Wow, this video brings back so many memories. Taking the bus downtown with my mom to go to the dentist and stopping to watch the clock at Midtown Plaza. Going to dinner at the Spring House many, many times. Riding our bikes down a relatively quiet Monroe Avenue to Pittsford Plaza and eating french fries at the cafeteria in Woolworth's. Picking up the latest 45s at J.C. Penney. Getting our new shoes for the school year at Altier's -- where they measured your feet and made sure they fit perfectly. And getting S&H green stamps at the supermarket, affixing them to the coupon books and leafing through the catalog for free goodies.
Great childhood. Fun video.
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Friday, February 25, 2011
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Kodachrome
Whenever I am at Son #2's Little League games, I feel a little nostalgic. It reminds me of going to see my brothers play on the same field, the Bob Ford Field, over 40 years ago. Looking at the kids on the diamond wearing their uniforms and baseball caps, the scene is roughly unchanged. A sunny, cloudless sky. A pristine slice of Americana enhanced only by Son #2's pitching which makes my heart swell.
Last weekend, I walked to the field at the elementary school with the boys and our next door neighbors to launch model rockets. Again, I was reminded of doing the same thing 40 years ago with my brother Markie and our next door neighbor Dave. They made what looked (and smelled) like the same exact rockets and launched them on the hill across the street at the high school. Gauging the wind. Watching as they soar into the sky and their parachutes deploy. Running to where they've landed.
In today's world of cell phones, iPods and video games, so many of the basic elements of life are wrapped in an eerily familiar lining. Riding bikes. Playing basketball. Hanging in the fort. Just being kids.
I just hope that I am a good mom to them. That our house is a sanctuary from the crazy world. That their childhoods are relatively carefree. That they grow up knowing how deeply they're loved. That they develop strong self-esteem and compassion for others. That they remain safe, healthy and happy. That they surround themselves with friends who will encourage one another to be the best they can be. That they make solid decisions. That they lead productive lives with integrity. Little things . . .
The other night, at my mom's suggestion, we were all watching The Big Bang Theory. Toward the end of the episode, Son #2 turned to me and said, "These guys are boring. The dialog in our house is funnier than this." And with that little compliment, I felt that (at least for now) we were on the right track.
Last weekend, I walked to the field at the elementary school with the boys and our next door neighbors to launch model rockets. Again, I was reminded of doing the same thing 40 years ago with my brother Markie and our next door neighbor Dave. They made what looked (and smelled) like the same exact rockets and launched them on the hill across the street at the high school. Gauging the wind. Watching as they soar into the sky and their parachutes deploy. Running to where they've landed.
In today's world of cell phones, iPods and video games, so many of the basic elements of life are wrapped in an eerily familiar lining. Riding bikes. Playing basketball. Hanging in the fort. Just being kids.
I just hope that I am a good mom to them. That our house is a sanctuary from the crazy world. That their childhoods are relatively carefree. That they grow up knowing how deeply they're loved. That they develop strong self-esteem and compassion for others. That they remain safe, healthy and happy. That they surround themselves with friends who will encourage one another to be the best they can be. That they make solid decisions. That they lead productive lives with integrity. Little things . . .
The other night, at my mom's suggestion, we were all watching The Big Bang Theory. Toward the end of the episode, Son #2 turned to me and said, "These guys are boring. The dialog in our house is funnier than this." And with that little compliment, I felt that (at least for now) we were on the right track.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Richie
I just posted a note on the memorial page at Miller Funeral Homes website under the obituary for Richard S. Doser who passed away yesterday at the age of 87.
"Rich was our carrier in Pittsford when I was growing up and I LOVED him. We called him "Richie the mail man." My friend Steve and I (and our dogs Barney and Wendy) followed him as he walked throughout our entire neighborhood every single day. He was the nicest man on the planet and he would let us put the mail in our own mailboxes which was a huge treat. (Seriously! Mind you, it was the early 1970s and I was like six years old.) I've thought about him a lot over the years and now wish I had reached out to say "hello." His memory is very special to me. With ALL of that said, I'm very, very sorry for your loss. Your entire family is in my prayers."
May God bless Richie the mailman. And may he rest in peace.
"Rich was our carrier in Pittsford when I was growing up and I LOVED him. We called him "Richie the mail man." My friend Steve and I (and our dogs Barney and Wendy) followed him as he walked throughout our entire neighborhood every single day. He was the nicest man on the planet and he would let us put the mail in our own mailboxes which was a huge treat. (Seriously! Mind you, it was the early 1970s and I was like six years old.) I've thought about him a lot over the years and now wish I had reached out to say "hello." His memory is very special to me. With ALL of that said, I'm very, very sorry for your loss. Your entire family is in my prayers."
May God bless Richie the mailman. And may he rest in peace.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Where Were You When?
I was searching for an interview that my friend Dave, who works for the AARP, had conducted with Martina Navratilova when I happened upon an article on their site entitled, “Where Were You When?” in which AARP staff members describe the ten moments they’ll never forget. Since I was not yet on this planet or too young to remember, I cannot comment on the assassinations of JFK, MLK or Robert F. Kennedy or the shootings at Kent State but some of these other events do stand out in my aging memory bank.
December 8, 1980: John Lennon is killed: I was preparing for midterm exams on the couch in my parents’ living room. I was a junior in HS and had the radio on while studying. Go figure.
January 28, 1986: The U.S. space shuttle Challenger explodes 72 seconds after takeoff, killing all seven crew members. My roommate Berrie and I were in Professor Bob Arnold’s film class at SU where he announced the news. I remember the horror not entirely registering with me until later possibly because I hadn’t yet seen the images.
November 9, 1989: Borders between East and West Germany open—leading to the dismantling of the Berlin Wall. I was sound asleep in my room at Brad and Kristin’s house on French Road when my girlfriend Meg called to wake me up. “I knew this is something you wouldn’t want to miss.” Although it was cool to watch, I would rather have been sleeping. She also called a few months later, again really early in the morning, when Nelson Mandela was released from prison. I’m still tired . . .
August 31, 1997: Princess Diana dies. I was in a cab headed back uptown having just left my friend Barton and his photographer friend down in Union Square when I heard that she had been shot, er, I mean in a car accident. The next morning, as we took the train out to the Hamptons to celebrate my girlfriend Laura’s birthday, the news of Diana's death was all over the airwaves. Two years later, again headed out to the Hamptons, I remember being at Penn Station as people were freaking about JFK Jr.’s missing plane. The worst was confirmed when we got to Laura’s house. It was almost a surreal, “how can this be happening again?” experience.
April 20, 1999: The Columbine High School massacre occurs in Littleton, Colorado. I honestly cannot remember where I heard this news. I remember watching the coverage and wishing that those boys could have had the foresight to realize that the pains of high school fade quickly upon graduation.
September 11, 2001: Attack on the World Trade Center. I was at my desk here in Rochester when my husband called. I immediately called a girlfriend who I used to work with in the World Financial Center to make sure she was okay. She actually picked up her phone in her office and chatted with me for a minute to tell me that they were evacuating the building. I heard later that another girlfriend from work had gotten off the subway in the WTC and when she saw everyone running, she assumed there was a gunman. So, instead of leaving the building, she stayed and hid behind a garbage bin. It wasn’t until she realized that there were no gunshots that she decided to run in the same direction as everyone else. She was halfway uptown when the building collapsed behind her.
What’s missing from this list?
October 3, 1995: The end of the OJ trial. Working at Draft, we all went in to the conference room to watch the verdict being delivered on TV. Wow. Talk about a collective groan heard worldwide!
Sidebar: I have been reading bits and pieces of Leonard Mlodinow’s book, The Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives, which shed light on how the jury was fooled by misleading statistics. During the trial, lawyer Alan Dershowitz shared that in the U.S. each year, 4M women are battered by their male partners, yet only one in 2,500 is killed. His argument was that just because O.J. was a known abuser, the chances of him actually murdering her were slim. However, that wasn’t the relevant statistic. The opposite side of the equation, which never surfaced in court, was relevant: 90% of all battered women who are murdered are killed by their abusers. Retrial!
Pan Am Flight 103, Lockerbie, Scotland. December 21, 1988. This tragedy, more than any other, has directly affected people I know and has haunted me for years. One of my girlfriends, who was supposed to be on that flight but decided to travel in Europe a bit longer, lost many of her close friends from SU that day—along with her faith. I remember my sister calling to tell me what had happened. As a former student of the SU London Centre only three years earlier, I felt devastated by this tragedy. And 20 years later, it still makes me cry just thinking about it.
But, more importantly, what’s next?
Tomorrow: the Obama inauguration! Good luck to the man who has to pick up the pieces after “Mission Accomplished.” I can’t wait to tune in!
December 8, 1980: John Lennon is killed: I was preparing for midterm exams on the couch in my parents’ living room. I was a junior in HS and had the radio on while studying. Go figure.
January 28, 1986: The U.S. space shuttle Challenger explodes 72 seconds after takeoff, killing all seven crew members. My roommate Berrie and I were in Professor Bob Arnold’s film class at SU where he announced the news. I remember the horror not entirely registering with me until later possibly because I hadn’t yet seen the images.
November 9, 1989: Borders between East and West Germany open—leading to the dismantling of the Berlin Wall. I was sound asleep in my room at Brad and Kristin’s house on French Road when my girlfriend Meg called to wake me up. “I knew this is something you wouldn’t want to miss.” Although it was cool to watch, I would rather have been sleeping. She also called a few months later, again really early in the morning, when Nelson Mandela was released from prison. I’m still tired . . .
August 31, 1997: Princess Diana dies. I was in a cab headed back uptown having just left my friend Barton and his photographer friend down in Union Square when I heard that she had been shot, er, I mean in a car accident. The next morning, as we took the train out to the Hamptons to celebrate my girlfriend Laura’s birthday, the news of Diana's death was all over the airwaves. Two years later, again headed out to the Hamptons, I remember being at Penn Station as people were freaking about JFK Jr.’s missing plane. The worst was confirmed when we got to Laura’s house. It was almost a surreal, “how can this be happening again?” experience.
April 20, 1999: The Columbine High School massacre occurs in Littleton, Colorado. I honestly cannot remember where I heard this news. I remember watching the coverage and wishing that those boys could have had the foresight to realize that the pains of high school fade quickly upon graduation.
September 11, 2001: Attack on the World Trade Center. I was at my desk here in Rochester when my husband called. I immediately called a girlfriend who I used to work with in the World Financial Center to make sure she was okay. She actually picked up her phone in her office and chatted with me for a minute to tell me that they were evacuating the building. I heard later that another girlfriend from work had gotten off the subway in the WTC and when she saw everyone running, she assumed there was a gunman. So, instead of leaving the building, she stayed and hid behind a garbage bin. It wasn’t until she realized that there were no gunshots that she decided to run in the same direction as everyone else. She was halfway uptown when the building collapsed behind her.
What’s missing from this list?
October 3, 1995: The end of the OJ trial. Working at Draft, we all went in to the conference room to watch the verdict being delivered on TV. Wow. Talk about a collective groan heard worldwide!
Sidebar: I have been reading bits and pieces of Leonard Mlodinow’s book, The Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives, which shed light on how the jury was fooled by misleading statistics. During the trial, lawyer Alan Dershowitz shared that in the U.S. each year, 4M women are battered by their male partners, yet only one in 2,500 is killed. His argument was that just because O.J. was a known abuser, the chances of him actually murdering her were slim. However, that wasn’t the relevant statistic. The opposite side of the equation, which never surfaced in court, was relevant: 90% of all battered women who are murdered are killed by their abusers. Retrial!
Pan Am Flight 103, Lockerbie, Scotland. December 21, 1988. This tragedy, more than any other, has directly affected people I know and has haunted me for years. One of my girlfriends, who was supposed to be on that flight but decided to travel in Europe a bit longer, lost many of her close friends from SU that day—along with her faith. I remember my sister calling to tell me what had happened. As a former student of the SU London Centre only three years earlier, I felt devastated by this tragedy. And 20 years later, it still makes me cry just thinking about it.
But, more importantly, what’s next?
Tomorrow: the Obama inauguration! Good luck to the man who has to pick up the pieces after “Mission Accomplished.” I can’t wait to tune in!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Pack Rat
While sorting through an old box of stuff in the basement, I came across heaps of mementos including a photo of my mom on a date in the 50s in a frame that says, "Souvenir of Moroccan Village: The Gayest Spot in the Village" and "Slumming in Greenwich Village." Inside that frame was also the front page of The AMBAssador 25th Anniversary Issue (October 1953) which I'm guessing was the internal newsletter for employees of Alexanders. My mom was apparently an Alexanderite (posh name for a salesperson?) and was pictured with four other women alongside an article that states, "Alexanderites strutting proudly down the aisles of our two Bronx stores and at White Plains recently had ample reason for thrusting out their chests and boasting a bit." You go girl!
Speaking of strutting themselves, I also unearthed a picture of my dad circa 1945 with a bunch of other guys in the Navy all dressed up like (I think) girls? They're lifting their skirts (yes, you read that right) to show their boxers but also are wearing hats, garter belts on their thighs, and scarves around their necks. I'm thinking that they may have fit in better at Moroccan Village than on the U.S.S. Richmond. What happens at sea stays at sea?
In the pile, I found a bunch of my old concert tickets including the Who, the Stones, Rush, Santana, the Dead, the Lounge Lizards, Elvis Costello, UB40, Joe Jackson, Janes Addiction, Simple Minds, the Call, Tom Petty, Cheap Trick, the Plasmatics and more.
And I found a receipt from Marine Midland Bank dated March 16, 1983 where I ran into the Thompson Twins at the ATM and they all signed my bank balance ($311.68)! I also have an REO Speedwagon ticket signed by Gary Richrath and Kevin Cronin. Ah yes, you can tune a piano but you can't tuna fish.
My least favorite ticket? The Cars. I'll never forget them singing, "Can I bring you out in the light?" and flooding the War Memorial with stadium lighting. Unbelievable buzzkill. Worst ending to a concert ever. Not just what I needed.
Lastly, I found a copy of Playbill magazine circa 1984 in which Aaron Sorkin (an SU grad with whom we used to stay on our weekend trips to the city) wrote, "It was great sex! Come live with us." Aaron S. For whatever reason, his S looks more like a backwards dollar sign. (Note to mom: We didn't really have sex. It was his roommate who hit on me at the time but I feigned death. It worked.) In any event, Aaron was convinced that he would be famous one day and I believed him. Back then he was a talented writer living in a walk-up in Hell's Kitchen; now he's a talented gazillionaire living presumably in some heavenly mansion in California. Maybe I'll take him up on his offer now?!
Speaking of strutting themselves, I also unearthed a picture of my dad circa 1945 with a bunch of other guys in the Navy all dressed up like (I think) girls? They're lifting their skirts (yes, you read that right) to show their boxers but also are wearing hats, garter belts on their thighs, and scarves around their necks. I'm thinking that they may have fit in better at Moroccan Village than on the U.S.S. Richmond. What happens at sea stays at sea?
In the pile, I found a bunch of my old concert tickets including the Who, the Stones, Rush, Santana, the Dead, the Lounge Lizards, Elvis Costello, UB40, Joe Jackson, Janes Addiction, Simple Minds, the Call, Tom Petty, Cheap Trick, the Plasmatics and more.
And I found a receipt from Marine Midland Bank dated March 16, 1983 where I ran into the Thompson Twins at the ATM and they all signed my bank balance ($311.68)! I also have an REO Speedwagon ticket signed by Gary Richrath and Kevin Cronin. Ah yes, you can tune a piano but you can't tuna fish.
My least favorite ticket? The Cars. I'll never forget them singing, "Can I bring you out in the light?" and flooding the War Memorial with stadium lighting. Unbelievable buzzkill. Worst ending to a concert ever. Not just what I needed.
Lastly, I found a copy of Playbill magazine circa 1984 in which Aaron Sorkin (an SU grad with whom we used to stay on our weekend trips to the city) wrote, "It was great sex! Come live with us." Aaron S. For whatever reason, his S looks more like a backwards dollar sign. (Note to mom: We didn't really have sex. It was his roommate who hit on me at the time but I feigned death. It worked.) In any event, Aaron was convinced that he would be famous one day and I believed him. Back then he was a talented writer living in a walk-up in Hell's Kitchen; now he's a talented gazillionaire living presumably in some heavenly mansion in California. Maybe I'll take him up on his offer now?!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)