Your Monthly Magazine from Living Happy Center

September 2012   

Carole Kane, Editor-in-Chief

Living Happy Center Writers Group:

Dear Friends,

Welcome to the September 2012 issue of The Dolphin, featuring longer articles from the Living Happy Center Writers Group. Just as a reminder, you will receive The Dolphin  once each month.  During the rest of the month you will continue to receive your weekly Living Happy newsletter.

First, view "A Child's Miracle" through the eyes of a three year old.  Then enjoy Arthur Lewin's  "Summer in the City".  And next, see if you remember "Grandma's Apron."

Then, share Helene Herman's wonderful evening on the beach in her story, "Eighteen Again."  And no summer would be complete without a great baseball story.  Enjoy Jo Pico's tribute to her baseball star grandson, in "Dangerous DJ Pico".

Next, Brad Holway brings us into the life of a family in Liverpool/Dublin during World War II, in his colorful story, "Meeting Da".  

Happy reading!

- - Carole - -

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September

By Helen Hunt Jackson  

(1830-1885) 

The golden-rod is yellow; the corn is turning brown;  

    The trees in apple orchards with fruit are bending down.

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A Child's Miracle 

 By Carole Kane    

When I was three years old, soon after we lost my mom, I went to stay "up in the country" with my grandparents for a while.  I called them Mam-Ma and Pam-Pa.  

Directly across the road from their house stood the Circleville Presbyterian Church, a stately, white building with a pair of tall Christmas trees in front. On Sunday mornings, we always went to church.  First, Mam-ma would get me ready for Sunday School.  She curled my shiny blonde hair with a curling iron that she heated on the stove, but any curls usually fell out about ten minutes later. She said my hair was straight as a pin, and would never stay curled.  After she and Pam-Pa and I were all dressed up, the three of us went to church.

Circleville Presbyterian Church

I went to Sunday school while the grown-ups went to the service in the church. I learned lots of Bible verses, and every once in a while we children would be given a "piece" of the Bible to memorize. We would say them out loud in front of the congregation on special Sundays. I was good at memorizing, and I often got the monthly prize for best learner. The "prize" was the old picture from the religious calendar that hung in our Sunday School room when the month turned to a new month. How I cherished these "prizes"! And everything I was learning seemed very important to me.

One of the most interesting things I learned in Sunday School was about Jesus making miracles. When I asked our teacher what a miracle was, she explained it was like, for instance, if a person was in two different places at the same time. I really took this to heart. I would sit on our front porch and stare at the church across the road, and daydream about what I had learned there, especially wondering if I would ever see a miracle.

One day, while looking in my dresser drawer, I spied a pair of my  socks, with little  flowers all over them. Then I looked at my feet, and saw that I was wearing THE EXACT SAME PAIR OF SOCKS on my feet! I began calling loudly - "Mam-ma, Mam-ma! Look! It's a miracle! The socks are in my drawer and on my feet at the same time!"

I had received my miracle!

I don't think our kids know what an apron is.

The principal use of Grandma's apron was to protect the dress underneath because she only had a few. It was also because it was easier to wash aprons than dresses and aprons used less material. But along with that, it served as a potholder for removing hot pans from the oven.

It was wonderful for drying children's tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears. From the chicken coop, the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven.

When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids. And when the weather was cold Grandma wrapped it around her arms. Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow, bent over the hot wood stove. Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron.

From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables.

After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls.

In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees.

When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds. When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men folk knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner.

It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that 'old-time apron' that served so many purposes.

(contributed by Helene Herman)

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by Josephine Pico 

During my early years in Brooklyn it was the Dodgers and Ebbets Field. We loved those "Brooklyn Bums" and everyone had their own special player that they followed closely.  

In later years my special players became my own children. I played ball with them until they became too rough for me, then they joined the Little League. A proud mom, I applauded them from the stands. It seems baseball has always been part of my summer and the game was now more interesting because I was personally involved.  

Eventually, my special players became my grandchildren. I was once again in the stands rooting them on... and thus evolves the story of DANGEROUS DJ PICO during the summer of 2012.  

Just a few weeks ago, Par-Troy East - the Jersey boys, as I call them - were battling other Morris County teams for the District 1 title.  My grandson DJ was elated to be part of this team. They were all friends and had been together for years.  

They won the Section 1 crown and went on to become New Jersey State Champions. They advanced to the Mid-Atlantic Regional Tournament in Bristol, Connecticut. With national television cameras trained on them and the weight of the New Jersey community bearing down, the Jersey boys calmly and confidently defeated the opposition and became the 16th and final entrant in the Little League World Series.  

The Par-Troy East coaches and players received a prestigious award, given each year to the team which demonstrates the best sportsmanship throughout the Regional Tournament.

They certainly were not prepared for their instant celebrity status when they got to the Little League venue in Williamsport, PA. They enjoyed all the activities and parades, and even signed autographs, basking in the glory that their hard work and dedication had brought them.  

They lost the first game 5 - 2.   The next game, against Oregon, was "do or die." I sat on the sofa and watched it unfold on television, and realized that my grandson was starting this game in the field. Up until now he had only been used for a couple of innings in each game.

As DJ came to bat in the 2nd inning I closed my eyes and heard the crack of the bat. ... A HOME RUN WITH A MAN ON BASE! DJ rounded the bases, his arms extended in the air and a big smile spread across his face. That photo of DJ was plastered all over every newspaper in the area.  

By his third time at bat the announcer exclaimed, "And the dangerous DJ Pico is coming to bat....." I couldn't believe what I had just heard.  

"Dangerous DJ Pico"

Suddenly, DJ was tagged as "dangerous."   I broke into a fit of happy laughing.

When interviewed later on television, DJ said, "When I saw it off the bat I knew it was gone. It felt good because that was my first home run and it came in the World Series, so it's really big."  

Their final game, against California, was a nail-biter which they lost in the 8th inning 5-4. It could have gone either way with one swing of the bat.

The Jersey boys wanted to win - and win they did! They won the hearts and admiration of a whole state. They ended up 8th in the world because of their awesome talent and sportsmanship. They made the  summer of 2012 exciting and memorable.   As Tony the Tiger would say, "They're Gr-reat!"

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Meeting Da   

By Dr. Brad Holway   

After some hot tea on a raw, drizzly morning, they packed into Uncle Eugene's old car.  Uncle Eugene, crowned with a rakish tweed cap, took the driver's seat and looked in the mirror, brushing his thick mustache with his fingers.  He was Da's younger brother and always looked sharp.  Next to him was Mum, an anxious look on her face.  The three children, Nora, Patrick and Bridget, sat in the back, fidgety in anticipation of meeting Da.

Da had been gone for months, off to England to work in the "war plants", as he called them.  There was good money to be had in England, whose men were off fighting.  Patrick often heard about the war on the radio; he also heard the adults speak about it.  Da had been in the I.R.A. as a lad and had no love for the Crown, but Patrick remembered him saying that he hoped England would win.  If not, Uncle Eugene said, some bloke named Hitler would force people to speak German and draft every man in Ireland into the German Army to go fight the Russkis, whoever THEY were.

Norse Merchant Ferries Liverpool - Dublin ferry service

It would be a long war, everybody said.  The Yanks were in it now, and there was fighting all over, in Africa, in China and in places Patrick had never heard of.  Anyway, Da would soon be home for two weeks before going back to that English "war plant".  He was due to arrive that afternoon at Dun Laoghaire, the port of Dublin, on the Liverpool ferry.

It was a long ride on bumpy roads.  Patrick and his sisters grew restless.  The car windows were shut due to the rain, and Uncle Eugene smoked one Rothmann's after another.  Patrick and his sisters got noisy and Mum broke a chocolate bar into pieces so they'd shut up and not annoy Uncle Eugene while he was driving.  They were still on the road at noon.  Mum passed everyone a slice of the soda bread she had baked the day before.

The rain slacked off to drizzle as they neared Dublin.  A thick fog was rolling in off the sea as they reached the quays.  It was hard to tell whether the mist in the air was fog or drizzle.  The area was not savory.  Drunkards lurched through the streets or sprawled unconscious in the doorways.  Hard-looking women sat in front of windows illuminated by red lights.  Mum said they were "ladies of easy leisure".  Uncle Eugene laughed.  Patrick and the girls couldn't see what was funny about it.  Patrick figured it meant that the women were jobless and on the dole, certainly not a laughing matter.

Uncle Eugene parked his car about a block away from Flanagan's, the pub where they had arranged to meet Da.  They'd pack another body into the car somehow, Mum said.  They trotted up the cobblestone street so as not to get drenched before reaching Flanagan's.  They were a tad early.  At least the pub was warm and dry, though the air was thick with tobacco smoke and the smell of liquid refreshment.

A rough crowd filled the place, mostly sailors, fishermen and stevedores.  There were also a few women and families from the countryside waiting for husbands and kinsmen to debark from the ferries.  Mum found a chair and sat down, gathering her trio of progeny around her like a hen.  She was visibly ill-at-ease and turned her face away from pairs of leering eyes.  Uncle Eugene went to the bar and ordered two pints.  He brought one back to Mum, who sipped it slowly.  He returned to the bar, where he finished his stout and ordered another.

The afternoon wore on and a stiff breeze began to lash the rain against the pub windows.  The ferry was late, due no doubt to the dirty weather.  The three children, lacking seats, grew restless.  Bridget, the youngest, whined and complained of hunger.  Mum, not wishing for the girls to venture outside on the mean streets, reached into her purse and gave Patrick five shillings, telling him to bring back something to eat from the grocer's across the street.  After all, she said, he was the man of the family until Da arrived.

Patrick borrowed Uncle Eugene's cap to keep his head dry.  Though the rain was still falling, a wild shaft of sunlight broke through the baleful clouds, illuminating the pub windows with a pale, golden sheen.  Patrick headed for the door, prepared to accomplish his errand.  Just as he reached for the doorknob, the heavy door opened inward.  There stood Da, his head framed with a nimbus of stray sunlight, like some angel that had come down from Paradise.

"Da!", Patrick exclaimed as his sire threw him up in the air and caught him.

www.alaska-in-pictures.com

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See You Next Month!

We hope you've enjoyed our stories.

 Stay happy,  Walk in the sunshine!  

Love your pets, and talk to your plants 

Revel in your family!  Treasure your friends!

  Splash in puddles!!

And always, always give thanks !

The Living Happy Writers Group