Patchogue Mornings

Patchogue Mornings

Capacity 12

52 on Weekends

Once in a while, when walking through the yard on a cool summer morning, I get a whiff of paradise. A cool breeze, the scent of fresh basil, or the call of a mourning dove, and I am there.

In the early days of the last century, my great-grandparents bought a summer bungalow on a dead-end street a block and a half from the Great South Bay in Long Island. The family took the train from Brooklyn then hired a horse and wagon to travel the last few miles. A sign hung over the front door — Capacity 12 — 52 on weekends. I  imagine their excitement as they came in sight of the bay — the same excitement I felt whenever we did the same.

It was a small house with just a dining room, kitchen, and two small bedrooms downstairs but the glories of the house included a screened front porch and an open attic accessed by a steep staircase. I imagine my great-uncles and aunts arguing about who would get to sleep in the attic just like we did. 

Huge trees hugged the attic’s windows and every breeze blew a scent of the bay into our dreams. Arising early, we trooped downstairs in our pajamas and out onto the airy porch. Six houses snuggled close on our block. We called to our friends on their porches, “What are we doing today? Are we going fishing? What time are we heading to the beach?” Always “we,” never “you” or “I.” We were one family.

After breakfast, we wiggled into our bathing suits and tumbled down the back steps into our shared backyard. A dozen children, many of them cousins, might be waiting for us. We mixed and matched age groups as we grabbed our fishing poles and headed for the pier. We chattered as we set our lines, “Remember when the snappers were running? Remember the eel in the crab cage? Uncle Joe ate it!” 

Afternoons, the whole neighborhood headed to the beach. The older kids jumped right into the bay. Toddlers splashed in a wading pool filled with salt water pumped from the bay. Some days, we loaded up the station wagons and drove to the ocean beach. Hauling lunches, playpens, and blankets, we struggled over the dunes onto the beach. While the adults played cards or gabbed and watched the little kids play in the sand, we leaped over the ocean waves — always accompanied by a parent or aunt or uncle to keep us safe.

Later, as we showered under a backyard hose, the Nonnas cooked dinner fresh from the garden flanking the backyard. We ate under the grape arbor at a table that sat 12, or 15, or as many as wanted to join us. After dinner, the Nonnos played a card game fueled by rivalries going back to Italy. “Due!” they’d shout as they slapped down a card followed by raucous laughter. After dark, our friends and families, young and old, gathered around a fire — a circle of light and family.

Four generations enjoyed that bungalow before it was taken from us by a not-so-friendly fire. Our memories and friendships survive. The generations live on. Paradise lives inside us ready to awaken any summer morning. 

A Network of Mutuality

A Network of Mutuality

At the beginning of every school year, my students gathered to talk about classroom rules. After reviewing the usual list, we’d add one more: In our classroom, we support one another. My second-graders had a lot of ideas about what this meant: We help one another with math. We share our crayons. We pick up someone who falls. We invite our classmates to play.

Building a sense of community is a vital educational strategy. Classmates work together for the benefit of all. When one succeeds, we all succeed. When one fails, we help pick up the pieces. We walk together and leave no one behind. We weave a network of mutual respect and care that we carry forward into our lives.

Sometimes we forget that our fate is connected to the fate of others. What affects one, affects all. Martin Luther King, in a speech in 1968 at the National Cathedral the week before he was assassinated said, “We are tied together in the single garment of destiny, caught in an inescapable network of mutuality. And whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. For some strange reason, I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. And you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the way God’s universe is made; this is the way it is structured.”

Our sense of mutuality gets lost when we take sides against one another. In our nation today, we have split into camps — each claiming the right to victory and demanding the defeat of the other. We forget that we are bound together by our mutual rights, as our founding fathers stated, to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. We forget that our nation endures because we have mutual goals. When we stop supporting one another, we will all fall.

On the night Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated, Robert F. Kennedy, who was campaigning for the presidency, stood before a crowd of his supporters to deliver the terrible news. Kennedy then called for unity: “What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness; but is love and wisdom and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.” 

Our fates are tied together. No one will truly succeed unless all succeed. Love, compassion, and wisdom will bring justice. In a network of mutuality, it is not my justice but our justice. For our nation to endure, we must support one another. Only then will we have justice for all.

Our “garment of destiny” must not be shredded by divisions among us. Our mutuality is “inescapable.” To achieve justice for all we must support our neighbors — new or old. When we employ love, wisdom, and compassion no one will be left behind. 

(Quotations from The Soul of America: The Battles for Our Better Angels by Jon Meacham, Random House 2018)

The White Glove Test

The White Glove Test

By Lisa Marie Crane

August 23, 2011

My cousin Nanny tells a great story. Nanny was a new mother with a sweet baby girl. Our Aunt Anna was coming to call. Aunt Anna is a kind, loving lady but she had a reputation for having a perfectly clean and neat house despite having three children. Nanny cleaned her house from top to bottom, ready for the ‘white glove test’ she was sure was coming.  

In the middle of the night before the visit, Nanny got up to make a bottle for the baby. Long before the days of microwaves, this involved putting water in a pan on the stove, then setting the bottle of milk in the hot water to warm. Sleep-deprived from caring for an infant and exhausted from a day of scrubbing, Nanny fell asleep while the bottle was warming — forgetting to turn off the burner. 

Whoosh! The bottle exploded. Milk covered walls, floor, and ceiling. Nanny spent the rest of the night re-scrubbing the kitchen.  

I always laughed at that story because I understood both sides. I, like Aunt Anna, like things neat and clean. Like Nanny, I worried about what others would think if everything wasn’t spic and span. Then I read Erma Bombeck.

She wrote: “No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed.” And “My theory on housework is, if the item doesn’t multiply, smell, catch fire, or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one else cares. Why should you?”  

Erma got it right. You can kill yourself cleaning and no one will ever notice. 

Aunt Anna, God love her, never even looked at that house. She only had eyes for baby Joellen.  Who wears ‘white gloves’ when holding a cooing infant?  

When I visit my friends with little ones, I don’t see the fingerprints on the fridge or the towels on the floor. I look around and see the artwork displayed and the photos adorning every wall and surface. I find comfortable chairs and crowded kitchen tables. I see full calendars and much-loved pets. 

Just like Aunt Anna, I focus on the happy kids and the loving parents

It turns out that Erma was a fabulous housekeeper too. But as she neared the end of her life she wrote:  “If I had my life to live over… I would have invited friends over to dinner even when the carpet was stained and the sofa was faded…  I would have eaten popcorn in the ‘good’ living room and worried less about the dirt when someone wanted to light the fireplace…. I would seize every minute, look at it and really see it … live it and never give it back.”  

One of the best parties we ever had was one New Year’s Eve when my daughter neglected to tell us that she had invited her friend’s family over. I had nothing prepared. The house was a mess and we had a ball. 

Aunt Anna, well into her nineties, is still fastidious, but the only thing we see when we walk in her door is her wide smile and her welcoming arms.  

(Addendum: I often visited Aunt Anna with my family and she was always thrilled to see us. She taught us what it meant to love freely and fully. May she rest in heaven – which may spruce itself up a bit now that she is there. Cousin Nanny is with her — raising the roof with her wonderful laugh. May they, and all the mothers we miss, remain close in our hearts.)

Words in the Bank

Words in the Bank

When visiting my family in Italy, I met my two-year-old cousin Bernadetta. She spoke only Italian and I spoke only English. One morning, she asked me, “Dov'è la nonna?” I knew the word Nonna and since Bernadetta was looking around, I figured out that she was looking for her grandmother. I knew where Nonna was — but I had no words to tell Bernadetta. As I looked at her helplessly, I bet she was thinking, “What is wrong with this grown-up who can’t talk?” My Italian word-bank was empty.

Before children can learn to read they must fill their word-banks. New readers must be able to connect sounds and symbols to words they know. Children with larger oral vocabularies have an easier time learning to read. Oral vocabulary is defined as the words students understand from listening and speaking to others. How can parents help children fill their word banks? Talk, listen, and read.

1. Use “big” words. Introduce new and interesting words in everyday conversations. Speak in complete sentences and use context to help your child understand meaning. “The rabbit scampered quickly into his den just ahead of the hawk.” The context suggests the meaning of the new word “scampered.” That rabbit was moving! 

2. Be expressive. Facial expressions, hand gestures, and vocal cues convey meaning. “The bully snickered at his cowering victim.” Snicker and cower. Show the meaning with your voice, expressions, and actions.

3. Sing! “Hakuna Matata” from The Lion King, a song about the meaning of a word, is full of new words: philosophy, aroma, sensitive, downwind, ashamed, downhearted, etc. Stars twinkle, spiders climb water-spouts, and we row merrily. Poems are a great resource. Check out the many rhyming books offered in your library. 

4. Ask questions. Ask your child to explain something he is excited about. “How did you construct your fort?” Encourage our child to ask you questions. 

5. Make new friends. Introduce your child to people from many walks of life. “Tammy works in aeronautics. Tom is a botanist” When appropriate, include them in your adult conversations. Research community workers online to find words related to their work.

6. Enjoy new experiences together. Go camping. See a play. Visit a museum. Add words as you enjoy each others’ company. Research new information together.

7. Highlight new words when you use them. Keep a list of words that interest you and your children. “That Lucy is such a fussbudget. She flabbergasts Schroeder.”

8. Map Words. When you learn a new word, connect it to others your child knows. Expand the map as you make connections. “Clams are bivalves. I wonder if bivalve is connected to bicycles? Let’s find out.” 

9. Make friends with your librarian. Librarians will suggest great books for any interest.

10. READ, READ, READ! Books with illustrations are great resources for filling word-banks. Reading with your children adds interest and builds vocabulary.

Fill your child’s word-bank through conversations, experiences, and shared reading. Deposit words that your child can withdraw when learning to read. 

(This is the fifth in a series about reading success.)