Your Stories

A Christmas Story
by Sil Patterson

Memories of Christmas past sweep over me like a blanket of snow. My favorite recollections center around my Mother who influenced my children�s lives as much as my own. My Dad claimed all my attention as a young child. It wasn�t until I was married with husband, Lew, and six children that I realized who Mom was. People change and that�s part of the magic in my appreciation of Mom. She and I became close friends. All of the quarrels of my teen years vanished. Her prejudices disappeared. She and my Dad loved their 20 grandchildren and tried to share holiday festivities with their four children and families.
Mom sewed! I not only received dolls for Christmas; I received wardrobes for those dolls, from Peggy, my baby, to Nancy Lee, my teenager. I sat on the back porch steps and created stories with each change of clothes. Mom would stick her head out the door, �Silla, that�s enough. There�s lunch
ready�or there�s dishes to be done.� Ironically the fruits of her creativity caused a stubborn isolation in me and she would worry aloud to Dad, �What�s going to become of her? Our youngest daughter spends too much time dreaming.� I can�t remember how long after this it happened but Mom changed. I like to think Dad said, �Your Dad was and your brother is a newspaper writer. Why don�t you encourage Silla to write.� From then on Mom pushed me to put my feelings on paper. �A stitch in time saves nine� means so much in the fabric of our lives.
One Christmas Dad constructed a beautiful vanity for my oldest sister, Ginny, and Mom surrounded it with lovely peach colored organdy. We all valued this piece of furniture more highly than any other in our home. I remember my girlfriend, Kathy, and I cutting out a pattern for twin dresses and receiving lessons in completing them on the sewing machine from my Mom. We wore these with great pride for at least two Christmases. Mom taught my sisters, Nancy and Ginny, and me to sew. Nancy and Ginny excelled in dress making as they grew older. I stubbornly chose nursing and family over sewing and writing but I�m thankful that Mom continued to sew as a Grandma. She made pajamas for the boys, dresses and coats, and more doll clothes. We have photographs of our Cathy looking beautiful in her �red coat.� Our first Christmas photo of David and Cathy show off polka dot pajamas and smiling faces. We should write a hymn and title it �A stitch in time saves nine.�
For years Mom seemed less tolerant than Dad. She learned from Yankee protestant parents that one has to be wary of other religions. My best friend, Kathy, arrived in the USA from Scotland at a young age. We attended second grade in South School together. I thoroughly enjoyed visiting Kathy�s Mom and Dad in their small home overlooking the railroad tracks. My Dad�s parents came from Scotland also. He was raised protestant whereas Kathy�s family members were strong roman catholics. Years later Kathy talked to me about her early visits to my home. �Your Dad always joked and made me feel comfortable. Your Mom seemed distant and cold.� It�s strange that Mom took so long to change her attitude. Our lives nearly unraveled before she stitched up the holes.
Dad�s approach to Mom�s prejudice helped her. Mine did not because I screamed. Quietly and calmly he would repeat the story of his beginnings to his four children who never tired of hearing it, and Mom couldn�t help but listen. �Yes, my Mom and Dad sailed on a boat from Scotland to the USA a few days after they were married. We think they eloped. They had three children in the next ten years; I was the oldest (David), my brother, Nelson, and my baby sister, Agnes. My Dad, Henry, worked in menial jobs. One of them was as a grocery clerk. He got sick and passed away, leaving Mom with three children and very little money. The city of New York placed the three of us in a catholic orphanage. I was scared! My sister died at a very young age in the home. Mom took Nelson to her apartment soon after Agnes died. I would hide under the bed in the orphanage every time there was a thunder storm. Sister Anne reassured me, �Dave, it�s OK. God will take care of you. Don�t be afraid.� She acted as God�s angel for many weeks in my life and I will always be grateful. My Mom worked as a house cleaner and remarried a man who soon became an alcoholic. He and I never could live together so Sister Anne and the other nuns at the orphanage placed me at a farm in Goshen, CT where I learned gardening and raising farm animals but mostly patience. The Tuttle family showed me how to work hard and learn to love. Living there I traveled to Oakville and Waterbury, where I learned auto mechanics. I stuck with the automobile repair business ever since.�
Change takes a long time but the miracle of change amazed all of us. Finally, Lefty, my older brother, exploded Mom�s bubble. Mom and Dad�s only son chose a Polish catholic as his bride. �I asked Eunice to marry me. Father James will marry us at St. Anne�s Catholic Church. I have never been happier.�
This is a Christmas story because it deals with miracles. Mom lived to be 87 and outlived Dad and Lefty. Before she died she came full circle, I recall her words when she spoke of Eunice�s strength after Lefty died, �It�s her strong Catholic faith that keeps her going.�

Doing �Hard Time� at the Meriden Twin Movie Theater
by Nancy Valla

It all started one Saturday afternoon when I was about 8 years old. My sister, some lively neighborhood friends, and I decided to spend that time going to the movies. The Meriden Twin Movie Theater on Broad Street was our pick for the day. That would be quite a treat because we usually went to the Loews Poli. This show was within walking distance from our house on Cook Ave. We would have to get a ride to go all the way across town to get to the Broad St. Theater. Actually, this place was unique by offering two screens in one building. In those days no other movie facility presented that outstanding feature. It was all so exciting! Who would have guessed that one day there would be places to go that offered �12" screens. We would see the latest newsreels (not our favorite), 2 cartoons (the best), and 2 feature films. Admission was 15 cents, unless you were 12 or older, then you had to pay a whopping 25 cents. With another dime we could enjoy a bag of hot, buttery popcorn, or a large box of chewy JuJuBees which could be lodged in our teeth for a week.
Well, I honestly don�t remember what the movie was about, but I do recall that my friends and I didn�t find it particularly appealing. Soooo, we decided we would make our own fun. I got out of my seat and proceeded to run up the aisle yelling with great glee followed by my buddies in hot pursuit. Since I was leading the pack, I was the only one who was caught by a disgruntled usher. My disloyal friends who were behind me, witnessed my unlucky fate. They proceeded to disperse throughout the theater, therefore eluding the pursuing employee who immediately escorted me to the dreaded �Cry Room.� This was a place feared by all since it was the storage place for all bad little babies who managed to disturb the other patrons. Discomforted mothers were asked to vacate their seats and relocate their screaming offspring to this soundproof place. It had a huge glass window where the offending party and caretaker could continue to watch the movie in isolation without bothering others. How embarrassing, I wasn�t a baby, I was 8 years old!
As I angrily sat there alone in this huge empty room, I wondered how I ever got myself into this awful mess, and why I was the only one who had to suffer. My movie buddies were just as much at fault. After sitting for a long time consumed with feelings of resentment, I decided I would have to behave in public places. I wanted to avoid any more humiliating situations. I guess I had to learn the lesson the hard way!
My mother, the school teacher, was mortified that one of her offspring would have acted in such
a disgraceful manner. I was punished by not being allowed to go to another movie for the rest of the summer.....oh the injustice of it all. Didn�t I pay for this indiscretion enough by being banished to the Cry Room. I was being chastised twice for the same crime. Isn�t there a law against this? If that wasn�t bad enough, my mom managed to remind me periodically of my lapse in good judgement. I has to suffer in silence.
For many years I was too embarrassed to return to this theater. However, when I eventually went back as an adult, I couldn�t help but wonder if every older employee who looked at me, was remembering the infamous �Cry Room Incident.� I certainly would never forget and neither would my mother.

You Know Me Well
by Jo-ann Buccetti

You know me well
I am everywhere, everyone
needs and wants me
Once you have me - you don�t
want to lose me
As I am strong - I can make
you weak
I can make you happy
I can make you sad
Some fear me - while others
adore me
I touch everyone differently
I can move mountains
Your darkest days are made brighter
Without me - You are sad and lonely
I put faith in your heart
and spirit in your mind
You know my name
You know me well
My name is love !

The Anniversary of Pearl Harbor
by LaReine Foote (aka �Ma� )
I certainly remember that day! I was 15 years old.
A few weeks prior to that day my family had moved to a new home in a different neighborhood. I had to leave my friends on Hall Ave. We moved to Hart Ave. (Now Sunset Ave.)
Well, one day, a Sunday afternoon, I was looking out our living room window at all the snow on the ground. All of a sudden, a large car pulled up and stopped in front of the driveway.
It was loaded with people and I saw �Larry� the driver, looking and studying our house. It came to me �Hey, that�s Pop� and the �gang�, my friends from the old neighborhood.
I ran over and called them in.
Of course, in those days - no TV, no tape players, only radio and 33 1/3 rpm platters (records).
I was showing off a new piece of furniture, as the 5 of them were enjoying my grandmother�s homemade root beer and cookies.
It was a combination of radio and record player. I was playing some of the platters, when someone asked if we could try the radio.
It was about 2 p.m. or so in the afternoon, Sunday, December 7, 1941.
As soon as I turned the radio on, a terrible news came on the air. Pearl Harbor, Hawaii sub base had been bombed - a �sneak attack� by Japan. Wow! The guys said they were going to join the U.S. services, and all did soon after.
We all can recall President Roosevelt�s voice as he said �Ah declare wah� on Japan (his very distinguished accent apparent to us.)
I was glad my family was spared, but we all certainly were sorry for them who were killed.
I was amazed, tho, how it happened that we were spared? Why?
Well, Dad worked at the New London sub base in Groton. He was the electrician who had laid the cable and wired the first building there, for the federal government.
One time, he had been asked to move to Pearl Harbor and do his job there.
But he declined. The government would pay for him and 2 others (one could go as �house keeper� and one as �interpreter�) but he didn�t want to leave us 3 kids behind.
Hey, we would have been living near that base! Close call huh?
Well, in August 1945, that war was ended! USA dropped the �A� bomb (atomic bomb) on Japanese cities - they gave up!
That is what I remember about Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941.
P.S. There used to be a saying (a motto) �Remember the Alamo.� Now it was �Remember Pearl Harbor.�

If you can�t take the heat, the kitchen�s not the problem
By Maura K. Ammenheuser
Early December: a beautiful time of year. The holidays are just about here. The days are nippy, the nights frosty.
It�s time for the thermostat wars.
Murphy�s Law of Marriage states that spouses shall have opposite internal thermostats. Nobody ever tells you this before you tie the knot, but ask all the married couples you know and I�ll bet most of them will confess to having more than a few temperature-related arguments.
In our house, I�m the one who�s always too hot and my husband too cold. Somehow this isn�t a major issue even on the hottest summer days when we blast the air conditioning. But in the winter months one of us is always uncomfortable.
I�ll concede that my feet tend to get and stay cold, which makes me cranky. But if my tootsies are toasty, I�m happy to pad around in a 65-degree house in January wearing lightweight sweatpants and a short-sleeve T-shirt. My 3-year-old son, Ryan, seems wired pretty much the same way. So we function happily in our admittedly cool conditions all day. Then my husband arrives home.
David is perpetually freezing. Most winter nights he heads for the thermostat within 10 minutes of entering the house and ratchets it up a few notches. Pretty soon I am sweltering. For a while I attributed this to either (a) the extra heat in the kitchen at that hour due to the oven or stovetop running; (b) pregnancy; (c) the fact that late in the day I�m usually tired and steamed, so to speak, over minor irritations such as whiny children or the loss of my favorite spatula to the toy chest; or (d) a combination of the above.
But eventually my beloved hubby and I came to realize that our internal thermostats are simply and permanently set about 15 degrees apart. For me, a heat wave is any day over 80 degrees, but I�m willing to hit the ski slopes when the wind chill is at 20 below. David isn�t wild about summer�s most oppressive heat, but he tolerates that much better than, say, our family room in February. He doesn�t like to bundle up indoors, however, so rather than putting on a warm sweater, he cranks up the furnace.
Now, I won�t blame all of this misery on David and I hope he wouldn�t blame it on me. A contributing factor is our unbelievably persnickety thermostat. It�s nearly impossible to nail the perfect temperature, regardless of who�s messing with the thing. With the gizmo set at 69 degrees, I wilt. At 68 there are arctic pockets all over the house. So the correct setting, for me anyway, is exactly 68.5.
Which, unfortunately, is still about 10 degrees too chilly for my spouse. But he, too, finds that a single degree in either direction makes the difference between lounging in front of the TV in balmy comfort or actually breaking down and putting on another layer of clothing.
If our conflicting couple thermodynamics make daytime tricky, that�s nothing compared to our nights. We sneak around behind each other�s backs, tweaking the thermostat when the other�s not looking. David bumps up the heat while I�m brushing my teeth; I turn it way down again when our infant wakes me in the middle of the night to nurse. Nearly every night one of us gains consciousness at some godforsaken hour to gripe about the climate.
David (pulling the flannel sheets and comforter completely off me at 2:30 a.m.): �I�m freezing! You�ve got all the covers!�
Maura (racing for the bathroom an hour later, desperate for a drink of water): �Jeez Louise, it�s like the Sahara in here!�
It does not help that the vent in our room is directly over my side of the bed. (Please don�t suggest switching sides or rearranging the furniture. That would not only make too much sense but rob us of the pleasure of bickering about temperature.) I frequently awaken to an arid 80-degree wind in my face, making my skin itch, my brain ache and my sinuses congest. It�s like trying to sleep with a blow dryer aimed at your head.
So, naturally, I hit the thermostat. And when David gets out of bed in the morning, he�s a giant blue goosebump, making a desperate shivering dash for the hot shower to thaw the icicles hanging from his goatee. When I�m feeding the kiddies breakfast, he turns the heat up, then leaves for work. When I return from errands at lunchtime, it�s the Sahara again. Down goes the thermostat. Up it goes again when David gets home. Some day we�ll find the stupid plastic thing melted and the furnace room littered with shot sprockets and gears. How much wear-and-tear can a tiny tangle of dials and sensors take?
At least we haven�t resorted to anything that could potentially damage the house.
The home I grew up in was more than 60 years old. Despite its heavy, clanking metal steam radiators, it was an igloo all winter. So my parents installed a wood-burning stove in the den, just off the kitchen. It was where we spent most of our time, so we stayed relatively cozy until 11 p.m. Then we�d make mad sprints up the stairs to our frigid bedrooms to dive under the covers before the heat of the stove had seeped from our bones. To this day my brother prefers sleeping under heavy down comforters in a room heated to about 40 degrees.
The people who bought that house from my family � in July, mind you � immediately removed the stove from the den. My brothers and I wonder at the magnitude of the leak the den�s flat roof must have developed once that enormous stovepipe was yanked out. But that should have been easy to anticipate. We get a bigger laugh over what a chilly surprise the new owners must have received come the first frost that year, when they stepped from a 50-degree October evening into a kitchen and den that probably hit, at best, about 48.
Hmmm� maybe I should have asked that family to give the wood stove back to me. It would benefit us all. David could sit on it to watch TV, warming his cheeks pretty good. And when he�s done, I could put out the fire, let the stove cool, drag it into the kitchen and throw some raw meat in there. It�s big and metal and would make a dang good icebox.

Did you know about the Dollar Bill
Take out a one dollar bill, and look at it. The one dollar bill you're looking at first came off the presses in 1957 in its present design. This so-called paper money is in fact a cotton and linen blend, with red and blue minute silk fibers running through it. It is actually material. We've all washed it without it falling apart. A special blend of ink is used, the contents we will never know. It is overprinted with symbols and then it is starched to make it water resistant and pressed to give it that nice crisp look. If you look on the front of the bill, you will see the United States Treasury Seal. On the top you will see the scales for a balanced budget. In the center you have a carpenter's square, a tool used for an even cut. Underneath is the Key to the United States Treasury. That's all pretty easy to figure out, but what is on the back of that dollar bill is something we should all know. If you turn the bill over, you will see two circles. Both circles, together, comprise the Great Seal of the United States. The First Continental Congress requested that Benjamin Franklin and a group of men come up with a Seal. It took them four years to accomplish this task and another two years to get it approved. If you look at the left-hand circle, you will see a Pyramid. Notice the face is lighted, and the western side is dark. This country was just beginning. We had not begun to explore the West or decided what we could do for Western Civilization. The Pyramid is un-capped, again signifying that we were not even close to being finished. Inside the capstone you have the all-seeing eye, an ancient symbol for divinity. It was Franklin's belief that one man couldn't do it alone, but a group of men, with the help of God, could do anything. "IN GOD WE TRUST" is on this currency. The Latin above the pyramid, ANNUIT COEPTIS, means, "God has favored our undertaking." The Latin below the pyramid, NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM, means, "a new order has begun." At the base of the pyramid is the Roman Numeral for 1776. If you look at the right-hand circle, and check it carefully, you will learn that it is on every National Cemetery in the United States It is also on the Parade of Flags Walkway at the Bushnell, Florida National Cemetery, and is the centerpiece of most hero's monuments. Slightly modified, it is the seal of the President of the United States, and it is always visible whenever he speaks, yet very few people know what the symbols mean. The Bald Eagle was selected as a symbol for victory for two reasons: First, he is not afraid of a storm; he is strong, and he is smart enough to soar above it. Secondly, he wears no material crown. We had just broken from the King of England. Also, notice the shield is unsupported. This country can now stand on its own. At the top of that shield you have a white bar signifying congress, a unifying factor. We were coming together as one nation. In the Eagle's beak you will read, "E PLURIBUS UNUM", meaning, "one nation from many people". Above the Eagle, you have thirteen stars, representing the thirteen original colonies, and any clouds of misunderstanding rolling away. Again, we were coming together as one.. Notice what the Eagle holds in his talons. He holds an olive branch and arrows. This country wants peace, but we will never be afraid to fight to preserve peace. The Eagle always wants to face the olive branch, but in time of war, his gaze turns toward the arrows. They say that the number 13 is an unlucky number. This is almost a worldwide belief. You will usually never see a room numbered 13, or any hotels or motels with a 13th floor. But think about this: 13 original colonies, 13 signers of the Declaration of Independence, 13 stripes on our flag, 13 steps on the Pyramid, 13 letters in the Latin above, 13 letters in "E Pluribus Unum", 13 stars above the Eagle, 13 bars on that shield, 13 leaves on the olive branch, 13 fruits, and if you look closely, 13 arrows. And, for minorities: the 13th Amendment. I always ask people, "Why don't you know this?" Your children don't know this, and their history teachers don't know this. Too many veterans have given up too much to ever let the meaning fade. Many veterans remember coming home to an America that didn't care. Too many veterans never came home at all.

"The Tea Cup"
Submitted by Donna Mahon
There was a couple who used to go England to shop in a beautiful antique store. This trip was to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. They both liked antiques and pottery, and especially teacups.
Spotting an exceptional cup, they asked, "May we see that? We've never seen a cup quite so beautiful."
As the lady handed it to them, the tea cup spoke.
"You don't understand," it said, "I have not always been a tea cup. There was a time when I was just a lump of red clay. My master took me and rolled me pounded and patted me over and over and I yelled out, 'Don't do that. I don't like it! Let me alone,' but he only smiled, and gently said, 'Not yet!'
"Then. WHAM! I was placed on a spinning wheel and suddenly I was spun around and around and around. 'Stop it! I'm getting so dizzy! I'm going to be sick!', I screamed But the master only nodded and said, quietly, 'Not yet.'
"He spun me and poked and prodded and bent me out of shape to suit himself and then....then he put me in the oven. I never felt such heat. I yelled and knocked and pounded at the door.
'Help! Get me out of here!' I could see him through the opening and I could read his lips as he shook his head from side to side, 'Not yet."
When I thought I couldn't bear it another minute, the door opened. He carefully took me out and put me on the shelf, and I began to cool. 'Oh, that felt so good! Ah, this is much better,' I thought.
But, after I cooled he picked me up and he brushed and painted me all over. The fumes were horrible. I thought I would gag. 'Oh, please; stop it, stop it!!' I cried. He only shook his head and said. 'Not yet!'
"Then suddenly he put me back in to the oven. Only it was not like the first one. This was twice as hot and I just knew I would suffocate. I begged. I pleaded. I screamed. I cried. I was convinced. I would never make it. I was ready to give up.
"Just then the door opened and he took me out and again placed me on the shelf, where I cooled and waited and waited, wondering, what�s he going to do to me next? An hour later he handed me a mirror and said 'Look at yourself.' And I did. "I said, ' That's not me; that couldn't be me. It's beautiful I�m beautiful!'
"Quietly he spoke: 'I want you to remember, then, he said, 'I know it hurt to be rolled and pounded and patted, but had I just left you alone, you'd have dried up. I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled.
I know it hurt and it was hot and disagreeable in the oven, but if I hadn't put you there, you would have cracked. I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over, but if I hadn't done that, you never would have hardened. You would not have had any color in your life. If I hadn't put you back in that second oven, you wouldn't have survived for long because the hardness would not have held. Now you are a finished product. Now you are what I had in mind when I first began with you.'"
God knows what He's doing in each of us. He is the potter, and we are His clay. He will mold us and make us, and expose us to just enough pressures of just the right kinds that we may be made into a flawless piece of work to fulfill
His good, pleasing and perfect will.
So when life seems hard, and you are being pounded and patted and pushed almost beyond endurance; when your world seems to be spinning out of control; when you feel like you are in a fiery furnace of trials; when life seems to "stink", try this:
Brew a cup of your favorite tea in your prettiest tea cup, sit down, and have a little talk with the Potter.

THANKSGIVING
By Ernie Larsen
11/13/06
Editor�s Note: This article was worthy of publishing any time of the year. Thanksgiving may have passed but the meaning of this story has not.
Thanksgiving will be upon us sooner than we think! What does Thanksgiving mean to you? I�m sure many things to many people; the origins of the holiday are attributed to the Pilgrims who landed in Massachusetts so many years ago. The Pilgrims original idea for Thanksgiving was to thank God and the local natives for their role in helping them survive a harsh winter and for reaping a bountiful harvest in the spring. That�s it, no football games, opening of the Christmas shopping frenzy, class reunions, and long holiday weekends. The Pilgrims first Thanksgiving festival was in December of 1621, it�s said modern day celebrations are modeled after this early soir�e.
What should we be thankful for? I�m writing this a few days after the election and I think I speak for many that we certainly can be thankful that this most annoying and negative campaign, �silly season� if you will, is now over. Beside that, what should we really be thankful for? For one, I believe we should be to be happy for what we have; what�s that you say? Take freedom and our independent lifestyles for a start! Imagine if you could not go to the store, go shopping, apply for a job, and go to a restaurant without the threat of being blown up, shot or kidnapped. This is a daily occurrence for the residents of Baghdad; both civilian and military. Not a place one would care to be, eh? Or to be living in a country that represses the population by intimidation and incessant propaganda, while the Prime Minister, who is a NBA basketball addict, has access to NBA games via several satellite feeds and watches them on a variety of high tech TV�s.
Sure, some of our politicians engage in some off-beat antics, but at least we have the right to vote and speak our minds! Think about it and be thankful you do not have to endure these same indignities and pretty much have free reign of your daily life.
Thanksgiving in our family brings together our immediate family, for the most part. In past years we�ve invited people who had no other place to spend the holiday or were unfamiliar with the celebration and tradition. The first time, in the mid 70�s, I was working at International Silver Company on Broad Street. My colleague who hailed from India approached me at around 4:00 PM, (mind you, our day ended at 4:30) and asked me �How do you prepare the traditional Thanksgiving dinner?� Well, that threw me for a loop for a few moments and I replied �Instead of me trying to explain everything to you, why don�t you and your wife come to my house and spend Thanksgiving with my family� Based on their constant thanks for days after their visit, I guess it this was a better option for them instead of trying to do it themselves. We enjoyed their company so much we invited them back for Christmas.
A couple of years ago my son mentioned one of his friends in his Master�s program at UConn and the fellows' roommate were spending Thanksgiving alone. His friend was from Pakistan the housemate from Spain. I immediately told him to invite them to our house. We always prepare more food than we can consume so a couple of more at the table would be no problem. I�m glad they came, they both were unfamiliar with mashed potatoes, stuffing was an unknown entity and cranberry sauce, well it might as well have been something imported from outer space, they had no clue as to what cranberries were, much less how they tasted. We had such a good time entertaining and educating these guys we hated to see them leave.
Over the years, my daughter and I have volunteered at the YMCA to help serve their Thanksgiving dinner. This is for those who have no place to go or do not have the means to prepare the dinner themselves. A very humbling experience, makes you truly appreciate what you have.
I think the point I�m trying to make is that many living here in the US do not know how really good life is here, they really don�t. Some who constantly complain that the government, politicians, whatever service oriented business or entity is not doing things the way they think it should be done must remember that they are fortunate they have the privilege to complain. What we take for granted others can only hope and dream for.
I�m sure most of those reading this will be spending a traditional holiday with family and friends. Take a moment and think about the �grunt� in Iraq, sweating his or her butt off thinking about their families at home and how they�re spending their day; this also applies to the military folks around the world that are spending their holiday away from home so we can maintain the lifestyle to which we are accustomed. And of course don�t forget those who have no one with who to share the day, spending it at the �Y� Thanksgiving feast, or one of the many dinners offered by local churches with many wondering where their next meal will be coming from.
So, how are you going to spend your Thanksgiving?
Reach out; donate to the food kitchen, volunteer to deliver meals or whatever to serve dinner, be sure your neighbors have somewhere to spend the holiday, just try and help make someone�s holiday a bit more special. And next time you complain about whatever, remember there are those who risk grave consequences if they do.
Above all, cherish the time you spend with family & friends.
Happy Thanksgiving.

What is your favorite thing to eat with your latkes �applesauce, or sour cream?
By Joan Goodman
Since The People�s Press likes to have polls, I thought I would have one too. Do you like applesauce or sour cream with your latkes? Or both? (like me) If you are scratching your head saying �What�s a latke?� let me explain a delicious tradition that is part of the Chanukah celebration in December.
A latke is a potato pancake, fried in oil, that Jewish people eat during Chanukah. The oil symbolizes the cruse of oil that the Talmud says miraculously lasted for eight days when the Jewish people rededicated their temple in Jerusalem in 165 B.C.E., after the ouster of the Syrian-Greek army by a small band of Jewish fighters called the Maccabees. (Maccabee is said to have been the battle cry of the Jewish forces, and also derives from the Hebrew word for hammer, denoting great strength.)
There is also an Israeli custom of eating sufganiyot (doughnuts), another food fried in oil. In our family we learned this custom from one of my Israeli friends, and gladly added it to our celebration by indulging in jelly doughnuts.
There are several other Chanukah traditions. First, we light candles in a special candle holder called a menorah and say blessings. On each of the eight nights, another candle is added until on the last night eight candles burn brightly. Well, really nine because we light a candle called the �shamash� (helper) which we use to light the other candles. The candles are lit to symbolize light and faith, carrying on the legacy of Chanukah of hope and religious freedom.
Another custom is to play with dreidels (also spelled draydel) which are four-sided tops with a hebrew letter on each side. The letters are nun, gimmel, hay, and shin which stand for the first letters in the words of the phrase �nes gadol haya sham� which means a great miracle happened there. The person spins the dreidel and takes an action depending on what letter it lands on. You play with a �pot� of nuts, candy, or pennies in the center. Nun is for �none� or the player takes nothing from the pot. For Gimmel think �give me� and the player gets what is in the pot. For Hay, the player takes half of the pot. And for Shin the player puts a piece into the pot. If nothing is left in the center and the players want to keep the game going, they can all put in a couple of pieces and keep playing.
Chanukah is actually considered a minor holiday in the Jewish calendar. It is okay to go to work and school. Chanukah became a �bigger holiday� culturally as Jewish and Christian people mingled more. Gift giving is one example. Originally, this was part of the Purim tradition (a spring holiday) and not part of Chanukah. Later, in Eastern Europe, families gave children chanukah gelt ( money) on the fifth night. And with Chanukah falling in December near Christmastime, gift giving gradually became part of the Chanukah custom although it varies among families. Some give small gifts each night, some for just one night, some give a check for a certain amount and let the child decide who the check should go to (e.g. a charity of their choice).
Chanukah is observed with family and friends, mostly at home, and sometimes with gatherings at a synagogue. Our synagogue, Temple B�nai Abraham (127 East Main Street) in Meriden, is having a Latke Party on Sunday December 10th, from 11:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. So if you want to find out what a latke tastes like, and whether it is better with applesauce or sour cream (or both!), please join us. You can also do some Chanukah shopping at the Holiday Fair.
Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, and Feliz Navidad.

Sources: The Jewish Book of Why, by Aflred J. Kolatch; The Jewish Home Advisor by Alfred P. Kolatch; and Jewish Family & Life by Yosef I. Abramowitz & Rabbi Susan Silverman

Help Hunter Christian Pageau Come Home for the Holidays! by Sharon Agli-Pageau and Adam PageauAs many of you may have already heard, our 14 month old son, Hunter, has been diagnosed with SMARD1 (Spinal Muscular Atrophy with Respiratory Distress), which is both a progressively debilitating and fatal disease, with an average life expectancy of 2 years of age. We have just entered our 9th consecutive month of in-house hospitalization, of which 8 of those months have been out of state, separating us from our family and friends, to a large degree. We are currently with Hunter at Children's Specialized Hospital in Mountainside, NJ and have been of dischargeable status since the beginning of September. Unfortunately, with the status of the both the healthcare system and Social Services, we have been delayed in our homecoming for now going into our 4th month! It's a very sad state of affairs when a family has meet all of the requirements to exit hospitalization, and are then unable to proceed home due to Insurance protocols (our Insurance will only allow us to garner Nursing staff from ONE agency in order for them to cover the service). Furthermore, there is a palpable Nursing shortage in our State, and it has been very difficult for the varying Homecare Agencies we have been working with to staff Hunter's needs. We currently necessitate 16 hours of in-home nursing each day for Hunter, due to his special needs and care requirements. Our family has been working closely with one agency in particular, who seem to be having the most success in locating Nurses to staff our needs for home, however, despite their best efforts since September, are unable to offer us a complete schedule, as required for discharge from this NJ facility. We can't fathom how much longer it may take for this agency to cover the shifts unoccupied, and in the meantime, Hunter spends his life here, within a Hospital, away from his extended family and friends. Our hope was to have Hunter home by Christmas, not so we could proceed to enjoy a traditional holiday, as our time and focus will then be to train our new Nursing staff on our son's care, but to have returned Hunter to his natural, loving, appropriate environment, where he will thrive best. With the beginning of this month of December, we are reaching out to you, the people, to help us. We have placed Hunter's fate in the hands of various agencies for quite some time now, and they still have nothing resolute to offer us in regards to taking our son home. Considering his circumstances, we very much desire the time we have to spend with our son to be at home, not in a hospital. The only other solution we as parents can come up with is for us to personally hire Nurses to cover the shifts that are not filled as of yet, so we can then return to a quality family life, one that has been taken from us for such an extended period of time now. Our idea would be very costly for us, and is not a very feasible idea in the bigger picture. If anyone has any thoughts or ideas for us in regards to how we could bring our beautiful son home soon, or would care to assist us in our efforts to hire Homecare staff ourselves, we can be reached at the following address: Sharon Agli-Pageau, 665 North Colony Road, Wallingford, CT 06492. For those of you who have offered donations in honor of Hunter's medical expenses, we again thank you in the most heartfelt way. Thank you for taking the time to read this article and to help our son! God bless!

WORLD'S WORST CHRISTMAS SHOPPER MUST BITE THE BULLETBy Phyllis S. DonovanOn a list of the World's Greatest Shoppers, I must rate dead last. For some people, shopping is recreation, preferred entertainment ranking right up there with movies, baseball games and band concerts.
Many of these people have been happily strolling around the malls since last summer picking up Christmas gifts for everyone they know, selecting just the right present for the right person. Already they're smugly informing anyone who'll listen that they've just about finished their Christmas shopping and have started wrapping. People like that are easy to hate. To me, shopping is a chore, the worst kind of drudgery. Browsing in stores in not my idea of fun. And when those stores are crowded, forget it. I'd rather stay home and do without. At times when it's absolutely necessary for me to go shopping, I try to decide ahead of time exactly what I want and where to find it so I can run right in, pick it up and leave as quickly as possible. That's why Christmas shopping to me is like the Chinese water treatment - sheer torture! I try not to think about it until after Thanksgiving each year, but it gets harder and harder to ignore with "Christmas sales" starting before Halloween. It doesn't help that none of my family will give me the slightest idea as to what they'd like for Christmas. I'm lucky to wheedle sizes out of them on Thanksgiving day. Every year it's the same. I confront the perennial chore of buying gifts for them without a clue as to what they need or want. Tougher yet, I'm out of practice having successfully avoided shopping for anything but groceries for at least the past two months. So here I am, starting from scratch, poring over the piles of store sale inserts that come with the newspapers and trying to draw up a plan of action for tackling the chore logically so I can spend the least possible time in the stores. A consummate list-maker, like Santa, I believe in making a list and checking it regularly. It helps me keep my sanity when it comes down to balancing everything so I spend approximately the same for everyone each year. It isn't easy. This year, I promised myself that I wouldn't allow the dreaded chore of Christmas shopping put a damper on other happier holiday preparations. The plan, of course, was to force myself to hit the stores early and hard and put the shopping nightmare behind me.fast! Since I abhor crowds as much as I do shopping itself, I wouldn't go anywhere near a store on Black Friday. Whenever I see all those people stampeding into the front doors of the big box stores at the crack of dawn the day after Thanksgiving eager to scoop up the latest electronic wonder, I physically cringe. The challenge of the hunt is not strong enough for me to subject myself to that kind of madness. Besides, most people of my generation are at a complete loss when it comes to the latest fad items grandchildren covet. I find myself wandering aimlessly around toy stores without a clue as to what would appeal to kids 12 or under. Meanwhile, I must fend off anxiety attacks, tackle the job coolly and unemotionally. I must plunge into the crowds and do my duty as a bonafide Christmas shopper. I must pay my dues, earn my lumps and move on to the warmer and happier part of the holiday season. Each year I face the battle with more reluctance and less stamina. Wouldn't it be wonderful to just forget the whole exercise in futility and skip the perennial rat race of buying gifts that are unwanted, unacceptable, unappreciated, wrong color, wrong size, wrong style, too expensive, too cheap, too itchy, too gaudy, too fattening? I'm tempted to just give everyone gift certificates and let them do their own shopping. But then what would I put under the tree? And what would I do with all the time and energy I usually expend on Christmas? Why, I'd just concentrate it all on getting ready for the real celebration of Christmas, the part of Christmas I really enjoy, the part I never get around to until all that shopping is done.

NATURE AS A MIRROR
By Dorothy Gonick

Welcoming Winter Weather

Bleak November scenes
Of leaden skies and barren trees
Bedded down for winter�s freeze,
Dreaming of a warm spring breeze.

A skein of geese in pattern �V�
Honking greetings wild and free.
Scurrying saucy, squirrels
Hiding acorns in their tree.

Flashing red of cardinals,
Cheery calls of chickadees,
Downys pecking at the suet,
Blue Jays feasting on the seeds.

Glistening snow and ice filled pools
Delight the children home from school
Donning garments of warm knit wool,
Choosing skis, skates, or sleds to pull.

Flickering flames gleam through the grate
Toasting marshmallows to a golden fate.
Dancing shadows that do not wait,
Changing shape from early to late.

Weather changes�to harsh from mild,
There�s beauty in a tempest wild.
Just snuggle under blankets piled,
Revel in them like a child.

Welcome, Winter!

A Visit from the Animals
On Wednesday, November 8 and Thursday, November 9, the Hungerford Animal Program visited First Congregational Church Nursery School. They offer educational programming exhibits and special events that relate to science, natural history, the environment and other issues dealing with today�s society.
Nick, the Hungerford animal handler, talked to our 3-year old and 4-year old classes about six small animals that he brought to the school. The first animal exhibit was Milkshake, a light grey and beige, floppy-eared rabbit. As Nick held Milkshake in his hand, Milkshake shook with the prospect of hopping away. Many of the children gently touched Milkshake. The next small animal to be introduced to the children was a hen with thick, light golden plumage. Nick allowed the hen to walk around the children as he kept a close eye on it. Then he showed the children the mealworms that the hen eats. Although unattractive, the children enjoyed looking at the mealworms.
The children became more excited with each animal that Nick took out to show them. Houdini, the albino rat snake, received a chorus of ooo�s and aaa�s and a reluctance to touch him. A few children ventured to touch Houdini and were pleasantly surprised to learn that he felt silky smooth. Nick told the children that rat snakes like to eat rats, hence the name.
Salty, a white ferret, was the fourth small animal to be taken out of his kennel. He was very friendly, moving around the children as he smelled them. Salty wasn�t kept out long for fear of losing him. Ferrets are nocturnal so they are even more active at nighttime. A white chinchilla with black markings was the next animal to be shown. Also a nocturnal animal, he lives in the mountains of Ecuador, Bolivia and Chile. He has a very soft fur, which keeps him warm in the high altitudes. The chinchilla is an even faster runner than the ferret so Nick didn�t put him down on the floor.
Yertle, the box turtle, was the grand finale of the animal exhibits. We were informed that box turtles are land turtles and that the male has red eyes and the female has brown eyes. When a box turtle is frightened, it goes inside its shell and it completely closes its shell.
The children enjoyed learning about all the animals and touching them. At the end of the day, the children were asked to draw their favorite Hungerford animal. They were all admired by the children.
The Hungerford animal program is part of the New Britain Youth Museum at Hungerford Park. It is located at 191 Farmington Avenue in Kensington. For more information, their telephone number is (860) 827-9064.
Submitted by:
Triana Buitrago
First Congregational Church Nursery School

A Gift of Love
I lost my mother and brother all within 2 months of each other. Needless to say, I was devastated, but the unending love from our Great Pyrenees, French Bulldog, and my brothers 14 year old Bichon, who we adopted, in a way saved my life. There was always a happy, grateful, and loving face, wagging tail and a great big kiss, to make me feel better. In lieu of flowers to their funerals, I requested donations be made to the Wallingford Shelter. Since mother and brother loved animals, I knew this is what they would have wanted. I believe they received over $1000 in total. (Lisa at the shelter would know better how much exactly.) I knew that I wanted to help the shelter, but the town does not allow volunteers, so the only way I could is to get donations. I encourage others to consider this as a remembrance of a loved one. The flowers die, but the feeling that you saved a pet in need will last forever. So, when I sent invitations to a Halloween Masquerade party I asked everyone to bring food or a treat for the dogs and the cats. I was overwhelmed by the generosity of my friends and neighbors, and quite impressed with the costumes! Donations included, dog and cat food and treats, cat litter, kennel blankets, and a professional grooming table. I ask everyone to remember the animals during this season and donate food, blankets and of course money, to their local animal shelter and to adopt a pet before going to a puppy-mill pet shop to buy a dog or cat. If you need any more info from me, you can call me at 265-6549. I am hoping this will inspire someone. I work from home; I'm a freelance graphic designer and also have a website, www.50PLUSCT.com, so I am home a lot. Thank god for the dogs company during the day!Thanks a lot, TracyHERE IS THE EMAIL I GOT FROM LISA AT THE SHELTERDear Tracy Thank you from the heart for all the wonderful donations to our animal shelter. As Rachel and I filled our storage closet, with the treasure trove of gifts, we were amazed, awed ... and truly THANKFUL! When we saw our closet full, we realized this bounty will last us for at least three to six weeks, depending on the amount of animals. How priceless is that?! I'm over the moon! You've no idea how much this helps the fur-kids! You see, we keep all the fur-kids, until we can find them a forever home. The only animals that are ever put to sleep, at the vet, are those that are too aggressive to be placed in the public, or those medically beyond help. Everyone else finds their home! I had a fourteen year old calico cat for 16 months ... and I finally placed her with a sweet woman at Elim Park, that lost her dog. OH, Happy Day! Honestly, there are VERY few, I can probably count them on one hand, that ever get put to sleep in the space of a year. The reason is, they don't end up at a pound for any fault of their own ... it's most often, neglectful owners, NOT horrid fur-kids. They can't share their stories, they depend on us. To get to know them, love them ... tell their nature to those looking for love. I wish folks knew how many good animals they could get from a pound. I get every breed, shape and size ... from Standard Poodles, English Mastiffs, Bangles, Ragdolls, Yorkies, Pugs, Teacup Chi's and beloved Mutts ... you name it, they come through the door. When folks purchase at Pet stores, they are promoting puppy mills ... Agggh ... most from Kansas or Missouri ... horrid places for the most part ... *sigh* Each purchase keeps the horrid underworld in business. Unlike most pounds, we have an application process.. it's not like the old days, the way I choose to run things ... when anyone could walk in with their five dollar bill and get a dog or cat. I am legally able to put any animal down, seven days after an ad is placed in the local newspaper. Sadly, too many places do just that ... it's just not right. I could never do that! Sadly, the price for a fixed animal remains the same ... five lowly dollars. State mandated. This is why I�m so stringent on my adoption process. I recently adopted out a 3,000 dollar English Bull dog that was surrendered ... I know how much his former owner paid for him as he had all his paperwork. I found him a stellar home.. the new owners paid five dollars for Mugsy. My joy is that he will get a million dollars worth of love. They email me photos and updates all the time. They adore him! He deserved that! We are very adamant that they find a forever home ... not just to get them out the door. The last thing they need is more change, more moves.. they have feelings and they love their people ... UNCONDITIONALLY!!! They don't need to be dumped again! Rachel and I work very hard to try and find that FOREVER home of love. The elbow grease, cleaning kennels, exercise and such, is an exhausting labor of love. The food, treats and comforts are what allows us to hold on to them until we can find them their forever people. That is why your gifts mean so much! It helps us help them, more than you could know. Finding homes for these angels, all wrapped up in fur is OUR gift. It helps us deal with the cruelty and abuse we see on a daily basis. Yes, we uphold laws and handle on average 120 complaints per month. We are not like a humane agency that just deals in adoptions. We have tons of other work to perform too, which for the town, is our primary duty. There are days when our hearts are quite weary. Yet, looking at our alumni board, seeing all those placed happily, is what keeps us putting one foot in front of the other in our other duties. I only wish we could help more. We are not allowed to have volunteers in Wallingford, so our work day is always very chock full. We do it all ourselves. We are not like some pounds that euthanize just to end the heavy work load.... It is truly our passion, our calling. People say to me all the time, "how can you work here, I couldn't stand it .. I care too much!" I say, mentally, for I would never offend them ... How could I leave them, knowing I offer love, help and give my all for them to find loving homes? Yes, it HURTS my heart TOO!!! But I am willing to feel that pain, in an effort to help them ... that is "caring"... perhaps as they say, "too much." It IS painful, truly painful, but it has it's rewards. It's far easier not to look, to see, to feel or know. Ignorance is bliss ... but if I left them, and someone else hired chose to go the seven day route ... Agggh! :( So, we take the pain, and concentrate on the good. We have a fantastic adoption rate, as I believe there is an old sock for every old shoe. It just takes time, work, and food. Please extend my sincere thanks to all those who donated. Big hugs to you and James for doing this Tracy. You have really made a difference, something every good soul hopes to do ... YOU HAVE! Thank you!!! This evening as I handed out Greenies, pig ears and biscuits to the thankful pups, and treats to the kitties, my heart filled up. They have so little as they wait for their special home ... and they enjoy and appreciate treats so much. So pupper slurps and kitty purrs, all around as well. The food is Heaven ... Oh, how we needed it! It helps us so much to keep on keeping on ... for them! The grooming table is such a wonderful addition to our facility. So many come in abused, neglected, filthy dirty ... this will help us tremendously in helping them look their best! The truth is, they love looking their best too.Thanks,Lisa Seyler, Animal Control Officer 294-2180Rachel Amenta, Assistant Animal Contol Officer (In the picture)

Larry McGoldrick: Meriden�s Own �Good Scout�
By CS Purcell
Each day, hundreds of volunteers help make their community a better place. So each year, the �Good Scout� Award recognizes one of these individuals for his or her outstanding community service.
This year�s recipient is longtime Meriden resident and businessman Larry McGoldrick. He was honored at an award luncheon on November 16. Though, quite humbly, McGoldrick says, �When I first learned I was this year�s award recipient, I thought there must be someone more deserving. But it is a great organization, and I was very honored.�
Although McGoldrick might be humble, his list of community service is extensive. He provides leadership to many local committees, boards, and organizations. He is currently President of the Meriden Economic Development Corporation (MEDCO), Vice Chairman of the Board of Directors of MidState Medical Center, Director of the Meriden-Wallingford Campership Board, Member of the Bankers� Advisory Board of the Conference of State Bank Supervisors, Steering Committee Member of Meriden�s Comprehensive Economic Development Strategy (CEDS) and a member of the Meriden Rotary Club. Mr. McGoldrick is also currently serving as the Co-Chairman of Meriden�s Bicentennial Steering Committee.
Previously Larry has served as President of the Board of the Meriden YMCA and was Chairman of the Building Committee responsible for the construction of the downtown YMCA headquarters, which opened in 1996. He has served as Chairman of the Finance Committee of MidState Medical Center, has been a Director of the Connecticut Community Bankers Association, Chairman of the Board and Director of the Independent Day School and Director of the Chapel Haven Residence.
McGoldrick attributes his start in community service to the role models in his life. �I have been very lucky in my life to have great role models, starting with my father who was active in the community. As a kid I was involved with Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, and they certainly have a citizenship component built into the values.�
As McGoldrick got into the corporate world, he continued to be blessed with civic-minded role models. �The CEO at my first job told me there has to be a balance where you give something back to community, and he encouraged his employees to get involved. That was when I saw for the first time there is a corporate responsibility to the community,� McGoldrick said.
McGoldrick, who was the primary organizer and subsequently has served as Chairman of the Board of Directors, President and Chief Executive Officer of Castle Bank and Trust Company in Meriden, has brought that philosophy to Castle Bank and Trust Company. �One of the missions of Castle Bank is to be a community resource. Our slogan, �Banking where it belongs,� expresses the local philosophy of the Bank and its deep commitment to the central Connecticut communities it serves. I encourage my employees to give back in a variety of ways, be it through donations or time.�
One way that Castle Bank is currently helping the community is by offering checks with Meriden High Schools� colors and emblems on them. When the bank�s customers order or reorder the High School checks, Castle Bank donates $5.00 to Project Graduation. The first set of checks ordered is completely complimentary to the customer, but the same $5.00 is still donated. Customers can choose which school they would like to support � Maloney, Platt or Wilcox.
McGoldrick says he continues to be inspired by his civic-minded peers. �It is a team effort and you get inspired by team members.� While once McGoldrick was that student, he is now the teacher. He hopes that his commitment to the community inspires the younger generation to become involved, too.
According to McGoldrick, one of the hardest things about volunteering is that the fruits of your labor might not be seen in your lifetime, or might not be immediate. �I think people have to have a longer view to see that the things we�re putting in place today will benefit our children and grandchildren.�
McGoldrick�s love of his community is overshadowed only by love of his family. He resides with wife, Gail, of 34 years. They are the proud parents of three sons, Barrett and wife Tricia who live in New Jersey with granddaughter Payton, Brandon who lives in Meriden, and Devin who resides in New York City.

Just Some Hair
By Rita Pompano
My Husband and I were taking our twin grandsons to the park to try out the new Heelies we had bought them for their 11th birthday.
I was sitting in the front passenger seat when I felt a tug at the back of my head. A minute later amidst giggling, I felt another tug at my hair.
I turned around to find Drew examining two long hairs that he had plucked from my head. �What are you doing, I angrily exclaimed?�
With looks of conspiratory agreement, both boys nodded and smiled proudly. �We�re going to save your hair so when you�re gone, we can clone you!� they said.
My initial anger was replaced with a real warm feeling.

The Flag
By Millie Schlick - Wallingford
It is the evening of Veteran�s Day when I am writing this. I have just taken in our country�s flag and I reflected on the following:
I live in a condo. Not one other flag flew in our courtyard of 20 homes and I did not see many in my trips around town today.
Don�t people realize how fortunate they are to live in our country where we can have freedom to voice our viewpoints even to the low side as in �slinging trash� in the event in the recent elections, to publish almost obscene �political cartoons� and make large salaries and perks for doing so? Ect., etc.
I don�t want to go back to the so called �good old days�, I really appreciate all I have. My appliances � I would not want to give up a single one. Good Roads and good cars and other means of travel mean the same to me. Scientific breakthroughs to help our problems and alleviate pain.
All I want to really say is HONOR YOUR COUNTRY, HONOR THE FLAG IT REPRESENTS and truly appreciate how blessed you and your families are to live here.

Doing �Hard Time� at the Meriden Twin Movie Theater
By Nancy Valla

It all started one Saturday afternoon when I was about 8 years old. My sister, some lively neighborhood friends, and I decided to spend that time going to the movies. The Meriden Twin Movie Theater on Broad Street was our pick for the day. That would be quite a treat because we usually went to the Loews Poli. This show was within walking distance from our house on Cook Ave. We would have to get a ride to go all the way across town to get to the Broad St. Theater. Actually, this place was unique by offering two screens in one building. In those days no other movie facility presented that outstanding feature. It was all so exciting! Who would have guessed that one day there would be places to go to that offered �12� screens. We would see the latest newsreels (not our favorite), 2 cartoons (the best), and 2 feature films. Admission was 15 cents, unless you were 12 or older, then you had to pay a whopping 25 cents. With another dime we could enjoy a bag of hot, buttery popcorn, or a large box of chewy JuJuBees which would be lodged in our teeth for a week.
Well, I honestly don�t remember what the movie was about, but I do recall that my friends and I didn�t find it particularly appealing. Soooo, we decided we would make our own fun. I got out of my seat and proceeded to run up the aisle yelling with great glee followed by my buddies in hot pursuit. Since I was leading the pack, I was the only one who was caught by a disgruntled usher. My disloyal friends who were behind me, witnessed my unlucky fate. They proceeded to disperse throughout the theater, therefore eluding the pursuing employee who immediately escorted me to the dreaded �Cry Room.� This was a place feared by all since it was the storage place for all bad little babies who managed to disturb the other patrons. Discomforted mothers were asked to vacate their seats and relocate their screaming offspring to this soundproof place. It had a huge glass window where the offending party and caretaker could continue to watch the movie in isolation without bothering others. How embarrassing, I wasn�t a baby, I was 8 years old!
As I angrily sat there alone in this huge empty room, I wondered how I ever got myself into this awful mess, and why I was the only one who had to suffer. My movie buddies were just as much at fault. After sitting for a long time consumed with feelings of resentment, I decided I would have to behave in public places. I wanted to avoid any more humiliating situations. I guess I had to learn this lesson the hard way!
My mother, the school teacher, was mortified that one of her offspring would have acted in such a disgraceful manner. I was punished by not being allowed to go to another movie for the rest of the summer �.oh the injustice of it all. Didn�t I pay for this indiscretion enough by being banished to the Cry Room. I was being chastised twice for the same crime. Isn�t there a law against this? If that wasn�t bad enough, my mom managed to remind me periodically of my lapse in good judgment. I had to suffer in silence.
For many years I was too embarrassed to return to this theater. However, when I eventually went back as an adult, I couldn�t help but wonder if every older employee who looked at me, was remembering the infamous �Cry Room Incident.� I certainly would never forget and neither would my mother.

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.

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!
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.

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