Nice Thoughts from a Niece

_{I have a very “old” friend ….. something not to be taken lightly…}

_{Gingerly approaching the famous category of  women- of-a- certain-age,, an old friend often reminds me ,   “We go back the better part of six decades, you and me”.   I cherish a tiny, (also “old”) black and white photo to support this fact.  My uncle, John appears on his knees, offering a white dove to the seemingly fragile little girl in the photo that is myself.  A propitious gesture and omen, no doubt you’ll agree.   Uncle Dunkle,  as I first called him, introduced me to my first pony: a ride  around the kitchen on a broom before I could walk.   He continued to appear at all significant events ranging from the many catholic rites of passage of my childhood to the many holidays we shared at table with the Polish babka, stories and laughter.}

_{But thank God for my personal memory bank which needs no photos to support the facts.  This bank never runs short of memories to “cash in” for a laugh, a tear or a comment.  There, safely within the vault, John and his brothers, are still clad in striped shirts, handsome, strapping and capable of all things physical.  In those same memories which never fade, they often return to our childhood home in Mahwah. NJ.   We abandoned the stately home nearly fifty years ago, but yes, every season thereafter, alongside my father, they return if I open the memory bank vault.  I spy them now: crawling through an attic window, hanging a TV antenna from the roof, putting up the winter storm sash, taking down the summer screens, lifting rocks out for the new grass, carrying slate in for the new patio, even turning over my mother’s victory garden, but never turning down a ham sandwich.}

_{(I know because I was the poodle-skirt clad server of those sandwiches in the fifties.  “My mother says you will have to eat the ham sandwiches on the train back to Bayonne if you do not hurry,” I chided.  We all knew my mother, Selene, was a force of her own to be reckoned with,)}

_{The one constant is the joke they never tire of:  “Next time, who will dig out the boulder….yes, boulder….. wedged in the basement floor!  The entire three story brick English tutor home in Cragmere Park had been built around that boulder rather than remove it but the joke, earned John the nickname “Digger”.  The name stuck over the years and put a smile on the face of my father, Gramps, each and every time he accessed the same memory vault.}

_{(I know because countless telephone calls back and forth during my dad’s final days, began the same way, “Digger?  Is this you?  How ah  ya?)}

_{In more recent times, John and his able-bodied family made expeditions in a van with living quarters for six.   Of course, they had re-conditioned it themselves.  Following I-95 and I 40 to an endless To DO List of new projects, they arrived en masse at my door in Maiden, NC. in 1987.   “Those are some fancy horses, you got there, Kid,” John mused, “and this is beautiful country and all, but I’m just tellin ya,  you got a lotta work to do.  And, how much do YOU know about horses and farms, anyway?”   We, the assembled ten in total…. kept our heads down,  knowing there was more to come., as John is a man of many opinions and a voice which can surprise like the blast of a fire siren.   But  rather gently and simply he added, “Circumstances dictate all decisions.” Next thing we knew, everyone had a job and the wash pits for the horses were built.} 

_{(I know because I was the rolled-up shirt-clad server who doled out the ham sandwiches, according to tradition.”}

_{Now-a-days when I telephone the residence of “babka and bolts”, I am more than lucky if I can catch the eighty-something year old Polish American for a chat.  He’s certainly not cat-napping in his easy chair, waiting for old friends to call.  After all, he and my mother, Selene, were cut from the same mold.   But my “Otha Motha”, his more than lovely and loving wife covers for her partner.  “He’s workin’ on a project in the basement.”   Why am I not surprised?  Still, I wish he would learn one thing…..a nap is not a crime!   -  niece, and cousin, Mary Ellen.}