This story may dispel your theory that there is no such thing as a free lunch. When you have spent hours on the streets of New York City, you want a rest. If you stumble into Little Italy, you will delight that it is so alive and exciting. There is a table right on the street that is shaded by the brightly colored awning, green, white and red striped just like the flag of Italy. How perfectly charming when our group is most contentedly seated. As we looked around, we smelled and saw culinary delights, which can only be produced here in this restaurant on this street in Little Italy. Oh, there are other restaurants, plenty of them all around us, but this one was ours. This one wins our award. Our waiter gave us time to review the menu and then, circled back to take our order.
Our water was served, followed by freshly baked bread with a powder on top that collects on your upper lip with each successive bite. The dipping sauce consisted of warmed oil that held subtle imported Italian spices, which permeated the oil only to blast off onto the bread, into your mouth, creating a blissful, taste-filled mouth full of goodness. The flavor is like no other.
All the while you are sipping, relaxing, dipping, biting, dusting your lips and cheeks with baked powder, the crowds, the throngs of people are passing right in front of your table. This is the city’s hottest ticket. This is the way you are supposed to learn, understand and experience New York City. You are here and you have a front row seat to see much of what this city has to show you. You are in the sights, the sounds and the humanity that inhabits this great spot.
The waiter comes a second time to assure himself that he has the order correct. We assure him that each one of us has ordered our favorite Italian dish. After all, “when in Rome,” well, not exactly, it should read, when in Little Italy. An hour has passed and we are enjoying the second round of bread, oil, powder and the show is still parading by our table. Our feet have rested. We have enjoyed the ever-changing scene. Where is our food? Two hours have passed. So has the world before us. We are on our third round of powdered bread and succulent dipping sauce, but where is our food? We asked, oh for heavens sake you do not think was sat passively, but the food never came. We felt like we had rested enough, and certainly had eaten enough, plus the ever changing scenery could not have been ordered and delivered any better, so we got up, walked over to the man in charge and thanked him for this time at the table. Since our orders never came, we told him we were going to be on our sightseeing way. As we walked up the street, we could still hear the man in charge yelling at the waiter. Thank you for our delicious free lunch. I am still looking to find any bread better and any dipping sauce that compares.

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When you decide to visit the Big Apple, you have to make an even bigger decision and that is where to stay. You can stay just about anywhere in the Manhattan and be able to get around to see all of the sights. We decided to stay in Weehawken, a little town across the river. Our room was the one centered in the middle of the hotel, right on the waterfront. The ferry arrives at your door every 15 minutes and glides you off to 42nd street. The ferry over and back each day is a short ride full the images of the Hudson River life, which is teaming and full of bustling activity all hours of day or night. The view of Manhattan from the Jersey side is mind altering, intoxicating, and a true marvel of modern man. This brings me to tell how I was suckered in Weehawken, which when all is said and done is a beautiful and innocent town.
I tell you so you will know the scam up front. Every morning while staying in the hotel across the river, I would go down to the coffee stand and buy a coffee. This coffee was especially addicting. The man who sold the coffee was always friendly and I usually paid with 2, one dollar bills, receiving my change. The last morning, I was sad to be getting my last cup of delicious coffee and told the fellow how much I appreciated his wake up cup of java. The coffee seller was especially jovial this last morning. My coffee was poured and he said,“ $1.61.” I pulled two tens out of my wallet, not having any singles. I remember thinking to my self that I had better make extra special care in putting the second ten back into my wallet because when people are careless, they can loose their money as it drops onto the floor. I gave the gentleman the remaining ten-dollar bill and waited for my change. He promptly gave me change for a $5. I stated that I had given him a $10. He was so slick now in hindsight. What he did was put the $10 in the till, make the change for five and put another five in his
hand. When I stated it was a 10 that I gave him, he said, “ No you did not, look I still have the 5 in my hand. Yes, he did have a five in his hand but it was mine, it was the one he had taken out of the till. I had no recourse. I figured out as I bitterly drank my $8.39 cup of coffee, that he might effectively do this kind of change fraud with only a ten or a twenty. Right? Well, now you know how I was “Suckered in Weehawken.

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First of all I want to thank Johnny Blake for not violating me in the ninth grade. I loved him so much I had fainting spells when I thought of him. He had the wherewithal, the maturity and the grace to tell me no. I thank you Johnny for that and I thank myself for the rest.
I ran for 9th grade president. The elections were held in our homerooms and then, taken to the whole 9th grade. The ballots were passed out and the voting began. I saw my name and I thought I had arrived. I had arrived I thought because I was such a nice person. I was, but that had nothing to do with it. I signed up, simple as that. I thought since I was such a nice person, I would vote for the other guy because that is the nice thing to do. Not at all, I lost the election by one vote. You know whose nice person vote it was that dinged me don’t you? You are right. You are absolutely right. My own vote did me in and that was a lesson learned the hard way and one that I have passed on to you. Always, I mean always, vote for yourself. My goodness gracious, you do not need to be so nice that you ace yourself right out of the election.
I began to think of another election just moments after I received word that my high school gym teacher passed away at 93 years old. I sent the proper donation to the charity of my choice. I sat down in my chair and stared at her picture. Here was a very old, very, very old looking lady. This was Miss Quickie. I sat in my chair staring long enough to become transposed into that picture looking out at me. I am an old lady, not as old as Miss Quickie, but old just the same. My memories pull me back into those “Gym” days. I hated Gym. I hated everything about it. I just had a knee operation when I met Miss Quickie, the “Gym” teacher. She made me run laps and bend and twist my knee and the pain I remember was worse than anything heretofore known to me. She would not let up on me, hated me, I knew it because she said I was acting like such a wimp and I was such a piece of trash. Then, and there I took the bull by the balls and stood up to her. I told her I would not do the things she was making me do. I received my first D. So as my memories continue to flood into and out of me, I remember getting the D was far better than killing myself trying to follow her commands. Another memory of Miss Quickie comes into full view. I am not as proud of this one. I was elected President of the senior service club. I remember campaigning for this office with posters, talking with kids and really promising lemonade in the drinking fountains. “I won. I won.”
Miss Quickie said, “ No you didn’t win.”
I said, “Oh yes I did, it was announced at lunch today.”
“I don’t care what they said you will not be able to take the position.”
“What, why?”
“Because you are Jewish.”
By this time I was used to standing up to Miss Quickie. In fact I was very good at it and didn’t much mind the consequences.
“I don’t think being Jewish has anything to do with being President of the Ophelians.”
Quickly, Miss Quickie retorted, “ Oh yes it does, young lady, it has everything to do with it.”
“What are you talking about? I think you have something wrong here.”
“ I have nothing wrong. I have given this plan a lot of thought.”
I was used to prejudice from my town, my school and I was not going to let this person steal the opportunity I had worked towards for four years to accomplish. I was strong. In my memories, I can still see myself puffing up for this one.
I slowly said, “ You can’t do this to me. Why do you want to do this to me anyhow?”
“ I don’t want to do anything to you, young lady, but you know we have to give the invocation before each meeting.”
“ I know that and I can do that?”
“ No you can’t!”
“ Of course I can, I can do it fine.”
“No young lady, you can’t”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because you have to say it in Jesus’ name and you are Jewish and Jewish people cannot say the invocation in Jesus’ name.”
My head spun and I felt sick. I wanted to be president. I won the election, finally, I won an election. I puffed up even bigger and I blurted, “ I will do it, I will say the invocation in Jesus’ name.”
She said, “No you won’t. This is final.”
I never got to be president of my senior service club and I never said the invocation in Jesus’ name. I would have sold my soul for the chance to serve my term and I am not proud of that. This was the last time I played the fool and the last time I was not true to myself and to my ancestors. I did not know this then, but as I come out of my memory trance, I know it now.
My memories of Miss Quickie are of when she was 25 or 26 years old. The photo of her shows a wise old woman. I am hoping that she came to her senses about her issues with me, but I doubt it. Miss Quickie, you have shared this reverie with me and, I forgive you. I forgive myself. Rest in peace for eternity.

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TEACHER, YOU DON’T LIKE ME VERY MUCH:
Oh So Sad and True.

Teacher, I came to school on the first day and you smiled at me. I knew it was going to be a good thing. I wanted it to be a good thing. I even prayed about it every night. I said, “God, I am scared to go into that big place. I drive by it every day when we go down our hill. I know it is fun there because I can hear the children laughing; they are playing and having a good time. I pray that I won’t get hurt. I pray that the kids are nice. I pray that my teacher likes me. Thank you for listening. I love you.”

Teacher you had a big conference with my mom and my dad. You told them that I just yell out the answer even if it is not my turn. You told them that I always raise my hand but you did not tell them you never call on me. You always call on certain kids because you think they know the answers. I know the answers, too. Why don’t you call on me?

Teacher, you told my parents that I can’t sit still and that I am very dis-reacting in the classroom. Dad says you mean distracting? You say I move my feet and wiggle my chest and mangle my hands. But, do you know when we come up to sit in front of you at story time your feet are moving and kicking me right in the face. One time you kicked me so hard I had a bump on my cheek. You are dis-reacting, I mean distracting to the class. Can you sit still? No you can’t, but teacher, you still don’t like me very much.

Teacher, you would not let me go to the bathroom. You said too many people have gone to the bathroom and that no one else can go. Do you know that for lunch they gave us orange juice, milk, some icky stuff and a popsicle? I had to pee and you wouldn’t let me so I just peed behind the bookcase. You really got mad. See, if you liked me you would have let me go to the bathroom.

Teacher, today you said that we were going to make Mother’s Day projects. I was pretty excited about that, because I think my mom is GREAAAT. You said that we needed to use enough glue to make sure that the sides and the middle were pasted down. I did just what you said, but you yelled at me and no one else. My glue ran out of the sides, but I cleaned it up. You yelled, “ Can’t you ever do anything right?” I guess not teacher. You don’t like me very much.

Teacher, why did you move my seat up next to the meanest kid in the class? This kid gives me the evil eye all of the time. He puts nasty things in my desk, he throws rocks at me during outside time and he spits on my desk. You don’t even care.

When I went up to you to tell you about the mean kid and ask you to move my seat, you were more interested in blowing and picking your nose. Man, teacher your snot is greener than mine. After I saw all that green snot, I just left and said to myself, “Teacher, you don’t like me very much.”

Teacher, this is a special day for me, you don’t even know it. I made up a song and I was singing it all day. It is a very good song about peace, kindness to animals and keeping our planet green. I thought you would like to hear it, but oh boy I was wrong. I was practicing it in case you asked me to sing it and you yelled and yelled at me. You said, “Be quiet!” I was trying to tell you about my song and you yelled again, “Be quiet, you are distributing the class.” I know you meant disturbing, and I know you do not like me very much.

Teacher, I studied all week for the spelling test. I know I can get 100%. I wanted the A+ grade because my mom said she would give me 10 dollars. I knew every single word by heart, but you marked 4 words wrong. They are not wrong. You marked them wrong because the tail of my “G” did not wrap around the line on the bottom. You gave me a C grade. You really, really don’t like me very much.

Teacher, my mom is coming to school to talk to you about my spelling test. She says that a spelling test is graded on how you put the letters in order. I know that. Why don’t you? A handwriting test is a test that tells you if my tails wrap around the line. I know that. Why don’t you? I think you know it, but you just don’t like me very much.

Teacher, you have a bunch of bears on your board. If I am good you will give me a brown bear. If I am in warning, you will give me a yellow bear, and if I am bad you will give me a red bear. Everyday you give me a yellow bear. I used to put them in my folder, now I crush them up and put them in the mean kids desk. If you liked me you would give me some brown bears.

Teacher, I made a really, really good report on fossils. It had a lot of artwork I did. It had a lot of pages in it. It looked like a book. Everyone in my family helped with that report. It took a lot of studying to get it just right. You gave me a D grade on it. What does D mean? Does it mean Darned good, Decently Done, Dignified, devotedly Different, a Duplicated Dream, a Dramatic Dazzling Deed, a Declaration of a Delicious Delight, but I know it really means a Dumb Disgusting Disaster, but not to me.

My mom and dad asked me to think about why you don’t like me very much. I think maybe I don’t smile enough when you tell your stories. I think maybe I don’t sit like a statue, I think maybe I do not write good enough, maybe I don’t raise my hand and wait to for you to call on me, maybe you are mad at me and maybe you just don’t like girls. I know one thing for sure you don’t like me very much and you know teacher, I don’t like you very much either.

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I write this paragraph because one of my friends verbalized shock when I mentioned the paper products I was using for the most the thankful holiday in America
The paper plates are out, the cups and clear plastic forks, knives and spoons are there, too. The turkey is in the oven, and all other items are warming to room temp before being popped into various crannies of the oven. I really do not care too much about the presentation anymore because they just gobble it up whatever and wherever it is placed. I used to put out the good china, silver and crystal ware. Now I can’t even find the silver, perhaps it has been lifted. The good china is placed deep in the caverns of my toy closet and I must bring over the growing grandchildren to help me clean out the toy cupboard and perhaps this will lead me to where I can tunnel into the recesses of this hideaway and retrieve the china. I wonder what it really looks like. My vague memory reveals that there is a silver band around each dish, which was to match the silver, which now for the time being remains missing and if my memory serves me as it has in the past, there are some little raised flowers all around the ring of the plates. It says Lenox in softly painted letters on the underneath side of the plates.
Do you think our heirs want the china, the silver and the crystal? No, I must tell you most of them do not. They have life styles that produce different kinds of entertaining, ones that I am adopting myself. This brings into being the question of what will happen to our china, silver and crystal? I will tell you that after considering this thought for many weeks, I have simply come up with a solution. Let us all begin to use our precious entertaining ware for everyday uses. Let us enjoy its beauty that has been locked in our drawers and cabinets for so many years. Enjoy your treasures now, because if you don’t, someone who may not be known to you will.

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I have decided that all of the money received from the sales of my book will be given to the Alzheimer’s Foundation Of America. I have sent them a book for review and possibly they will advertise and sell it at their events. I would be glad to go to their events to make presentations. While my book is not about Alzheimer’s, I have over 20 years of first hand experience with this disease. My mother, father and many of my aunts and uncles on my mother’s side of the family have had Alzheimer’s. This is my way of giving so that perhaps we can have better medications to slow it down or stop it from happening in the first place. A dream and a hope that will one day come true.
When my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I thought I was in the driver’s seat. I had a 50/50 chance. I wished myself luck and took a place in line hoping not to make it up to the front anytime in the near future. Then, my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I tried to talk the doctor out of the diagnosis, but he confirmed it as positive. This moved my place in line lots and lots closer. I talked this “line business” over with a friend and she said, “Sheila, you are in line and you can be polite and let people go before you. You know how to do that? Right?” I can be polite. Then, she asked a very important question. “ Have you tested for the marker for Alzheimer’s?”
“No I have not.” I replied. She said, “Don’t, because I am going to wait and if I get a catastrophic disease as in cancer, I will test. If I come up positive then I will not fight the catastrophe.” Sounds like a plan.
I write to tell you about the giving to the Alzheimer’s Foundation of America because I want you to know. I know you give. I know you give big. I know some of you have given wings, and rooms and shelves full of books and lots of other giving, so let me know what they are and I can join yours, too. I don’t really believe that giving has to be all in one place. We can help each other. Let me hear from you about yours.
Sheila

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I went out to lunch with my friend on Saturday and for some reason, I got the best seat in the house. It enabled me to see everyone in the restaurant. I was able to notice that at almost every table including my own at least one person and sometimes two or more were on the phone. HUH? When you go out to lunch with someone, aren’t you supposed to be with him or her? One table in particular interested me. There were three occupants. At ALL times during the lovely luncheon two of the three people were on the phone. When the lunch was put before them, I thought to myself. “Oh now they will put their phones away.” Did they? No way, but they did try. Their phones kept ringing. Maybe they are so important they will change the world for the better. I hope so because they certainly were not enjoying the people at their table; they turned away from a face-to-face opportunity and chose a digital one instead. Next time you make the choice, be aware, someone is watching you, me.

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Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

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