December 13, 2011

It's been a while since I took the time to write a blog. I have gone to my Company's Christmas Party this past Saturday. It was nice and had a good time with Joyce. It just wasn't the same, Tom always enjoyed going to this party, and he always looked ahead the whole year for this party. I guess it made him feel important and he got to socialize with the big wheels. He enjoyed it so much, as I do. I remember him the first time that he attended. He was so proud of me. He couldn't believe how many people knew me, and he took it all in, and told me that everyone talked so well of me. He said that I really left an impression with them. He was proud of me for all my friends and how they felt, and I was happy that he was pleased with me. It made me feel happy and appreciated.

I really miss him, I love the way he used to encourage me, even though there were times that I hated his ethics of work, he was so strict to the time and always believed work places, especially Cafaro’s, should have had time clocks. He couldn't stand the times when he needed to pick me up, and how people would leave work 10 minutes before 5pm. It really bothered him; he would say that it was like they were stealing from them. Oh well, Tom had work ethics and I respected him for that, but he was complaining about something that he couldn't change. I try not to complain about things, that I know I can't change its wasted energy. There are a lot of things that I would like to change in work, home and in life, but it can't be changed. No matter what you do, things don't change unless you are a high wig. Politics, I hate it. They make the rules, and can't follow them themselves. What's that old saying "Can't fight City Hall". LOL!

I am excited about Kimmie, Tom and Bridget coming home for Christmas. Still can't get myself to clean the house and decorate for Christmas, oh well hope I get the energy and go along with the old saying of mine. And, that is, "I do better under pressure". Christmas will be good, and I hope they like what I got them. Hey, only money, can't take it with me.

Robbie came over on Sunday because I told him that I would be down the Club all day on the 17th, due to the Bake Sale that we are having. He got me a Wi Fi Streaming Media Player. That is where I can connect to Netflix, YouTube, Radio Stations and Picasso, stuff you get on the computer. Now, I can watch movies from Netflix on the TV instead of on my computer screen. It's a wonderful gift; it was actually useful, just like the webcam they got me, which we barely use. Maybe once they move to NC we will use it more, I hope.

I really what to use the YouTube for exercises stuff, I am hoping that I get in the mode to lose this weight, I got to get thinner, I am like a whale, and I need to get healthier and prettier. Maybe I could feel better about myself. I got to get into a schedule, maybe wake up earlier and to about a 30 minute workout and when it gets nicer outside start walking. Walking is what I wanted to do all along these past months, but was too lazy or just feeling sorry for myself. Maybe I'll get with it, I've been watching Bigger Loser and it is helping me, wanting to get fit. I have also been thinking these past few days about quitting smoking. I wanted to buy the E-Cigarette, but found out that it has something in it that is in antifreeze. Yuck! 

Beginning of my thoughts -- December 6th

I feel like my life’s on hold, as if someone pressed the hold button; my energy and ambition when out the window.   I can’t get motivated and just do things that I need to, but not the things that I should do to insure survival.  My financials are a wreck; I need to correct it myself before going to Credit Counseling, because I fear that I will lose control of my financial control.  I tell myself that this will pass, but it can’t pass, not without an accelerator.

It has been over a year now, I still have not done anything about his Truck or Mustang, and every day the value diminishes, WHAT is wrong with me?  Even though they both need some work, I should try to sell, As Is, it would be better than nothing.  Also, a garage sale would have bought in revenue to help my cause.

Is this just plain laziness, procrastination, or just plain stupid?   I hope to pull myself together and do something about it.  Time is precious and as the old saying is, Time is Money. I know, my life would be simpler if I would do something to help my monthly finances easier, I know this…  so why do I do this to myself?  I wish I had the answer.

I wish that I had someone to lead on, to help me decide and to push me.  It’s laziness along with poor organization.  I am going to have to push myself, I know…  how I wish there was someone to share this with.  I hate problems, boy do I hate problems.  However, I am creating a snowball of a problem with this dilemma.

I have a nice home, a home that I love, and if I don’t get myself together, it is going to pot, or worse, I am going to lose it.  Joanie, STOP IT, stop feeling sorry for yourself!

Grimm Heights is good.... and a temporary end

To my surprise, life wasn’t bad when we moved to Grimm Heights.  Surely, I missed Perry Street and the familiarization of it all, for my new environment proved to be interesting and faces of new friends began to involve into my life.  Neighbors were interesting with stories of their own.

Next door lived Mitzi and Paul, a sweet older couple with no kids.  I always wondered why they were not blessed with any children; they always seemed so patient and caring. Mitzi had a way with parakeets, she was able to teach this one to speak some words and would even bring her out on the porch with it perched freely on her finger and never feared of him flying away.  Paul was a superb carpenter; the artistry that he would put into his cabinetry and doors was stunning.

I don’t know the complete story about their pasts, on Mitzi’s arm; she was branded with a number.  At first, I thought it was peculiar for her to have a tattoo of just plain numbers; thinking they meant something special to her. However, these numbers were a reminder of a dreadful time that she spent in a German concentration camp during World War II.  Memories I am sure that she would never want to relive, so I refrained from any questions.  I would research the history of some of the camps briefly, imagining the suffering she endured.  I should have asked because I always pictured the worst.  Was this the place that taught her patience?

On the other side of our house was this married couple with two young daughters, Elaine and Elizabeth, who were much younger than me.  They kept to themselves and were very quiet and the only aspect I thought to be exciting was that the father’s brother was the high school teacher who ran the high school radio station.  His voice spoke in a very base tone and he was the closest thing to a celebrity in our town.

It didn’t take long for me to get familiar with some of the families in our neighborhood.  There was this one family and the father was very tall, like my Dad; but appears to be very cruel.  I remember him yelling and hitting one of his kids with a water hose and it looked to me that his wife seemed to be afraid of him.  Another family was a family similar to one that you would watch on TV, like “Ozzie and Harriet”, they seemed perfect, the parents were kind and very friendly and the kids seemed smart and polite, no noises or yelling came from their home.  Some of the families were strange, but what I would consider strange, one may not.  Who’s to say that other’s thought our family strange? 

It was never unusual for my Dad to come home by 8 PM, while other fathers who worked daytime, arrived home at 4 PM, 5 PM, or 6 pm.  I can honestly say, and if my memory serves me right, my Dad did not even have a day off.  He was a meat butcher and owned this local grocery store, who would leave for work at 7:30 AM or 8 AM and would come home either 7PM or 8 PM, sometimes earlier.   I remember my Mom worked there too, she had Sunday and Monday off which was her laundry day.  Saturday was the longest day for both my Mom and Dad.  Cleaning the house was my sister and my job on Saturdays. We had change the bed linen, sweep, polish the furniture, sweep, scrub the bathtub and sinks and mop the floors.  We would also get dinner ready and it was always some sort of roast (chuck, beef or pork roasts, we would peel potatoes and mash them and choose a vegetable.  The dinner was always ready to serve when they got home from the store.  My sister and I would make the work easier by play acting with our favorite characters or by her favorites.  Sundays my Dad got to sleep in, just a little bit.  He would take us to ten o’clock mass at St. Nick’s.  Mom would sleep in, she never went to church, only on Easter and Midnight mass on Christmas.  She would always state that my Dad went to church only for show; in order to help his business.  Good ole’ mom, such a skeptic, trying to excuse her absence with an accusation.  My Dad would than take us home, change and to the store, but not too long, he would be home usually by 3 PM or 4 PM.

Anyhow today is a different day, and I came to the conclusion that writing about my life is not that interesting, this is more or less.  This will be the last chapter and even though I am giving up writing about my life, I will stop, because who really cares and it’s not really helping.  So I wrote about my life up until I was in the sixth grade and we just moved to Grimm Heights.  Maybe later, I will continue my saga.  But for now, I am going to write feelings and put down my thoughts of the day and maybe put a little of a hint of my story within my journal.  Who knows, maybe I will continue with my story of growing up and who I have become.  Right now, I cannot do that, because, I really don't know who I have become.

Those Memorable Elementary Days...

Let’s reminisce about elementary school… what I could write about; it’s not a great deal, but I will definitely try. I wasn’t the sharpest pencil around, nor a popular school mate. In the beginning of my education, I was kind of shy and maybe a little scared of my own shadow. I always felt that I should have started school one year later.   After graduation, I turned eighteen at the end of August and I was the second youngest in age in my class.  If I started a year later, I might have performed better.
My recollections to all my elementary teachers are limited. Perhaps you can say that maybe the ones that I do remember are the ones that left an impression on me. My elementary school that I attended was Center Street School, which is no longer there, the building got demolished and left is a vacant lot.  I attended Center Street  from kindergarten through eighth grade. The lists of teachers that I had are as follows:

First - Mrs. Mitchell

Second – Miss Dimnoff

Third – don’t remember

Fourth - Mrs. Fallet

Fifth – Miss Hartusnovsky

Sixth – don’t know that one either

Seventh and Eighth – Mr. Tropea

My recollection isn’t all that bad after all. 

Kindergarten was nothing like it is today, we didn’t learn to print our names; we were only taught colors. Kindergarten was mainly to learn how to get along with others, a social reaction, I guess. Classes were only half days consisting of the morning class and afternoon class. My last name began with the letter Y, so I attended the afternoon session.  My favorite time was when I was in the play kitchen area with all the utensils needed to play house and I enjoyed painting on pictures on this huge easel. I really disliked nap time because my Mom gave me this braided type of throw rug and it was most uncomfortable. I would get in trouble for being so restless and Mrs. Sauers would have me lie by myself, so I wouldn’t distract other kids. Let’s not forget our daily snack, we had our choice of white or chocolate milk, of course, I chose chocolate.
First grade was completely different. This was where we were taught to print our names, math and we began to read the basic stories of Dick and Jane. Phonetics didn’t get into the picture, as yet.  I bet that no child born after the years of 1960’s or the 1970’s, know about Dick and Jane.  Attending school was frightening to me because I would be gone all day, I actually had to go to both morning and afternoon sessions.  I remember on the first day that my Mom bought me into my classroom, I started to cry and thought it to be a cruel and unusual punishment. I would not participate much and never would speak at first. Later years, I recall my Mom telling me about a conversation she had with Mrs. Mitchell. She told my mother that she felt really bad because she tried very hard to get me to talk and to participate in class, but one day she had a bad headache, and she told the entire class during reading time, the first word that comes out of any one’s mouth would be punished, and guess what, I chose that time to open my mouth. She had to give me a paddle just to show the kids she good on her words, but made sure the crack wasn’t too hard because she was so pleased that I finally spoke some words.  Now, remember, this is the early ‘50’s and kids got paddled and no one would bring on a lawsuit. My Mom always preached that if we got paddled in school, we would get another one at home.

The most precious memory of grade school that I hold dear was on certain occasions, my Dad would pick me up for lunch and take me to the store for lunch. For my table, he would have two beer cases stacked and place a strip of white wrapping paper that was used for meat as my tablecloth and a milk case as my chair. It was placed in an aisle at the rear of the store. He would make his famous baloney sandwich with just the right amount of mayo with a class of chocolate milk with a fruit of the day.  If I would finish all my lunch in a timely manner, I was than able to choose my favorite hostess cake for dessert.

Second thru seventh grade wasn’t too memorable. I was an average student without much incident and wouldn’t get into too much trouble. Kids would tease me quite a bit because of my speech, kids were mean, but most learned not to mess with me. One day during outside recess, I beat up Sam Tablack. He was always being cruel to me, so I gave him a good knuckle punch. Mrs. Hartusnovsky told my parents that she was easy on me because she felt that Sam had it coming, because he was always torturing me during recess and told them that I must have had enough and that I finally let him have it. She also exclaimed that she was pretty sure that Sam would not ever bother me again. The lesson here, is that it’s more embarrassing for a boy to get beat up by a girl. I know he never squealed to his parents because of the humiliation. 

Mr. Tropea was the most memorable teacher at Center Street, as he was for most. As a lesson in science, we created the Universe of planets and stars with paper Mache throughout our classroom. The planets and stars were hung from the ceiling, it was amazing. The earth was hung with a spindle to reflect on the rotation of the earth, the sun and moon on cross wires to make it look like it was circling the atmosphere was astonishing. How you learned, from his examples. At the end of the school year, the eighth grade picnic was held at Mill Creek Park and his entire family attended.  The girls in class had more fun playing with his younger children of the seven than any other activity we could find to do at the park. Mr. Tropea was strict, but taught us thoroughly and was fair; but best of all, he didn’t have any silly old quirks.  In my later years of high school, I was to find out of his death, and was sadden, which now I realize, that it was far too early in his life.

The best time of my elementary days was definitely the summer vacations, only if, you have passed to the next grade… and I always did!            Kindergarten - Mrs. Sauers

Our New Home and Our Pets

It’s best that I continue with my story without any of the reminiscences of Perry Street or Yellow Creek, but I can’t promise that!   The move to Grimm Heights seemed to go rather smoothly.  I really don’t remember much about the move, maybe it was because I was a child and and did not have a hand in it.  I really can't say if a moving company was hired, or if they rented a U-Haul.  All I can say now, isn’t it funny, the recollections your brain holds as a child.  For in all my moves that I had in my life as an adult, I could and will tell you how, when and who moved me and how much hard work it was.  I can’t be sure… but it seemed that one day I went to school from my home on Perry Street and caught a school bus to go to my new residence on Grimm Heights.  All I can say, is WOW, my Mom was a wizard because I remember everything being in place.

The greatest advantage of this new house was that it was way larger, even the basement was huge and is divided into three separate areas.  The steps toward the basement are located off the kitchen or from the side door from the one-car garage.   At the bottom of the steps is the first divided room of the basement.  There was an unprotected toilet underneath the steps, what I mean by unprotected is that there was no enclosure for the most intimate purpose of life, and the same for the shower head that is attached to the cemented wall  across from the toilet.  This room is where my Mom would wash and dry clothes and perch wet garments with clothes pins to ropes that flew across the room.  Later she would have a clothes dryer which made life easier when doing laundry every Mondays.    An old stove was left behind and was in working condition and was found to be helpful on special occasions.  The next room, which I will call the middle room, was the whole length of the house, at one end is the furnace and near it along the bottom of the cemented block wall was a very simple fireplace inserted into it, and at times, my Dad would use as an incinerator.   The other end of this area was a door with a small wooden block that acted as a handle and a way to keep it shut.  The room is smaller that is beneath the front porch, my Mom called it the fruit cellar.  I never understood it because she never canned vegetables or fruits.  This room’s temperature was slight colder; however, it was only used for storage. 

The cemented front porch with four steps to it has a built-In deep-set bed where Mom would plant flowers like colorful petunias and marigolds.  As you entered the door from this porch you would enter into a spacious living room with a brick fireplace with a manterpiece to store knick knacks.  The fireplace has never been used and never will be, it don’t even have the utensils most fireplaces hold.  It has always just been a decoration for a manger scene at Christmas time.  A double entrance would draw you into the dining room with a cabinet divider from the kitchen.  The greatest asset to this house was the three bedrooms, unlike the two small bedrooms at our old house.  The three bedrooms are located down the hall off the dining room.  My sister, Frances Ann, and I would share the back bedroom, which was closer to the bathroom, thank goodness it had a door with a lock.  I would enclose my dresses in the closet that was in the room and Fran would use the closet located in the hallway across from my brother’s room which was the middle bedroom that did not have a closet, I guess boys don’t need closets.  My parents had the front bedroom of the house that had two closets, his and hers.

The front yard had two pine trees that would grow too large for the house and pose a nuisance for the yard, and like I mentioned earlier, I couldn’t climb them!   The backyard was pretty big with no trees, how sad; it had enough room to place two dog houses for our dogs.  The back yard reached an empty field that would be an attachment to the woods that I was all too familiar with.  Even though the homesteads located near this field did not own the land as far back, they maintained the land.

Yeah, dog houses for our dogs... I forgot to mention in my earlier blogs.  My Dad believed that every kid should have their own dog and I always thought that it was a good thing they didn’t have eight kids.  I don’t know if it was because he was a dog lover or if it was to teach us responsibility and commitment.  I would like to think he loved dogs because he always had a way with them, I remember at one point in my life, he was trying to teach one dog to count.  In my surprise, he would demonstrate his accomplishment by asking the dog how much was 1 plus 2 and the dog would bark 3 times. 

Any how, returning to the recollection of our pets… my sister’s first dog was Skippy, which I believe we still had in the move and homed in the first dog house.  At this point, I think, I got Queenie who was placed in the dog house behind Skippy’s.  I remember my first dog on Perry, was Curly, she was white with some black spots throughout her long hair.  I remember her appearance and characteristics close to the dog portrayed in the Disney movie, “Shaggy Dog” or maybe it was wishful thinking of her in those terms.  I don’t remember what happened to her, but I remember her big black eyes peeking through her long bangs.  Our dogs never had to consume dog food, they were fed left overs and bones from our dinner table, maybe Dad mixed this food with dry dog food and maybe added broth, water or leftover gravy.  It didn’t hurt them; Skippy lived to a very ripe age.

Remembering Queenie on Grimm Heights, she got loose from her chain, a phone call from the Muzas came and my Dad went down to their house.  Soon I found out that it was about Queenie.  She ran in front of a car and got hit and I remember running down to the Muza’s house where my Dad was with a policeman in the back of Muza’s house.  I ran down there even when my Mom advised me not to.  The policeman expressed, and my Dad agreed, that it was best to put her out of misery, it was then that I heard the loudest sound ring in my ears, it was the sound of a gun that left her quickly still.  It was the worst experience that I had in my younger years, and how I wished that I would have listened to the words my Mom said. 

Later, they got a Pomeranian, I always considered her my Mom’s dog, and her fur was reddish in color and boy was she a yelper.  She was not what you called a perfect pet for children; I considered Fluffy as s a High-Class dog.  Fluffy later died, I don’t know from what, but I remember her fur being very matted and she became very weak.  Later, Spotty, a toy terrier or something, appeared into our lives, another yelper.  Neither Fluffy nor Spotty were friendly companions as, Skippy, Curly or Queenie were.

Perry Street, Finale'

It’s amusing on how much more you remember when a particular time of your life was more enjoyable.  Even though I was younger, I have more recollection on that period than I do after we moved to Grimm Heights.  I was in fourth grade when we moved, and thank God, I didn’t need to change schools, I was able to remain in Center Street, but had to ride the bus.  I could have written more in my previous blog of Perry Street, Yellow Creek and Anna Matlak, but then; it wouldn’t have been considered a blog; it would have been a Book. 

I lived on Perry Street when I made my First Holy Communion, enjoyed the sled rides down Perry Street hill, the games and fights that occurred and the mishap I had when riding my new blue bike down Perry Street hill and couldn’t stop.   How funny is this, I couldn’t stop and ran right into old man Popovich.  He was carrying a small bag of groceries and as I tried to stopped, the front wheels of my bike went right between his legs.   I remember watching my mom’s head out the second-floor window and I yelled to my mother, “But Mom, I couldn’t stop, but Mr. Popovich helped me”, but I couldn’t comprehend why he had this sweaty-horrid look on his face.  Thinking of it now, I have to chuckle and think that I could have not hurt him too bad, because he didn’t go to the ground doubling up.  However, it was a sight.

Oh yes, I have to mention one more thing about Perry Street, and then I’ll stop.  Close to the top of the hill on the same side of our house, there was this old big rickety gray house that was perched next to a small patch of woods.  It really needed a paint job and some repairs. It was the ugliest house on the street, with cats nestled on window sills.  Mary McGown was the name of the old lady that lived there; she hardly came out.  Everyone said that she was a mean witch who hated kids and only came out after dark.  All the kids in the neighborhood were afraid and would even cross the street in order not to be near the entrance of her dungeon, so it would be easier to escape the horror of her threats.

How funny on how scared we were to even experience nightmares about this house and her supposedly wicked ways.  Rumor had it, that this lady had money...  but was very cheap.   I heard she passed away and her body wasn’t found for weeks.  I always wondered what ever happen to that rickety old house; for sure this house had to be demolished.   As I took a drive and decided to go up Perry Street to see the old neighborhood, I glanced to the left as I drove up the hill expecting to see an empty lot or a new structure in its place, but the same house has been renovated, the patch of woods given a new landscape and now it’s the most appealing house on the block. 

This goes to show you how the imagination of children can get ahead of themselves.  Mrs. McGown was probably just a lonely-old-sickly woman who didn’t have any family nearby and died alone.  This makes me sad, who could know.  I heard that she had family who lived in Columbus, got the house and renovated it, but who knows, it could be just one of those naughty old rumors.

I know… I promised just one more memory of my life on Perry Street, but I guess I can’t help it.  Every summer, when it reached my birthday, August 23^rd, and on any Sunday close to it, my Mom and Dad would take the family to Farmer Jim’s to celebrate.  Farmer Jim’s was a swimming place with a big man-made lake with swings and sliding boards and plenty of picnic pavilions to hold gatherings.  We would have a picnic, not sandwiches or hot dogs, my Mom made my favorite, Pigs N’ Blankets and other things.  Of course, she made me a chocolate birthday cake.  It had to be my 9^th or 10^th birthday because my little brother, Donnie was almost two or three.   One of my gifts that Mom gave me was this real big doll, a doll that was almost as tall as Donnie.  I don’t know why I loved this doll so much, was it because it was so easy to dress her or to play with her or was it that Donnie was terrified of it?   Any time that I would play with her, when he was near, he would scream with horror and fright.  You can only imagine why I just love playing with this new doll, not that I didn’t enjoy torturing my little brother, but I believed I had some leverage that was greatly needed.  Until next time!

Perry Street, Yellow Creek and Anna!

I remember my elementary days, that part of my life was one of my favorite periods.  My family lived on Perry Street in Struthers, Ohio and in those days doors weren’t kept locked.  Neighbors knew each other and helped each other and it was safe for kids to play together, even after dark.   I remember playing Hide N’ Seek within a two blocks radius, what fun and you can imagine how long that game took to finish.

I attended Center Street School, which was three long blocks east/south of Perry and about five houses up.  Of course, walking through neighbor’s houses in the back of ours made it easier and no one seemed to care.  Cutting through the back yards took off 15 minutes of time from our walk and dismissed the drudgery of walking up a hill to reach the school.  There were plenty of kids to walk to school with, which made the walk seem like a bash. 

My best friend, in my elementary days, was Anna Matlak, her family was Ukrainian, and I believe that her and her siblings were the first generation to be born here.  Everyone in her family fluently spoke Ukrainian and Anna would have to translate to her mother to what I have said when I would talk.  When Anna spoke English, there was a slight accent.  I remember her mother making these most beautiful eggs for Easter; they were not like the eggs that we would decorate for Easter. They were eggs that were artistically drawn with color using something that would resemble a hot pencil, it was fascinating to watch. I always wanted to learn how to create those beautiful Ukrainian Eggs.  It’s a fact, the eggs that her mother painted were as beautiful, as the ones that I found on the internet --- and maybe more so.

Anna was one grade behind me in school; however she seemed more mature and witty. I remember spending every light of every day with her.  Our days together were mostly spent in Yellow Creek Park, a nearby park and woods near the neighborhood.  We would hike through the woods forever, can’t tell you the cliffs we climbed, rocky paths we walked and caves we explored.  This one cave called the “Ice Cave” in Yellow Creek, I was told that it is still there.  It’s not a cave that you could walk into; it’s more like a large cavity in a stoned cliff located high on this rocky path.   If you would insert your arm into it, you would think that you were in a freezer.  Another treat we would see in our experience in the woods was this huge rock; it was called “Devil’s Rock.”  This boulder was huge; you can climb it, lie down on it, walk on it and have fun sliding down it.  Fifteen kids could probably sit together at the top, that’s how big it was.  Today, if I would walk a path towards Hamilton Lake and reach Devil’s Rock, it would be possible to find my name along with Anna’s. 

My mother would have had a conniption to know how often we would climb these cliffs and hike these paths.  Today, I would probably yelled at my kids too, because a couple years ago, I looked at some of these paths I walked with Anna, and wondered how the H*&% did I do that without killing myself?   My mother probably thought that we went to the park to go on the swings and play in the sand boxes; yeah --- sure, us two Tom-Boys!  I bet my last dollar that Anna and I know every path from Yellow Creek Park to Hamilton Lake in Poland, Ohio.

Every place has a tale; the one for Yellow Creek was ‘Nature Boy.”  The story was about a young boy who was an orphan who did not own any clothes and would go frolicking in the woods.  The truth of the matter was; there was a pervert.  One day, Anna and I were walking back from Hamilton Lake to Yellow Creek; we just crossed Wetmore Drive and started on the paths that lead to Yellow Creek Park.  Behind the old swimming hole in Struthers which was nicknamed “The Bird Bath” they was this pond, where we would wade in the water to catch tadpoles or go there just to skip stones.  On our way back to Yellow Creek we stopped at this pond to skip stones and wade in to comfort our tired feet.  Across the pond, there was this older man just walking around the pond.  Anna said, let’s go, I need to do something for my Mom.  So I was slowly putting my shoes on while Anna called me a slow-poke in order for me to hurry up.  I took her lead and thought of it of being a race, so I moved more swiftly putting on my shoes.  We started back to the path, again, Anna pointed at something ahead stating she seen something shining and started to run.   Of course, I followed her thinking that I could beat her to this bright object that I didn’t even see, then, I noticed that the strange man at the pond was following us.  Once we got to the point to where Anna said she saw something, we looked at each other and quickly ran all the way back to the park.  Once we were in the park and near the swings, we finally stopped, breathing hard we looked at each other and laughed.  Anna asked me, Boy, weren’t you Scared?  I just looked at her and smiled and honestly said, “Heck no, I was with you.

I just saw Anna last year for the first time in thirty years, and the first thing she said to me after we had the initial greeting hug, was boy, do you remember that one day in the park, when that strange man started to chased us.  I started to laugh, because I remember how stupid I was because I was so brave because I was with her.   Thinking about it NOW, really scares me.  Thank God for Anna for realizing something with that guy was not right.  But too bad, we weren’t smart enough to go the park attendant at the park for they may have located this man who chased us.  I pray that no other kid was hurt by him.  Things we do as kids!

A few of the neighborhood kids would play together, I remember, Rosie Agresta, Michael and Nat Agresta, John Bilous, Anna and myself would play behind my house.  We had three large cherry trees in the backyard.  These trees were easily climbed with so many branches to protect any slip you may have along the way up or down.  We play Tarzan and Jane; the smallest would be Chetah, what fun we had.  In the rear of the house beneath the back porch was an empty area, where logs laid and other stuff.  This was where we held our so called neighborhood club, we played and talked, complain about school, our parents and even our little brothers.  One day we were back of the house playing, Anna was running and all of a sudden, you heard her yell and cry with a piece of wood stuck to the bottom of her foot.  She stepped on the long roofing nail that pierced right through her tennis shoes; I remember it being so gross.  I ran like the wind to her house to get her Dad, he came running, quickly picked her up in his arms and raced back to their house.

I remember my Mom being so worried and scolding us, telling us that we are no longer allowed to play back there.  She was scared that the Matlaks were going to sue us or something.  I assured her  no they wouldn’t, they are not like that and I cried for a good hour, for after listening to Mom, I thought for sure, that Anna would not be my friend.  A few hours later, she came back over with a little limp for she was protecting her foot; my mother asked Anna to have her Mom give her the doctor’s bill.  Anna exclaimed that, “There would be no doctor bill, my Dad just pulled the nail out washed it and poured something over it and had me soak it for while.  He bandaged it and wrapped it in order to make it more comfortable for walking.  Don’t worry Mrs. Yallech, it is fine.”  We started to play house in the basement like nothing ever happen.

I loved Perry Street, it was what I knew, where I had my fun.  I was upset when I heard we were moving to a new house on Grimm Heights, it was a bigger house and closer to the store.  Mainly, it was a brick house, my mother’s dream; her whole dream was to have a brick house.  Well, she got it.  But why wasn’t the brick red, I thought and still think, it is the ugliest orange brick around.  Plus there is a “School Bus Turn Around Ahead” sign posted in the front yard and these two ugly pine trees in the front, you can’t climb pine trees.  How sad, so many memories and I knew nothing would be the same.

My Initiation of Life

I was born on August 23, 1951 to my parents Jennie and Don Yallech with an older sister by four years, Frances Ann.  My parents were owners of a neighborhood grocery store, Yallech United Family, in Struthers, Ohio.  It was located on Center Street, in a neighborhood referred to as ‘Nebo’.  ‘Nebo’ an Iroquois Indian name meaning “Little Heaven”.    The nurse told her she had a beautiful baby girl and what are you going to name her, while under the affluence of drugs and not being happy that I wasn’t a boy, she said, heck, call her Jezebel for all I care.  Thank goodness that my Dad said to name me after his brother John, so I got the name, Joan.  Why didn’t they just add another ‘n’ and make it Joann.   Even when I was born, I didn’t feel welcomed! 

I was always teased with a notion that I was adopted and believe me there were many times I remember creeping around in search of my birth certificate or some proof that I was a heir to the Yallech name.  One day I was hunting through this cedar chest that was at the foot of my parent’s bed.  I remember my mother catching me, and when asked what I was doing, I explained that I wanted to see my birth certificate, they just laughed for they knew all too well why I was searching.  She just scolds me to shut the lid and to get out of her room.  Never did find that darn thing, but later on in years, I was able to get it from the Health Dept in Youngstown and sure enough, I was a true Yallech.  I don’t know why it bothered me so much, when I was young, maybe because I felt that I was so different from my sister and didn’t feel so welcomed, especially after, my younger brother, Donald Yallech, Jr., was born in 1958 (I think). Talk about a jealous sibling, I definitely was, why, because they finally got their boy, yippee.  Even more resentfully especially when I got sprayed in my face, when Mom was changing his diaper and I was laying on the floor watching cartoons and she laughed, than yelled at me for being on the floor.  I hurriedly jumped off the floor to scrub my face with the feeling of being truly initiated into this family.   Caution: never lay on the floor when a baby’s diaper is being changed. 

Oh well, I know I am not alone, many children got teased about being adopted, and many children felt unwanted because of being a middle child and many were told that they were the ‘black sheep’ of the family.  I guess I should be happy, for I could have been lawfully aborted until February 22, 1951. That day they decided that I should live!  Thanks Mom and Dad, did you really do me a favor?   

Why do I need to Blog?

Tonight, I watched a movie, Julie & Julia, and thought blogging would be therapeutic for me.   I always felt that I should write a book or keep a journal.  So what better way to put your thoughts down without getting a hand cramp?  I think blogging will keep me sane.

I am currently 60 years old with many memories and life experiences that are mine alone.  Like many other individuals, my life was never simple, life has so many ups and downs and it did not come easy for me; it still remains so.  I have always done my best and tried so hard to please.  I was told that I was "too nice for my own good" but gave the excuse that I only treat people the way that I would like to be treated.  In every aspect of life, I've learned that nice people always finished last and never win the golden egg.  What am I doing wrong?!?  
Writing this is for me, it's an expression of me and it will hold my feelings and thoughts to the remembrance of my life.  Even if no one reads my blog, it serves as an aid for my feelings and self-being.  If my kids gets to read it, I hope it will help them learn from my mistakes and misfortune.  I do understand that most of my misfortune were self afflicted.  Was I not committed enough, smart enough, pretty enough, forceful enough or just plain stupid?

Before I start, first let me state that I do not intend to hurt or offend anyone in this blog.  These words that you will read are my thoughts and feellings, that I know and believe to be true.   Also forgive me, for I tend to get wordy, I will try to refrain, but if I do, please excuse this habit, it can be annoying.  Thank you.