Our “L’il Marco” at the Bocce Restaurant, 1959

The picture above was taken around 1968 at the Bocce Court of the “il Vagabondo” Restaurant on E. 62nd St. in New York City. I was excited when I came across it and this is why:

Dick and I were married in 1958 and living in the city. We used to go to a favorite Italian restaurant and I’m pretty sure it was this one. You entered through a neighborhood-type bar and then into the back room which featured an indoor bocce court. It was so much fun to enjoy a magnificent Italian dinner while watching the men compete.

In July of 1959 our first son was born. We named him Mark and he was an exceptionally good baby. We felt confident that he would behave so we took him with us when we treated ourselves to a night out at “il Vagabondo”. He was about 2 months old.

The bar was very crowded that night and we knew many of the locals by sight, if not by name. Many of them were elderly Italian men and their eyes lit up when they saw Mark and they wanted to know what we had named him. Of course he became “L’il Marco” to them and they insisted that we leave him with them and go in and enjoy our dinner.

I suppose that sounds a bit shocking in today’s world, but we felt very secure leaving Mark with them. Even when we were seated at a table in the next room we could hear them “ooing” and “ahhing” over “L’il Marco” as they passed him gently around the bar.

When it was time to leave I remember that our usually good baby started to cry and I was amazed. In a very short time he had come to love those rough old men and he hated to leave. I felt the same way.

When I was in Italy, many years later, I would watch and listen as the Italians laughed and gestured their way through a conversation. It would remind me of that magical night when Mark, (who will be 49 this July) became “L’il Marco” and was held in the loving arms of those old men.

I wrote to the “il Vagabondo” restaurant when I was researching for this blog entry and they actually answered me. It makes me feel sure that it is still the same warm and friendly spot that we loved. If you are ever in New York City I would highly recommend that you pay them a visit.

AA’s Sponsor-sponsee dilemma

A man in a hot air balloon realized he was lost. He saw a person on the ground and yelled down to him, “Can you help me? I don’t know where I am.” The man replied, “Sure, I’ll help you. You are in a hot air balloon hovering 30 feet above the ground...between 40 and 41 degrees North latitude and between 59 & 60 degrees West longitude.”

“Wow, you must be an AA sponsor”, said the man in the balloon. “I am”, said the man, “but what gave me away?”

“Well”, answered the balloonist, “everything you told me is technically right but I am still lost. Frankly you’re not much help at all and you might even have delayed my trip.”

“You must be an AA sponsee”, replied the man. The man in the balloon was amazed and said, “I am, but how did you know?”

The man on the ground said, “Well, you don’t know where you are or where you’re going. You have risen to where you are due to a lot of hot air. You are expecting other people to solve your problems and the fact is that you are in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but, somehow now IT’S MY FAULT” !

MY UNSPECTACULAR QUIRKS REVEALED

My Canadian friend AC, on his blog “Spring Raindrops”, threw out a challenge recently on his May 3rd entry. He listed “six unspectacular quirks” that he has and challenged his readers to do the same.

That darn challenge ate away at me and I found, much to my surprise, that this was a difficult thing for me to do. “My lord,” I thought, “my life must be either fraught with deep meaning or it’s all so unspectacular that I can’t separate a habit from a quirk”.

All that being said…here is the best I could do.

1. I only put $25 worth of gas in my tank at a time. It means going to the station more often but it fools me into feeling the pinch less.

2. When I can’t sleep I pick a letter of the alphabet and try to list as many names of people as I can think of starting with that letter...literally boring myself to sleep.

3. I guess I hum when I’m nervous. I don’t think so but my friends and family say I do !!

4. If I wake in the night and see that the time on the clock reads a combination of the same numbers (such as 11:11, or 4:44, etc.) I take that as a sign that I will get a happy surprise in the upcoming day.

5. I have often made an impulse buy (say, of $30) and decided on the way home to take it back. Then, after I’d received my $30 back I would praise myself for being frugal and saving that amount. (This used to baffle my late husband who could never seem to make me see that I was actually only back to where I’d been before I spent the $30 !)

6. Lastly, I’m addicted to that silly “Spider” card game on the computer. I would be ashamed to admit the amount of aimless hours wasted on that game.

PLUM ISLAND, Massachusetts……1937

My sister Nancy looks on as I balance a bottle on my head. I seem to be very proud of myself. I had to rely on my oldest sister, Mary, for the particulars surrounding this photo. I had heard family members speak of Plum Island over the years but I really don’t remember going there.

I was particularly interested because I couldn’t fathom how we would be able to afford the whole summer of 1937 on Plum Island. We had very little money then with 5 girls to clothe and feed...and we lived in New Jersey, nowhere near the shoreline of Massachusetts.

However, according to Mary, our Mother suffered from severe back pains and a friend of the family offered us his cottage on the island for the summer. We girls ranged in age from 4 ½ (that was me, the youngest) to 13 years, so we would be able to care for ourselves and enable Mother to get a well deserved rest.

Our get-away was spent in a tiny cottage named “Alice”. It was one of a group of compact little wooden structures and was directly on the beach. Although we had a rudimentary kitchen there were no bathroom facilities and our community of families shared an outside shower and an outhouse.

There was a small store, a run down board walk and an open-air building where we could play games, listen to music and work on jig saw puzzles. No TV’s, cell phones, or other distractions ... just lots of sun, sand and ocean.

As I gaze again at that picture I can’t help but chuckle at the silly little girl with the bottle on her head. Little did I know then that “putting the cork in the bottle” was to play a huge part in my later life. I certainly didn’t seem to be worried about it then !

ADRIENNE RICH ...a candid poet

I have to admit to being nearly illiterate when it comes to poetry. Although I am an avid reader (at least two books a week) I do not seem to be able to relate to most poetry. Recently, however, I was perusing a book by Bill Moyers, titled The Language of Life, a Festival of Poets and I came across this poem by Adrienne Rich. It really spoke to me.

Perhaps that is because she is in my age group. Perhaps it is because she is a feminist thinker and political activist. Perhaps it is because I have the same fears.

I love the fact that she refused offers from both the Clinton and the Bush administrations to perform at White House functions. That tells me that she lives what she writes and I think that is rare in this day and age. Here is the poem:

“WHAT KIND OF TIMES ARE THESE”

“There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off in to shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I’ve walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don’t be fooled,
this isn’t a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here, our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won’t tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods meeting the unmarked strip of light --
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times
like these
to have you listen at all, It’s necessary
to talk about trees.”

*********************************

A LIGHT-HEARTED LOOK AT AA

One of the things that often amazes a newcomer to the halls of Alcoholics Anonymous is the amount of laughter that is present. It is definitely true...we are not a glum lot.

We know we are fighting a deadly disease...one that will kill us if we are not diligent. However, laughter is our saving grace. It allows us to laugh at ourselves, to face our fears and our misdeeds and to put our lives and our past into perspective. A type of “gallows humor” I guess.

Anyway, I thought that you might enjoy some of the funny quips and jokes that abound in AA. Here’s a sampling:

I would rather go through life sober, believing I am an alcoholic, than go through life drunk…trying to convince myself that I am not.”

“The bluebird of happiness is not another swallow.”

Overheard at a funeral service: “Poor boy, he tried everything to stop drinking but he never could.” “Did he try AA?” “Oh, my, no,
…he never got that bad !”

“The 12 Steps are like 12 wrenches…they will fit any nut who walks through the door.”

“If you’re wrapped up in self you make a very small package.’”

The discussion topic was “half measures avail us nothing” and one member was listing all the reservations he had about the AA program and sobriety. An old-timer piped up and said, “with that many reservations you are bound to soon take a flight.”

“The slogans are the banisters to the 12 Steps.”

“The 12 Steps keep us from suicide. The 12 Traditions keep us from homicide !”

A warning to newcomers in AA: “If you’re looking for a relation-ship in AA odds are good you’ll find one. But beware…it often follows that the goods will be odd.”

“An alcoholic is an individual who takes the most simple program and works on it until he has eventually reduced it to its most complicated form.”

And one of my favorites: “We didn’t get to AA by singing too loud in church.”

The Washburn-Norlands Living History Center

In 2002 I spent a month traveling the back roads of Maine. One of the first places that I visited was The Norlands Living Health Center in Livermore. I was not disappointed.

I arrived before opening time and just soaked in the beautiful setting. The imposing Victorian farmhouse was connected to two smaller buildings and the huge barn. I almost expected Mrs. Washburn to welcome me in. I also spied a one room school house, a lovely white church and an imposing Gothic style building made of granite that I later learned was a library!

Although I was the only participant for the tour I saw other people and learned that they were the “live in” family of that week. The Center is a non-profit living museum dedicated to the preservation of 18th and 19th century rural Maine heritage. They host family groups who dress, toil, cook and live in the manner of that day.

As Callie (the docent) and I started our tour I spied a young girl hanging clothes out to dry. She must have been very hot in her long skirt and button-up shoes, but she waved happily to us.

The Washburn family boasts of seven sons who excelled in government as well as industry. Two were state governors and one was the founder of the Washburn-Crosby Gold Medal Flour Company. Their life style was frugal, as was typical of that period and of Maine, but there was a definite feeling of strength and dignity in every room.

All of the buildings were fascinating and quite different. The kitchen was housed in one of the extensions of the main house and the aroma of chicken and corn muffins was enticing. Here I met some more of the “live-in” family…cooking over a wood stove.
The men of the family we found in the barn grooming the animals and mucking out the stalls.

The last building on the tour was the 1828 Norlands Universalist Church. This is an addition to the property since the time of the Washburns. It is a simple, yet elegant, building, and is in sharp contrast to the interior. I was amazed to find a decorative painted ceiling and elaborate panels and arches that were actually a superb example of trompe l’oeil (“fool the eye”)...illusions created with paint.

However, my eye was not fooled when I exited the church. This was no illusion. I was viewing the real thing...exactly as it must have been back in the 18th and 19th centuries. I felt refreshed and quite privileged to have paid that era a visit...if only in my imagination.