note: Sad statement on our society.) The predator can tell the child that they'll land them a modelling job, come over for the photo shoot, or the singing audition, or you get the idea. A lot of time this is not the first contact with the child.
Names on Shirts (Ego) -- a big NO NO
If the child has their name on a shirt, or even something like a baseball team, the predator can start a conversation. If they use the name, it makes the child feel as if they have to know the person, but just cannot remember. It is really all it takes for a four year old.
Friendship/Affection
We all want to be loved and accepted. If a child isn't feeling this, the predator can tell. If a person really loved or respected a child, they wouldn't be touching, asking to be touched, or looking at their bathing suit area.
Exclusion & Bullying Hurt! Predators can pick up on low self-esteem. Think of an animal predator stalking their prey. They go for the weakest link. If a child is bullied, the predator may see this at the school yard, park, where ever the kids hang out. They then can befriend that child usually over a period of time. Predators can see it and prey on it. Report Bullying to Schools. Intolerance is Intolerable.
Assistance
- Take three steps back and run away. Never ever get near a car. Adults should NOT be asking a child for directions, ever.
- If someone is lying on the floor, the child should run away to mommy or daddy (trusted adults) and report it. This is used a lot for the kids to get near, then the person can grab them.
- iPhone maps again.
- If a child tells you this has happened, CALL the police vs. saying that it's ok now.
Pets
- Newborn kittens and puppies. She said she can get an entire class of kindergarten kids to follow her anywhere with a new kitten. Some lures are "Would you like to see my kitten/puppy?", or "Would you help me find my kitten/puppy." and the person lures them away.
Authority Figures
Predators can imitate cops. If a predator sees a kid littering, the predator may say they are an undercover cop and they are arresting the child for littering. Kids get scared and believe it. ALL arrests are to be made by a uniformed officer in a MARKED car. The child should run away.
Predators sometime really are cops, or priests, or authority figures. In this case, the internal siren should go off. The child should still run and not just obey the authority figure.
Emergency
Predator will tell the child that mommy/daddy has been in an accident and that the child should come with them to the hospital. The child is now scared and afraid and follows. You should always have a code word with your child. If the child is abducted and can call you, they can use it. Also, if a person really does need to pick up your child, that person should know the code word or the child should not go with them. In this case the code word is a secret your child should keep.
Porn
Obviously works more with pre-teen/teens, and more with boys than girls. But it is certainly used. No porn should be in a child's environment, ever. It is illegal for ages 17 and under. Period.
Alcohol & Drugs
Kids may feel grown-up or cool, but they lose control over their bodies. Many cases of date rape, or other abuses.
Sober=Safe
+++++
No weapons, no exceptions.
Tell parent or teacher immediately.
No threats, No kidding.
All should be reported.
Child should always report an abuse. If the first adult doesn't believe them, then they should go to a second, third, fourth, etc. until someone listens. It is the adults responsibly to act, and report the crime.
Websites she suggested,
http://www.crime-safety-security.com/
www.childluresprevention.com (Personal Note: This is the company she works with)
CDS Emergency Two-Way Radio Workshop
This workshop was also interesting. Sure, I didn't think that I needed two-way radio training, but I did find myself presenting the material to my daughter's school that very afternoon.
The CDS System connects all the city's services … fire, police, EMS, 911. It is actually faster than 911 to report an incident. The CDS System was the only one that did not go down on 9/11. And if you think your cell phone can do this, well, just think of all your dropped calls, or when people cannot hear you.
Besides feeling that this is something that every school needs, I learned how to identify a "situations" to the dispatcher faster. For example, if you see a crime committed, and the person runs away, don't tell the dispatcher, "They were wearing a read shirt and khaki pants." You have now just described everyone who works at Target. Focus on things that do not change, such as skin color, hair color, height, weight, sex. Glasses and clothes can be changed and discarded immediately, and usually are.
Also, in scribing a car, remember that you usually are only seeing three quarters of the car. No visible damage, doesn't mean no damage. Try to remember you angle. Car make, model, color, license plate (at least color if you can't get the number.) All letter should be said as a work such as Alpha Beta for AB.
I did feel this session was worth my time. If I ever do need to call 911 or a similar service, I'll have a better idea of what to report.
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
London Riots
It is making me sick reading about it online. My old neighborhood has been vandalized. The grocery store I use to go to, the movie theater. I met many of the shop owners, who became my good friends, walking up and down those same streets, with my latte and dogs in the morning.
My friends in the nice areas of town, like Chelsea, are also on lock down ... just in case. The stores along Oxford Street are being bored up, as are the stores around the neighborhood high (main) streets.
Police advising people not to be out on the streets "unless absolutely necessary." I hope the police start advising the use of water cannons.
I could write more on "why" I think this is happening, but right now, I just want to make sure my loved ones are safe. Will post when I know something ... hopefully all positive somethings.
My friends in the nice areas of town, like Chelsea, are also on lock down ... just in case. The stores along Oxford Street are being bored up, as are the stores around the neighborhood high (main) streets.
Police advising people not to be out on the streets "unless absolutely necessary." I hope the police start advising the use of water cannons.
I could write more on "why" I think this is happening, but right now, I just want to make sure my loved ones are safe. Will post when I know something ... hopefully all positive somethings.
Monday, 8 August 2011
Running and Writing
It ha been a while since I've posted anything mainly due to the fact that I've been concentrating on a piece I plan to submit for a contest. I've been working on this piece for a while now, rewriting it a number of times, reading it aloud, rewriting, etc. I used three other pieces I've written as a base for this work and added to them. I'm not thinking I'll win, but I certainly want to put my best foot forward. But hey, if I do win, that would be wonderful! It is my first step towards sending work out for publication. I've been encouraged by so many people, but that fear of failure thing hamstrings me.
Jeremy cannot understand how I have a fear of failure.
"Everything you've ever done you've been successful," he's said many times.
"Thank you, I do appreciate the encouragement."
But since he can't read my mind, he isn't aware of the things I've dreamed of doing but stopped short because of the failure clause. That doesn't mean that I didn't come back years later and kick butt in that same area. An example, when I was in junior high in the 1970's, long before the "every kid can participate on the team" mentality, I tried out for the track team. I thought I was fast, but when I got to the tryouts, I was just fat and slow in comparison. I remember those hot, late August afternoons. I would be sweating my butt off gasping hot, humid air only to be told by the coaches that I didn't even come in fast enough for them to record my time. How was I suppose to improve if I didn't even know what my time was? This was long before I knew the mantra, "You cannot improve what you cannot measure", but I knew it in my DNA. Many years later, when I was 19 years-old, I met a man in my office who was 45 years-old and running marathons. Well if someone THAT old could run a marathon, then I certainly could at 19! (Note: I am now 45 years-old and isn't old.) I went to the indoor track at my Chicago Health Club hoping to do a 5K, which is 3.1 miles. That was the shortest race I'd heard of so why not try that distance. I wore a heavy grey pair of sweat pants, a grey Illinois Institute of Technology t-shirt, and my normal beat up sneakers. I made it around the track ... once. As in most health clubs there were mirrors everywhere. My face was beat red, my legs were itching, and I was gasping for air. I felt as if I were back in junior high, but I wasn't in competition with anyone. Thankfully, there was a water fountain that I could use as an excuse for stopping. Just about that time Laurie, a woman I worked with who ran marathons -- and smoked -- came galloping by.
"Oh, I see you started running," Laurie said.
"Yes, I went once around. How many laps to a mile?" I said, hoping it was one.
"This is a small track. It is eleven times around for a mile. Got to go!" and she was off.
Eleven times! I had completed one thirty-third of what I came out to do and I was dying. Before I even left the water fountain, Laurie was back.
"You know, you can run walk, you don't have to just run. Run a lap, walk a lap. You'll get there."
She was my life saver. I walked ran until I made it a mile. My lunch over was over at that point. I had to get cleaned up and back to the office ... where Laurie was already eating her salad at her desk after five miles.
That run, with Laurie's help, and the 45 year-OLD man as inspiration, I continued. It took me forever to reach my 5K mark. I was so proud when I did. I remember boasting to people how I had ran three point one whole miles, and later finding out that these people were marathoners. I didn't run my first marathon until nine years after I started running. It was 1994, the year Forrest Gump came out. I used the quotes to keep me going. Thirty marathons later, I'm still running, and I bet most of those kids who beat me for track tryouts are not. I'm not saying it has been easy, or fun at times, but it has taken me on a journey of a lifetime. I've ran in Africa, Europe, and all over North America. I've been in great shape which has allowed me to hike ranges I could only read about as a kid. As Forrest Gump said, "It use to be I ran to get where I was going. I never thought it would take me anywhere." But as in Forrest's case, it certainly has.
By starting my blog and submitting my work, I feel like I'm back at the Chicago Health Club, trying to complete that first time. But I know from my running experience that my writing will take me on an amazing journey.
Jeremy cannot understand how I have a fear of failure.
"Everything you've ever done you've been successful," he's said many times.
"Thank you, I do appreciate the encouragement."
But since he can't read my mind, he isn't aware of the things I've dreamed of doing but stopped short because of the failure clause. That doesn't mean that I didn't come back years later and kick butt in that same area. An example, when I was in junior high in the 1970's, long before the "every kid can participate on the team" mentality, I tried out for the track team. I thought I was fast, but when I got to the tryouts, I was just fat and slow in comparison. I remember those hot, late August afternoons. I would be sweating my butt off gasping hot, humid air only to be told by the coaches that I didn't even come in fast enough for them to record my time. How was I suppose to improve if I didn't even know what my time was? This was long before I knew the mantra, "You cannot improve what you cannot measure", but I knew it in my DNA. Many years later, when I was 19 years-old, I met a man in my office who was 45 years-old and running marathons. Well if someone THAT old could run a marathon, then I certainly could at 19! (Note: I am now 45 years-old and isn't old.) I went to the indoor track at my Chicago Health Club hoping to do a 5K, which is 3.1 miles. That was the shortest race I'd heard of so why not try that distance. I wore a heavy grey pair of sweat pants, a grey Illinois Institute of Technology t-shirt, and my normal beat up sneakers. I made it around the track ... once. As in most health clubs there were mirrors everywhere. My face was beat red, my legs were itching, and I was gasping for air. I felt as if I were back in junior high, but I wasn't in competition with anyone. Thankfully, there was a water fountain that I could use as an excuse for stopping. Just about that time Laurie, a woman I worked with who ran marathons -- and smoked -- came galloping by.
"Oh, I see you started running," Laurie said.
"Yes, I went once around. How many laps to a mile?" I said, hoping it was one.
"This is a small track. It is eleven times around for a mile. Got to go!" and she was off.
Eleven times! I had completed one thirty-third of what I came out to do and I was dying. Before I even left the water fountain, Laurie was back.
"You know, you can run walk, you don't have to just run. Run a lap, walk a lap. You'll get there."
She was my life saver. I walked ran until I made it a mile. My lunch over was over at that point. I had to get cleaned up and back to the office ... where Laurie was already eating her salad at her desk after five miles.
That run, with Laurie's help, and the 45 year-OLD man as inspiration, I continued. It took me forever to reach my 5K mark. I was so proud when I did. I remember boasting to people how I had ran three point one whole miles, and later finding out that these people were marathoners. I didn't run my first marathon until nine years after I started running. It was 1994, the year Forrest Gump came out. I used the quotes to keep me going. Thirty marathons later, I'm still running, and I bet most of those kids who beat me for track tryouts are not. I'm not saying it has been easy, or fun at times, but it has taken me on a journey of a lifetime. I've ran in Africa, Europe, and all over North America. I've been in great shape which has allowed me to hike ranges I could only read about as a kid. As Forrest Gump said, "It use to be I ran to get where I was going. I never thought it would take me anywhere." But as in Forrest's case, it certainly has.
By starting my blog and submitting my work, I feel like I'm back at the Chicago Health Club, trying to complete that first time. But I know from my running experience that my writing will take me on an amazing journey.
Friday, 29 July 2011
The Jerk in the Cab
I originally wrote this in the Fall of 2009 as the first writing assignment in my NYU Memoirs Class.
_________
My husband, baby daughter, and I recently traveled to my home town of Chicago. I love Chicago. I know Chicago. Everything just seems right in Chicago. I am Chicago. You need directions, just ask. Traveling by foot, car, or public transportation, I can tell you how to get there. Which streets are one way in which direction, you wonder? I can be of assistance. I can teach the bewildered cab drivers a thing or two. Forty plus years, I know the way. After spending a wonderful evening of wine tasting at the East Bank Club, our former health club, we accepted a ride home from our good friends, Perry and Denise. Like Chicago, they seem to be perfect -- the perfect couple. They've been married twenty-something seemingly argument-free years, while maintaining great careers, and raising Ivy League bound, polite teenagers. Perry even likes babies.
On our drive back to the hotel, traffic snarled up. We could clearly see that a cab had stopped right at the corner of State and Erie, preventing a CTA bus from turning. The bus blocked the intersection, which blocked traffic in all directions. People were not happy at all. The people in the cab apparently did not seem to care. They were taking their time. Didn't they realize that other people were being inconvenienced. How inconsiderate and selfish can one get? Have the cab fare ready in advance. It isn't as if they have anything else to do while being chauffeured around town. Maybe there were drunk.
"Can you believe that someone would do something like that," my husband said.
"No, because I'm not a jerk," Perry replied.
We all laughed.
"We are engineers. We just don't do things like that. We know what the fare and the tip will be, and have it ready. At most we just have to wait for change. These people should go back to the suburbs," I said.
Fast forward approximately twenty-one hours. Its' a Saturday night in New York City. My husband, daughter and I are all crammed into the back seat of an overloaded, gas-fume-saturated cab on our way home from LaGuardia Airport. We are at the tail end of our journey. Almost home ... almost. KZ, our 16-month old daughter, has been good, but she is at the end of her rope. There is only so much one can ask of a 16-month old and we are over our limit. Unfortunately, we were blessed with the only cab driver in New York City that seems to knows Brooklyn better than Manhattan.
"We live on Nassau Street, between Spruce and Beekman, right by City Hall and the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge," I instructed the cab driver at LaGaurdia.
He said he understood, and we were off.
Let me stop here to say my husband is not a patient man. If my daughter's first complete sentence does not include the phrase "cock sucking mother fucker", I will be stunned but relieved. When he is forced to be on a plane with a baby, even his own, he is more of a challenge than the baby.
I was sandwiched in the back seat between the 38 year-old, emotionally challenged husband who was watching "House" on his iPhone, and the 16-month old daughter who was rightfully at her wits end. I had been sandwiched between them since we left Chicago. I just wanted it over.
The cab driver turned his head while we were on the expressway and started asking me for directions.
"Which exit do you take? I thought I would take Tillery and go through Flatbush?"
Well, call it my own hearing problem in the back of the cab, or maybe it was just his Nigerian accent (he did have a Nigerian flag air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror), but I had to ask him to repeat himself three times before I realized that I still had no idea what he was talking about.
"Tillery? I've never heard of it. Flatbush? Why would we go through Flatbush," I asked.
My totally annoyed husband, broke away from his iPhone long enough to snap at me.
"Turn it down!"
He had opened the window because of the gas fumes. I had the Cab TV turned on just so I could follow the GPS map of where we were heading. Cab TV, the conversation, and the opened window all combined with the whimpering baby, was too much for him. Finally, after what seemed like hours, maybe five seconds, I told the driver I just didn't know Brooklyn. I'd only seen it from the Brooklyn Bridge, taken a bus tour once with my dad, and ran though it in the 2002 Marathon. That was where my knowledge ended.
"Oh, you mean the Manhattan Nassau Street! O.K., I go there."
Thank God! The driver headed off over the Brooklyn Bridge. It should have been minutes then, just minutes before I was free.
Halfway over the bridge, KZ totally lost it.
Game over. She had hit her expiration date. She had had it with being clamped into a five-point harness system. She wanted out and now. My husband loudly mumbled under his breath, while he pretended to still be watching "House" on his iPhone. Finally, we were over the bridge. Just three left turns and we would have been home. First turn, executed perfectly. Second turn, done. Third turn ... UGH! He missed the third turn and headed back over the Brooklyn Bridge instead.
"No, NO, NOOOO! Stop the cab," I yelled. "I can't take this any more!"
I was holding back my tears.
We were able to get the driver to stop at the bottom of the ramp, right before he went onto the bridge. Thankfully, there were two lanes of traffic. As the driver stopped, right next to a huge pile of garbage, the kind that an entire building deposits for it's twice weekly pickup, I noticed an MTA bus coming up right behind us -- the M103, with a driver who was laying on the horn. My husband was yelling at the top of his lungs things that I don't even want to repeat while he unloaded the trunk. My daughter was beyond consoling, as she bucked like a Linda Blair wannabe on the sidewalk, still trapped in her car seat. Italian tourists were taking pictures for their own version of the story. I can just picture them back in a beautiful stylish home, speaking in their soft voices.
"Oh Giavonne, you wouldn't believe how crude the American people are. Yelling randomly on the street and blocking traffic."
"But, Paulo, are you sure they were not drunk?"
I was trying to pry my wallet out of my pocket to pay the driver. Just get us out of here ... now ... was all I wanted. I gave the driver $32 dollars and asked for three dollars back. He just made a hissing noise. What, a $5.30 tip isn't good enough on a $26.70 ride, I though. Whatever.
We were all on the sidewalk, luggage, screaming baby, seething husband, enough trash to supply an entire NYC building, and an emotionally drained me. I felt so sick that I thought I was going to throw up right there and then. All that kept my airport lunch down was the fact that I didn't want to give the Italians more to photograph. A few of the people on the now moving bus give us sign language as they pass.
We has more luggage than I ever dreamed possible in my pre-baby days. We had to schlep all of this two blocks to our apartment.
A few hours later at home ... after my daughter was asleep and my husband was pacified watching "House" on a big screen, I counted my money to pay the Chinese food delivery person. I realized at that moment that I only gave the cab driver a 30 cent tip.
I am the jerk in the cab.
_________
My husband, baby daughter, and I recently traveled to my home town of Chicago. I love Chicago. I know Chicago. Everything just seems right in Chicago. I am Chicago. You need directions, just ask. Traveling by foot, car, or public transportation, I can tell you how to get there. Which streets are one way in which direction, you wonder? I can be of assistance. I can teach the bewildered cab drivers a thing or two. Forty plus years, I know the way. After spending a wonderful evening of wine tasting at the East Bank Club, our former health club, we accepted a ride home from our good friends, Perry and Denise. Like Chicago, they seem to be perfect -- the perfect couple. They've been married twenty-something seemingly argument-free years, while maintaining great careers, and raising Ivy League bound, polite teenagers. Perry even likes babies.
On our drive back to the hotel, traffic snarled up. We could clearly see that a cab had stopped right at the corner of State and Erie, preventing a CTA bus from turning. The bus blocked the intersection, which blocked traffic in all directions. People were not happy at all. The people in the cab apparently did not seem to care. They were taking their time. Didn't they realize that other people were being inconvenienced. How inconsiderate and selfish can one get? Have the cab fare ready in advance. It isn't as if they have anything else to do while being chauffeured around town. Maybe there were drunk.
"Can you believe that someone would do something like that," my husband said.
"No, because I'm not a jerk," Perry replied.
We all laughed.
"We are engineers. We just don't do things like that. We know what the fare and the tip will be, and have it ready. At most we just have to wait for change. These people should go back to the suburbs," I said.
Fast forward approximately twenty-one hours. Its' a Saturday night in New York City. My husband, daughter and I are all crammed into the back seat of an overloaded, gas-fume-saturated cab on our way home from LaGuardia Airport. We are at the tail end of our journey. Almost home ... almost. KZ, our 16-month old daughter, has been good, but she is at the end of her rope. There is only so much one can ask of a 16-month old and we are over our limit. Unfortunately, we were blessed with the only cab driver in New York City that seems to knows Brooklyn better than Manhattan.
"We live on Nassau Street, between Spruce and Beekman, right by City Hall and the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge," I instructed the cab driver at LaGaurdia.
He said he understood, and we were off.
Let me stop here to say my husband is not a patient man. If my daughter's first complete sentence does not include the phrase "cock sucking mother fucker", I will be stunned but relieved. When he is forced to be on a plane with a baby, even his own, he is more of a challenge than the baby.
I was sandwiched in the back seat between the 38 year-old, emotionally challenged husband who was watching "House" on his iPhone, and the 16-month old daughter who was rightfully at her wits end. I had been sandwiched between them since we left Chicago. I just wanted it over.
The cab driver turned his head while we were on the expressway and started asking me for directions.
"Which exit do you take? I thought I would take Tillery and go through Flatbush?"
Well, call it my own hearing problem in the back of the cab, or maybe it was just his Nigerian accent (he did have a Nigerian flag air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror), but I had to ask him to repeat himself three times before I realized that I still had no idea what he was talking about.
"Tillery? I've never heard of it. Flatbush? Why would we go through Flatbush," I asked.
My totally annoyed husband, broke away from his iPhone long enough to snap at me.
"Turn it down!"
He had opened the window because of the gas fumes. I had the Cab TV turned on just so I could follow the GPS map of where we were heading. Cab TV, the conversation, and the opened window all combined with the whimpering baby, was too much for him. Finally, after what seemed like hours, maybe five seconds, I told the driver I just didn't know Brooklyn. I'd only seen it from the Brooklyn Bridge, taken a bus tour once with my dad, and ran though it in the 2002 Marathon. That was where my knowledge ended.
"Oh, you mean the Manhattan Nassau Street! O.K., I go there."
Thank God! The driver headed off over the Brooklyn Bridge. It should have been minutes then, just minutes before I was free.
Halfway over the bridge, KZ totally lost it.
Game over. She had hit her expiration date. She had had it with being clamped into a five-point harness system. She wanted out and now. My husband loudly mumbled under his breath, while he pretended to still be watching "House" on his iPhone. Finally, we were over the bridge. Just three left turns and we would have been home. First turn, executed perfectly. Second turn, done. Third turn ... UGH! He missed the third turn and headed back over the Brooklyn Bridge instead.
"No, NO, NOOOO! Stop the cab," I yelled. "I can't take this any more!"
I was holding back my tears.
We were able to get the driver to stop at the bottom of the ramp, right before he went onto the bridge. Thankfully, there were two lanes of traffic. As the driver stopped, right next to a huge pile of garbage, the kind that an entire building deposits for it's twice weekly pickup, I noticed an MTA bus coming up right behind us -- the M103, with a driver who was laying on the horn. My husband was yelling at the top of his lungs things that I don't even want to repeat while he unloaded the trunk. My daughter was beyond consoling, as she bucked like a Linda Blair wannabe on the sidewalk, still trapped in her car seat. Italian tourists were taking pictures for their own version of the story. I can just picture them back in a beautiful stylish home, speaking in their soft voices.
"Oh Giavonne, you wouldn't believe how crude the American people are. Yelling randomly on the street and blocking traffic."
"But, Paulo, are you sure they were not drunk?"
I was trying to pry my wallet out of my pocket to pay the driver. Just get us out of here ... now ... was all I wanted. I gave the driver $32 dollars and asked for three dollars back. He just made a hissing noise. What, a $5.30 tip isn't good enough on a $26.70 ride, I though. Whatever.
We were all on the sidewalk, luggage, screaming baby, seething husband, enough trash to supply an entire NYC building, and an emotionally drained me. I felt so sick that I thought I was going to throw up right there and then. All that kept my airport lunch down was the fact that I didn't want to give the Italians more to photograph. A few of the people on the now moving bus give us sign language as they pass.
We has more luggage than I ever dreamed possible in my pre-baby days. We had to schlep all of this two blocks to our apartment.
A few hours later at home ... after my daughter was asleep and my husband was pacified watching "House" on a big screen, I counted my money to pay the Chinese food delivery person. I realized at that moment that I only gave the cab driver a 30 cent tip.
I am the jerk in the cab.
Sunday, 24 July 2011
My Best Friend
Originally written on 04/19/11.
_____________
When I was a little girl, I had a best friend who would go everywhere with me. We were inseparable. We did everything together from doing our hair to traveling cross country in her camper van.
"Tammy, let's to go to the Grand Canyon."
"OK," I said.
We packed our bags, loaded the camper van with plenty of food, and headed off down the road. We would stop and see all the sites along the way or just drive without worrying about a map. We traveled to Cheyenne to see the rodeo, to Colorado to experience skiing in the Rockies, then on to Vegas were we didn't stay long. There wasn't much to do in the 70's for little girls in Vegas. Our favorite places to go were Disneyland in California and Disney World in Florida. The camper van went there most often.
Later, my friend got a plane. This opened up the world to us.
"Tammy, let's go to Paris."
"Paris, I've always wanted to go to Paris," I said
We would fly into Paris, where I could finally see the Eiffel Tower and stand on the very same steps my father did in the '50s. I had a picture of him there, and always wanted to take the same picture of myself.
"Let's go to Germany and England," I said.
Off we went. These were also places that my father had been to while he was in the army. I wanted to see everything he had. Maybe it would give us something to talk about.
When at home, my friend had a great townhouse. It had three levels and an elevator. We would play for hours without end -- running through each room.
Every four years, we would watch the Olympics together. Then, we would work on our routines for when we were in the Olympics. For the Summer Games, we practiced gymnastics and swimming. For the Winter Games, we practiced ice skating and down hill skiing. She was always very good at everything, but very supportive of my efforts. She always encouraged me to do my best no matter what.
My friend could do anything. One day she was a vet, another day a lawyer. When we flew in her plane, she was the pilot. When we drove across country, she was the driver. There was no a career path she couldn't do.
Her townhouse and camper van were a safe place for me. No one yelled at me there to be quiet because they were hung over, or to clean up my toys because they tripped when they were drunk. No one told me I would be pretty if I only had pretty hair. My friend loved me, encouraged me, and helped me dream of the big, wonderful world that I would soon be able to explore.
Thank you my best friend, Barbie.
_____________
When I was a little girl, I had a best friend who would go everywhere with me. We were inseparable. We did everything together from doing our hair to traveling cross country in her camper van.
"Tammy, let's to go to the Grand Canyon."
"OK," I said.
We packed our bags, loaded the camper van with plenty of food, and headed off down the road. We would stop and see all the sites along the way or just drive without worrying about a map. We traveled to Cheyenne to see the rodeo, to Colorado to experience skiing in the Rockies, then on to Vegas were we didn't stay long. There wasn't much to do in the 70's for little girls in Vegas. Our favorite places to go were Disneyland in California and Disney World in Florida. The camper van went there most often.
Later, my friend got a plane. This opened up the world to us.
"Tammy, let's go to Paris."
"Paris, I've always wanted to go to Paris," I said
We would fly into Paris, where I could finally see the Eiffel Tower and stand on the very same steps my father did in the '50s. I had a picture of him there, and always wanted to take the same picture of myself.
"Let's go to Germany and England," I said.
Off we went. These were also places that my father had been to while he was in the army. I wanted to see everything he had. Maybe it would give us something to talk about.
When at home, my friend had a great townhouse. It had three levels and an elevator. We would play for hours without end -- running through each room.
Every four years, we would watch the Olympics together. Then, we would work on our routines for when we were in the Olympics. For the Summer Games, we practiced gymnastics and swimming. For the Winter Games, we practiced ice skating and down hill skiing. She was always very good at everything, but very supportive of my efforts. She always encouraged me to do my best no matter what.
My friend could do anything. One day she was a vet, another day a lawyer. When we flew in her plane, she was the pilot. When we drove across country, she was the driver. There was no a career path she couldn't do.
Her townhouse and camper van were a safe place for me. No one yelled at me there to be quiet because they were hung over, or to clean up my toys because they tripped when they were drunk. No one told me I would be pretty if I only had pretty hair. My friend loved me, encouraged me, and helped me dream of the big, wonderful world that I would soon be able to explore.
Thank you my best friend, Barbie.
Saturday, 23 July 2011
Bubbie's Dolls
"I want to give you your Bubbie's doll collection," said Jeremy's mom, Betsy, in 2005, shortly after Bubbie's death.
My husband, Jeremy, was please. He adored his Bubbie. Bubbie adored her dolls. Hence, Jeremy adored the dolls. Bubbie began collecting dolls in the 1950's until her death over fifty years later. At the time, Jeremy just wanted something by which to remember Bubbie.
The years went by. We moved to London, then to New York.
"I really want to get these dolls to you. I know Bubbie would want you to have them," Betsy would tell us again ... year after year after year.
By this point, we had mixed feelings. It was 2011. We had KZ, who was three years old. A perfect age for dolls, but not the Madame Alexander doll collection that I've been hearing about. And just where would we being putting this collection? We live in New York City. We are lucky to fit three people and two dogs into our apartment, let alone a doll collection. But then again, I had no idea how big the collection would be. For all I knew, it could have been one Barbie from the '90's. Jeremy did feel strongly about receiving the dolls. He wanted to pass them on to KZ, who is actually named Kaylia, after Bubbie. It did seem right that she have them, or at least whatever "them" would turn out to be.
"I found a shipper who will take the dolls for $550. The only caveat is that he'll bring them up to New York the next time he has a full truck. We don't know when that will be," Betsy announced over email.
Fine, I'll hold my breath.
Then last week, my cell phone rings.
"Hello, I'm looking for Mrs. Katz," the caller said.
"I'm sorry, but you must have the wrong number," I said.
In the amount of time it would take a person to hang up and redial a phone, my house phone rang. I now thought this is not a wrong number.
"Hello, I'm looking for Mrs. Katz," the same caller said.
"I'm not Mrs. Katz, but my mother-in-law's maiden name is Katz. Since you just called my cell and now my house phone, I'm going to guess you want to talk to me."
The driver had the dolls and would be over that afternoon between 3-5 pm.
"That's fine. Just leave them with the doorman, please."
"Ok, but there is a $550 COD, in cash payment that is required."
I just found another caveat to the delivery.
The driver was on Florida time, which made the true delivery time the following day around 1 pm. I had left the cash with the doorman and just asked to have the boxes dropped off.
We arrived home to the Great Wall of Boxes.
It took me until last night to inventory the boxes. I carefully unwrapped each box, discovering a lifetime of passion. Bubbie kept most of these dolls in mint condition -- tags, original boxes, even plastic wrapped. But truly fascinating to me were the hand written notes and newspaper clippings. Letters to the Madame Alexander company asking for doll identification, or repairs. Correspondence between Betsy and Bubbie. Hand made get well cards from all the "kids", who are all adults with their own kids. And even the newspaper clipping from The Toronto Daily Star announcing Jeremy's birth.
The sixty dolls are not worth that much monetarily. I looked each up on eBay to get an estimate. Ironically, the two with the most value are the two in the worse condition. Jeremy said that Bubbie let them play with those two dolls for some reason. My speculation on the reason, the money didn't matter to her. What mattered was the enjoyment, the pleasure of collecting, the pleasure of letting her grandchildren play. She keep the price tags on some of the dolls. Many are worth only what she paid for them originally. But I don't think that would matter. I believe that having a part of her passed down to her great grand daughter would be worth it.
Going through these dolls reminded me of my own dolls as a girl. I've written about one in the past, and will post it as my next entry.
Bubbie, thank you for the memories.
My husband, Jeremy, was please. He adored his Bubbie. Bubbie adored her dolls. Hence, Jeremy adored the dolls. Bubbie began collecting dolls in the 1950's until her death over fifty years later. At the time, Jeremy just wanted something by which to remember Bubbie.
The years went by. We moved to London, then to New York.
"I really want to get these dolls to you. I know Bubbie would want you to have them," Betsy would tell us again ... year after year after year.
By this point, we had mixed feelings. It was 2011. We had KZ, who was three years old. A perfect age for dolls, but not the Madame Alexander doll collection that I've been hearing about. And just where would we being putting this collection? We live in New York City. We are lucky to fit three people and two dogs into our apartment, let alone a doll collection. But then again, I had no idea how big the collection would be. For all I knew, it could have been one Barbie from the '90's. Jeremy did feel strongly about receiving the dolls. He wanted to pass them on to KZ, who is actually named Kaylia, after Bubbie. It did seem right that she have them, or at least whatever "them" would turn out to be.
"I found a shipper who will take the dolls for $550. The only caveat is that he'll bring them up to New York the next time he has a full truck. We don't know when that will be," Betsy announced over email.
Fine, I'll hold my breath.
Then last week, my cell phone rings.
"Hello, I'm looking for Mrs. Katz," the caller said.
"I'm sorry, but you must have the wrong number," I said.
In the amount of time it would take a person to hang up and redial a phone, my house phone rang. I now thought this is not a wrong number.
"Hello, I'm looking for Mrs. Katz," the same caller said.
"I'm not Mrs. Katz, but my mother-in-law's maiden name is Katz. Since you just called my cell and now my house phone, I'm going to guess you want to talk to me."
The driver had the dolls and would be over that afternoon between 3-5 pm.
"That's fine. Just leave them with the doorman, please."
"Ok, but there is a $550 COD, in cash payment that is required."
I just found another caveat to the delivery.
The driver was on Florida time, which made the true delivery time the following day around 1 pm. I had left the cash with the doorman and just asked to have the boxes dropped off.
We arrived home to the Great Wall of Boxes.
It took me until last night to inventory the boxes. I carefully unwrapped each box, discovering a lifetime of passion. Bubbie kept most of these dolls in mint condition -- tags, original boxes, even plastic wrapped. But truly fascinating to me were the hand written notes and newspaper clippings. Letters to the Madame Alexander company asking for doll identification, or repairs. Correspondence between Betsy and Bubbie. Hand made get well cards from all the "kids", who are all adults with their own kids. And even the newspaper clipping from The Toronto Daily Star announcing Jeremy's birth.
The sixty dolls are not worth that much monetarily. I looked each up on eBay to get an estimate. Ironically, the two with the most value are the two in the worse condition. Jeremy said that Bubbie let them play with those two dolls for some reason. My speculation on the reason, the money didn't matter to her. What mattered was the enjoyment, the pleasure of collecting, the pleasure of letting her grandchildren play. She keep the price tags on some of the dolls. Many are worth only what she paid for them originally. But I don't think that would matter. I believe that having a part of her passed down to her great grand daughter would be worth it.
Going through these dolls reminded me of my own dolls as a girl. I've written about one in the past, and will post it as my next entry.
Bubbie, thank you for the memories.
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