Carlyle Neckers, music teacher in Ripley during the 1960s, recently passed away at the age of 96. I hadn’t thought much about him until I saw his obituary in the Jamestown paper. Then of course the memories started floated back.
I’ve searched the old yearbooks, at least the ones I have, and he appears in 1961 as the chorus teacher. I would have been 10 years old then, and not yet exposed to his rich and salty sense of humor. But three years later, in February 1964 the Beatles hit America and Mr. Neckers broadside. It wasn’t music he assured us, it wouldn’t last. He went so far as to state, “They won’t last 10 years.” The girls all clamored they would last forever! Yeah, yeah, yeah… We were all right. In ten years the group disintegrated, and yet their music lives on. I wonder if he ever remembered that prediction.
I remember Mr. Neckers as a fun guy, making musical notes easy to understand and chorus a pleasure. He would tease and cajole us into singing his choice of songs for concerts, songs I later recognized from Broadway shows or classic movies. “Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little, cheep, cheep, cheep, talk-a-lot-pick-a-little-more…” with the counterpoint Good Night Ladies from a hilarious scene from The Music Man. Ridiculous in the 9th grade, but a classic I later learned. He introduced to me to a whole world of music that I didn’t understand at the time. I vaguely remember a music history class of his, but I wasn’t paying much attention I guess. But over the years, bits and pieces come back to me.
He appears in the RCS yearbooks from 1961 until 1968. He guided us through dozens of Christmas and Spring concerts, and trips to Chautauqua Institute to compete with the other local schools. Like most of the teachers I had, I never thought of them as whole people. They were one-dimensional, without history or substance outside the school day. Mr. Neckers life is a study in a life well lived. From having a grandpa who served in the Civil War, to operator of a general store, to semi-pro basketball player, he was an interesting man in all respects it seems.
I’m saddened by his death, even though I didn’t know him well. He touched my young life briefly, dropped some pearls of learning, and went on to bigger and better things. I’m glad he passed my way. Rest in peace Mr. Neckers. You made this world a better place.
To read more about his life, go to http://www.lifestorynet.com/memories/50124/.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Pride and a Bit of Prejudice
Pride and a Bit of Prejudice
Thomas Wolfe wrote “You Can’t Go Home Again,” and while, unlike his character, I don’t write about the warts and blemishes of my home town, I will concede it is hard to go home again. After a forty year absence, people change. Or do they? I draw upon memories of my school years in Ripley. By the age of 20 I had left the area, only to return for the annual visits to family. My experiences of my hometown were colored by a teenager’s perspective. After the roller rink closed down, after the movie theaters in Westfield and North East ceased to exist, there wasn’t much to do here. We hung around Meeder’s, gossiped and made plans for bright futures. We instinctively separated into groups: the “in crowd”, the in-crowd wannabes, the jocks and their girls, the brainiacs, the geeks, etc. You get the picture. There was nothing worse than wanting to be a part of one group and realizing you probably wouldn’t break out of the caste system you were in.
I thought things would be different when I got to be an adult. I thought people would move beyond the petty distinctions of their youth. I thought adults would be more willing to put aside their differences and work together for the “common good.” Sounds kind of like Utopia, doesn’t it? Or maybe I’m just being idealistic.
The nice thing about having been away, besides gaining a new perspective on the world, is my new appreciation of home when I came back. Of course there are problems here, and it’s not perfect, and not everybody cooperates and works together; but this town has potential. After the heyday of the 40s, 50s and 60s were over, and the rapid exodus of businesses began, people thought, and still do to some extent, that this town was dead. Au contraire! This town is coming to life again! Now I admit, I am an incurable Pollyanna, and I choose to concentrate on the good, but look around you. The veterans drew hundreds of people together in creating the monument in the center of town; the churches have programs to help everybody from the elderly, to the kids, to the down-and-out; the fireman’s auxiliary, Project Love, Community Development Corporation, the library, the scouts, and etc. etc. etc. are ALL working to make this a better place to live. Now it’s true that sometimes they work at cross purposes, and sometimes they are working for the same thing, but separately, but these organizations and more are clearly interested in making this town a better place. Healing the divisions of the past, groups of people are making herculean efforts to improve our lives. All we have to do is participate and take advantage of what’s being offered.
Now, there are people who will always point out the problems, but very rarely do they offer solutions. Unless we’re willing to actually DO something about the shortfalls of the community, perhaps we should be less judgmental of the people who are trying the best they know how to make improvements. There are personalities and ideas that just seem to clash, but I’m seeing progress here in my hometown. I’m working toward that progress in my own small way. Wherever you are, I hope you’re doing the same.
A thought to leave you: Work harder, be better, love more. If we all got what we deserved, we wouldn’t get much.
Thomas Wolfe wrote “You Can’t Go Home Again,” and while, unlike his character, I don’t write about the warts and blemishes of my home town, I will concede it is hard to go home again. After a forty year absence, people change. Or do they? I draw upon memories of my school years in Ripley. By the age of 20 I had left the area, only to return for the annual visits to family. My experiences of my hometown were colored by a teenager’s perspective. After the roller rink closed down, after the movie theaters in Westfield and North East ceased to exist, there wasn’t much to do here. We hung around Meeder’s, gossiped and made plans for bright futures. We instinctively separated into groups: the “in crowd”, the in-crowd wannabes, the jocks and their girls, the brainiacs, the geeks, etc. You get the picture. There was nothing worse than wanting to be a part of one group and realizing you probably wouldn’t break out of the caste system you were in.
I thought things would be different when I got to be an adult. I thought people would move beyond the petty distinctions of their youth. I thought adults would be more willing to put aside their differences and work together for the “common good.” Sounds kind of like Utopia, doesn’t it? Or maybe I’m just being idealistic.
The nice thing about having been away, besides gaining a new perspective on the world, is my new appreciation of home when I came back. Of course there are problems here, and it’s not perfect, and not everybody cooperates and works together; but this town has potential. After the heyday of the 40s, 50s and 60s were over, and the rapid exodus of businesses began, people thought, and still do to some extent, that this town was dead. Au contraire! This town is coming to life again! Now I admit, I am an incurable Pollyanna, and I choose to concentrate on the good, but look around you. The veterans drew hundreds of people together in creating the monument in the center of town; the churches have programs to help everybody from the elderly, to the kids, to the down-and-out; the fireman’s auxiliary, Project Love, Community Development Corporation, the library, the scouts, and etc. etc. etc. are ALL working to make this a better place to live. Now it’s true that sometimes they work at cross purposes, and sometimes they are working for the same thing, but separately, but these organizations and more are clearly interested in making this town a better place. Healing the divisions of the past, groups of people are making herculean efforts to improve our lives. All we have to do is participate and take advantage of what’s being offered.
Now, there are people who will always point out the problems, but very rarely do they offer solutions. Unless we’re willing to actually DO something about the shortfalls of the community, perhaps we should be less judgmental of the people who are trying the best they know how to make improvements. There are personalities and ideas that just seem to clash, but I’m seeing progress here in my hometown. I’m working toward that progress in my own small way. Wherever you are, I hope you’re doing the same.
A thought to leave you: Work harder, be better, love more. If we all got what we deserved, we wouldn’t get much.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Newspaper Column
Character Assassination
Slander, libel, defamation, malign, malicious gossip – all with the intent to damage a person’s reputation. I have been a victim myself, but worse, I have done the same to other people. Everyone makes mistakes; I presume everyone has done something in their life that they wish they could take back, something they’re ashamed of having done. There is one school thought that says a leopard can’t change his spots, meaning he can’t change. There is also a lovely quote by none other than Marilyn Monroe, “People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they’re right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.” The operative words are “people change.” I’m betting most of you reading this aren’t the same person you were 20, 30 or 40 years ago. What a terrible world this would be if we all still carried the petty hurts and anger we felt in our youth. If we’re lucky we learn, we grow, we change, we become better people as we age; perhaps not all of us, but many of us.
I am guilty of “mob mentality,” following the crowd and joining in on the tearing apart of a person’s character. Sounds a bit like ancient Rome, Christians and lions. When I was a kid and going to Sunday school, there was a term used, “backbiting.” To be a backbiter was a sin. I can remember older women at church picnics looking at someone who was backbiting and showing and voicing their disapproval. Bless their hearts. They learned something it has taken me decades to understand. I have a friend who lives by the old creed, “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” When I’m around her I know when I’m not being nice, I can tell by the look on her face. She is my inspiration to be a better person, my role model. I don’t expect I’ll change my opinion about certain people, but I can learn to keep it to myself.
A few days ago I was ready to retire from society, disappear, quit writing, quit the organizations I’d joined, quit being who I am, all because of some vicious words spoken about me. I was deeply hurt and angry. But then a very wise person pointed out to me all the friends I have, all the people who think I’m a good and worthy person. Why should the words of one person destroy me? Human nature I suppose. But everything happens for a reason, even this. I owe a debt of gratitude to the person who tried to destroy my reputation. It pointed out to me how nasty I can be at times, and how I need to mend my own life. It has brought me closer to being a better person.
Slander, libel, defamation, malign, malicious gossip – all with the intent to damage a person’s reputation. I have been a victim myself, but worse, I have done the same to other people. Everyone makes mistakes; I presume everyone has done something in their life that they wish they could take back, something they’re ashamed of having done. There is one school thought that says a leopard can’t change his spots, meaning he can’t change. There is also a lovely quote by none other than Marilyn Monroe, “People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they’re right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.” The operative words are “people change.” I’m betting most of you reading this aren’t the same person you were 20, 30 or 40 years ago. What a terrible world this would be if we all still carried the petty hurts and anger we felt in our youth. If we’re lucky we learn, we grow, we change, we become better people as we age; perhaps not all of us, but many of us.
I am guilty of “mob mentality,” following the crowd and joining in on the tearing apart of a person’s character. Sounds a bit like ancient Rome, Christians and lions. When I was a kid and going to Sunday school, there was a term used, “backbiting.” To be a backbiter was a sin. I can remember older women at church picnics looking at someone who was backbiting and showing and voicing their disapproval. Bless their hearts. They learned something it has taken me decades to understand. I have a friend who lives by the old creed, “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” When I’m around her I know when I’m not being nice, I can tell by the look on her face. She is my inspiration to be a better person, my role model. I don’t expect I’ll change my opinion about certain people, but I can learn to keep it to myself.
A few days ago I was ready to retire from society, disappear, quit writing, quit the organizations I’d joined, quit being who I am, all because of some vicious words spoken about me. I was deeply hurt and angry. But then a very wise person pointed out to me all the friends I have, all the people who think I’m a good and worthy person. Why should the words of one person destroy me? Human nature I suppose. But everything happens for a reason, even this. I owe a debt of gratitude to the person who tried to destroy my reputation. It pointed out to me how nasty I can be at times, and how I need to mend my own life. It has brought me closer to being a better person.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Culture Shock
We are all aware that there are different cultures: Spain has a culture, South Africa has a culture, Australia, Japan, Brazil all have their own cultures. There are sub-cultures, the Cultural Revolution and even Boy George had his Culture Club; but have you ever stopped to think about the American culture? If you’re like me, you don’t often think about our own culture. We live it. It’s the way we live, the things we do, the things we buy, the way we eat, it’s instant gratification. Cultures vary across the United States, but many of the essentials are the same.
I don’t give the American culture much thought, until I see it through the eyes of someone visiting from another country. We have friends from England visiting later this week. Hazel and Donno have been in the United States for a week already, experiencing the places and events we have to offer here in Western New York, but mostly they wanted to meet the people. We’re the last stop in a three-family visit and each family will show them different aspects of our little sub-culture right here in and around Ripley.
Americans eat out – a lot. The British tend to eat more meals at home. Americans eat – a lot. Every person from England I’ve spoken with who has visited America has made the same comment: our portion size for meals is huge compared to theirs. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to equate portion size with body size. Americans are notoriously overweight. As a society we eat less fruits and vegetables and consume more meat and fat than most other nations. Our friends went to a McDonald’s their first day here, and commented later on how large the regular hamburger was compared to their burgers from McDonald’s in England.
Americans are known for their mantra, “everything is bigger and better here.” Just ask anybody. We have bigger houses, bigger yards, bigger bodies of water, bigger bugs. You name it; we can find something about our country that is bigger or better than theirs. It’s the innate braggart in us. (Of course, in Texas it’s even bigger still. They were once their own country you know. Just ask ‘em.) We are a nation founded on political and religious malcontents. We built a nation better than the one from which we broke free – or so we think. The pioneer spirit is inherent in our culture. The desire pull up stakes and move on to new adventure is typically American. Not that any of these things are solely American traits, but they seem to be more prevalent here.
Hazel and Donno will be shown Niagara Falls, the largest waterfall by volume; they will visit Lake Erie, the second smallest of the five largest fresh bodies of water in the world. One of the largest dams in the United States east of the Mississippi River, Kinzua Dam, will also be on their agenda, as will Panama Rocks which began forming over 300 million years ago. We’ll do our best to entertain and impress our guests. It’s what we do in America. In a big way.
We are all aware that there are different cultures: Spain has a culture, South Africa has a culture, Australia, Japan, Brazil all have their own cultures. There are sub-cultures, the Cultural Revolution and even Boy George had his Culture Club; but have you ever stopped to think about the American culture? If you’re like me, you don’t often think about our own culture. We live it. It’s the way we live, the things we do, the things we buy, the way we eat, it’s instant gratification. Cultures vary across the United States, but many of the essentials are the same.
I don’t give the American culture much thought, until I see it through the eyes of someone visiting from another country. We have friends from England visiting later this week. Hazel and Donno have been in the United States for a week already, experiencing the places and events we have to offer here in Western New York, but mostly they wanted to meet the people. We’re the last stop in a three-family visit and each family will show them different aspects of our little sub-culture right here in and around Ripley.
Americans eat out – a lot. The British tend to eat more meals at home. Americans eat – a lot. Every person from England I’ve spoken with who has visited America has made the same comment: our portion size for meals is huge compared to theirs. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to equate portion size with body size. Americans are notoriously overweight. As a society we eat less fruits and vegetables and consume more meat and fat than most other nations. Our friends went to a McDonald’s their first day here, and commented later on how large the regular hamburger was compared to their burgers from McDonald’s in England.
Americans are known for their mantra, “everything is bigger and better here.” Just ask anybody. We have bigger houses, bigger yards, bigger bodies of water, bigger bugs. You name it; we can find something about our country that is bigger or better than theirs. It’s the innate braggart in us. (Of course, in Texas it’s even bigger still. They were once their own country you know. Just ask ‘em.) We are a nation founded on political and religious malcontents. We built a nation better than the one from which we broke free – or so we think. The pioneer spirit is inherent in our culture. The desire pull up stakes and move on to new adventure is typically American. Not that any of these things are solely American traits, but they seem to be more prevalent here.
Hazel and Donno will be shown Niagara Falls, the largest waterfall by volume; they will visit Lake Erie, the second smallest of the five largest fresh bodies of water in the world. One of the largest dams in the United States east of the Mississippi River, Kinzua Dam, will also be on their agenda, as will Panama Rocks which began forming over 300 million years ago. We’ll do our best to entertain and impress our guests. It’s what we do in America. In a big way.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
July 4th weekend, Independence Day, is upon us; a day to commemorate the Declaration of Independence from foreign powers, adopted by the Continental Congress in 1776. It took this new nation eleven more years to come up with the United States Constitution, ratified in 1787, and another four years to realize some of the things they left out of the original constitution. Hence, the Bill of Rights, or the first ten Amendments to the Constitution, was ratified. Our founding fathers were not infallible, but they were pretty darn smart. The very first amendment they drafted prohibited the government from messing with religion, either for or against, (Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof); it also contained what we now call “freedom of speech,” (Congress shall make no law… abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press); as well as “the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.” Now, there’s a lot of fodder for discussion, mostly heated discussion, in just that First Amendment, but it is the freedom of speech I want to address.
Whether you agree with the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) or not, their function is to be the watchdog of the Constitution, insuring your rights as an American citizen as guaranteed by that Constitution. “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it,” penned by Evelyn Beatrice Hall describing Voltaire’s attitude, sums up how I feel about a some of our “civil liberties.”
I do not agree with some of my friends and acquaintances politically. I do not agree with some of my relatives regarding religion. But I fully believe they have a right to believe, and express those beliefs, as they see fit. What bothers me is some people want to take that right away from me. In so saying “congress shall make no law abridging the freedom of speech” the government of my country has afforded me the right to believe as I will, and to express those beliefs.
Let me be clear. Having the right to do something and exercising that right is a matter of discretion. I am as guilty as anyone of speaking out when I should have kept my mouth shut. In fact, I’m probably more guilty than some. I’m sorry, it’s in my nature. But there is an expression of freedom of speech that I totally abhor; foul language. Call it cussing, cursing, swearing or whatever you will, it offends me. I suppose those people who use excessively foul language in public do it unconsciously. They are so immured in their own little worlds, they fail to see or care that people around them may be offended by their language. For instance, I was in the local hardware store the other day. While waiting my turn, there were two young men talking to the clerk about some parts they wanted. Every second or third word out of their mouths was a foul expletive. I’m not sure why some people feel it necessary to punctuate their speech with offensive language. To me it only shows lack of intelligence and self respect; say nothing of respecting others around them. I know some of the language I routinely hear from the younger generation comes from culturally accepted norms of movies and television. I’m not sure how that came about, but it has.
I will defend your right to say what you will, but please, temper it with discretion, courtesy and self respect.
Whether you agree with the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) or not, their function is to be the watchdog of the Constitution, insuring your rights as an American citizen as guaranteed by that Constitution. “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it,” penned by Evelyn Beatrice Hall describing Voltaire’s attitude, sums up how I feel about a some of our “civil liberties.”
I do not agree with some of my friends and acquaintances politically. I do not agree with some of my relatives regarding religion. But I fully believe they have a right to believe, and express those beliefs, as they see fit. What bothers me is some people want to take that right away from me. In so saying “congress shall make no law abridging the freedom of speech” the government of my country has afforded me the right to believe as I will, and to express those beliefs.
Let me be clear. Having the right to do something and exercising that right is a matter of discretion. I am as guilty as anyone of speaking out when I should have kept my mouth shut. In fact, I’m probably more guilty than some. I’m sorry, it’s in my nature. But there is an expression of freedom of speech that I totally abhor; foul language. Call it cussing, cursing, swearing or whatever you will, it offends me. I suppose those people who use excessively foul language in public do it unconsciously. They are so immured in their own little worlds, they fail to see or care that people around them may be offended by their language. For instance, I was in the local hardware store the other day. While waiting my turn, there were two young men talking to the clerk about some parts they wanted. Every second or third word out of their mouths was a foul expletive. I’m not sure why some people feel it necessary to punctuate their speech with offensive language. To me it only shows lack of intelligence and self respect; say nothing of respecting others around them. I know some of the language I routinely hear from the younger generation comes from culturally accepted norms of movies and television. I’m not sure how that came about, but it has.
I will defend your right to say what you will, but please, temper it with discretion, courtesy and self respect.
Friday, June 26, 2009
CatTails
I’m angry, and here’s my rant… Some people have trouble relating to animals and don’t seem to realize those animals we call pets may not be able to survive without us. There are people who have pets and shouldn’t. Besides the abuse and/or neglect some animals suffer, here’s another reason why they shouldn’t be allowed to have an animal. I live next door to a dairy farm, as most of you know. Barns have cats. For the most part these cats were born in the barn, have been taught to hunt and fend for themselves by their mothers. These cats generally aren’t sociable; their survival depends on the job they do. They catch the mice and other critters that would otherwise decimate the grain needed for the farm animals.
A house cat is not a barn cat. It is cruel and thoughtless to dump a house cat at a farm because its owner no longer wants or cares for it. There is a pecking order amongst cats, and a new cat often has to fight its way to acceptance. A house cat may or may not know how to catch mice. And some cats are unable to catch a mouse even if they wanted to. One such cat appeared at our door last week. She was a lovely and loving black kitty, not even a fully grown cat, and she was starving. We sat on the deck and she came right up to us, winding around our feet as best she could. She could hardly walk, she was so emaciated. We debated whether or not to put out food because we really didn’t want another cat, but she seemed so pathetic we couldn’t help but feed her. Two days later she showed up with four kittens in tow; not newborn kittens, these were perhaps four weeks old, still nursing. It takes a lot of calories to nurse babies, and it takes everything a mother cat has to feed herself and those kittens. She had hidden them in the dry creek bed near our house and they were definitely wild. If we came anywhere near them they’d run back into the weeds and hide. So we put out food near the “nest” and watched as the starving kittens fought over the food dish.
After much discussion about whether or not we should permanently take in the mama cat, we gathered her up and took her to the local veterinarian to be checked out. Much to my surprise, she had no ear mites, no fleas, and did not have feline leukemia. She was a healthy cat, except for the fact that at some time in her short life she suffered a broken pelvis and her hips had healed unevenly. She can hardly climb steps, and when she eats, she lies down so as to not put more stress on her hips. She can’t jump on furniture and she can’t pounce. This cat was starving because she couldn’t catch mice to survive. Please tell me who would dump a cat like that to fend for itself! On second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know the kind of person who does such a thing. Just don’t do it again!
I personally know two individuals who take in stray cats, and the number of homeless cats and dogs are mounting every year. I’m sure there are others in the area who take in stray animals and I want to say thank you to them. Their hearts are in the right place. These special people are devoted to keeping these cats and dogs as safe as possible, giving them a warm place to sleep and food to eat. But it is expensive to care for them and they can’t possibly manage this problem on their own. Westfield is blessed with stray cat and stray dog rescue groups, but they too are overwhelmed with the number of animals needing good homes. It breaks my heart to see these unwanted animals. The kittens we found will be turned over to Westfield Stray Cat Rescue, where they will be spayed or neutered when they are old enough. The mama cat will remain with us for the time being, and will also be spayed as soon as possible. We must be responsible for the animals humans domesticated. Please, spay or neuter your pets to help control the animal population. Adopt from the shelters or rescue centers if you can, rather than from breeders. Call these numbers for more information: Northern Chautauqua Canine Rescue – 716-326-7297; Westfield Stray Cat Rescue – 716-581-0463; Chautauqua County Humane Society – 716-665-2209
I’m angry, and here’s my rant… Some people have trouble relating to animals and don’t seem to realize those animals we call pets may not be able to survive without us. There are people who have pets and shouldn’t. Besides the abuse and/or neglect some animals suffer, here’s another reason why they shouldn’t be allowed to have an animal. I live next door to a dairy farm, as most of you know. Barns have cats. For the most part these cats were born in the barn, have been taught to hunt and fend for themselves by their mothers. These cats generally aren’t sociable; their survival depends on the job they do. They catch the mice and other critters that would otherwise decimate the grain needed for the farm animals.
A house cat is not a barn cat. It is cruel and thoughtless to dump a house cat at a farm because its owner no longer wants or cares for it. There is a pecking order amongst cats, and a new cat often has to fight its way to acceptance. A house cat may or may not know how to catch mice. And some cats are unable to catch a mouse even if they wanted to. One such cat appeared at our door last week. She was a lovely and loving black kitty, not even a fully grown cat, and she was starving. We sat on the deck and she came right up to us, winding around our feet as best she could. She could hardly walk, she was so emaciated. We debated whether or not to put out food because we really didn’t want another cat, but she seemed so pathetic we couldn’t help but feed her. Two days later she showed up with four kittens in tow; not newborn kittens, these were perhaps four weeks old, still nursing. It takes a lot of calories to nurse babies, and it takes everything a mother cat has to feed herself and those kittens. She had hidden them in the dry creek bed near our house and they were definitely wild. If we came anywhere near them they’d run back into the weeds and hide. So we put out food near the “nest” and watched as the starving kittens fought over the food dish.
After much discussion about whether or not we should permanently take in the mama cat, we gathered her up and took her to the local veterinarian to be checked out. Much to my surprise, she had no ear mites, no fleas, and did not have feline leukemia. She was a healthy cat, except for the fact that at some time in her short life she suffered a broken pelvis and her hips had healed unevenly. She can hardly climb steps, and when she eats, she lies down so as to not put more stress on her hips. She can’t jump on furniture and she can’t pounce. This cat was starving because she couldn’t catch mice to survive. Please tell me who would dump a cat like that to fend for itself! On second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know the kind of person who does such a thing. Just don’t do it again!
I personally know two individuals who take in stray cats, and the number of homeless cats and dogs are mounting every year. I’m sure there are others in the area who take in stray animals and I want to say thank you to them. Their hearts are in the right place. These special people are devoted to keeping these cats and dogs as safe as possible, giving them a warm place to sleep and food to eat. But it is expensive to care for them and they can’t possibly manage this problem on their own. Westfield is blessed with stray cat and stray dog rescue groups, but they too are overwhelmed with the number of animals needing good homes. It breaks my heart to see these unwanted animals. The kittens we found will be turned over to Westfield Stray Cat Rescue, where they will be spayed or neutered when they are old enough. The mama cat will remain with us for the time being, and will also be spayed as soon as possible. We must be responsible for the animals humans domesticated. Please, spay or neuter your pets to help control the animal population. Adopt from the shelters or rescue centers if you can, rather than from breeders. Call these numbers for more information: Northern Chautauqua Canine Rescue – 716-326-7297; Westfield Stray Cat Rescue – 716-581-0463; Chautauqua County Humane Society – 716-665-2209
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A Tribute to My Mother
Tribute to My Mother
Mother’s Day was last Sunday and, amongst my all-too-many time commitments, I managed to squeeze in some (hopefully quality) time with my mother. I’ve been blessed to have my mom for 57 years and each year I grow to appreciate her more and more. She’s long past the stage where I can buy something simple, like another potted plant or piece of jewelry, to commemorate “her” day and I racked my brain trying to think of an appropriate gift for this year. Then it occurred to me, I’m a writer. So here is my tribute to my mother.
Mom loves holidays and making every one special was one of her many talents. Christmas found her decorating every room of the house with some festive detail, from the Christmas tree in the living room, to centerpieces on the tables, holiday candles and knick-knacks everywhere, and a little red and white mouse she hid in a nook or cranny somewhere in the house for us to find. Every Halloween she made costumes for each of us, from fairy dresses to crepe paper pumpkins. Easter meant new dresses, hats and shiny patent leather shoes and baskets full of toys and candy hidden on stairs, in the clothes dryer or on top of the refrigerator. Thanksgiving dinner, Memorial Day picnics, 4th of July parades, every event was special because of her.
A fair number of my prom and Homecoming dresses were hand made by my mom. Craft projects were another of her strong suits. Years ago the school had end-of-the-year barbeques. There was an art and pet fair as well, and one year Mom helped me make a flower in a jar project. In retrospect, she probably made the whole thing but we pretended it was my work. It was a beautiful thing, a flower anchored on the lid of the jar filled with water and turned upside down. I was sure it was a first prize winner. I dropped it before I got it to school. It was devastating then, but I see now it served to remind me once again how much time and love was invested in me.
She baked cookies or cupcakes to take to school on our birthdays, each one individually decorated, often with each classmate’s name written on them. Mom made pancake “men” for breakfast and still makes the best homemade cinnamon rolls. And I know she won’t appreciate this, but quite often when making supper she’d scorch the potatoes. There’s nothing better than the smoky flavor of a slightly scorched potato. I’ve tried for years to do it but just can’t seem to manage.
Mom has had a flower garden for as long as I can remember. Years ago an elderly neighbor woman complained that she spent hours on her garden and my mother spent hardly any time tending her own, yet Mom’s garden outshone the other year after year. I inherited a bit of that green thumb. Every spring and summer she would pick flowers from her garden and just throw them together in the perfect arrangement, a talent I have yet to master.
She’s one of the supermoms – she did it all. But I’ll stop here with a little poem and just say, I love you Mom.
My Mother
A maker of memories, molder of dreams,
A hand to hold, a smile that beams.
Chauffeur, seamstress, nursemaid, cook,
A listening ear, a knowing look.
Fun and laughter, wisdom and wit,
Did I ever thank you for any of it?
A mother is these and so many things
I’m blessed in the gifts my mother’s love brings.
Mother’s Day was last Sunday and, amongst my all-too-many time commitments, I managed to squeeze in some (hopefully quality) time with my mother. I’ve been blessed to have my mom for 57 years and each year I grow to appreciate her more and more. She’s long past the stage where I can buy something simple, like another potted plant or piece of jewelry, to commemorate “her” day and I racked my brain trying to think of an appropriate gift for this year. Then it occurred to me, I’m a writer. So here is my tribute to my mother.
Mom loves holidays and making every one special was one of her many talents. Christmas found her decorating every room of the house with some festive detail, from the Christmas tree in the living room, to centerpieces on the tables, holiday candles and knick-knacks everywhere, and a little red and white mouse she hid in a nook or cranny somewhere in the house for us to find. Every Halloween she made costumes for each of us, from fairy dresses to crepe paper pumpkins. Easter meant new dresses, hats and shiny patent leather shoes and baskets full of toys and candy hidden on stairs, in the clothes dryer or on top of the refrigerator. Thanksgiving dinner, Memorial Day picnics, 4th of July parades, every event was special because of her.
A fair number of my prom and Homecoming dresses were hand made by my mom. Craft projects were another of her strong suits. Years ago the school had end-of-the-year barbeques. There was an art and pet fair as well, and one year Mom helped me make a flower in a jar project. In retrospect, she probably made the whole thing but we pretended it was my work. It was a beautiful thing, a flower anchored on the lid of the jar filled with water and turned upside down. I was sure it was a first prize winner. I dropped it before I got it to school. It was devastating then, but I see now it served to remind me once again how much time and love was invested in me.
She baked cookies or cupcakes to take to school on our birthdays, each one individually decorated, often with each classmate’s name written on them. Mom made pancake “men” for breakfast and still makes the best homemade cinnamon rolls. And I know she won’t appreciate this, but quite often when making supper she’d scorch the potatoes. There’s nothing better than the smoky flavor of a slightly scorched potato. I’ve tried for years to do it but just can’t seem to manage.
Mom has had a flower garden for as long as I can remember. Years ago an elderly neighbor woman complained that she spent hours on her garden and my mother spent hardly any time tending her own, yet Mom’s garden outshone the other year after year. I inherited a bit of that green thumb. Every spring and summer she would pick flowers from her garden and just throw them together in the perfect arrangement, a talent I have yet to master.
She’s one of the supermoms – she did it all. But I’ll stop here with a little poem and just say, I love you Mom.
My Mother
A maker of memories, molder of dreams,
A hand to hold, a smile that beams.
Chauffeur, seamstress, nursemaid, cook,
A listening ear, a knowing look.
Fun and laughter, wisdom and wit,
Did I ever thank you for any of it?
A mother is these and so many things
I’m blessed in the gifts my mother’s love brings.
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