20/ Insects and Me

I grew up in an apartment in Queens. The only insects I saw—and rarely—were big black beetles we called “clocks.” They appeared in the basement laundry area occasionally. We were all terrified of them. Oh, wait—I forgot about the multitude of mosquitoes that feasted on me every summer on Long Island.

When I was 15 or so I saw a giant moth in the hallway of our building. I now know it was a Cecropia. It frightened me, and I was so relieved when it flew out the window I opened. A little later my grandmother entered our apartment holding her hands together as though they held a treasure. She opened them to reveal the moth! I ran and hid behind a chair.

Moving to the country was an education for me, with a long transition to first acceptance and then appreciation of insects. This is why I say Pilgrim at Tinker Creek is a book that changed my life.

19/ Alone in the Subway

I was on the subway all by myself in an empty car, but it was during the day, when everything somehow seems safer. I was reading as usual, but when someone sat down directly across from me, I could see his lower pant legs and feet without looking up. They started twitching, then jumping up and down, which wasn’t all that unusual because young males often rode the subway carrying a boom box back then, and he could have been reacting to the music. But I heard no music, so when the jumping grew frenetic I looked up. He was masturbating, completely exposed.

I ran to the end of the car and opened the gates. I’d changed subway cars before, but it wasn’t my favorite thing to do. So dark in the tunnels. So much movement from the cars. Cold black air rushing by. The next car was empty too, so I opened two more gates and ran on. Found a conductor. Told him.

18/ Aging Predictably

When I was 30 and a new mother, my closest friend was Emilie. I wrote about her in my 40 Words blog:

When cataracts forced Emilie to stop driving, she hitchhiked to and from work. She was 83. Around the same time she gave up everything unpleasant. Her daughters-in-law cleaned her house occasionally. Now she’s my role model for the next life.

Yes, housework was one of the unpleasant tasks Emilie gave up. She read books, listened to whale song records, and baked sponge cakes. I haven’t consciously given up cleaning, but I notice it’s not getting done. I have four cats and lots of road dust. Most of the time I don’t think about it. This is scary. I could use Emilie’s six daughters-in-law.

17/ A Scary Phone Call

“Vi” was a neighbor, much older than I, who lived up the road when we first moved here. She was a devoted member of the nearby Bible church, and her mission was to spread the word and save souls.

For several years we shared telephone service on a party line, but once we were able to get a private line she and I didn’t have much contact. However, when I was 37 she called me. I remember my age because my mom had just turned 38 when she died. Like most adults who lost a parent in childhood, I’d grown anxious as I approached my mother’s final age. The anxiety had begun in childhood, so it developed quite a head of steam over the years. Vi called on a particularly bad day.

You have to imagine her voice. It’s easy—just channel a loud Wicked Witch of the West. I picked up the phone and heard: “Susan! It’s time to prepare for your death!”

16/ Scary Stuff on the Subway

I admit the following is an edited excerpt from a blog post I wrote in 2014. It fits the topic of “scary stuff,” but the blog tells the rest of the story.

I was 19 years old, and commuting to work from Queens to Rockefeller Center. Rush hour on the NYC subways is not for the claustrophobic or overly sensitive. We had our choice of holding onto one of the handles above the seats or grabbing a pole. Envision multiple hands holding onto the same shiny white pole. I guess we chose our spot on the pole depending on our height. Like a lot of riders, I always had a book with me. One hand holding the book, the other clutching the pole.

You can't exactly minimize contact with the other riders, but you do what you can to not maximize it. Which was why it came as a shock that morning when a guy in back of me pushed me into the pole and yelled that I was leaning on him. Leaning on him? I turned around and he kept yelling, in Spanish now (I recognized puta). And then he ripped the pearls from my neck.

15/ Reading Gravestones

As a volunteer gravestone photographer, I spend more time in cemeteries than most. I find cemeteries—so quiet and serene most of the time—relaxing places to be. But one thing about them scares me.

I usually photograph a cemetery’s oldest sections. Lots of young women died in childbirth 100+ years ago, and you see this reflected in the gravestones. The stones also tell a story of what life was like before we had vaccines. When diphtheria devastated a community, for instance, a family could lose multiple children in the same week. Or the same day.

I get where anti-vaxxers are coming from; I have strongly mixed feelings myself about modern medicine. But I’m afraid they haven’t thought this through. I wish I could take them on a very personal and very scary cemetery tour.

Children of Angeline Buckland Hudson (1843 – 1926):

          Hattie M. (1863 – 1865

          Sylvenus (1864 – 1870)

          Nettie (1866 – 1866)

          Willard (1867 – 1870)

          Oscar (1869 – 1877)

          Ambrose (1871 – 1877)

          Hattie L. (1874 – 1877)

          Harry (1876 – 1877)

          Blanche (1881 – 1881)

Angeline also had three sons who lived to adulthood: Clarence, Charles, and Ellsworth.

14/ Bats in the Bedroom

When we moved into our old farmhouse we knew about the bats in the barn. We liked having them swoop around at night, eating their weight in mosquitos. It was fun to see them exit the corner of the barn roof, dipping slightly before taking flight. We soon found we also had bats in the attic. We weren’t so crazy about those.

The first time a bat got into the house my husband was away. I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of wings in my bedroom. Try to imagine it. No, don’t. Once you’ve heard it, you never forget.

“City girl” hadn’t completely transitioned to “country girl” yet, and even the country girl would have had issues—big ones—with a bat in her bedroom. I leaped out of bed. Did I rush to my toddler daughter’s room to protect her? No, I ran downstairs, poured myself a scotch, and called my husband.

13/ If it ain't one thing, it's another . . .

Remember the horror movies where the house turns on the residents? Or maybe it was a short story by Shirley Jackson. Whatever, I can relate. It started with my camera—the one I grab first most of the time. It had seen a lot of use, and when it failed I replaced it immediately. A big chunk of money for me, but little did I know how many chunks I’d soon be chipping off my bank account.

Next, the chest freezer in the basement began to fail. I bought a new one. Then my laser printer decided 16,000+ pages over 15 years was enough, and it stopped printing. Around that time I discovered the upstairs toilet was leaking. I need to call a plumber, but I’ve been dealing with mildew that appeared all over the wood walls, beams, and ceiling of the guest room. Bought a dehumidifier. And a face mask.

Oh, and the roof has started leaking.  

12/ Disappeared

I can’t find my sister-in-law. She lives in another state, and while we’ve never been close, over the last decade or so we’ve kept in touch on birthdays, Christmas, and the occasional call or card in between. She lives alone with help. I’m not sure what the help consists of, but she can afford all the help she needs.

She turned 90 last month. I called to wish her a happy birthday, but there was no answer. And no answering machine. Over the next couple of weeks I tried again at different times of the day. Still no answer. I tried the number I had for her late husband’s son, but that phone had been disconnected. It was then I realized I have no way of contacting anyone else for information about her. Since her phone is still connected, I hope someone is opening her mail. With that in mind, I wrote her a letter. No response yet.

11/ Voices (not that kind)

I have fun doing voices, and around Halloween that means a witch, a vampire, and the spooky ghost sound that’s so spooky I don’t like to do it if I’m alone in the house. Especially at night.

To keep these voices special, I don’t do them all year round—just in October, when my grandsons, filled with gleeful terror, hide (often in plain sight under the piano) as these characters—complete with stomping feet—come looking for them. In other months the boys might encounter Big Ugly Nasty Man, All-Purpose Brooklynite, and Melania. (The names are for my reference only.)

So the other day one grandson (7) said he was looking forward to Halloween, his favorite holiday. Figuring he was deciding what costume to wear, I said, “What are you thinking about?” He replied, “I’m thinking about your vampire person.”

10/ A New York Thing to Say (Story, The Ending)

I detected something resembling a nod, so I went on.

“We’ve never even gone out to eat. You said you’d love to give me my first taste of kimchi and that Thai stuff you like, and remember the time you said it would be fun if we could do Ninth Avenue on a Saturday morning?  You told me we couldn’t even be seen together at that French movie theater I wanted to go to. And you said your wife has all this money…….”

He looked away, so I nudged him with my foot.

“So if I, you know, took care of it, we could really enjoy the city together. And you know as well as I do that it’s not such a big deal. People get killed in New York all the time.”

It seemed like a long time before he finally spoke.