25 Of 6 2 4 Things I’ve Learned In 60 Years W/Myself

I have been through the financial “mill” recently, having to make sure that my move back to my Mum’s house at the age of sixty [60] is truly temporary and be able to repay the lady I want to marry for her help in 2010, while a fifteen-year younger, sick-in-the-head sibling seems hell-bent upon having me be stuck there, ensuring the failure of the remnants of our “family” while my octogenarian Mum tries to help me, my fiancee` overseas and her elderly Mum! OMG! Heaven help me now, or end this madness!

I always push to leave every situation that I encounter better than when I found it. it is my “motto”.

Therefore, I now offer for better or worse, the lessons that I have learned via sixty years on this rock, with the prayer that, if nothing else, they will entertain you to maintain your cool – which in these days and times without a soul-mate, is so very hard to do.
“Observe!”

1. Patience is a virtue because it is so difficult to consistently sustain. However, the payoff is worth it because most often, when we get what we are waiting for, it comes like a torrential rain following a drought.
2. There comes a point when I have to push the envelope to get the results I need.
3. I never liked banks and adulthood validates this thus far; they are greedy and try to get something for nothing every chance they get.
4. Driver’s licenses are much too easy to obtain (skill wise and especially with all of the distractions in the cockpit installed by automakers these days)
5. When given the chance these days, most people will cheat the laws or be lazy.
6. When It rains, most lose the ability to drive their vehicles safely.
7. To take my time; allow enough time so I do not have to rush to work or an appointment – or for love to happen.

8. Watching TV is a waste of time
9. Not to watch the “news” so as not to have high blood pressure regarding the drama of the world that I cannot control.
10. Not to watch this era’s rich millionaire athletes in shorts run up and down basketball courts while I am struggling to make ends meet! (none of them would lend me a helping hand, anyway) I do not “identify” with their values (or lack thereof).
11. To be concerned, but not to worry.
12. That there are some people that I will never reach – even those technically “related” to me – never, just move on, because “family” will disappoint more than any stranger because I have (false) high expectations thinking that they “know” me…
13. Man is his own worst enemy (our brain).

14. Technology ended common sense (the sixth one)
15. To listen to the hopeful, quieter voice in my head more than the louder, frustrated voice on the other shoulder.
16. To take my time, do not always be in a rush because you will usually get there at the same time anyway
17. The degree that I value more than my high school or college diploma is the one I earned at the “Cool School” whose classes were held on the mean streets of New York City, circa 1960 – 1989.
18. “Don’t believe the HYPE!” (still applies, y’all)
19. No matter when I want something, if I just put things in-place to happen, they will evolve to fruition when they are supposed to…unless my traitorous, fifteen-year younger lesbian sibling gets wind of it, to block it, for some unbeknownst reason that it will never reveal (demonic spirit we surmise…).
20. To embrace the positives that people bestow upon me and try to earn money with them for Inna and me!
20-A. That being back in New York City briefly, has reinforced that it is not the “great” city that it was prior to “9/11’ but now an Orwellian police state, still running scared and recently managed by a Nanny Mayor who greedily over-regulated the adults who inhabit it.
21. I really believe “everything in its own time” is true.
22. That life is like cycling the hills of Nashville: we work hard, pumping-up the steep hills in order to enjoy the pay-off which is the coast down super-fast on the other side of it.
23. It is true that many dogs resemble their owners! (Not you and Sonya, Inna, lol)
24. To pick my “spots” in life like a basketball player (I once was pretty good at it); there are times to be aggressive; times to give the “head-fake”; times to show patience…
25. That there are more idiots and morons in the world than ever in our “Ossie & Harriot” youthful days! Not that I am perfect, mind you, but come ON guys, enough dumbing-down of America (and stop letting every other country’s criminals come over here just because you want more people to pay taxes!)

25A. I am not an “African-American”. I am a Black American (with a little native-American Cherokee mixed-in), the proud descendant of the slaves who were brought here from Afrika, against their will. I’ve never been to Africa, nor do I have the desire to go there (allergies), unless Inna can convince me it is a romantic trip to take, and even then we will have to meditate upon it, lol! “African Americans” are those imports since the 1980s who “look” like us, but who have much more disdain for the Brothas from the USA, and more money to spend with the traditional American establishment!

I hope that you have comments on a similar vibe in your own cosmic existence which you can espouse here…

My G/F’s Guest Post: Prostitution,The Attraction Stigma of Odessa, Ukraine for Western Men

[Some of this material is re-posted with grateful acknowledgement to a blog post by Elizabeth Abosch who I have tried to get in-touch with/link to regarding this post, unsuccessfully.]

When I was a little boy, one of the ladies who made sure that I had an after school snack and got on with my homework until my hardworking parents returned home, was our next-door neighbor, whose name was Odessa (Redus) Brown.
I took the name for-granted, yet always thought “Odessa” as a regal, majestic name and I never thought to research it until my Inna, who I hope will spend the rest of my life with me as my wife, introduced me to a place in her country that she wants us to enjoy together that has an historic beach-port, called Odessa, Ukraine, two years ago.

Recently, she writes: “Naphtali, check out This Unpleasant Information… By the way, yesterday there was a whole transfer on TV with participation of real girls on a similar theme…. These girls told about the histories as they were used by years… Men from USA, England, Italy, Switzerland, Australia. Men promised to marry them, met on resorts, or came to them on a visit. Or invited to itself, and after one or two months sent the women home.
As, have told and have shown a photo of the man which each two years invites to itself women home in in USA under the visa of the bride. And then exposes for doors of women… And so already proceeded [has done this for] with about 10 years. Now to this to the man any more does not give embassy the sanction to invitations of the following brides.
I see, the whole system of entertainments and games on feelings was already created, and it is expensive(dear) costs(stands)!

I of nothing want to tell bad about you and about us. I only share with you the information and as, has thought, if You will publish this information on the BLOG. Cheerfully it is possible to spend in Odessa to American guys! [Can have a good time]
You remember, two years back, you sent to me the reference from YouTube about Odessa…. Yesterday wanted to find this reference again…. But has lost…. I any more do not remember, that there spoke…. But I remember, that there there was a dirty. Also it is the truth much to our regret. But this dirty is everywhere in any city of the world. And you know it. Only it is interesting, why particular Now this time, do they began to give this more than attention?!(Why?)” Yeah, Honey, I agree. Why the sudden attention to this?
And so now, please peruse parts of Ms. Abosch’s historical account.

“With access to Turkey and its closeness to the rest of Europe, Odessa is an international human trafficking hub. Women and orphans from Odessa or even poorer areas like rural Moldova travel to the city to find good jobs abroad, and are promised them by traffickers before their passports are taken away and they are sold into slavery or work as prostitutes within the city.”

Video from a movie about Odessa:
Elizabeth Abosch writes,
“In wartime and in post-war Soviet film, one man made a name for himself portraying an Odessan and portraying him as a hero. That man was Mark Bernes, the first great Soviet Star and the possible creator of what I like to call, the Odessa “Hero Myth”.

Bernes (who was of Jewish ancestry) became famous for his character Arkady Dzubin, first in the 1943 movie “Two Soldiers”. He spent time with troops in military hospitals who were native to Odessa, and picked up that their dialect seemed quite lazy and was accompanied by much shoulder shrugging and lip pursing. He created an archetype for “the Odessan”, a vaguely jewish, musical, easy-going person who could calm his brothers with humor and then rise to any bravery needed….”

In “Two Soldiers” he distracts a woman from a bombing raid by singing an ironic song about a fisherman, Konstantin, and his wife Sonya: “Shalandy Polnye Kefali”:”

And also of heartfelt interest, Ms. Abosch continues, “Perhaps his most famous song as the Odessan Arkady Dzubin was “Dark Night”, which became the unofficial anthem for Soviet citizens and soldiers barely surviving World War Two. The song is about a soldier who believes no harm can come to him as long as his wife and new baby still wait for him…” I can relate to this as I “fight” on the front of my personal financial “war” to achieve funding for Inna and I to finally marry here in 2013.

The lyrics are,
“Dark night, only bullets whistling over the steppe,
Only the wind humming in the woods, dim stars twinkle.
In the dark night, darling, I know, I’m not sleeping,
And in the crib, you secretly wipe away a tear.

How I love the depth of your gentle eyes,
How do I want him to press my lips against you!
Dark Night divides us, my love,
And a disturbing, black steppe lie between us.

I believe in you
In my sweetheart,
This belief is the bullet
Dark night …
Happily me
I am confident in mortal combat:
I know you will meet with my love
To me no matter what.

Death is not terrible.
With time it’s time to meet.
Here and now
She whirls on me.
You got me waiting
And the cradle,
And so, I know, with me
Nothing will happen!”

Maybe a bit more than many other famous cites in the world, Odessa is fueled by the myths surrounding it which shape perceptions about the place to this very day. Ms. Abosch’s blog from 2012 is concise, precise and enlightening – sometimes sadly so.

Here is one more sample video and song with great classic pictures of “the city of the steps” that she brought to light, “I Remember Mother Odessa” (“Odessa Mama”):

“Whoever has not been
In the beautiful city of Odessa
Has not seen the world
And knows nothing of progress
Who cares for Vienna of Paris,
They’re puddles, jokes, no comparison
Only in Odessa is
A Paradise, I say.

There in a restaurant
They serve you beer
And with it a bite
Of fresh skrumbli
Bashmala and balik
And with them a shashlik
With a good glass of wine -
What could be better?

Oh, Mother Odessa,
You’re forever dear to me.
Oh, Mother Odessa,
How I long for thee!
Oh, Mother Odessa,
Who can forget you?
Oh, Mother Odessa,
I see you no more.
Oh, Mother Odessa,
I long for you and vow:

Your avenues, promenades
Are light, beautiful.
The cafes, the boulevards,
One can never forget.
The carriages, the gypsies,
The tumult, ta-ra-ram,
The hotels, the young ladies
Still are on my mind.

Oh, Mother Odessa,
You’re forever dear to me.
Oh, Mother Odessa,
How I long for thee!
Oh, Mother Odessa,
Who can forget you?
Oh, Mother Odessa,
I long for you and vow:

Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay,
One cannot forget.
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay,
How I should like to see you again!
Hop tidl dam ti stidl didl dam ti…..

Oh, Odessa-Odessa Mother,
You are the most beautiful panorama;
Everyone treasured you dearly.
The cabarets, restaurants,
You will still remember today
Who knows what has become of you?
Odessa, Odessa, I long for you”

It is amazing that Odessa still is controversial and standing today; I guess they wouldn’t have it any other way. I encourage you to read Ms. Abosch’s whole piece here, http://odessahistory-eabosch2012.blogspot.com/2012_04_01_archive.html

Out of respect for her brilliant research and blog, I shan’t devote more space to it than I already have in order to peek your curiosity. I feel this is a lesson in how stereotypical thinking ruins reputations on both sides of any argument. It reminds me of the rolled eyes, doubting looks, behind-my-back whispers that I am being “tricked” or scammed that I notice when I tell some people about my relationship with Inna; inferring that she isn’t “real”. Being a black American, I know how stereotypes painted with a broad brush can distort the perception of a whole people – or country – first-hand. I also can hear my late father commenting how black Americans and Jews have many more similarities historically than most people realize. A story about Jews hiding in a Ukrainian cave comes to light here:

After you’ve absorbed her blog, please come back here to comment. Maybe we can get Elizabeth herself to weigh-in!

Full Easter Moon Effect

I commute
You are cute.
“Toot-Toot!”
Yet abhor
Lack of success.
In a picture,
I digress;
Love you on the beach,
In that red dress!

Stay inside,
Someday in I’ll slide.
Then again I awake while commuting,
From my dream;
I come in pants,
Silently scream.
To work I quake and settle into it.
Close my eyes,
Thinking of you;
For over ninety minutes daily when I
Ride the subway metro.

I plan our dream;
Plot this is no bullshit scheme!
Our future is now.
And Holy Cow!
I sit in a seat like this!

Imagine me sitting here with you!
Oh, so “koo-koo”!
Spring bird calls return;
Now are heard.
I want you to back-up into me,
Until you feel my hard ecstasy.
I want you to back-up your
Ass to me;
Feel the hard head of need;
To crazy now not to succeed.

Back-up, Baby
Back-up to when we met.
Back-up, love,
Never forget that
You found me,
Helped me without regret.

Rainee Dayvis

I watch as:
Someone’s tragic windblown umbrella;

Ambles the edge of concrete and asphalt,

Like a drunk crab trolling along

The beach tidal borderline.

Imagine I am not at the bus stop.

 

I close my eyes on the commuter train.

Dreaming a snow crab voice-over

I once read for Red Lobster.

A beach bird, umbrella and then me at the

Bus stop again trying not to get,

Blown down the curb of life’s boulevard;
Walking the best that I can,
Often lost, alone and crabby.
Pushing to catch that last wave

Towards the needed pot of gold.

 

These mercurial March mornings,

I awaken to a new bird-call of spring daily

In this old and new former place.

Where I exist in spite of failure’s frustration;

In the temporary solitude of the barrel of many Indies,

Among those of you who I do not want to see.

I am Not “Empty Promises”!

[An "open letter"...]

This song comes to mind from the 1970s…my college days, ever since your last email letter and until I achieve the funding solution I am seeking for the past year now – which isn’t easy for me, who never/could not because of outside interference, use “credit” here in the USA until the mid-2000s – and now I desperately wish that I could talk to you who, mired in “disappointment” and disbelief now, is silent for the most part.
“TALK to you”, like we used to not that many months ago in the scheme of things (the “big picture”) so that I can let you hear just where I stand.
Communicate by telephone voice or Skype so I can explain how the “United” States financial credit system catches dolphins in the shark net, denying and delaying those who are mature, responsible, organized and worthy of being lent money to, the chance to further their dreams, inventions, plans or in our case “The January ProjeX” family business model that I am pitching nowadays. https://gust.com/c/the_january_projex I am one such victim, but I will keep fighting until my dying breath or until you say not to – which ever comes first.
And I know that I am getting closer to getting that money that we need! Maybe the real “empty promise” is “The American Dream” for most of us…
I live ONLY to repay you by whatever means it takes to get the money, and restore your playful desires and faith in me.
Other songs that come to former disc jockey-musical mind are Al Green’s “Living For You” and Abba’s “Take A Chance On Me”.
I still want to be your forever Man.

“I, I, I, I wish that I could talk to you, baby
So that I can let you know
(So that I can let you know, I)
I wish that I could talk to you, baby
So that I can let you know
(So that I can let you know)

Oh, if only I can hear
Your voice so sweet and clear,
It would ease my lonely state of mind
Somehow I got to get in touch with you
To let you know
(Let you know, yeah!)

That my love is true
(So true)
I only wish I knew just where to find you
I realize, yeah, yeah
(Realize)
That time is turning the tides
And I’m unsatisfied

I, I, I, I wish that I could talk to you, baby
So that I can let you know
(So that I can let you know, I)
I wish that I could talk to you, baby
So that I can let you know
(So that I can let you know)
There’s no hidden plan…”

As I’ve always, since you found me, tried to gently remind you, Honey, “What I SAY I will DO, I WILL do. It may take longer than we both desire, due to factors out of our control, but I WILL get it accomplished. Conversely, If I do NOT say I will do it, you have only a 50/50 chance – if I feel like it.” With You (another song title), I always “feel” like trying like with no other woman and take every daily step to the bus stop and down the subway (metro) train to work for our eventual union.

Comments are invited as always here on this blog.

“Bitchster” – Handcuffs Me via NYPD

As defined by Urban Dictionary.com:
2.”Bitchster”:
Your Bitch of a Sister
“Man, my Bitchster is calling again! I’m just going to keep blowing her bitch-ass off.”

Question: If you were a male product of the testosterone-driven USA “Black American Revolution” (“civil rights movement”) which included you being sympathetic to the causes of Martin Luther King, Jr, SNNC, The Black Panthers, H. Rap Brown and Angela Davis et al, could you fathom a “female” member of your family who is fifteen years your junior calling the NYPD on you here in the “twenty-teens” [2013] because [she basically resents that] you temporarily moved back to help your common Mother and yourself move forward over something stupid like sharing?

My radio mentor, the late Sonny Taylor, had a saying:
“As you are so once was I;
As I am so you shall BE.”

I left living at “home” twenty-nine years ago,
And changed as a person via the crusades of my life.
Only to have to return to
A stark contrasting and alien city planet,
That only glimmers of the one that used to know
Who I was back then,
I now only look forward to marrying my intended wife.

To how I adjusted my focuses positively during that time!
I am not going back just because you are selfish,
I had the calling to come back to the “home” you claim as yours.
So you think I am pissing on your area?
Our grow-up house is not yours yet
Until/unless Mum passes from
This physical world and legally before one of us!

I once was similar to you.
Then by living on college campus before turning twenty-one,
I learned to share unselfishly of myself and music.
I was once an anal fanatic like you are;
I shed that via travel and career-change-culture reality.
Experience taught me to stop watching, waiting …

Millionaires play money games;
Why do you do the same for no reason?
I am your older brother by fifteen years.
With no game for bullshit and you not realize it?
Instead, you inject family pain – YOU…the idiot!
All for nothing!
No physical affront or bloody assault;
You are just a witch!
We know you chant demons and occult;
Calling police while in an argument about a TV;
Selfishly you are the “Bitchster” I knew you would be
Nobody believed me.

Break out from your sexually confused misery,
Please do not take it out on me.
I didn’t birth a you, “change-of-life baby”.
But our parents taught me to change your diapers!
Get a job and a boyfriend!
Finally have sex with a man and maybe your breasts grow.
Wear some lipstick and be a lady!
Become fulfilled and popular so you can see,
Some of, “As I am, so you shall be.”
Before it is too late.

You,”It” instigated a heated argument over brief TV-watching;
A naive tattle-tale Snitch “PHD”,
Negative conclusions about me to-boot!
You never cared to hang with me to “know” me
Shut-up for a change.

Now hospitals dun our family for non-treatment;
For over sixteen-hundred dollars!
For what?
Asking me stupid questions for one hour??
You created this situation!
You should pay the Goddamn bill!
Why are you a reactionary snitch-bitch?
Even your Mother does not understand,
Your haircut as a man.

The last and only time I was in handcuffs,
Was freakin’ sexually!

A pleasure you surely do not understand.
Now you will never meet my best friend – my betrothed;
I’ll not let you poison my first, last and only love.
Bitchster!
You Evil, satin/pagan worshiping witchster!
Stay away from me;
The next time I will call the cops on YOU!

Pickhitt: I predicted this in my first poetry book, “Sad Face King” on page 141! And: Apparently today’s NYPD would rather err on the side of gang-raping our constitutional rights upon misinformation and emotional gossip from a misguided sibling instead of walking away, “no-harm-no foul”-style. Very sad and troubling. I wish I were back in “Hootyville”.

Happy Valentines/USA Presidents Weekend Song

Hey, look, I don’t go searching for these things, they just attack my former terrestrial music radio Disc Jockey musical mind! (A terrible affliction to endure without the ability to “climax” available to distract me, lol) And so in-keeping with the theme of this “holiday” weekend in the USA which is a bastardization of Abraham Lincoln’s Birthday (February 12th), “Ash Wednesday” (February 13th), Valentine’s Day (February 14th) and George Washington’s birthday (February 22nd), the “father of our country” [for those of us who were BORN here in the States], we have “President’s Day”! Those of you who were not born here, please go back and take the new Achilliad “Citizenship Test” because I have noticed many of you newbies wandering aimlessly around – especially in New York City, lately. Answer to question one:The official name of Monday’s day off is “George Washington’s Birthday.” There really is no such thing as “President’s Day”.

And here is a song that comes to mind  as a Valentine:

“I’ve been a-searchin’ all this wide world Now finally I’ve found my
Candy girl Candy girl
I found me a girl (Candy girl) She sets my heart a-whirl (Candy girl) With huggin’ and kissin’ and lovin’ (Huggin’, kissin’)
(She’s mine) Mine (Mine) Mine Whoa oh oh (Candy girl)
We get along so well (Candy girl) I know just why I fell (Candy girl) She’s thrillin’, oh, chillin’ (Thrillin’, chillin’) Yes, she’s so divine
(She’s mine) Mine (Mine) Mine Whoa oh oh (Candy girl)
When we’re out together Everyone knows the way we feel We both seem to glow with the glow of a love And it’s plain to see, our love is real
I’m happy as can be (Candy girl) She vows eternally (Candy girl To hold me and love me (Hold me, love me) Until the end of time
(She’s mine) Mine (Mine) Mine Whoa oh oh
Candy girl Candy girl Candy girl …”

(To Inna)

 

, of course…

PickHitt: When Lincoln, Ash Wednesday, Valentine’s and George Washington holidays combine like they do this year, there has GOT to be a party! Song dedications are invited!! February is very busy for the shortest month of the calendar year, isn’t it?

Italian Restaurant Review: “Saggio” – On My Sixty Years Congratulations

It is not every day that a man survives to become sixty years old in these days and times. Ok, maybe it is “everyday”, but not for me. It is once in a lifetime and I never thought I’d be this age! lol
In-fact, one could argue that it is increasingly rare for we, the single Baby Boomers to do so. So, as part of my “big six-oh” [60] birthday “me time” hideaway, I wanted to do something significant since my fiancée`, Inna and I are still financially separated by the Atlantic ocean and part of this mission was to distract myself from that briefly and satisfy a “pasta attack” (craving/yearning) that I’d endured for a couple of months.
I went online and searched the neighborhood where my “secret” weekend room was located and I found Saggio Restaurant, 829 W 181st Street, New York, NY 10033 (212) 795-3080. From the “Google maps” analysis, it looked to be an about five to seven block walk away and so I decided to find it the next day, a Sunday, January 20th. Isn’t the internet “wonderful” for making us even lazier about finding places?! In this case, it was a laptop convenience!

It was a sunny and blustery day as I struck out on foot with Saggio in my sights. I walked north on St. Nicholas Avenue until 181st Street, where I turned left to walk west, up growing hills. New York City is amazing because of how the complexion of the neighborhoods can change almost block-by-block. I walked from a mostly Dominican hood into a new Russian and then Italian area by the time I found Saggio and heard all of the languages along the way (which is my “deal” these days – linguistics).
The adventure was in the discovery in an area that I’d never hunted in by foot before! When I finally found the numerical address of Saggio, I was pleasantly satisfied that I found a place that not “everybody” would know about; truly in-keeping with my sixtieth “hideaway” theme.

Saggio has an outer door shield against the cold this season. I can only imagine that they probably have outdoor “café” tables with umbrellas during the warmer months. Once inside, the bar is on the right as I was greeted by the seating femme maitre d’. I declined her choice of table, preferring the “window seat” near the 181st Street entrance I had walked to and from which I could see the majestic Manhattan stanchion of the George Washington bridge that I saw from the street.

It was only moments until I was greeted by “Emily” my smiling and attentive authentic Italian waitress, who even brought me the lunch specials on the big black chalkboard as well as the regular table menu for dinner! She really fit the mold for this setting and in-fact she suggested that I do this review when I mentioned my past experience as a food critic!
I was torn between the steamed Mussels and a Pasta dish called “Rigatoni grandma’s recipe of slow cooked ragu with meatballs and Italian sausage”. I chose the latter with a side of sautéed spinach (“yum in garlic, olive oil and butter!) and a glass of their house red vino, but let Emily know that when we return, she’ll already know I am having the Mussels next time! The sauce was not as “Marinara” as I would make, but authentic; the meatballs and sausage just what I craved that early afternoon and I savored every bit amongst private thoughts and plans I have for the rest of my days and to incorporate my lady who has awaited [my] kiss for longer than many would overseas I think. “Yes, we will dine here…” I thought with confidence.
No overpowering music, just enough din and friendly patrons and service made my Saggio choice an excellent one that will make this anniversary all the more memorable.

upon leaving, a second look back and thoughts of you

I used to review restaurants and produce them in audio as part of my chores manning the “Awl Nyte Flyte” radio show on WFTQ AM, Worcester, MA thirty years ago. If I were still in that capacity, I would give Saggio four out of five stars only because I had to ask for bread to mop-up the great pasta sauce left after all the pasta, sausage and meatballs were gone.
Check out Saggio Italian restaurant, between Lafayette and Cabrini Boulevard. Please note that they have an extra-tasty and unique brunch menu! I made a mental note to definitely return here – it is that intimate…and special a place.

What?? Twinkies No More??? Say It Ain’t So!!

I went to a Seven-11 this morning and since it is Saturday, I really should not have been awake this early, but because of my current and temporary living situation, I HAD to get up and TCB. So on my way to collect my mail, I craved a couple Hostess Twinkies. Me and Twinkies go back to grade school. Even though I am technically allergic to chocolate, even “Devil Dogs” I could swallow without hospitalization or a visit to the doctor as long as I chomped them in moderation. Moderation is a cornerstone of my existence.

That day, I walked the aisles of the 7-Eleven several times, thinking that because it is an early Saturday morning, I must be just “not seeing” or overlooking my favorite treat of yester-year that I allow myself to indulge in periodically for the “sugar rush”, I guess, lol.

Finally, I gave up and went to the cashier to pay for my Ocean Spray “Sparkling” cranberry drink (a new 2013 beverage fetish of mine which has replace BEER for all intents and purposes, lol). I asked him where are the Twinkies? I was then informed by this east Indian clerk (who probably never grew-up with Twinkies like I did) in broken English that “There are Twinkies no-more. Bankrupt. “Bought by a Mexican company and maybe they be back soon…” he replied. Wait a minute, life without Hostess Twinkies, Donna Summer and my Nina over in Ukraine is a life not worth living! I now always endure to change negative circumstances. Twinkies are a part of my comeuppance! They helped us wait for the school bus in the 1960s!
Something has got to change here, Ladies and Gentlemen! Bring back my Twinkies!

Eli’s Story: Saving A Child From “Falling Off The Rails”

For over forty years, she saw difficult students come through her elementary Special Education classroom doors in Mt Vernon, a northern suburb of New York City.  Mrs. Jones became known as an outspoken educator who trains emotionally needy, behaviorally challenged kids.  Many of them went on to become surprisingly well-adjusted citizens as adults, but when Mrs. Jones took them on they were a “handful”, as she was accustomed to describing them.  Once she had a child who would assigned for him to disrupting by breaking his assigned seating desks. As Jones described, “He would lock his big feet on both sides and rear-back until the furniture came apart. He could have injured other children in the class, so I had to put a stop to it.  I was a control freak.”

 

Her experience began as a teacher of handicapped and blind children and those years in the school wing of a mental hospital in Queens, New York honed her for the day that the principal at Garden school was trying to place for Eli, a particularly energetic and mischievously troublesome boy who had “sparkling eyes”, as Mrs. Jones would later describe them.  The secretary in the main office suggested,” I bet Mrs. Jones could handle him!”  So when the principal presented this new assignment of adding Eli to her class by saying, “I know Eli will be a challenge for you, but I think you are up to it…” Mrs. Jones replied, “A challenge to me? NO, I will be a challenge to him! Bring him on!”

 

Graham School, MT. Vernon, N.Y.

Eli was a foster child in a group home who, when confined to his room as punishment in because of his many mischievous acts, would escape by climbing out of the window using the cord of one of the electric lamps! He was also a petty thief, as were several of the Special Education children, preying upon the teachers, of all people, whenever they got a chance they would rifle the desk and try to steal their purse!  One particular time, Mr. Jones caught Eli just about to reach his hand into the drawer as she returned from the hallway.  “Alright now”, she admonished, “You’re going to have to come over and meet the ‘Board of Education paddle’…” Back in those days, a teacher could, with intelligent restraint, use a bit of corporal punishment, usually with the yard stick ruler. Eli submitted to three whacks on his thieving hand from Jones and that was that – he never tried it again.  She recalls the time that she brought her daughter to school with her and let her read to the class.  This apparently fascinated Eli, as he watched and listened intently, looking up at her daughter and then back down to his book back and forth.  “I gonna learn to read like that”, Eli said in his gruffy little voice.

George was also part of Eli’s class and that year, Mrs. Jones gave a February lesson about the first U.S. President, George Washington, which included the famous “I cannot tell a lie” cherry tree incident. This must have made such an impression on George that he decided to act it out in reality.  So he went home, found a hatchet and proceeded to hack down a neighbor’s scrawny tree.  I’m not sure if it was a fruit tree, but the neighbor was not too happy about it and called the police who took the hatchet away after George enthusiastically admitted that he did it!  What else could they do (again, this was back in the 1970s when knee-jerk overkill punishment was not the rule as it is often these days).

Years later, Mrs. Jones and her husband were shopping in downtown Manhattan, New York City when a well-dressed young man in a black sharkskin suit and fedora hat walking on the sidewalk ahead of them suddenly turned around and said, “You’re Mrs. Jones! I didn’t know that I could see you here! Do you know who I am?”  

“Yes of course, you’re Eli!”, Mrs. Jones replied, extremely proud of how well her former charge spoke and looked.  She introduced Eli to her husband, and he was nothing short of polite as he shook Mr. Jones’s hand before they went their ways after brief pleasant conversation and a couple of hugs.

 

I am particularly proud of Mrs. Jones and happily authored this piece about her because Mrs. Jones is now a retired eighty-eight year old lady – and my Mum.