STORYTIME TAPESTRY

April 24, 2005

For all our Jewish subscribers, Happy Passover. Ron Gold is back with us to share two Jewish cultural stories. To my way of thinking one is mercy (Passover) and the other is revenge. He may disagree with me on this interpretation though.

Now on to the good stuff..........

Animal awareness series endorsed by Shiloh and Hank our mascots; all stories must receive their approval.

The 4^th of July Comes Early

Dianna Doles Petry

The day started at 5:15 this morning. I was not awakened by my favorite music channel playing on television as I prefer. I was startled by the thump, thump, thump of a flat hand pounding against my front door. Now, I might not have confessed to this before but there are times when I fall asleep wearing nothing but the towel I wrapped around me when I stepped out of the shower. I mention this fact because I nearly started through the house before I realized I was, how should I say this, catching a draft.

I grabbed a robe and headed for the front door. My mind was barely alert but I had the feeling of impending doom. What if there was a major flood while I slept? Were they evacuating homes for some reason? How would I get my mother up and moved? I looked at her as I continued through the house towards the front door. For the first time in weeks, she was sleeping peacefully instead of babbling the way she normally does.

I reached the front door to find my neighbor still pounding away. She nearly slapped me in the face because she had her head lowered as she hit the door with her hand and didn't notice that I had opened it. I heard my son yell from upstairs, "Forget it mom, it's the quack next door. Go back to bed." (Like that extra half hour would have made a lot of difference.)

"What's wrong?" I practically yelled at her as I moved back away from the hand that was comically locked in the pounding position.

"I come over here to tell ya that I got my goat outta your yard. He's been over here for God knows how long. I'm a takin' him home now." She said this as though it was perfectly normal for anyone to have a goat in their yard that had to be retrieved at that time of the morning. Then she added as she stepped off of the porch steps, "And I'm real sorry about your tool barn."

I didn't have time to respond before she got out the front gate and headed for her driveway. I closed the front door and headed for the back door to take a look at the shed. At first glance, it seemed to be just fine. I started to shut the back door when I heard Kyle saying something through one of the upstairs windows. I listened and he was telling Chris, "Oh my, Nana's going to be hotter than a firecracker on the Fourth of July."

I went back to my room, quickly dressed myself in jeans and a sweater and headed outdoors to have a look around. I got to the shed and saw the outside corner and wall that I hadn't been able to see from the kitchen. Apparently, the goat wanted to go into the dog pen with Spud. Instead of ramming Spud's gate, it had rammed the shed and then, from the looks of it, tried to eat it. That sure does put a whole new spin on the term "eating out."

I went back inside and got ready to get the boys off to school. While I was fixing their pancakes, I was entertaining ideas of how to get my shed repaired at the neighbor's expense. I knew that I would end up doing it myself but I kept thinking anyway.

I finally got the boys to school and then came home to start the daily chores. The guys stopped to get the riding mowers and the other things they needed and I just had to show them the shed. My brother laughed so hard that tears were streaming from his eyes and he started coughing. "You know, sissy," he said when he could breathe and talk at the same time again, "People have been calling you an old goat for years, now you have a goat for a boyfriend." Stop laughing, I didn't think it was funny at all!

Later in the morning, I went to run errands. Mother had already eaten and had her shower. She was taking her "one hour" nap that most generally last until about 2:30PM so I thought I could slip out for the fifteen or twenty minutes the errands would take and get right back. (Note to Dianna: it never pays for you to think.)

I came home to find her eating an orange sherbet push-up. I'm lucky that I saw her eating that one....after all, she had already eaten five of them before I got there! She had orange froth around her lips, trickling down her chin and beading up on her sweatshirt as it fell down her chest.

"Mother, what in the world are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm a havin' my dessert. I heard Kyle say it was the Fourth of July. My mother always gave us ice cream on the Fourth of July." The look in her eyes was wonderful. Now how could I tell her that it's only April? I really should have though......she was a bit upset that we didn't have a cookout!

I've worked all evening on taxes! Egad, I am glad they are over for now. I caught myself wondering if Uncle Sam would be to old to consider bartering for services instead me emptying my checking account.

Well, I'm exhausted and the it's almost midnight. I'd better find my way to the bed before some farm animal comes to visit me. I never thought I would end up living in Green Acres. Wait, I don't live in Green Acres. So why are there so many farm animals next door? Some questions were never meant to be answered. I did notice that the husband over there moved out and took the sheep with him. Only in my neighborhood! Sigh!

Love,

Dianna

Proud founder of:
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Today's Queue Stories
~**~**~**~

WAITING FOR ELIJAH:

An American Boy??�s Passover Memory

By Ron Gold

It took more than an hour to drive to a new old world in the 1940??�s. But, when we arrived at my grandparents??� apartment, we knew we??�d enjoy a lot of Passover treats, love and a touch of adventure. .

Passover had a lot going for it: quality family time with my parents and grandparents, appetizing food, an in-house religious service, songs, an exciting historical story, a chance for a young boy to shine, be loved and get closer to God.

Now that my parents and grandparents are gone, the Passover holidays stir vivid, happy memories I still hear, see and taste.

My father??�s parents lived in The Bronx (the northernmost borough of New York City). Their section of The Bronx was a world away from sophisticated Manhattan or my hometown in suburban Connecticut. My grandparents found comfort with the culture, look, sound and provincialism of the Bronx.: Their immigrant Bronx neighbors spoke Yiddish. The markets stocked kosher meats and foods. There were many synagogues (shuls) (without parking areas). And to a large degree, the area generally observed the Sabbath.

For me, coming to the Bronx from Connecticut was like going back in time to an Eastern

European shtetl (the Jewish quarter) where my dad was born.

My grandparents looked odd and Old World-ish. She was a short, thickly-built woman; maybe five feet tall; animated and smiling. He was a tall, gaunt, bearded Old Testament man. Six-feet, 140 pounds.

Grandpa (Zayde) was a scholar whose ideal day was spent praying and discussing scriptures and holy books with the elders in the synagogue.

My grandma (Bubbe) was a professional cook who worked at summer resorts in the Catskill Mountains of New York State and, during the cold months, hotels in Miami Beach, Florida..

Back home in Stamford, the ancient pious old men in my suburban synagogue called me ???an American boy??? because I was born in America and English was my native language. I would often ask these men what a Hebrew word or phrase meant. Their answer was always the same: don??�t ask, just read; a fast turnoff to an inquisitive young mind.

My Zayde was like the old Stamford Jews. If a word appeared in the Passover Hagudah (liturgy for the home seder service) it was meant to be read. He even read the songs in a sing-song voice, similar to a prayer chants. And, like so many European-born old men, he enjoyed his whiskey. I have been amazed by their capacity to hold their liquor and walk away as sober as when they entered the shul. While they toasted life (L.Chiam). these were not social drinkers. These were men who grew up in extremely cold countries and their bodies still relied on alcohol for warmth.

Women prepared for their Passover house seders while their husbands prayed in shul. My Bubbe would make sure the house was free of pre-Passover food. That the seder table was properly set. That there were plenty of matzos, the candlesticks and silverware shone like mirrors, the wineglasses sparkled and the special ceremonial foods were in their proper places.

She set her table with Passover linens, old country silverware and a special third set of dishes. (Normally an Orthodox Jew keeps two set of dishes: one for meat and a second set for dairy ??� except for this one holiday.)

Bubbe would scrub the floors then protect them with newspaper. Then she??�d prepare a meal fit for a tsar: chopped chicken liver, gefilte fish with red horseradish. chicken soup with lighter-than-air matzo balls and hand-cut noodles, carrots and other vegetables. Then roasted and boiled chicken with matzo stuffing and at least two vegetables. There was always sweet sacramental wine for all (children included). And a delicious cake made from unleavened matzo flour.

But before we ate, the youngest asked the eldest four questions (in Hebrew). The answers related

the story of Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt. I noticed a wry sadistic smile when Zayde

enunciated the ten plagues God heaped on the Egyptians. A sort of ???atta boy, God.???

A highlight for me was when the front door was opened so the prophet Elijah could be welcomed and share our feast. The door was opened each Passover but Elijah never entered my grandparents apartment. (Not in body but; perhaps in spirit.)

As we left to walk to our car (Zayde called it a ???machine???), we kissed my grandparents goodbye. Later, in the car, I??�d complain that Bubbe??�s kisses were wet. And that Grandpa had fish in his beard.

But my fondest memory of my grandfather was his unchanging answer to my question, ???How ???ya doin??� grandpa???? I??�d ask my question on each visit. His answer: not like 20 years ago.

As I age, I feel the old man??�s wisdom.

Ron Gold
outthinkresumes @aol.com

About Me:

Ron Gold has been writing professionally for some 50 years--in public relations,
advertising and motivation agencies. He now writes
inspirational and humorous stories for the Internet. He also creates
professional resumes from a recruiter's viewpoint, ethical wills and
personal love stories. He also edits college essays students submit
to undergraduate and graduate schools. He was graduated from the
UniversityofBridgeportand served as a Public Information Specialist
in theU.S.Army. He resides inWest Orange,NJHe can be reached at
outthinkresumes @aol.com

~**~**~

FOR CHESTER FALUCCI

By Ron Gold

How three schoolboys handed out medieval Jewish justice

in Stamford, Connecticut in 1938

We were Hart School??�s undisputed fifth grade marbles

champions: Bobby Plotkin, a skinny, bright boy with bug-

eyes, a slight stammer and a congenital heart condition;

Danny Feldman, a husky schoolyard athlete; and me, the

class clown.

Our marbles games were so momentous that, rather than

return home for a hot lunch, we would nibble brown bagged

sandwiches and gulp orange soda as we knuckled down in

the long, slender island of dirt that framed the school??�s

front lawn.

Chester Falucci, a classmate who lived directly across

the street from our school, was a giant??�twice as tall,

twice as loud and twice as bold as the three of us. And

Chester hated us for two reasons. First, we were much

better marble shooters. (While we??�d win his marbles every

time we played, the oversized hot-headed bully would often

reach down, scoop up any marbles left on the ground, and

run home, swearing at us in Italian and underscoring his

rage with vulgar arm salutes.

The second reason why Chester hated us could be told

in a single word: catechism. Chester was Roman Catholic.

We were Jews.

Chester wasn??�t religious, his parents were. And they

sent him to catechism classes and Sunday masses just as our

folks sent us to Hebrew School and Sabbath services.

In the late 30??�s, catechism classes taught hungry

young minds that the Jews killed Christ.

So, Cheater believed that Danny, Bobby and I were

worse than sinister marble shooters, we were also Christ

killers. The word ???Jew??? was a pejorative term to Chester,

who also viewed ???Jew??? as one half- or one-third of a larger

word.

My father, who ran a small candy store near Sacred

Heart Church, shattered the Christ-killer myth quickly and

simply. ???Why would Father Kelly and the nuns buy their

newspapers, candies and cigarettes from me if we killed

their savior? Doesn??�t make much senses, does it, son????

Dad taught me that this heritage of hatred has always

been the Jews??� destiny. As proof, Dad told me about the

Golem, a robotic man the rabbis built out of clay in

seventeenth century Czechoslovakia.

???The Golem would wreak havoc on the enemies of the

Jews. But he soon lost control and became a murderer. So

the rabbis had to destroy him. But the Golem, this man of

clay, could be brought back to help Jews--and then could be

retired.???

???That??�s what we need for Falucci,??? I said. ???A Golem.???

???Why? Because he steals your marbles????

???Yeah. And he yells and screams at Danny and me and

he pushes little Bobby around. And he also hates us because

we are Jews.???

Dad smiled. ???That??�s a few good reasons-??�but not good

enough to make a new Golem. Remember that vengeance always

comes back to haunt you. You can??�t escape it.???

I told the Golem story to Bobby and Danny.

???But where do we find a clay man???? Bobby asked.

???On my father??�s construction job,??? Danny said.

???There??�s always scraps on construction jobs. I??�ll get us

some clay??�or somethin??�.???

Danny came to school with a large, mottled, unevenly

worn clay brick, which he kept in his large marble sack.

We played marbles peacefully for two lunchtimes before

Chester harassed us again.

We won his marbles quickly. Then, in his rage, he

scooped up a few marbles still on the ground.

Danny passed his marbles sack to Bobby. ???Look Out!???

Danny yelled, drawing Chester??�s gaze toward him. Bobby

grabbed the brick and, with a round-house right, blindsided

him, smashing Chester hard on his temple. Chester, who was

built like a oversized beer keg with legs, doubled over,

gasped for air and moaned. His tree-trunk legs softened

into tangled strands of cooked linguine and he fell to the

ground, bleeding; his head stinging.

I offered him my hand. ???Did you see what I saw????

Chester was still groggy.

???I saw this big clay man ??� even bigger than you,??? I

said. ???And after he hit you, he ran across the street to

your house.???

Chester got to his feet and stumbled home, leaving his

purloined marbles on the ground. He never bothered us

again.

Bobby took possession to the clay brick and kept it

through his junior year at Princeton, where his childhood

heart condition proved terminal.

He willed our ???clay man??? to Army Lieutenant Colonel

Danny Feldman, who safeguarded it throughout two tours of

duty in Viet Nam plus a hitch in Iraq.

The postman delivered our Golem brick to my home

yesterday. Now, sadly, there is nobody left to share our

souvenir of Jewish justice??�except maybe Chester Falucci,

who really wouldn??�t understand or appreciate it.

~**~**~

WORKING MOMS

Kathy Whirity

Who works harder, a working mom or a stay at home mom? What if the stay at home mom also happens to make a living by taking care of children for career moms?

The debate is as about as long running as the fight women have fought to gain their independence in the working world.

The answer may vary greatly depending on who you talk to.

Stay at home moms, who make a living by caring for working moms' children, may seem to be a little envious of the freedom their counterparts seem to have. Career moms drop off the kids and head for the train. For the rest of the day they will they will enjoy nothing but adult conversations and have the ability to actually carry out a thought without the constant chatter of toddlers that have learned to equate tantrums with attention.

Working moms, on the other hand, have their own visions of what a luxury it must be to stay home. These busy moms pluck their babies from their warm, comfortable cribs with some regret. Though the sun is barely up they have a schedule to keep.

At the baby sitter's, her child will settle in to what has become a second home.

And as she hurries to catch her train, the career mom is just a wee bit envious that someone else will be receiving the hugs she'll only wish for.

Both are working moms, dedicated to their specialty just the same.

The other day I overheard a comment by a career mom that baby sitting is not a 'real' job. I found that statement to be a little bit amusing and so very far from the truth.

Not everyone has the maternal gift to lovingly nurture and care for someone else's children.

Having the ability to calm little one's fears, cheer a toddler's independent first steps, or rock a cranky baby to sleep are all attributes of a childcare provider.

Sometimes these women find themselves pitted against each other.

Stay at home moms who baby sit vs working moms with careers.

Each side views the other a little differently.

The job of care giver is not all baking cookies and story time. The feeling of claustrophobia can sometimes overwhelm a mom who is surrounded by the calamity of children, day in and day out.

And, likewise, spending a few hours each day commuting by train is not the luxury a homebound mom might think it is.

The reality of rushing to meet deadlines, while being accountable to a boss, leaves little time for the glorious misconception that career moms indulge in enchanting work days.

Whose job is more valuable? The jury is still out on that one.

But, if you look at it realistically, both sides need each other to accomplish the goal of a job well done--whatever that job may be.

Kathy Whirity

Kathy Whirity @ yahoo.com

Kathy Whirity is a newspaper columnist from Chicago where she lives with her

husband Bill of 28 years, her 2 daughters and her 2 rambunctious Retrievers, Hannah

and Holly. Kathy's writings can also be viewed online. She has been published in

Storytime Tapestry, Hearts with Soul, Warm Fuzzy Stories, and Write2theHeart,

She has contributed to "The Golden Formula, The Joy of Alzheimer's, When

Tears Are Dried With Laughter and "Journey of the Mind. Kathy welcomes your e-mails.

You may drop her a line at

Kathywhirity @yahoo.com

Writers Feedback

Carol, you are inviting the whole world to BARBADOS with your beautiful story. You fell in love with nature, the island; the sky; the moon??�

Georgewaters Ojeigbe ??� Lagos, Nigeria

READERS Response:

The Book Says by Bill Walker: Bill, you are a big clown. You better get yourself a cloak, a microphone and group of funky black American church choir then after each song you get on the pulpit and shout until the roofs comes down??� I love your story??� that is just the fact about the modern day pastors??� many turn the words to fit their teachings. To them it is one way pointer and not two way pointers. They make the blame face their congregation only instead of himself and the congregation. Church leaders always claim to be always right even when they are missing the track. And they quote the bible ???do not speak of your leader???. Its meaning is ???do not talk about the true man of God??� and not a fake hiding under the umbrella of Christ.

Bill, please what do you mean by the first man and woman were going in the birthday suits?

Oh, snake in heaven? I hate that creature called snake. I just hope that the heaven??�s version is going to be very different from the ones I see on earth here.

I just love your write up, it made me smiled today.

Thanks and hope to write more of such from year soonest!

Value of a Diamond by Bill Walker: Bill, you got the tears out of my eyes with this story. Although, Shirley Bassey (a British Singer who used to be the in thing for JAMES BOND 007Soundtracks) once sang the song ???diamond are for ever??�. But now I guess it??�s not so. Our diamonds could disappear forever.

The Swarner Walking Tour By Ken Swarner:Ken, I guess Ihave little knowledge about NY even though I haven??�t been there before inmy life. It is interesting to get thosedetails. Thanks.

GEORGEWATERS OJEIGBE ??� LAGOS, NIGERIA

Carol After this special writing, My Island, My Love and Me, I am ready to hit the beach--in the Caribbean, not California!

Barb

Announcements

Seeking pastors and writers to submit articles for a monthly Christian newspaper, which will begin Jan. 2006. Stories pertaining to the intervention of God's hand in people's lives and uplifting the Lord Jesus Christ. E-mail james4436@charter.net

Prayer Requests

I have yet another prayer request this evening. My son called and

informed me that my little daughter-in-law's brother died last night.

They are thinking perhaps a drug overdose. Will know more when

they do an autopsy.

Please keep my kids in your thoughts and prayers. I just called Rachel

and she was crying so hard. I could only think to turn to my friends and Sister's in Christ for help. This brother was only in his 20's. Rachel's

parent adopted him when he was tiny.

He just fell into the wrong crowd, but was doing so much better the

last time they saw him. He was clean, happy and they thought he was

finally going to kick this terrible addiction. He just went out with

friends last night and never came home.

Please keep Brett and Rachel in your prayers as they travel to New Mexico

to be with family at this sad time. Thaleanna delivered her little angel and is resting at home this evening. They are arranging for a grave side service!

Thank you all for your prayers. I am so happy that you are all here. I appreciate all the support and prayers you have already given to me and

my family.

Isn't it wonderful that we can get on this computer and type out a prayer request, help or whatever, and know your will receive whatever it is

you need. I have a strong testimony of prayer my Sisters.

Please pray with me now. I love you all. I love the fun times and love having

you here when we have to cry and go through the sad times.

~HUGS~Tonya

SENIOR WRITERS

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell;

Boda, Ginger; Bryant, Sharon; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Crider, Mark;

Deming, Barb; Goodier, Steve; Harris, Kathy Anne; Hunt, Sharlette;

Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Jenkins, Pamela;

Liles, Norma; Mazzella, Joe; Ojeigbe, Georgewaters;

Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam;

Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gorden K;

Whirity, Kathy; White, Robert;

STORYTIME TAPESTRY STAFF

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Moderator: Thelma Hartselle-co founder

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