Stories from the Late October issue of The People's Press

Double shot of Bill – An amazing growth of writing in 4 years!
22 Diamonds and Dreams Come True - (2006) By Bill Mercuri
“Yes, there’s a heaven. It’s the place dreams come true.” Field of Dreams
I once thought, and might have even written it down somewhere, that heaven was in Flushing Meadows. That was where Shea Stadium, home to the heroes of my youth, the New York Mets, was located. I was off by a couple of hundred miles. Heaven is really in Cooperstown, New York, where you’ll find Cooperstown Dreams Park. With the lush green Adirondack mountains as a backdrop and 22 baseball diamonds, complete with dugouts, lights, and fan viewing areas as its centerpiece, Cooperstown Dreams Park plays host to hundreds of youth baseball teams from across the country and around the world. Every summer, for 11 weeks from June through August, thousands of twelve-year-olds, mostly boys, but a few girls, too, descend on this sprawling complex to realize the dream of their young lives; a week of nothing but high fastballs and low line drives, of diving catches and daring steals, all played on the finest diamonds in the quiet little town where the great game was born. The park is itself the realization of a dream. Lou Presutti III, a 50-something-year-old man, of average build and dark features befitting of his Italian heritage, remembers his grandfather telling him that every kid in America should have the chance to play baseball in Cooperstown. He said that when Lou was just five years old while they were visiting the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. The words stuck, and after Lou’s grandfather died in 1992, he actively pursued the dream and brought it to life in the form of this magnificent facility in the summer of 1996. The park, with its beautifully manicured fields, concession stands, hospitality tents, baseball village and Cooperstown Dreams Park souvenir shop spreads out nicely over countless acres of what looks to have once been farmland off state Route 28. Believe it or not, you might miss it if you’re not paying attention. If you’re heading east and pass Rock of Ages headstone sales located right across the street from the cemetery, you’ve gone too far. If you hit the steakhouse with the great little bar and jukebox that whines country music from years gone by, you’ve still gone too far, but you might want to stop in; it’s the unofficial food and drink exchange of coaches, umpires and parents throughout the week. Once inside the park you’ll have the opportunity to hear Lou talk passionately about his grandfather, an Italian immigrant, and his love of baseball, a game he learned to play well enough that he played semi-professionally for many years. He’ll tell you of his grandmother being a five Gold Star mother during World War II, her five boys, one of them Lou’s father, fighting for our freedom. You soon realize that this week will be as much about tradition as it is baseball. I’m at the park during the ninth week of competition this summer. There are 96 teams competing, but they can’t play baseball all day. So what do 96 teams, each made up of an average of 12 players and an over-stuffed staff of coaches, do after the final out is in the books? If there are no more games scheduled for the day and there’s enough daylight left they can meet up with the rest of their families and head down Route 28 to the center of Cooperstown and its beautifully restored homes, many shops, and, of course, the Baseball Hall of Fame. Most downtime is spent in the baseball village. It’s a true village in many respects. Bunkhouses line neatly paved asphalt lanes. There are friendly, familiar faces at every turn. A large, sweeping hospitality tent serves as a combination diner, town common, and late night movie theater. This is my first trip to Cooperstown Dreams Park. I’m there as an umpire, invited by the Avon (CT) Athletics. To participate in the tournament each team must supply an umpire. Because of their traditional blue uniforms, umpires are commonly called “blue.” Familiar references are “You’ve got to be kidding me, blue” or, “Blue, you must be blind.” Every once in a while a scowling coach will begrudgingly mumble, “Good call, blue.” Umpires are the game’s policemen, impartial arbiters vested with the power to have the final say. They are great fans of the game, its history and its traditions. More than anything, umpires are a close-knit fraternity who take great pride in the work they do. Following a short orientation and clinic on Saturday, umpires are assigned to crews of four or five. Each crew is then assigned to work one of the 22 fields for the week. The umpires live in the baseball village where we mix right in with the players and coaches. Our bunkhouses are bunched together at one end of the complex. It’s like our “section” of the village. Besides it being my first trip to the park, I’m a rookie in other respects, too. Some of my colleagues are here for the sixth or seventh time. There are even some who haven’t missed a summer since the inaugural season of 1996. Experiencewise I’m dwarfed both in longevity and depth of knowledge by almost everyone around me. Sam Inman, an outgoing, upbeat schoolteacher from Charlotte, NC, does more games in two weeks than I do all summer. While I’ve been cutting my teeth over the past three years on Little League and Babe Ruth baseball, Sam’s been crisscrossing the south calling high level American Legion and college games. Intimidating? For about a minute. To Sam and the rest of my brothers I was one of them, no questions asked. We all learn from one another, and over the course of the week we offer one another nothing but encouragement, support, advice, and more than enough good-natured ribbings. The umps display a great deal of comfort in their little piece of the village. You can usually find them sitting in small groups of two or three outside the barracks trading stories while engaging in an age-old ritual of any uniformed professional – polishing their black shoes to a glistening shine. Others, like one of my bunkmates, Gary Cenna from Philadelphia, seek refuge from the midday sun by sitting in the cooler brick building. Gary reads the rule book aloud like poetry. Umpires can be eccentric. The bunkhouses, rows and rows of them totaling about 60 in all, are evenly spaced with a thin swath of grass between them. The layout reminds me of a picture my father once showed me of Pine Camp, NY, where he reported for basic training before heading off to Europe and World War II. I have a hunch we’re going to have more fun at this camp. Each house is numbered and lettered and bears an oversized baseball trading card to the left of its screen door entrance. In most cases, the number on the barracks matches the number of the uniform worn by the baseball legend that graces the card. My address is 32A, Sandy Koufax. 42A is Jackie Robinson. Roberto Clemente strikes a proud pose at 21A. “You know, Clemente only let a few people call him ‘Bob,’” a fellow villager says to me as a way of breaking the ice. “He insisted on ‘Roberto.’” “Didn’t know that,” I said. Always impressed with that kind of detail, I know that I’m among friends. Baseball friends. Each house is furnished with a dozen or so brown metal bunkbeds fitted with metal springs and a thin plastic mattress. A week on one of these is sure to finance a chiropractor’s summer home. A molded plastic footlocker sits at the foot of the bed. We’re told to bring our own linens, blankets, and a small fan. We’re not told that the odds are good that at least one of the 14 or 15 other guys in your house will snore. Next time, bring earplugs. You won’t need an alarm clock; the sound of baseballs pinging off aluminum bats will wake you. The kids are excited to hit the fields and get to the batting cages early preparing for the day’s first games. The handful of female players and umpires bunk together in the Rockford Peaches bunkhouse, named for the legendary team from the Women’s Professional Baseball league of the 1940’s. There is the fully equipped Moonlight Graham infirmary where the staff is prepared for the worst but most often attend to scrapes and sprains of the players and the creaky joints of aging coaches and umpires. Community showers and bathrooms, definitely not for the squeamish, are centrally located. Add shower sandals to your survival kit list. The Dreams Park baseball office acts as the Village Hall. Outside of the office and at other points around the park are well-organized bulletin boards containing important information, such as game schedules, field assignments, Cooperstown activities, and up-to-the-minute game results, team records and rankings. It’s where the tournament buzz takes place. Like college students trying to view just-posted exam scores, players and coaches crowd around the glass-enclosed boards, jockeying for position, peering over and around each other, heads bobbing up and down to get the best view. If the village has an official business it’s the business of pin trading. Each team has had a uniquely designed team pin. Every player is provided with a limited supply of his team’s pin. Even the umpires are given a decent sized plastic bag full of umpire pins allowing them to interact with the next generation of great deal makers. Gathered on corners, spread out on a grassy field or squatting in the middle of a blacktop intersection, the traders start early in the day and give the park the feel of a Middle Eastern market. The goal is to acquire a pin from every team. Just as it is on the field, the competition is fierce. Like a real world commodity market, supply and demand, real or imagined, sets the market price of a pin. In week nine the most coveted pin is the “quarter” pin from Lakeville, Minnesota, which has as its center the Minnesota state quarter. The kids are having as much fun with the pins as they are with the bats and balls. A father, whose son’s team had been having a tough week on the field, managed a small smile as he told me how much his boy loved the pin trading. I nodded and said, “He’s learning more than baseball here this week. He’s learning how to talk to people, to negotiate, to make business deals.” The dad nodded back, his thin smile broadening. “That’s true. I didn’t think of it that way.” But if there’s one thing that stands out in the village, it’s the sounds. One afternoon while sitting outside of the hotel Sandy Koufax in one of the many green plastic lawn chairs that are scattered between the barracks, I heard one sound in particular. It was the sound of kids playing. I’m talking about backyard or in the street kind of playing. Playing that requires them to make up games and establish rules. Sounds of laughter and frantic yells for a still-rolling ball fill the air of an unblemished blue sky as the runner rounds the cardboard square and streaks for the bare spot in the grass, the imaginary runner having already scored. The sound makes me smile remembering a time when this was the norm. These sounds echo around streets and fields of Dreams Park all week long. The power of imagination and creativity is amazing when electronic games, television, and the Internet are absent. I’ve taken a week of vacation to volunteer and will umpire three to four games a day, mostly in midday heat, bunk with a bunch of snoring, middle-aged men, eat cafeteria food off a Styrofoam tray, and shower in a giant pool of hungry bacteria. And I can’t wait to get started. When it comes to baseball, everything about Cooperstown Dreams Park is first rate. The fields are incredibly well maintained considering the number of games played on them throughout the 11-week summer schedule. The atmosphere, with fan viewing areas stretching down the first and third base lines to the right and left field foul poles, can be riveting. Every game starts with six brand-new baseballs, each stamped with the Dreams Park red, white and blue logo. There are two parts to the week. The first half of the week begins on Sunday and runs through midday on Wednesday. During this time, teams play seven games in pool play. After pool play is complete, teams will be ranked based on overall record and average runs allowed. The team with the best record and least average runs allowed will be ranked number 1 with the worst overall team getting the lowest ranking. They’ll then be paired off in a single elimination tournament with the championship game being played under the lights at Championship Stadium following closing ceremonies. Top seeds get byes into the later rounds while the real Cinderellas need to scratch out three wins on Wednesday just to get to the quarterfinals and hopefully beyond on Thursday. Following a Saturday night of Olympic style opening ceremonies, with teams parading into a jam-packed stadium, and an all-star type skills competition, the games begin on Sunday. On Sunday morning a thin veil of fog lifts from the park like a curtain rising on a Broadway show. The early morning air is crisp and soaked with anticipation. Teams and families have come from every corner of the country and Canada. From the Southwick (MA) Scream to the Bloomington (MN) Bandits, the Rappahannock (VA) Eagles to the Ronkonkoma (NY) Cardinals, the Toluca (CA) Titans to the South Jersey Sandsharks, America’s game has called them to a very special place where they’ll live their dream in the days to come. At 8:30 a.m., 22 games on 22 fields start simultaneously. Before a pitch is thrown, the National Anthem is played from a central location in the park so that it can be faintly heard at all venues. Players and coaches line the baselines and respectfully remove their caps. Tradition. The teams are dressed out in Dreams Park issued red or blue jerseys and matching cap. Baseball pants are white and must be worn at the knee showing off solid red or blue athletic socks. Tradition. The message is clear; it’s the player in the uniform and not the uniform itself that matters. Baseball tradition. Most of the boys are 12 years old and will be moving from the 60-foot bases of little league to the 90-foot bases of higher levels of play next year. The fields at Cooperstown Dreams Park help them take that step gradually. The bases are 75 feet, and pitcher’s mound not quite at the big league distance of 60 feet, 6 inches from home plate. Developing muscles, especially arms, run a lower risk of injury. All other rules such as leading off the bases are just like the major leagues. In fact, the tournament as the “little majors.” One thing is very evident from the first pitch I see on field 10: every single one of these kids wants to be here. They love to play. They love the game. The smile is the official logo worn by every player. There are plenty of talented kids on display this week, and while the range of talent is broad, the level of play is generally pretty good. But the more I talk to people, the more I’m discovering that the dream doesn’t necessarily exist in wins and losses. The essence of the dream is in the stories that are playing out and the lessons that are being learned. My first game that Sunday is as home plate umpire for a game involving the Alaska Quakes. Mike Keiffer, a hulking man with a deep voice that fits his frame, coaches the team from the third base coaches box. I had a chance to talk with him the night before and learned that this will be the first game that his kids will play together as a team. In Alaska, they play for only about a month, and none of his boys have ever played a game under artificial lighting. They play a night game or two this week, and just that in itself will be a dream come true. Mike has been involved for several years, and the constant energy required to raise money and maintain fields and schedule games and tournaments and grow the league may wear on him, but he knows it’s all worthwhile when one of his players tell him that this is the “best time of his life, so far.” Throughout the game, a close game in which the Quakes would play well but lose, Mike claps his hands together and offers encouragement and some light-hearted chatter to his boys. “Guys, this is the first game this year we haven’t had moose walking across the field! And who’s on bear watch?” The city kids in the opposing dugout are from just outside of Philadelphia. They look at him like he’s from another world. In many respects he and his Quakes are. When I’m not umping a game, I like to walk the park and catch some of the other games. On Wednesday, another flawless day on the weather front, I hear what sounds like maracas coming from the fan section of field 8. I pop my head in to investigate. It’s the supporters of the Gulf Coast Braves and their makeshift noisemakers, empty plastic water bottles filled with pebbles. They also have a small boom box that plays only one tract, the annoying tomahawk chop chant made famous by the Atlanta Braves. But when you think dreams this week, you have to put this team and its fans at the top of the list. The Gulf Coast Braves are from Gulfport, Mississippi. Most of the boys on the team lost their homes in hurricane Katrina not even a year ago. For them to be in Cooperstown this week is more a miracle than a dream. What happened last September might still be fresh in their minds and will have long-lasting effects on their lives, but on this day their attention is on playing a game and living a dream that will let them, at least temporarily, put the hardships of last September out of mind. Mediocre during pool play, the Braves are seeded fairly low but are starting to gel in the single elimination tournament. They’ve already won once and are on the verge of knocking out the much higher seeded West Hartford (CT) All-Stars. Next up is an 8:00 p.m. game against a top 10 team, the Raleigh Redwings. Winning that game would be a tall order and would move the miracle team to Thursday’s quarterfinals. I’ll check back later. On my way to another game, passing by a crowded concession stand where Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s on First” broadcasts from the speakers, I’m intercepted by a few of my new umpire buddies. They want to head into town to the steakhouse and have a few beers. A slight twist of the arm convinces me. There’ll be plenty baseball tomorrow, and I can check the bulletin board to see how the Gulfport vs. Raleigh game turns out. At the steakhouse bar there are a few locals sprinkled in the crowd of patrons who would otherwise not be here but for the Dreams Park. With me are three of my closest running mates for the week. Besides Carolina Sam, who will share some southern culture with me by explaining in detail the difference between liver pudding and liver mush, is Dave Palenshus, a former Navy man from Ridgefield, Washington. Dave and I logged a lot of miles around the park during the week and shared more than a few beers and laughs. Richard Redding is just what you would expect from someone from the small town of Bessemer City, North Carolina. He’s the colt of the umpire stable. Barely 22 years old, Richard has a Huck Finn type appearance, looking like he just came strolling down a dirt road or out of a countryside creek. He has an unbridled enthusiasm and love for baseball and a North Carolina drawl to complete his character. We all have game assignments in the morning, yet we let time slip away. By the time we get back to the village it’s 1:00 a.m. The fog we are so used to seeing in the waking hours of the day is just now arriving, settling in over the Mercury vapor lights on field 10. Lights at 1:00 a.m.? Why are there still lights on and a crowd so boisterous that it sounds like thousands rather than the hundred or so that’s really there? On the way to investigate, we run into Marty Glynn who has just called the game. Gulfport and Raleigh battled for 11 innings - six is regulation - with the Redwings ending the Brave’s impressive run. The kids left homeless by Katrina have a new home and many new fans in Cooperstown. Thursday is the final day of competition. Quarter- and semifinal games take place in the morning and afternoon, and the championship game under the lights at a packed championship stadium. Making it through to the title game are the Chicago North All Stars and the Arizona Stealth. But before they square off, there are closing ceremonies. The umpires lead the parade into the stadium. As we gather and wait for this grand event to get under way, we shake hands and exchange contact information, expressing what a pleasure the week had been and hoping to see each other again next year during the same week nine. I pass around a baseball with the Cooperstown Dreams Park logo on it for all the guys to sign: Phil Nelson, a proud grandfather from Wichita, Kansas. Alex Estefan, “El Cubano,” from Chicago. His father left Castro’s Cuba for a better life and brought the love of baseball with him, passing it on to his son. Lou Girolamo, an IRS agent from Syracuse. Chick DeLoach, a soft-spoken southern gentleman from King George, Virginia. The parade approaches the entrance to the field. We are introduced to the crowd one by one and run on a white carpet from the third baseline out toward second base where we shake the hand of Lou Presutti, the original dreamer. Lou thanks you and hands you a ring. It’s a ring of the class ring variety, complete with a green stone, green as the surrounding mountains and diamond infields. Inscribed is “AYB (American Youth Baseball) Hall of Fame. Cooperstown. Little Majors.” Every umpire, player and coach will receive one with which to remember this incredible week. After some final handshakes and good byes, I decide to get an early start home. I slowly roll down the long winding driveway, reluctant to wake up from my own dream. Before turning left onto magical Route 28, I take one last look in the rearview mirror. The lights are on, the stadium full, and the dreamers are still dreaming.
Baseball on the Radio – Those were the days! (2003)
By Bill Mercuri
Before there were 573 channels, satellite dishes, and digital cable. Before television came to us in “living color” and yes, before television period, baseball was our national pastime, and the voices of radio brought it to life. As we enter October, the month named after Reggie Jackson, pennant races will wind down while the World Series kneels in the on-deck circle. I think back to the summer that just blew past and how I enjoyed listening to Joe Castiglione and Jerry Trupiano, my two pals who occupy the broadcast booth at Red Sox games, home and away, from April to October. Listening to them call the game gives you the feeling that you’re sitting right there in the bleachers as the action is recreated in your mind. Baseball is so much more suited for radio rather than television. Those who say that baseball is boring have most likely only experienced it on television. Even with cameras mounted on the umpire and catcher or the convenience of instant replay, baseball on television is one-dimensional, not able to capture all of the nuances that make the game what it is. To refer to the broadcasters as simply announcers is so unfair. They are storytellers. The cadence and inflection of their voice, the use of crowd noise, pausing at just the right moment to create a moment of suspense, are all props that they use to shape our imaginations. That’s the beauty of it. We have to think, imagine, daydream, in a sense. They make us “see” the third baseman “creeping in” to protect against a possible bunt; the ball sailing just over the out-stretched glove of a diving shortstop or a home run “bending” around the foul pole. This is how baseball should be experienced. In the days when radio was king, now legendary voices were as much a part of the baseball fan’s life as the players themselves. Red Barber, in Brooklyn, Jack Buck in St. Louis, Mel Allen with the Yankees, and Jack Brickhouse with the Cubs made life-long fans of an entire generation in the cities in which they practiced their trade. Roger Kahn, in his book “The Boys of Summer,” describes listening to Brooklyn Dodger games on the radio in his room as a young boy, and as the action was being described he would open his window and could hear the roar of the crowd coming from nearby Ebbets Field. He lived and died with the Dodgers, and radio was the link between him and his heroes. The portability of the radio itself allows us to take the game with us wherever we go, whatever we’re doing. On the porch, in the car, at the beach, we’re at the game. And since the game is always with us, we’re able to remember where we were when the impossible happened. In 1986 the Red Sox were on the verge of having their season end at the hands of the California Angels, down to their last strike in this playoff series. I was driving between Champaign, Illinois and Chicago with a Red Sox fan from Boston. Already resigned to defeat, we nearly drove off the road in jubilation when Dave Henderson knocked a Donnie Moore pitch over the left field wall to give the Sox new life in a game they would go on to win. Maybe listening to the game in the car is hazardous to your health! So as the play-offs and fall classic approach, why not give radio a try. Kick back, have a beer, turn off the TV, and enjoy the drama as presented by today’s artists of the airwaves.

Unedited Following – Old Stories
Hoppy Halloween (or, The Best Costumes I’ll Never Be Able to Pull Off)
By Maura K. Ammenheuser
My 2-1/2-year-old son picked out his Halloween costume. He’s dressing as frog this year. Since bringing home his little green fleece suit, he’s hopped happily around the house. “Hey, Ryan, what do you say on Halloween?” I asked him, meaning “trick or treat!” and “thank you.” “Rrribbitt!” So much for etiquette. As my son leapfrogs through the family room, I long for a costume, too. Something ingenious. Like one of my high school friends who showed up at a party wearing a white sweat suit bedecked with, well, garbage. “Ron, what are you supposed to be?” (Are you ready?) “White trash!” Or the coworker who pasted cereal boxes all over a unitard and secured her chignon with knives. She was, of course, a “cereal killer.” (How is it that my fondness for bad puns never inspired bring-down-the-house get-ups for myself?) Well, if Ryan can become a rrribbitting amphibian for a few hours, there are definitely some people I’d like to be for a day. For instance: Martha Stewart. I’d bleach my hair, sprinkle my speech with some fake highfalutin’ accent (i.e., “mar-i-NAHD,” meaning the mystery goop I slop onto chicken two seconds before grilling it) and decorate my house with handmade gold-plated beaded marzipan jack-o-lantern luminaries, which can be eaten later with a drizzle of raspberry truffle Dom Perignon sauce, kept chilling in the fridge for just such an occasion. The real appeal of being Martha, of course, is that she obviously maintains an invisible army of kitchen and garden trolls who do all the chopping, mixing, peeling, tinting, vacuuming, scrubbing, scraping, digging and cursing for her behind the scenes, so good ol’ Martha never looks bad, kills the tomato plants or burns the house down. Where can I get some of those? Do they have them at Kmart, in housewares? The Bad Hair Fairy. Oh, you know what she looks like. Skinny, with blue acrylic nails, a naval ring and a dyed-red, sexy tousle of shiny hair you know required an entire can of mousse to control but nonetheless looks fantastic. You think, wow, this chick can cut some hair. She sure can. The Bad Hair Fairy chops off your bangs 10 seconds after you tell her you just want a trim, hacks inch-long layers into the tresses you’ve been growing out for a year, teases your locks into a poodle-like frizz the likes of which you haven’t seen since that perm you got in junior high, pops her gum, says, “Oh, this looks cute on you” as you’re passing out from shock and then charges you $35. You’ll know it’s me at your door as the Bad Hair Fairy when I shout, “trick or treat!” and blast you in the face with hair spray. Oprah Winfrey. She gets paid zillions to talk, discuss, blab, yakkity yak, then talk some more. Oh yeah, and to read books. How did I miss out on this gig? Everybody loves her (cattle ranchers notwithstanding). And she’s gorgeous even when she’s fat. For this costume I need the hair du jour, designer clothes, a rich boyfriend and a studio audience of five dozen women with whom I can bond. Madonna. This disguise takes some long-term planning. I’ll need to work out with a personal trainer for a few years, perfect enough yoga moves to allow acrobatic writhing on an arena stage, burden two children with the most hideous names possible and when things get dull, piss off the Pope. On the other hand, the actual outfit involved should be easy. It could be anything. Geisha robes, metallic bustier, flouncy wedding dress, an iron lung. Whatever. Seriously. Would anything Madonna wears surprise you? The Boss from Hell. This costume’s tricky. After all, Bosses From Hell have more than one look. So the key to this impersonation lies in the behavior. Eye twitches and A.D.D.-like hyperactivity are good clues. But to pull off this act, I’d concentrate on the unpredictable nature of the beast. For example, the Boss From Hell asks politely for your permission to use your latest professional faux pas as a learning tool during the next staff meeting, then shrilly eviscerates you in front of 30 colleagues; interrupts your Easter dinner, urgently demanding your presence at the office to handle what you later discover was a minor incident that unfolded nowhere near your customers; or dumps three days’ worth of work on your desk at noon on Friday and after you stay late to complete it, rants that you’re racking up unauthorized O.T. and you need better time management skills. Yes, the Boss from Hell is a truly frightening figure, very appropriate for Halloween. She comes complete with productivity charts, an armload of Steven Covey books and a cattle prod. Yikes – I’m scaring myself. Maybe it’s best that I just experience Halloween through the eyes of my toddler after all. His greatest glee is hopping up the stairs; his worst nightmares involve nothing more torturous than having his toenails clipped. Maybe this year I’ll dress up as something that doesn’t require advance planning, lots of practice or a menacing, heebie-jeebie look. I’ll just tour the neighborhood as a somewhat disheveled, scatterbrained but well-meaning wife and mother. I’ll carry a video camera, a flashlight and warm fuzzies in my heart. I won’t wear a cute froggy costume. But still, this Halloween will be positively rrribbitting. A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort. -Herm Albright

THE THIRD KEY
By Alice Mary Scott
Don’t think that marriage is always a journey of togetherness. You know better, so when I say I started the journey of my life alone—don’t question that. I have only three keys on my key ring for all the locks in my life. Perhaps my world is oversimplified, but simplification is something I strive for and this is where I’ve arrived. My home and my car key are mandatory. In today’s world, locking both is a necessity. The third key not only complicates my life, but is the only complication therein. It unlocks my mother’s door—my childhood home until the age of 21 when I married, left home and started the journey of my life alone. Mom is also alone now, and although she’s led a full life, at 84 she’s becoming a bit confused. She’s overwhelmed easily by simple things such as receiving a stack of mail; sorting the bills from stacks of junk—too afraid to just throw the bulk of it out for fear of missing something important. Yet, I find bills that have gone unpaid for months when there’s no financial reason for it. Her paper shredder is the enemy here—one she likes to blame for the misplacement of important papers—as though it was the shredder’s fault that something has gone missing. The key to mom’s door is used frequently. At one time, I would never have entered my parents’ home without knocking or ringing the bell and waiting for an answer. I still knock or ring, but enter immediately to save my mom a painful trip to let me in. Entering has become painful for me as well as complicated. Painful because my memories were always wonderful; family, good food, holidays packed with good friends and neighbors along with my siblings and their spouses. Those memories will, unfortunately, be tempered with the present situation in the, hopefully, many more years to come. My younger sisters and I take turns popping in on mom to check that she’s still able to care for herself, help with the cleaning and laundry, even the cooking when it becomes necessary. It’s obvious the day will come when she’s going to have to face leaving her home of almost 60 years. We’re attempting to help her plan for it, knowing that the move will wrench her life from its self-imposed solitude, pleasant reminiscences and daydreams. She’s happy now, but will she be happy in whatever Assisted Living Facility we ultimately decide on? I hope and pray for her continued happiness. This key and mom’s needs complicate my life, but it’s not really a chore. She’s a wonderful person—giving and loving, intelligent and resourceful. We love her dearly, and this slow deterioration is painful to watch. I find that I’m not enjoying writing about that third key and what it symbolizes for me. Soon, I’ll have only two keys and my life will be simple again—emptier. When my childhood home is gone to someone else, a young family perhaps, it will again serve its original purpose of giving shelter to a family with children: its big yard ringing with laughter once more, its rooms filled with struggling students, wonderful aromas from the kitchen, holidays again filled with friends and family.
Oh, who am I kidding? Even though I left years ago, I knew the place would still be there. It will be almost as much of an emotional wrench for me as for my mom. One of my anchors will be gone.

MY YOUTHFUL DAYS FISHING
by Francis W. Lappert
I was 12 years old and my young brother was 10 when our father told us to catch a can of night crawlers and he would take us bullhead fishing at Meremere Reservoir. We did so, and he rigged up several tarred drop lines, as he didn’t have any fishing poles. We took off and walked to the north end of the reservoir, as this was his favorite spot to catch a mess of bullheads. We followed a path down the west side until he came to his favorite spot. Each of our lines was about 60 feet long with a two-ounce sinker on the end to help us throw it out. Our father, who was an expert with the line, caught the first fish, a nice one about 12 inches long. After dealing with several tangled lines, my brother and I got the hang of it and managed to get several fish, added to what our father caught, we quit when we had a dozen. Our mother fried them up the next day for supper. After a few more trips with him, he let us go by ourselves. At that time Meremere had a great quantity of small-mouth bass. We asked our older brother, who was an expert fisherman, what would be the best bait to catch them. He told us small green frogs or crayfish. He said the best place to catch the frogs was in the swamp for their food. The crayfish we could get in the reservoir by lifting up flat stones along the shore. We both supplied our family with many a fish dinner. I’ve got to mention the fact that the park seemed to be a breeding ground for the copperhead snakes. We killed many of them even where the swimming pool now stands. Quite a few years later, when fishing by myself on the west side of the reservoir among the huge rocks on the shore, I had a dozen small frogs in my bait pail. I had just landed a nice two-pound bass and was reaching for the pail in back of me for another frog to bait the hook. My hand froze in mid-air for there in back of the pail was a large copperhead. I reached for a nearby rock, but he saw me move, and slithered down among the rocks. Needless to say, I got away from there fast. The area between Hubbard Park and the south end of the reservoir seemed to hold most of the snakes. I have never encountered a rattlesnake in all my hiking in these woods, but my sister Rose killed a 42- inch rattler while waking in the woods near the halfway house we call Fair View. It had eight buttons. I recall in later years someone introduced large-mouth bass and also pickerel to Meremere reservoir. The fishing improved tremendously. I once caught a seven-pound twelve-ounce bass on a black jitterbug plug fishing at night. I would like to mention also that Peregrine Falcons used to nest on the crags on the west side of the reservoir and once saw one carrying a large snake in its talons back to its nest on the cliff. There also used to be the red-tail hawks that were always trying to get one of our chickens in the backyard, but our father chased them away with his 12-gauge shotgun. A final note: Meriden has five water supply reservoirs, two of them teeming with fish, Meremere and Broad Brook. It’s tragic not one of them is a not available to local fishermen.

TAKE HOLD OF EVERY MOMENT
A friend of mine opened his wife’s underwear drawer and picked up a silk paper wrapped package: “This,” he said, “isn’t any ordinary package.” He unwrapped the box and stared at both the silk paper and the box. “She got this the first time we went to New York, eight or nine years ago. She has never put it on, was saving it for a special occasion. Well, I guess this is it. He got near the bed and placed the gift box next to the other clothing he was taking to the funeral house; his wife had just died. He turned to me and said: “Never save something for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion.” I still think those words changed my life. Now I read more and clean less. I sit on the porch without worrying about anything. I spend more time with my family, and less at work. I understood that life should be a source of experiences to be lived up, not survive through. I no longer keep anything. I use crystal glasses every day. I’ll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket, if I feel like it. I don’t save my special perfume for special occasions; I use it whenever I want to. The words “Someday…” and “One Day...” are fading away from my dictionary. If it’s worth seeing, listening or doing, I want to see, listen or do it now. I don’t know what my friend’s wife would have done if she knew she wouldn’t be there the next morning. This nobody can tell. I think she might have called her relatives and closest friends. She might call old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I’d like to think she would go out for Chinese, her favorite food. It’s these small things that I would regret not doing. If I knew my time had come, I would regret it, because I would no longer see the friends I would meet, letters... letters that I wanted to write “One of these days.” I would regret and feel sad, because I didn’t say to my brothers and sons, not times enough at least, how much I love them. Now, I try not to delay, postpone or keep anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives. And, on each morning, I say to myself that this could be a special day. Each day, each hour, each minute, is special. Stop saying “One of these days.” Remember that “One day” is far away... or might never come...

“Sheltering an Animal’s Perspective”by Gregory M. Simpson, Vice-President - Meriden Humane Society, Inc.
It’s simple really. Make a promise. Keep a promise. It’s a big responsibility but a small thing to ask in order to receive unconditional love in return. Yet animal shelter staff look daily into the faces of animals where these promises were not kept. It does not matter whether the animal is purebred or not, as an estimated 25% of dogs in animal shelters are purebred, such as the one belonging to a man who appeared at a Wal*Mart Fill-a-Truck event and asked if the shelter would take his Chihuahua for which he had reportedly spent $800. “I don’t have time for it anymore,” he offered shamelessly. We live in a throwaway society where we don’t bother to fix things anymore. We just throw them away and get new ones. Unfortunately, this is not only true for inanimate objects. A man came to the shelter asking to trade in his older cat, which was incurring veterinary bills, for a “newer model.” We had to have a conversation about the word “commitment.” Make a promise. Keep a promise. College students going on summer break, folks closing up their summer homes for the season, couples having babies, people moving, the list goes on…..all reasons some animals become homeless. It’s just easier than fulfilling the commitment that was made. Make a promise. Keep a promise. We live in a society where the Humane Society of the United States estimates that there are three to four million adoptable dogs and cats are killed each year. Again, that’s three to four million killed. Shelters that kill animals prefer the term “euthanasia.” The dictionary defines euthanasia as “the act or practice of killing or permitting the death of hopelessly sick or injured individuals (as persons or domestic animals) in a relatively painless way for reasons of mercy.” These are not hopelessly sick or injured animals. They are three to four million adoptable animals. Kill shelters prefer that no-kill shelters call themselves “open ended” shelters rather than no-kill. Words are powerful. Do not partake in putting a spin on reality in order to salve consciences. Once I spoke to a presenter at a humane society association conference after her workshop. She defended the role of kill shelters as “necessary.” “Someone has to do it,” she said as definitively as one would say the sky is blue. “I will never accept that premise,” I responded. “It’s all a matter of priorities,” I added. We live in a country where federal taxes are allocated 28.5% to the military and 1.4% for environmental protection. We could do more for the animals if there was the public will to do so. There is a qualitative difference between “people who like animals” and “animal people.” People who like animals think it would be a nice idea to have a pet – until another idea comes along and the animal is no longer convenient. Animal people would no more give up their companion animal than they would their child. With people who like animals, it is often more about them, than it is about the animal – hence the purchase of so many purebreds. Buying animals from breeders or pet stores only perpetuates atrocities like puppy mills and condemns an equal number of shelter animals to death. In contrast, animal people want to care for those needing homes, recognizing that loving, adoptable shelter animals come in all sizes and colors. People who like animals spend their weekends bringing their purebreds to dog and cat shows to win ribbons. Animal people spend their free time volunteering at animal shelters to help dogs and cats that are not their own. People who like animals think it would be a nice idea to have a pet – until it costs them money. Animal people find a way to care for their companion animal, no matter how meager their means. In New Haven I often see two homeless men pushing shopping carts full of empty soda cans. Each has a dog with him. One can tell by observing that the dog means the world to him. One even had cut out a shirt for his dog to wear. These men are animal people. It is not about money. It is about commitment. Make a promise. Keep a promise. Your companion animal would do no less for you.For the animals,Gregory M. Simpson, Vice-President - MERIDEN HUMANE SOCIETY, INC.
Gregory Simpson is Vice-President of the Meriden Humane Society, a no-kill shelter, and member of the Cat Writers’ Association. Formerly a state advisor to Friends of Animals, he was also named one of the 40 Ultimate Cat Lovers by CAT FANCY magazine.

RAINY DAY FUN WITH THE KIDS
By Joan GoodmanMeriden
As the weather forecaster announces the next rainstorm, the panic starts to build inside every parent. Their brain screams – what am I going to do with the kid(s)?!!! With a little creativity and a spirit of fun, both parents and kids can survive the weather, and even have a good time!
Fun At Home
For fun at home, there are numerous craft ideas and games to fit a range of ages and budgets. And you don’t need to be Martha Stewart. Your local library, the Meriden Family Resource Center, bookstores, and the Internet are all helpful sources. Here are some examples: Play Clay - Make homemade play dough and use cookie cutters to form it into animals or whatever your budding artist desires. The recipe is as follows: 2 cups of flour, 1 cup of salt, 2 cups of water (add whatever color of food coloring that you want), 2 tbsp. cream of tartar, 2 tbsp. oil. Stir ingredients together in a pot. Cook until mixture is dry and gummy. Knead until soft. Trash to treasures - These are ideas for using the things you would normally throw away every day, from making a turkey centerpiece out of a paper bag to dolls out of plastic bottles. This is from the web site http://craftsforkids.about.com that has craft ideas for free. It is well organized and sorted by subject, e.g., animals-creatures, musical crafts, holidays, multicultural, school days, etc. Construction site - Make a construction site in your house for kids who love digging and trucks. Take a cardboard box; seal the sides and bottom well with tape. Leave the top open. Pour in Grapenuts or the cereal of your choice, add some trucks, and you have entertainment (and maybe a snack!) Simon Says – This classic game can be played anywhere. The leader gives commands to the players, who must follow every command, except those not preceded by “Simon Says.”.. Anyone who follows a command that does not have “Simon Says” in front of it is out of the game. Statues –Turn some music on. Everyone dances or moves however they please. Turn the music off quickly. Everyone freezes while you count to five, then turn the music on again. Anyone who moves during the counting is out. A great group game. Invite the neighbors! Getting out of the house –adventures in Connecticut. If you or your children are “crawling up the walls,” go out and explore Connecticut’s many attractions.
Some options in the local area include: Peabody Museum of Natural History at Yale (203-432-5050) Yale University Art Gallery (203-432-0600) Connecticut Children’s Museum (203-562-5437) Eli Whitney Museum (203-777-1833) Barker Character, Comic, and Cartoon Museum (800-995-2357) Kidcity Children’s Museum (860-343-0824)
A great resource for day trip ideas is Fun with the Family in Connecticut by Doe Boyle. Also, check the calendar section of your local newspaper and listings at the library. Local libraries may have discount passes to certain attractions. So next time the weather forecast calls for rain, relax, and have fun with the kids!

Christmas in the Village 2006By Keith Gordon
8th Annual Christmas in the Village will take place on Saturday December 2, 2006.
Christmas in the Village started over a cup of coffee and a Snapple at Tom’s Place. Tom Caliendo, owner of Tom’s, and myself were talking about how we could bring some additional unity back to the Village of South Meriden. We decided to have a yearly Christmas in the Village celebration not knowing if it would take off and continue. It took off and it has been continuing each year even though we did get snowed out around three years ago. Tom and I started to talk to other stake holders in the Village, i.e., business, neighborhood leaders, churches, schools, South Meriden Fire and our community police officers. Well, we put it together, and the first year we had over 600 attend. The event now brings over 2,000 each year to the Village where neighbors greet neighbors, friends meet friends, and newcomers come and meet new friends and families come together to enjoy the sprit of the holidays. We open the event with the Santa parade at 2:00 p.m. led by the Washington Drum Corp and a host of seasonal personalities. Santa is then stationed at The Fire Station where children get the opportunity to sit with Santa and tell him their holiday requests and get their pictures taken. Kellie and Sean Moore provide holiday music and sing-alongs from the beginning to the end at the fire station, along with face painting which is provided to all who choose to enjoy the art of Ruth Gordon from Fantasy faces by Ruth. For the past two years we have had Meriden Police crime prevention officer Tom Cirillo and his assistant doing AMBER Alert registration at the fire station. Also this registration helps keep our children safe and is a free service. South Meriden Trinity United Methodist has a children’s bazaar and games, and New Life Church this year will have a Living Nativity and goodies to munch on. If everything goes correctly Hanover School will have its annual holiday book sale also. The Main stage has entertainment happening during the event with master of ceremonies Ralph Riello giving away numerous gift items. There is the world’s best baked cinnamon apples stationed at Data Link Corp. located at Main and Camp Street, manned by Jim Cournoyer and Ed Haberli and crew. We have popcorn, chestnuts, cider, candy and hot chocolate. There are games and arts and crafts. The Meriden Library book mobile is out on Main Street also. We also have participation from the stores on Main Street, Deb’s Deli, Panda House, our New Karate School, Pet Parlor, Canine Training School, and the South Meriden Package Store. The two horse drawn wagons travel around the Village giving scenic rides, letting people off at several stops along the way. Hanover School students supply the artwork decoration for the storefront windows, and the Christmas in the Village committee decorates the streetlights with seasonal wreaths that have been purchased by the committee. South Meriden Volunteer Fire Fighters handle the Bon Fire each year that is located at the Riverside Park on Main Street. The Christmas tree at Riverside Park will be lit by a student from Hanover School while seasonal songs are song with Mr. and Mrs. Santa a little after 5:00 p.m.


The Happiness of Halloween – A Family that cares and shares.
We started out with a few airblowns, and over the years it has grown. We enjoyed our decorations for Halloween and noticed that other people were enjoying it too when we saw cars going by slowly or stopping in the street and camera lights flashing. We started decorating extensively for Halloween, adding several scenes and sections each year. Friends and family from all over the U.S. started sending us inflatables for gifts each year, and at times we would receive packages from strangers with airblowns too. We have had several people stop and ask us if we would like the inflatables they had because they were moving, or some said they didn't have the room to display them, and some thought we would display them in a scene. Just today, we received several boxes of pumpkin lights from a lady at our church. Of course we accepted them. People have been so generous! A lot of the displays were handmade by us, like the stuffed ghouls, the headless horseman display, the ghoul’s castle, or the dead-end cemetery scene. We decided to open our home to the public three years ago, and always invite people to stop by, park in the yard, and walk around the displays for pictures with the kids and for their enjoyment. We added the pumpkin patch the second year for the smaller children so it would not be too intimidating for them. We always give candy out to whoever visits us. We have even had people from Vermont come just to see it because relatives here told them about it. It is so heart warming to see the children and adults enjoying the displays. It has been a love effort by myself, my husband John, sister-in-law Annette, several family members, friends and our church family that has made our Halloween display a success over the years. We hope everyone will come by and see it. We just wanted everyone to know that we decorate extensively for Halloween and always invite the public to stop by, park in the yard, and walk around the displays for pictures with the kids and for their enjoyment. Here are a few of the pictures. Thank you. Visit Linda & John Mercier at 459 South Elm Street in Wallingford.


Why I love FallBy Nancy Freyberg
Fall is my favorite season. It is a time when my soul quiets and seems to open to all the natural beauty of everything around me. I take more time to appreciate God and all the blessings of life. I settle in a big comfy chair, think about starting a fire, get cozy, and remember my grandmothers and all they taught me. Fall is full of color and warmth, good smells from the kitchen, and wonderful memories. Fall makes me begin to think about Christmas and all the things I want to make for the ones I love most. Fall makes me always remember how blessed I am to have such wonderful memories and days now to keep making more.

A Sincere Thanks from our Family to Yours! By Sharon Agli~Pageau and Adam Pageau The sun shone brightly through the burnt red, orange, and yellow autumn leaves, on the day of our son, Hunter Christian Pageau's, Pasta Dinner Fundraiser, Saturday, October 14th at the South Meriden Firehouse. We felt blessed to be amidst not only nature's tapestry of beauty, as we have been indoors mostly for the last seven months by our son's side throughout his hospitalization, but also amongst the palpable warm love and support of our family, friends, various community participants and well wishers that came together that Saturday to honor Hunter's battle against his diagnosis of SMARD1 (Spinal Muscular Atrophy with Respiratory Distress) and to encourage our commitment to raise awareness in the community in regards to what SMA entails and how it is affecting hundreds of thousands of families across the United States. On that crisp autumn day, Adam and I both witnessed the power of teamwork, community support, faith, hope and love. Many hours of dedicated service, along with firm resolve to make a difference not only for our family, but for all families we can reach through SMA education/awareness, went into making this event both successful and memorable. We wish to sincerely thank all of the numerous businesses from both Meriden and Wallingford, who generously donated an array of services and Raffle items to show their support and assist us in our efforts to both raise funds to assuage the astronomical medical bills heaped upon our family, and to acknowledge our steadfast commitment to make a difference in other families' lives through teaching others what SMA is and doing our best to raise funds for research for a cure for this presently incurable affliction. Most notably, we offer our sincerest gratitude to Keith Gordon and his wife, Ruth, for their dedication in standing by our family in its time of great need, and assisting us in putting this fundraiser in motion, along with their concentrated efforts towards success. I personally reached out to Keith via email in the wee hours of the morning one sleepless night here at the hospital, as I knew in my heart as a South Meriden native that the people of Meriden would come together to make a difference for one of its own. Along with Keith, I also shared Hunter's story with Mayor Mark Benigni, and other City Council Members, who have been very compassionate and helpful in our goal to make a difference in our community. For their concern, communications, and support, we thank them. Furthermore, our event would not have been possible without the willingness of the South Meriden Fire Department to kindly offer their firehouse, their second home, to us so openly and willingly, in addition to volunteering their services that day to work at the fundraiser. Their actions personify solid family and community values to the core, which is precisely how deeply they reached us with their generosity of service and spirit. Each and every one of you makes a difference. For those of you who purchased tickets in advance, attended our event, shared Hunter's story with your network of family and friends, your actions and your voices matter. Imagine the profound impact our joint efforts would have if each of us reached out to one other person to inform them what SMA (Spinal Muscular Atrophy) stands for, in an effort to increase awareness of an affliction that is sweeping our nation, unbeknownst to many. As parents of a terminal child, we can tell you that the journey we share with Hunter has been difficult enough, never mind facing the challenge that most, in both our community and the medical world, has never heard of the disease, nor is there a substantial base of knowledge/information regarding it's components. We are committed to doing our best to preventing this heartache upon heartache for another family. The Pasta Dinner Fundraiser was the first of many fundraisers to come in Hunter Christian Pageau's name, and we hope you will join us in our efforts to fight for a cure for this affliction claiming so many of our children. The sun wasn't the only source of illumination that day; the love and support of all who created the success that this event bestowed, the passion and commitment by all of you who wish to truly make a difference in the lives of others, we graciously acknowledge and receive your warm, compassionate light. It's the very light that effervesces from Hunter each and every day, as he exudes joy in a way that I wish to, in turn, share with you all. To experience the full circle of that faith, hope and love has been a great comfort to us. Thank you so very much for all of your kind and generous support! Together, we can continue to make a difference...

PEOPLE REALLY DO WIN! Our Trip to the Crazy Mountain Ranch in Clyde Park, Montana - Rosanne P. Ford & Mary E. Paluszewski Okay, where can we begin...It all started back on St. Patrick's Day 2006 when I came home to a priority envelope informing me that I won a “free trip.” Well, as anyone would think - this cannot be happening to me or this must be some hoax or timeshare deal, etc...But I could not resist. The letter said to call the toll-free number within three days to accept!!! (Being on a certain mailing list, I had apparently registered to win this trip at some point, of course NEVER believing it could happen.) Of course, from March until this month, I waited with much anticipation for my day to arrive. We found websites that tell you so much about the trip and rave about how wonderful it all is to experience. Was I really going to Montana – was this trip really for free - are they really going to send me free luggage, a check to cover the taxes for the 1099 they provide at the end of the year for taking their trip, and was I really going to walk into a room filled with fabulous gifts (too nice too mention - plus, I can't give away all of the surprises)! Then it all started happening and the dream started to come alive. I received a letter asking to complete some medical and background forms and return them promptly. In mid-August, our “Activity Packets” came along - choose your activities from horseback riding to off-roading, to a day at Yellowstone with an option for White Water Rafting, to fly fishing and clay shooting to name a few. It was fun organizing these activities from highest interest to low and our anticipation began to swell even more. As the time approached, and trust me the wait was long from August till the end of September, our airline tickets and baseball caps arrived with a letter stating to “wear these hats and meet your other ranch friends as you begin your adventure to Montana.” Then if that wasn't enough - luggage arrived a week later and the excitement really started! DAY 1 - Travel....I can honestly say that I barely slept Friday evening, October 6th, with anticipation of hopping on a plane at Bradley Airport for 8:00 a.m. There is nothing worse than waking up at 4:00 a.m. and wondering if when you get to the airport, is your ticket going to be a hoax! It wasn't! We arrived at Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport to see other folks wearing the provided “black baseball caps” - including a couple we met online from San Antonio, TX, that we hung out with for the entire trip. Hats off (literally) to Marlboro for this ingenious idea of providing everyone black baseball caps with the secret insignia on them to be able to meet your other traveling partners. This was a much needed icebreaker that led to a lot of introductions right off the bat easing your fears of what was about to begin! We arrived at the Bozeman, MT airport around 2:00 p.m. Saturday afternoon, and everyone was chomping at the bit to exit the plane and find out what we were in for. There had to be at least 35-40 of us already on the same plane going to the same place so it was a very anxious moment. We exited our gate and proceeded to the baggage area where we were met by various cowboys and a cowgirl welcoming us to the Ranch. At the airport, we were led to an area where we snacked, ate and drank for free, all compliments of Marlboro, while our guest services folks readied our paperwork, collected our IDs, gathered our luggage, etc. Yes - they took care of everything right from the start. We were then asked to “view” our luggage to be sure that it was all received and then ushered to the “bus.” The bus ride from the airport to the ranch was an hour long, however, the mileage is only about 25 miles the ranch and the airport are separated by many mountains thus causing you to go in a half circle but this was okay because we could smoke on the bus, take in scenery and yes, eat and drink more!!! We were advised to try to take full advantage of all there was to offer at the ranch - to experience the country as the folks there do - and, get a little crazy, after all, you probably won't see these people again... (Please don't let me forget to remind you of how much we got to eat!!!!) Upon arrival to the ranch we were ushered into the Stage Shop where we received our room assignments, keys and map of the little ranch town that was going to be our home for the next 3 ½ days. We were personally escorted to our room by a guest services guide - the staff there provided a level of hospitality unmatched by any experience I have had (and that's a lot to say as I've worked my entire life in hospitality). They even carried our carry-on bags for us? No, you don't do anything at this ranch, but relax and enjoy yourself. It was like Christmas when the door of our room opened and many, many gifts were nicely displayed on the bed for each of us. I could tell you what they were, but that would be giving away all the surprises for those who may get to encounter this same adventure one day. But I can tell you that the gifts were awesome and well worth the wait. I thought the luggage was good but this was even better. The rest of the afternoon and evening went by very fast - it was a long day, but we weren't ready to turn in early - we wanted to savor every experience. We were ushered to the saloon where we gathered every night at 5:00 p.m. for Happy Hour which consisted of drinks and appetizers. all included in our trip. This first night was fun - we got a little history on what was about to happen for the next few days, a history on the ranch town we were staying in and a history of some of the buildings...And there were a few rules to abide by while there!!!! No drinking in the streets, pick up all of your cigarette butts - do not dispose of them on the ground and drink lots of water - due to the altitude!!! Each night we moved from the saloon into the livery where we were treated to many good feasts as well as DJs, bands, karaoke, and an instructor that taught line dancing! What more could you ask for - all while they wined & dined us all night long!!!! We averaged about 4-5 hours of sleep each night - we were kept busy from the time we woke up 'til we left the saloon each night between midnight - 2 a.m. We stayed up each night hanging with our new friends (there were about 10 of us who really clicked and hung out a lot together - there were close to 90 people in our group from 10/7-10/10). After eating, karaoke, drinking, dancing, and poker (or pool - there were two tables, and one was over 100 years old) we headed to bed. DAY 2: Yellowstone Adventure...5:30 a.m. came early - that would give us plenty of time to shower, eat and be on the bus for 7:30 a.m. It wasn't easy, but we did it! What a breakfast spread, you name it, they had it. We were so full that when we stopped at our first rest stop on the way to Yellowstone, we were still too full to enjoy the display of cookies and treats laid out for us - we opted for hot chocolate only! On the ride to Yellowstone - and over the next few days we saw lots of wildlife including various types of deer, elk, antelope, and maybe a moose, but that sighting remains questionable! Yellowstone was beautiful - we enjoyed the scenery, visited the hot springs, took two small hikes, and enjoyed a lovely "boxed" lunch. When we entered the national park, we were actually in Wyoming! The end of our afternoon consisted of white water rafting of which all of our guides on the tour and in our rafts assisting us were all from Connecticut - CRAZY! I wish I had a recorder to get all of the info the guides gave us throughout the trip (including their corny jokes) as there is so much I can't remember. Our Yellowstone adventure ended when we arrived back at the ranch just in time for - you guessed it - Happy Hour!!! But this happy hour was enjoyed in the street of our little ghost town where we were able to “brand leather on our own,” lasso bulls, have our cowboy hats (another gift) fitted to our heads - and again, gathered with our newfound friends to exchange stories from the day and relax with more appetizers and drinks. We were gathered together - all 88 of us dressed in the same garb - for a group photo of the Ranch Party, October 7th trip, 2006 so that we will never forget the faces of the many friends we made. Much later that evening as we moseyed back to get some shut eye, a light snow was falling!!!! It was the beautiful! DAY 3 - A Much More Relaxed Day. We slept a bit later and sauntered to breakfast around 7:15 a.m. It was still flurrying out. Today our activities consisted of horseback riding, off-roading, and ahhhhh - a 30-minute massage - they also provided nice chair massages each day! We were very fortunate to get our horseback ride in as this activity was cancelled the rest of the day due to the slippery trails! Those of us at the ranch gathered back at the saloon for hot drinks and goodies while waiting for our next adventure. This day was much more casual - it gave us time to get some beautiful shots of the scenery, the buildings and some of the ranch folks and guest services people that were so kind to all of us during the days of our stay. We even visited the Sheriff's Office and had our pictures taken in jail! Our lunch buffet was spent eating and drinking and enjoying the many conversations that we were hearing about our friends who had been off-roading during the morning hours. This only made our off-roading afternoon experience more suspenseful. We were slated for mid-afternoon, and now could not wait. We took to the roads and 3:00 p.m. and got a quick tour of the mountains and off-road tracks. Then everyone got a chance to experience the ride firsthand by being the driver – oh, did I forget to tell you that we were off-roading in Hummer 1's!???? CRAZY! But once again, they had us back to the saloon in time for - you guessed it - Happy Hour!!! Where we ate and drank and gathered with friends! We had been gifted with a leather address book with mailing labels so that we could exchange info with the various friends we met throughout the four days (and, yes, so I just told you another gift that was received, but let me tell you there were about 12 in total)! This was our last night and everyone was very happy and relaxed. As we hit the livery for dinner, we were yet again surprised with a wonderful dinner and a beautiful send-off, compliments of our guest services staff. All of the staff took to the dance floor and did various line-dancing dances as well as danced with each other and kept us entertained for about an hour until the floor was turned over to the band called the "Saddle Tramps" who entertained us for the rest of the evening. What an enjoyable treat!!! They were great! DAY 4: Headin' Home..6:30 a.m. Tuesday morning came FAST - our awesome breakfast spread included made-to-order omelets today! Everyone was snapping their last pictures, enjoying their times together, taking in the scenery and fresh air, etc...We boarded the bus around 10:30 to return to the Bozeman Airport to take our flight home...we had been treated like royalty for four days, enjoyed food, drink, snacks and free gifts for four days and met some fantastic people - all compliments of Marlboro!!!! I can only end this story with a very large thanks to Marlboro and their guest services staff that accompanied us for four days in Clyde Park Montana at the Crazy Mountain Ranch. The staff and level of care received was above and beyond and could never be commended enough!!! We each find ourselves at odd times just smiling as we think about this adventure we experienced - an experience of a lifetime, that we can only share fully with our ranch buddies!!! We experienced a lot more that what we have written here. For reasons we can't disclose at this time. Like why one of us was nicknamed “The Bull.” We can't give everything away, and we need to leave something to the imagination. Now you tell me, doesn't this sound like a dream? You decide!!! I'm closing my eyes now- it feels like a dream.......


The Peoples' Press LOVES Diane Smith
Diane is the co-host of the top rated Morning Show on WTIC-AM News Talk 1080 with Ray Dunaway. An Emmy award winning TV journalist, Diane produces programs for Connecticut Public TV, based on her very popular series "Positively Connecticut." "Positively Connecticut" searches out the inspiring, warm, funny, and sometimes downright strange stories that give Connecticut its character. Her book by the same name has been a bestseller for The Globe Pequot Press. The sequel, Absolutely Positively Connecticut, was published in 2000. After 9/11 one reviewer called her book Christmas in Connecticut “the comfort gift of the year.” Diane's latest book Summer in Connecticut is a celebration of the season. For more than 16 years Diane was a news anchor and reporter at WTNH TV in New Haven, where her reporting earned her an Emmy award. Diane's documentaries have earned numerous state and national awards. The American Cancer Society has honored her for her work in educating women about breast cancer. The Connecticut Press Club honored her with its Mark Twain Distinguished Journalist of the Year award. Toastmasters International honored Diane with their Communication and Leadership Award. Diane is active in promoting Connecticut business and tourism. She was awarded the Connecticut Tourism Industry's Media Award for Positively Connecticut. For “showing Connecticut to the rest of the world in a positive light,” Diane was named Person of the Year by the Homebuilders Association of New Haven. Diane serves on the board of directors of the IMPAC-CT State University Award for Young Writers, and for the fifth year is the honorary chairperson of "The World of Words" programs held in libraries across the state and sponsored by the Connecticut Center for the Book. Diane served three terms on the board of directors of the Women's Campaign School at Yale University, a non-partisan organization dedicated to helping women attain public office. As a spokesperson for Easter Seals, Diane helped raise over eight million dollars for programs that help people with disabilities live independently. Diane graduated with honors from the State University of New York at Binghamton. She lives on the Connecticut shoreline and in West Hartford with her husband, Tom Woodruff, an economist. For more information see Diane's web site at www.positivelyct.com
Upcoming Shows:
Sunday, October 29th at 6:00 p.m.Monday, October 30th at 11:00 p.m.
CPTV Premieres a New Episode of Positively Connecticut Join award-winning broadcast journalist Diane Smith for an array of invigorating autumn adventures around the state when an all-new episode of Positively Connecticut premieres on Connecticut Public Television. Positively Connecticut is made possible through leadership funding from People's Bank. Additional funding comes from Comcast and the Connecticut Commission on Culture & Tourism. This edition of Positively Connecticut features: Dogged Determination (Bloomfield and Andover, Conn.) - Just as the new Lassie movie hits theaters, Diane finds some amazing collies in real life. A mere 10 miles from downtown Hartford, border collies are herding sheep, a pastime from long ago and far away. The Bloomfield Sheepdog Trial has become the toughest contest east of the Mississippi for dogs and their handlers - thanks to Beverly Lambert, one of the sport's top competitors, known by most people in town as the director of the Bloomfield Library. Out in the field, the dogs and their people are "reading" the sheep. The action is intense as the dogs work a flock through a grueling half-mile course. Connecticut's Unsolved Mysteries (Storrs, Windsor Locks, East Haddam, Griswold, Fairfield, West Haven, Conn.) - Solving history's mysteries is his favorite part of the job. Nick Bellantoni, Connecticut's official state archaeologist, is a little bit Indiana Jones and a little bit CSI. In this episode of Positively Connecticut, Diane joins Bellantoni as he uncovers details of the plane crash that gave Bradley International Airport its name. They search for more clues about the life of Venture Smith, a slave who became a free man, a Connecticut landowner and legend. In the middle of the city of West Haven, they find the home of Native Americans who lived there more than 5,000 years ago, and discover evidence of vampires in eastern Connecticut. That's Edu-tainment (Milford, Conn.) - When a school evaluation showed tardiness was a problem at Platt Technical High School in Milford, teachers came up with an answer that's become “must see TV.” Mild-mannered social studies teacher Pat Burke transforms himself into a superhero, a beach bum, an astronaut, a nutty professor or a time traveler when he takes to the airwaves every school day at 7:40 a.m. With the help of students in the school's television production classes, Burke offers both an entertaining alternative to snoozing through homeroom and a way to boost school spirit. Talking Music (New Haven, Conn.) - From the people who shaped the musical life of the 20th century, come their thoughts, in their own words, and in their own voices. Aaron Copland explains the unlikely naming of one of the best-known pieces of modern classical music, "Appalachian Spring." Eubie Blake describes the birth of ragtime. Duke Ellington talks jazz. They told it all to Vivian Perlis, who preserved it for posterity in a priceless collection of oral and video memoirs. The Oral History of American Music (OHAM) project continues to explore the minds of modern music masters. Delve into the archives with Diane at Yale University, and meet the woman who pioneered the practice of recording "oral history." Everything Old Is Old Again (Old Lyme, Conn.) - A century ago, Florence Griswold's boarding house in Old Lyme was home base for an American Impressionist artists' colony. Later, the Georgian-style mansion became a museum, and now, thanks to a careful restoration, it reverberates again with the life it had in 1910. Through an armchair tour of the Florence Griswold Museum, Positively Connecticut viewers will experience a snippet of a unique era in American art history - and feel the vitality of the artists who lived a bohemian life of camaraderie and creativity.


A SUMMER REMINISCENCE Don't you just love it when Mother Nature surprises you? As a gardener, I know I do. Now that things are cooling down, I'm reminiscing about the surprises of this past gardening season, especially those heavy-duty spring rains. Remember them? Sure they made the ground nice and soft for planting, and they provided the plants with plenty of water with which to grow. But where was the sun? On a spring vacation? And it's a rare plant that doesn't need some sun to bloom. Take sunflowers. They're named for the sun, they even look like the sun with their brilliant rays around their bright shining faces, and they need the sun to flourish. Sunflower seeds are what I planted during those dark spring rainy days. My iris corms didn't bloom in all that gloom, although their stalks grew tall and green. My sunflower seeds sprouted and their stalks grew quite study after all that rain. Kinda like Jack's beanstalk, they grew and grew all summer long, taller than my irises, taller than me, even. August came and great seed heads formed; but too late, I feared, for any sunflowers. I knew from past years that they bloomed late. Previously I had only planted dwarfs, and they had always brought cheer to the end of the season. But this year I had planted a mix. It was the tall ones that thrived in the rainy cool growing conditions. There they were, tall against the side of the house, against my bedroom wall. In the bedroom I had an unusual small window, shaped like a cellar window, right under my bedroom ceiling. I had never planted sunflower seeds under that window before. As I looked out at stalks and seedheads, I marveled at how special it really was that I had grown one of the only plants tall enough to be seen from inside that window. Well, Mother Nature had one last surprise for me. One morning in late August when I awoke, a shy lemon-yellow sunflower was looking in on me! What a way to end the summer season! This reminiscence now fills me with the warmth and promise of the summers to come. Pauli Gravel


Not Always Sour GrapesBy Chip
Pleasant outcome may happen when may not expect it if you only give it a try. Look at the brighter side of life and do not be pessimistic about the outcome. Seven years ago we had a house built on a 100 by 250-foot wooded lot. The back 125 feet were left in its natural heavily wooded state with a mixture of large trees with smaller trees underneath. An additional 10 feet along the street is city property. They periodically cut the brush and small trees to clear the area but 5 large trees were left standing. As in many natural areas in Connecticut, natural areas, this area was covered with grapevines. CL&P cut these trees to clear the overhead wires. This left a cleared area in this 125-foot section along the road. A single grapevine was left along a split rail fence at the property line. I thought that I would try and experiment with this single vine by training it along the fence. Grapevines grow very fast, and they are a nuisance because they cover everything it they are left alone. Vineyards prune every spring to have the vine produce fruit instead of foliage. This single vine was trimmed along the main stem to observe the results. The next summer it produced fruit along with the new foliage. When the grapes turned purple in the fall, we were surprised that they had the exotic delicious flavor of Concord grapes instead of sour wild grapes. Apparently, someone planted this Concord grape vine many years ago and it was neglected as wild grape. Concord grapes are not as popular since the seedless thin-skinned grapes were developed. Nevertheless, Concord grapes are available in stores during the fall season.


WOODCUTTERS BALLET By Phyllis S. Donovan Back in the Depression, laying in wood for the winter was serious business for families in our small village, tucked into one of the steep valleys of the Berkshire Hills of Massachusetts. We burned wood in our old Black Glenwood kitchen stove as well as in our fireplace and it was up to our father to provide that wood. We were lucky. Our grandfather's land extended up one side of "our" mountain where there were plenty of trees to be cut for firewood. For many weekends throughout the summer, my father and his brothers would go up on the mountain and cut down the trees that would supply firewood for their families. Our winter comfort depended on the industry and success of that woodcutting project. We as youngsters weren't aware of all the back-breaking work that went into the preliminary stages of cutting down and trimming the trees. But on a couple of busy fall weekends, the uncles hitched up a rickety saw rig to their old Ford truck and hauled it up the mountain to cut the properly aged logs into firewood. It was an event that none of us cousins wanted to miss. Cautioned to stay out of the way, we would line up on one of the many stone walls our grandfather had single-handedly built to enclose the pastures he had cleared on the mountain for his cows. Munching on the few leftover frozen apples from his orchard, we would watch our fathers work and listen contentedly to the rhythmical zing-zing-zing of the whirring saw in the frosty fall air as it cut through the hard wood. The old puttering gas engine of the saw rig made so much noise that our fathers worked mutely in kind of a pantomimed woodcutters' ballet. One would fetch a trimmed log from the waiting pile and place it upon the movable platform of the saw rig which another brother would firmly press his whole body against, moving the log forward against the whining saw. Yet another brother would catch the chunks of wood and toss them up into the body of the ancient truck. As the truck filled up, a large mound of warm, sweet smelling sawdust collected beneath the saw rig. When the truck was full of wood, we kids would scramble over to climb aboard, being careful not to track through the sawdust which would stick to our shoes ad surely annoy our mothers if tracked into our houses. The expected treat for any of us who lasted through the whole day on the mountain was to clamber up on top of the load of wood and hitch a ride back down to our homes. There we'd help divide the wood, leaving some at each of our houses to be stored in barns and cellars for later use. We would make several trips up and down the mountain during the course of those late fall weekends. It was hard work for our fathers, but a fun time for us kids, and I still hold warm and comfortable memories from those days when times were hard, winters were cold, and people worked together to make things better for their families.


NATURE AS A MIRRORBy Dorothy Gonick
QUIET WOODLAND
The woodland beckons-To become one with nature We stroll hand-in-hand.
There’s magic in an early morning hike into the woods with a congenial companion, enjoying nature in all its beauty and variety, away from the everyday noise and bustle. As we start out the golden dawn of sunrise emerges before us, we leave the dew sparkled lawn and enter the shadows of the woodland where silence is all around except for the crunching of fallen leaves underfoot. Birds soon greet the dawn with cheerful song, accenting the quiet beauty of the woods. Butterflies are snippets of loveliness flitting from flower to flower, their colorful wings like flying petals. Near the path we see varied mushrooms, some like a russet umbrella and others atop slender stems. Unseen creatures have nibbled these morsels and we hope to see these creatures somewhere along our hike. Spider webs and anthills tell us that the woods are full of life, silently going about their business of living. We become aware of muffled sounds of buzzing, clicks, and squeaks of the insect world that we may not see. To quote Shakespeare, “The earth has music for those who listen.” We come to the clearing where glaciated boulders invite us to rest awhile and eat the crisp apples we have brought. Squirrels are gathering acorns nearby and we tempt them with our peanuts. It is fun to watch them snatch a nut, then scurry away before eating it or burying it for their winter food. Their fluffy tails twitch and twirl as they chase away. A black crow watches with keen eye for a chance to swoop down and claim a nut. The nearby brook breaks the silence with its soothing murmur as it flows over its pebbly bottom and we wonder if perhaps fish are swimming silently there. Nature flourishes in silence. Silently the sun, moon and stars move through the heavens. Tiny seeds sprout silently in the woodland soil. Plant life from trees to mosses grow in silence, yet it is not emptiness that we sense in nature, but a pulsating, living, embrace of heartening, silent wholeness. We return from our quiet hike through the woods enriched and content. We recall that Mother Theresa said, “We need silence to be able to touch souls.” And we note that our hike has touched our souls.


Bobbie’s Bevy of Beauties
The Montauk daisy and chrysanthemum plants have finally come into bloom. The dahlias are just beautiful with many unopened buds. Hoping this cooler weather we’ll be getting doesn’t turn into our first frost. If so then all of these flowers as well as the remaining perennials and annuals will exist no more. Two of my butterfly bushes are the size of small apple trees. A few blooms remain. So on the warm days the butterflies return. Remember not to cut the bush back until the last frost of next year has gone. Though it was not a flower but still a beauty Jimmy and I raised, was our beloved black and tan long haired dachshund, Tahrah. Since l961 we’ve had this breed of dog. Schnicklefritz and Arnie were brown male smooth dachshunds. Gesika (Jessica) a smooth brown female and her brother Spahtiwaht , a brindle (black/brown) wire haired. Tahrah was born on Friday August 11, 1989. She came to live with us on Wednesday July 11, 1990. A very beautiful, friendly and loving pet. Over the past year she acquired many medical problems. Nothing more could be done for her. So on Friday morning September 29, 2006 with Jimmy by her side and me cradling her head, cheek to cheek, Dr. Eric gently put her to sleep and sent her on her way to doggie heaven. We miss and love her so much, as we do all of our pets who were part of our family. The next issue will probably be my last until spring of 2007. Also have to start my hibernation plans.
Flowercerely yours,Bobbie G. Vosgien


Dear Housewives – Central Connecticut’s Think They Know It All Gals
Dear Readers, We hope you are enjoying your column. If you have a question that you need a neutral party to answer, please send it to us. We will answer questions about family life, book/DVD reviews, gripes in general, social or political issues, customer service problems, budgeting. You ask-We answer. All questions are confidential and can be anonymous. Just send them to Peoples Press via e-mail, U.S. Mail or fax. CHANGE YOUR BATTERIES IN YOUR SMOKE DETECTOR AND CARBON MOMOXIDE DETECTORS THIS MONTH! Sincerely,Your Housewives: June and Flora Dear Housewives, There is a parent at elementary school pick up in a big fancy SUV that places their five- or six-year-old in the front seat. I get worried about her safety. Should I gently say something or bud out? Concerned in Wallingford FLORA: Even in the child's best interest, commenting on someone’s parenting decisions can be uncomfortable. You can take the direct approach and say, “I don't mean to pry, but I see that you put your small child in the front seat. Did you know that the air bags, if deployed can severely injure or kill a child? “Or take the non-direct approach and alert the principal and a flier can go home in the backpacks. JUNE: Bud out! If you think the kids are in imminent danger, call the police. Many cars now have the airbags that automatically shut off if the weight isn't heavy enough in the passenger seat. If they have their seatbelts on and a booster seat (which you wouldn't see unless you look inside the car) they will be as safe as they would in the back. I like Flora's idea about letting the principal know to send out a flier, although, sometimes people don't recognize themselves when they read about a situation. Dear Housewives, What do you ladies think about parents bringing dogs of all types to school at dismissal time. There has been an occasional rottweiler and a pit bull mutt at my elementary school. It is unnerving and seemingly dangerous. Scaredy Cat of Dogs in Meriden, CT JUNE: I love the people who think their animals are people. "Hey skipper, let's go grocery shopping-oops you have to stay in the car and suck air out of a 1/2 inch crack in the window." Not fun for the dog. I don't care what kind of dog is there, schools are for people--leave the mutts home. I like dogs but there is no reason they need to go to school. Of course, this doesn't apply to utility dogs. FLORA: Have you alerted the school office staff about it? I am not sure if there is a law against dogs on school property. There should be common sense laws though. The older I get the more I see the dire need for good 'ol-fashioned common sense. Everybody thinks their dog won't bite and that their dog is so nice; you never know though. With dozens of children spilling out at the same time, it seems like a disaster waiting to happen. I hope there is an ordinance against it. JUNE: It can be dangerous for the dog too. GOOD DVDs TO WATCH Flora: For grownups: "Thank You for Not Smoking" (R) A comedy satire that centers on a tobacco industry lobbyist and how ridiculous our government can be and some of the spinning that goes on in Washington.
And for kids: "Kristen's Fairy House" Kristen vacations on a New England island with her aunt, an artist , that is writing a children's book about fairy houses built in the woods by children out of God made materials. It is a 40 minute non-rated journey of nature, respect for the earth and the bonding of a relationship between two people.
JUNE: Sorry folks, I can't add to this list at this time. I just had a new baby almost four weeks ago and have not had much time for books or DVDs lately. Hopefully I can add more next month. One thing you should do, get out and enjoy that beautiful foliage, pick apples and carve a pumpkin. Have a safe and happy Halloween.


“Sheltering an Animal’s Perspective” by Gregory M. Simpson
I had a dream the other night that I kept rescuing cats that looked identical to ones that I had already rescued. It was a nightmare that unfortunately is reflected in reality. Do the math. The average number of litters a fertile cat can produce in one year is three. The average number of kittens in a feline litter is four to six. In seven years, one female cat and her offspring can theoretically produce 420,000 cats. (Fertile dogs can have two litters yearly with 6-10 puppies in a canine litter). In my neighborhood alone, I rescued 20 stray, feral and abandoned cats, having them spayed, neutered and vaccinated before finding placements for them. Some went directly to good homes. Others were taken in by no-kill animal shelters, and the ferals were moved to barn colonies. The last in this series of 20 rescued cats was a mother who had two litters before she could be successfully trapped. We had a number of near misses before finally catching her. Her second litter of five kittens included three females and two males. Think of the number of cats that one litter could have produced. The Animal Welfare Federation of Connecticut (AWFCT) estimates that the population of free roaming and homeless cats in Connecticut is between 700,000 and one million. Usually spring is the heaviest season for kittens coming into our no-kill shelter. This year the onslaught continued straight through summer. In addition, by October, 126 animals had been abandoned at our shelter’s door. As I write this column, my orange tabby is resting contentedly on the rocking chair next to me. He was found starving and unable to move due to his entanglement in a flea collar. How lucky this cat is to have a home when there are literally millions of homeless cats. One estimate says that there may be as many homeless cats as there are companion animals. According to the American Pet Products Manufacturers Association’s (APPMA) 2005-2006 survey, there are 90 million cats and 73 million dogs in U.S. households. That means 63% of all U.S. households own a pet, equating to more than 69 million households. The Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) estimates that there are an estimated six to eight million cats and dogs entering shelters each year, only half of which find homes, with the rest being killed. Again, that’s three to four million killed. Shelters that kill animals prefer the term “euthanasia.” The dictionary defines euthanasia as “the act or practice of killing or permitting the death of hopelessly sick or injured individuals (as persons or domestic animals) in a relatively painless way for reasons of mercy.” These are not hopelessly sick or injured animals. They are three to four million adoptable animals. Only 2-5% of cats entering shelters each year are reclaimed by owners. The percentage is slightly higher for dogs, at 30%. Purebred dogs fare no better than mixed breeds, as 25% of dogs in the up to 6,000 U.S. shelters are purebred. Nearly all pet owners say that companionship and affection are the number one benefits to owning a pet. Return this kindness to cats and dogs by spaying and neutering them so that someday all will be able to have a loving home. Do not buy from breeders or pet stores. This only creates more overpopulation when there are already so many needing homes. Save a life. Find a new friend. Visit a shelter.
Gregory Simpson is Vice-President of the Meriden Humane Society, Inc. Board of Directors and a member of the Cat Writers’ Association. Formerly a state advisor to Friends of Animals, he was also named one of the 40 Ultimate Cat Lovers by CAT FANCY magazine.


“Thanksgiving Dinner: GENEROSITY Makes It Happen”
Turkey and all the trimmings will be enjoyed be everyone at the 26th annual holiday Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, noon to 2:00 p.m. Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Day at the First Congregational Church, 23 South Main St., Wallingford. The dinner, sponsored by Parents & Kids Foundation, Inc. and the church, is free and open to all who want to spend the day with others. Transportation will be provided to those needing rides. Meals and visits will also be delivered to the homebound. Food baskets are sent out ahead of time. These dinners happen every Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter and are fully dependent on donations of food, time and money to be successful. In addition to the dinner at the church, baskets will be sent out ahead of time to families in Wallingford, Meriden and Cheshire. Meals and visits are also delivered to the homebound who are unable to participate in the dinners at the church. At Christmas, we “adopt” children and adults with AIDS, some folks who are differently abled, those who are alone, nursing home residents without family and other entire families as we learn of their particular circumstances. We provide them with food, clothes and gifts. We write cards and send letters to cheer people. It is incredible to be part of this effort and to see all the good that comes when people give and share. This year we will be collecting donations for a group of Wallingford schoolteachers and students who will be making a trip to New Orleans to help rebuild homes for the Hurricane Katrina families who lost everything. As this effort has become so large, it is necessary for us to collect food and other items as early as possible. We are in need of everything! Individuals and businesses that would like to volunteer their time, talents, food, gifts, money or services are encouraged to call Nancy Freyberg at Parents & Kids Foundation, Inc., 284-8299. There will be an organizational meeting at 11:00 a.m. Saturday, October 28th in the meeting room near the kitchen of the First Congregational Church for all who would like to become more involved in this effort. Together we make it better for everyone!


North Haven Garden Club Holiday Luncheon
The North Haven Garden Club presents the 2006 Holiday Luncheon on Thursday, November 30th at 11:00 at the New Haven Lawn Club, 193 Whitney Ave. with a Boutique, Raffle and Gourmet Table. The Program will be “The Little Black Dress” with Bill Graham, floral designer and lecturer. Donations are $35.00. For reservations, please call 203-239-3656 by Nov 21st.
Southwest Conservation District Cries “Wolf”
Hosts a visit from “Atka,” at the 60th Annual Meeting
The Southwest Conservation District will welcome the Wolf Conservation Center of South Salem, NY and their four-year old Arctic gray wolf, Atka, at the 60th Annual Meeting on October 30th at 7:00 p.m. The program will include brief District business topics, Nomination & Election of Directors, and a Presentation of Regional Conservation District Awards followed by a presentation on “Wolf Conservation” by Maggie Howell, Director of Education at the Wolf Conservation Center, who brings an awe-inspiring, up-close encounter with this important but misunderstood predator. Guests will learn about the history of wolves in the United States, the importance of wolves in a healthy ecosystem and the efforts under way to save these magnificent creatures for future generations. Founded in 1999, the Wolf Conservation Center (WCC) in South Salem, NY promotes wolf conservation by teaching about wolves, their relationship to the environment and the human role in protecting their future. The WCC accomplishes this mission through onsite and offsite education programs. These programs emphasize wolf biology, the ecological benefits of wolves and other large predators, and the current status of wolf recovery in the United States. The WCC also participates in the Species Survival Plan (SSP) and Recovery Plan for the critically endangered red wolf, and the Mexican gray wolf. For more information about the WCC visit the website at www.NYWOLF.org or call (914) 763-2373. For more information on this program please call 269-7509 or email to SWCD43@sbcglobal.net