Bingo Cards

By Dee Senchak

             
          No doubt about it.  It’s Grandma Hazel.  As she steps into view at the end of the long hall, I recognize her sensible brown shoes supporting her slightly stooped 5’ 2” frame. Her tight gray curls are in place, just like always. She’s wearing a white, high neck blouse with a sky blue cardigan sweater casually draped over her thin shoulders, one iridescent pearl button fastened at the neck.  And there’s no mistaking those trade-mark bright red fingernails on her eight ringed fingers.  She’s smiling at the man walking down the hall next to her.  The only thing wrong with the scene that I see through the small window of the locked door between us is that the jewelry on her wrists is not her customary bracelets.  She’s wearing shiny chrome handcuffs. 

            I shake my head in disbelief and take a step backward.  Framed by the window I’m looking through, it could be a photo of Grandma I’m looking at.  But it’s not.  I’m standing on the Court House side of the door that separates the County Court House wing from the County Jail.  I’m here to bail Grandma out of jail.   

            My brain is churning out questions; my stomach is in equal turmoil.  My voice catches in my throat before I can finally say,   “Are the cuffs really necessary, Joe Bob?  You’ve known Grandma since you were a kid.  You know she’s not dangerous.”

            “We gotta’ follow protocol no matter who it is.  Larry’ll take them off when she comes in here.”

            I move away from the door before Officer Larry and Grandma walk through. Grandma is smiling and talking to her jailer, “…but they’re so much better with my relish.  I’ll come back for a visit and bring some for you..  Would you like that?”  

             The uniformed officer grins at her as he removes the handcuffs, “Yes Ma’am.”

            Grandma sees me and says, “Buckey, darling, how sweet of you to come.”

            “This isn’t exactly a social call, Grandma.  Are you all right?”

            “Oh, yes dear.  I’ve met such nice people here.  Everyone is so polite.

 Hello, Joe Bob.  Do you work in the jail too?”

            Joe Bob sucks in his cheeks before saying hello to Grandma. I know that look. He’s trying not to laugh, which gives me a gut feeling that the next fishing trip we take together is not going to be fun for me. 

            I grab the papers Joe Bob holds out, “Thanks.  Can I talk to you tomorrow?”

            He gives me an affirmative nod and winks. He’s sucking in his cheeks again.

            I take Grandma’s arm, “Let’s go, Grandma.”   The skin on her boney arm is soft and loose. I can’t believe that this is the arm of a shoplifter. There has to be some mistake.              

            Grandma says, “Good-buy officers.  You have a very nice jail.”

            “Thank you Ma’am,” Joe Bob and Larry say in unison.

            Gently but firmly holding Grandma by the elbow, I steer her past the front desk and toward the exit doors.  She waves at the young woman at the desk who says, ”Have a good day.”

            Quietly I mutter “I wish.”  I guess it was loud enough for Grandma to hear because she starts humming When You Wish Upon a Star.

            I look to the right and left as I usher Grandma through the door into the warm afternoon sunlight.  The street is as clear as the sky.  It’s a relief to see that even the park across the way is empty.  I want to hurry to my car which I realize I parked too far away.    Grandma is not in a hurry. She stops on the sidewalk in front of the local bakery and inhales deeply, “Doesn’t that smell of cinnamon and sugar just make your mouth water.  Mmmm, I could go for a coffee and one of those fresh cinnamon buns.”

            “Now?”  I rub the back of my neck and try to think.  There are questions I want to ask her and losing my cool will get me nowhere.  A sweet roll and coffee; sugar and caffeine?  Maybe that’s not a bad idea. We can have a casual conversation in the park. 

            I buy a roll and coffee for her and carry it across the street where we settle on a park bench. Pacing anxiously around the bench as she calmly eats, I allow Grandma to finish her roll before saying, “Okay Grandma, Tell me what’s going on. You’re accused of shop lifting at Moore’s.”

            “That’s right dear,” she wipes her hands in a napkin,  “ but it was Miller’s not Moore’s.  Miller’s has better quality goods.”

            I’ve stopped pacing, I sit down heavily next to her.  “Are you saying that you did take something?”

            “Why, yes dear.”

            “But why?” I remind myself to speak calmly.  “What did you need that you couldn’t buy?  I would buy it for you. You know that.”

            “Oh yes, I know that.  But…, well …, you know I used to go to bingo.  But I started having trouble seeing the numbers on the bingo cards when that problem with my eyes started getting bad.”

            “You mean the macular degeneration?”

            “Yes, so I stopped going to bingo and I wanted something else to do.”

            “So you took up shoplifting?”  I couldn’t stop the rise in my voice.

            “It’s better than bingo.”

            “What do you mean, it’s better than bingo?”  Be calm. I remind myself.

            “It’s something I can do almost any time during the day. It’s more exciting and the odds are better.”

            I’m losing the battle to stay calm, “The odds are better? The odds are better?  You just got arrested.”

            “Well, I didn’t often win at Bingo. And I thought I was getting good at….”

            I tell myself to count to ten and breathe deeply.  I get to six and blurt out, “Grandma, think of your reputation.  What will your friends say?”

            “Oh, my friends do it too.”

            “What are you saying?  That you’re part of a geriatric shoplifting sorority?” 

            I start chewing on my nails, a habit I stopped years ago.

            “Buckey, the middle of my back is terribly itchy. Please scratch it for me.  I can’t get my arm back there.”

            I reach over to scratch as requested and feel a firm rectangular tag attached to the sweater.  “What’s this?  A price tag.  Grandma, did you steal this sweater?”

            “No, I did not steal it.  I just borrowed it.  That’s what we do.  We return everything we take because we really don’t need it.”

            I groan and look skyward.  Heaven help me.

            “That’s what I was doing today, but they thought I was taking the teapot when actually I was returning it.  I probably would not have gotten caught if Emmie had been with me as usual.”   Grandma tugged her sweater around her arms.   “Oh my, I didn’t get to return this sweater either.”

            “Emmie?  Miss Emily Trotter?”  I am too stunned to think about the sweater.

            “Yes, we always have a lookout.  But Emmie was not feeling well and the teapot had to be returned today because they take inventory tomorrow.  We always get the merchandise back before inventory.  That way the store has no loses.  So you see, I wasn’t taking, I was returning.  But they didn’t believe me.  So they arrested me.”

            I resume chewing my nails and wonder if the bingo hall would accept a donation of bingo cards with over-sized numbers.

Copyright 2013, Dee Senchak 

Originally from Pennsylvania, Dee Senchak and her spouse now enjoy retirement in South Carolina.  She enjoys exploring local sites of interest with friends, reading the old fashioned way, book discussion groups, and writing short fiction. Several of her short stories have appeared in publications of Immaculata College and the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at Coastal Carolina University. Her stories lean toward humor and irony. As Grouch Marx said, “Life is too short to be taken seriously.”

 

After Sandy

By  June T. Bassemir

October 2012  -  It is has been three weeks since the “super storm” struck the Northeastern coast of the U.S. and only now are we seeing the pictures of the destruction that “Sandy” left behind.  It is with a grateful heart that my slight inconvenience of the loss of power for 4 days, and the freezer full of spoiled food was all that I really endured.  The 18” of fresh ground water in the basement disappeared when the tide went down the very next morning and did little damage as we had moved all things up off the floor.  When the power came back on, the furnace did too, however the small motor needed to be replaced due to the bearings being under water.  They would no doubt eventually seize up so I decided to get a new motor right away rather than wait for that it to happen on a cold winter day.

Two hundred thousand cars were destroyed and transported to the old Grumman property here in Riverhead.   A company in Il was said to have bought some of them and no doubt will “fix them up” and sell to unsuspecting buyers. Think of it 200,000 cars – undamaged on the outside!  The picture in the paper was unbelievable.   I would not buy a second hand car for years to come because you would never be able to tell if it had been one under water or not....best to buy a new one.

Those closer to N.Y. City and on the southern edge of Long Island took a beating with strong waves and the high tide combined with a full moon.  Houses there were literally washed away.  Our beloved Jones Beach, the 1939 gem of the Island, has been so destroyed by the force of the water that it ripped up the boardwalk and drastically changed the familiar landscape.   It is still closed to the public and may not even be ready for the 2013 swimming season.  However, Sandy did one good thing.  Donald Trump wanted to build a huge casino on the Boardward where the old restaurant was years ago.  There was much dissention regarding his doing so but he was determined to follow through with his plans.  When he saw the devastation the waves from the Atlantic Ocean did to the beach front, he scrapped the idea much to the relief of all.  Whoopee!

 

Pictures of those areas further West, nearer to the tip of Manhattan stun the eye.  Houses that were firmly fixed on the waterfront (so envied by those further back) were the first casualties, but even houses three blocks from the water were destroyed.  In some places on the Island the water came in from the ocean on the South and ran through to the Bay on the North.  And no one knows, even now why one house exploded when the power came on which caused the fire to consume 100 other houses.  The irony of it all was that the water pressure was so weak, the flames could not be fought by the firemen and so the fire just continued until it burned the last house.  There is so much destruction and so many people still in need of living quarters, clothing and food.... not to mention hope for the future that it boggles the mind.  Sadly, long after the news media finds no profit in publishing any pictures or stories of the storm, there will be families still searching for comfort, peace and a house....and I notice the paper continues to list “Waterfront property” for sale at reduced prices.  Many of the ads say “Recently renovated”....can you guess why?

Copyright June T. Bassemir, 2013

A Sad Day Turned Peaceful

by Moe O'Brien

My Fini decided to ditch me yesterday. I have to admit, it was a very sad occasion.  I mean, we’ve been together now for fourteen years.  That’s a pretty long time, considering today’s world of flings and fleeting relationships.  I have taken very good care of her and she has… well, she’s been pretty good to me.  As I pondered the situation, I thought, I really shouldn’t complain.  It’s been a great ride.   

  

We had just turned on to Salem Road, only two miles from home and about two miles from our destination.  I think I was in shock because I let loose with a blood curdling scream, “Couldn’t you have waited just two more miles.” No response from Fini.  We’re talking total silence. 

I couldn’t help thinking about all the money I had spent on her.  We had taken many fun trips together.  And we didn’t cut back on our travel just because of the exorbitant price of gas.  No, no, of course not.  She wanted to go and I wanted to go, so that was that. Seemed we were always on the go.  

Then I got to thinking about Salem Road.  I wonder if there are some evil witches at work here?    Or could this be an intervention by a good witch?  

I’ve had a full day now to think about this.  No question in my mind that the good witch was trying to tell me something.  My 1999  Infiniti QX4  is in the repair shop, being fitted for a new distributor and getting a much needed tune-up.  I am home alone, without wheels for the first time in fourteen years.  Truth be known, I haven’t felt this peaceful in a long, long time.  I can’t go anywhere and it’s a restful feeling. The best part is that I don’t feel like I have to go. I don’t have to be on the run.  I can just be.  

      

Maureen “Moe” O’Brien moved from Bethel, CT to Myrtle Beach, SC in 1988.   Her “claim to fame” as she likes to phrase it, is that she played professional basketball, touring with the Harlem Globetrotters in 1959. She is an avid golfer and won the SC Senior Women’s Golf Championship in 1993 and 2004. Her book “Who’s Got The Ball?  And Other Nagging Questions About Team Life”, was published in 1995.  It is a “how to” book for team members in all work environments. Maureen is the proud Grandma of eight granddaughters, ranging in age from fifteen to twenty seven.

Chalkdust

By Elspeth Campbell Murphy

In Praise of Books:  Today the children responded with

Open delight as I read them a story.  Which was written

over 150 years ago and half a world away.

A story which was read to me when I was their age,

every night, upon demand.

What a wonder words are, that they can transcend space

and time, class and race, uniting sons and daughters

in literary fellowship.

Thank you for children, and thank you for the

delightful privilege of bringing the two together.

Books and children.

 Date Unknown

A Poem given to Delores Miller by a friend.

We Are One in The American Flag

by Erin K.

           Everybody together as one. All looking towards the swaying flag covered in stripes and stars. Not just stripes and stars but THE stripes and stars, the ones that represent who we are and everything we have been through as a country. You weren't alive when the flag was stitched for the first time but it doesn't matter. You get to see how the American spirit has been kept alive through the many years. You get to see the freedom that the flag symbolizes, the hardships it’s been through, and the power it creates amongst Americans.

          The American Flag has fifty stars that represent the states that make up this beautiful country and its lucky citizens who create every moment in American history. Then there are the thirteen stripes that represent how we started, that is the thirteen colonies. But do we really see this every time we raise our right hand over our heart and remove our hats to sing the national anthem and honor our flag and everything that goes along with it? The American flag isn't just a piece of cloth that is copied and made over and over again. It's so much more than that. It's a symbol of how we are all together and not against each other in the United States, because we are all part of states who are in unity not in battle. It's a representation of honor to the soldiers that train and fight to protect our country every day. That's what's important.

          You've probably always heard people say not to let the flag hit the ground. It's true, don't you think? Because if it hits the ground it's complete disrespect that twists our country around and creates that little speck of violence that if tended could end up in a huge disaster. You don't want one of the few things we all come together and celebrate to be torn down and taken apart. Even though it is just a piece of cloth, it represents our country and if you don't have respect for that then what do you have respect for?

            You see it everywhere. It's hanging in every classroom, raised outside of every school each day, brought out on the field at every sports game, used in almost every important American event, and even is on the moon. We do this because, like the stitches that hold the flag together, we are held together by the flag. When you look at the flag that is hung all around you, you can't help but think of all that this country has achieved. You think, what would it be like if we didn't have a flag? You see, the flag isn't as important as everything that it represents, but it's a daily reminder so that we can always have something to look at and remind us of how thankful we should be.

         To wrap up everything that the American flag means to me, I would like to state that it is not only material but thought, courage, strength, honor, power, and right that creates a symphony of people reaching out to each other. Out of about 195 flags that are a part of each country ours is the only one that really matters to me because it is who we are as Americans.

Copyright Erin K. 2013

Erin K. is a member of her local SERTOMA Club (Service To Mankind.)   She is 14 years old and in the 8^th grade at a Middle School.  She is a cross country and track runner for the High School teams.  Erin enjoys free writing about topics she can choose and she’s on the yearbook staff at her school.  She has been playing the violin for many years.  Erin describes herself as a huge Christian and attends church and youth group regularly. Erin was awarded the Heritage Essay Award by her local Sertoma Club for her essay, above,  “We Are One In The American Flag.”

Easter Tidings From Wisconsin

by Delores Miller

 

Holy week.  Palm Sunday.  Jesus’ march to Jerusalem.  Church services handed out palm fronds, have mine in a bud vase.  Looks nice.

 The children will be gathering this weekend.  Hope we can get them all together for a picture.  Richard and family will come from Boston.

 Russell filled 50 dozen plastic eggs with candy and coins for the Easter bunny to hide around the farm.  He had hoped to do the hunt in the year, but alas we still have so much snow that he will have to put it in the new car shed.

 Spring was supposed to arrive last week, but it couldn't find it's way to Wisconsin.  We still have so much snow and ice.  The yard is one sheet of ice.  Hard even to find our way to the mailbox.  The sun is warm, and the snow will melt a little, only to freeze again at night.  The farmers like the snow though.

We went dancing one Sunday afternoon, and then I threw out my knee and have been hobbling around for two weeks.  Will go to the chiropractor and see if he can straighten it out.

 Daylight savings time began a few weeks ago, don't know what good it does, with all the snow and cold weather we hunker in the house yet.  St. Patrick's Day March 17.  Tradition around here is to go out to eat for Corned beef, cabbage, red potatoes and carrots.  Russ cannot stand the smell, but humors me and goes along.

 My hair has slowly been growing, after being bald for 6 months, an afterthought from my cancer treatment, chemo and radiation.  Even got a hair cut.  Came in gray and not curly like some people get.

 The children are all busy with school.  Some have spring break, but with all the snow, there was not much they could do except huddle in the house.  Denise is taking Keith's children to Disney in Florida for 10 days.  Nice girls, 13 years old,  real teenagers now.  Marianne's children are involved in dance recitals, even won a few awards.  They were busy selling Girl Scout cookies.  Had to stand in front of Walmart in the cold and rain trying to sell, and they said people really purchased the good cookies.  Madeline is volunteering at the YMCA at a leadership conference each Wednesday, besides working at McDonalds.  Thinking about college a year from now.  Connor and Robin are volunteering at the Humane Society.  Connor plays with the dogs, getting them ready to be adopted.

 Matt is working on his antique car, a Pontiac Firebird.  A long hard job.  And we watched the election of the new Pope Francis from the Vatican in Rome.  From Argentina.  And our President Obama was in Israel.  Russ watches all the political commentaries from Washington D. C.  on television.    I watch on my own tv, the travel and cooking channels.  

 So what is new with you all?

copyright 2013, Russell and Delores Miller

Memories of Sunrise School

Typical Old Brick School House

By Delores Miller

In the fall of 1944, me, a shy little six-year old girl with long braids, new home made dress, and leather shoes trotted off to Sunrise School, almost two miles north down the long road in Dupont.  I had visited the year before when brother Wilbert was in eighth grade, with Miss Jean Kopitzke as teacher.  She was kind to me, even though I fidgeted and twitched and babbled.  She let me sit next to her on a brown rounded back chair while she was tutoring.  Gave me coloring sheets to keep me occupied.  I never forgot her tact and kindness.

Anne Fox followed Miss Kopitzke and stayed at Sunrise for six years.  Other first graders were Raymond Draeger, Barbara Schwan, Hilda Riske, Manfred Poppe and Me.  Manfred left for warmer  Arizona after two years but the four of us  twelve years later graduated from Marion High School.

This was a happy  brick school with as many as thirty students in all eight grades.  The bell tower and the honor of getting to pull the rope.  The mysterious attic and being sent on an errand amongst the mice and dust and ghosts of past students. The library.  Lunch boxes with a thermos smelling of stale milk, perennial baseball.  Games of cops and robbers, tag, crack the whip, hide and seek, leap frog, anty over the school house, red rover, snow forts, snowmen, king on the mountain, sledding, swings, merry go round, flag pole.

Snow was so much deeper and days colder.  Card parties, picnics, the screech and shriek of chalk, the smell of clean blackboards, pounding the erasers.  The outside water pump, the bubbler, the finicky wood and coal furnace that often backfired with the register in the middle of the floor.  Smelly outhouses.  Lunch outdoors in spring and fall under the box elder and cedar trees. Trading lunches.  I liked a fried Spam sandwich. 

Halloween, Valentines Day with the big Christmas entertainment.  Sunrise had a built-in stage for our program.  In those early days, before the end of World War Two, no electricity and real candles on the tree which someone donated.  Paper chains made with construction paper and glue made of flour and water.  Virginia Miller played piano for the program.   Most of the songs came from the 'Golden Book of Favorite Songs'. Virginia also gave private piano lessons, I went, had no talent but blustered on anyhow.  Other students took accordion lessons and played at the Christmas program.  As an art project, we made gifts for our parents, and Santa made an appearance handing out a brown bag of candy and fruit.  Oh how good that tasted.

Selling Easter and Christmas Seals.  Gathering milk weed pods for the war effort to be made into parachutes.  The clock on the north wall, flanked by windows and squeezed between George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and General Pershing.  Varnished hardwood floors, rubber hectograph duplicating machine, goiter pills, small pox vaccinations, the fear of polio, mumps, measles, chicken pox, goiter pills.

Drowning gophers for the nickel bounty.  Weekly Readers to keep us up-to-date on World affairs,  round world globe suspended from the ceiling.  Rolled maps. Educational radio  programs from the Wisconsin School of the Air from Madison, the dreaded Ranger Mac and Professor Gordon for Music.  Art and Science.  Boxes of State lending library books, my favorite was Hiawatha. No such thing as learning disabilities in those days.  Everyone learned and made us what we are today.  Franklin Roosevelt felt like God to us, along with the  visits from Mrs Amundson, the county supervisor, who sneaked in once a month.  Bib overalls, union suits, brown cotton stockings, garter belts, bloomers, mash bag dresses, leather shoes, four buckle goulashes, wet dirty wool mittens, socks and caps. 

Quarterline Cheese Factory just down the road to the east with Harold and Elda Brown as cheese makers.   Pupils would grab a handful of cheese curds from the vats on the way home from school.  Oh how good they tasted sprinkled with salt.

Shortly after Marvin and Dawn Hintz  were married in 1949 they opened their home  in a displaced family from Latvia.  Latvia, on the Baltic Sea in Europe was taken over by the Communists after the Second World War.   The Garins and their children who at that time could speak no English, Nora, Maija, Egils and Arnis.   They quickly acclimated to Dupont and Sunrise School  Very intelligent. They lingered for about five years at Sunrise and then drifted to other Latvians near Milwaukee and were never heard from again.  By that time Esther Miller was teaching.

Sunrise was one of four schools in Dupont, Maple Valley, Pioneer and Lake Michael.  Dupont was six miles square, and the theory was no student would have to walk more than three miles to school.

In 1917 the State of Wisconsin deemed brick schools to be built to replace the wooden ones.  Records show that $210 was spent to purchase 26,000 bricks.  Thirty cords of rock and stone were hauled for the basement walls.  Manual labor was provided by farmers with their horses and wagons.  A dollar a day they were paid.  Hankey and Nehring did most of the carpentry work.  Total cost for the building projet came to $4189.69.  At first a pot bellied heater was used, and in 1928 the new  pipeless furnace was installed at a cost of $288.15.  This edifice served hundreds of students in it's  almost fifty years of education purposes.

And then it was time for us 8th graders in the spring of 1952 to leave Sunrise for the Big High School in Marion and life was never the same for us innocent students of Sunrise School.

Copyright 2013, Delores and Russell Miller

 Delores Miller lives with husband Russell in Hortonville, Wisconsin.    In the summer of 2007 they  celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary with a party hosted by their five children and ten grandchildren.  It’s been a long road.  Dairy farming until retirement in 1993, they continued to 'work' the land, making a subdivision of 39 new homes on their former hay fields.