The Hood

I live in the city of Buffalo, New York. In South Buffalo to be exact. It's a small, close knit community. Sometimes too close, but that's fine. It reminds me of small towns or villages in movies, in nearby South Dayton where my grandparents lived while I was growing up or East Aurora. A trip to Vidler's five and dime store with lunch at the diner. Oh my, drifting but those are stories for another time.

It's a warm spring day, sitting on my porch, I watch the neighbors going about their business (and mine I'm sure).

Across the street, a couple of doors to my left, the little girl that lives upstairs has just told her father that she is a big sister now and to stop calling her his baby. Now there is a crushed Daddy. Downstairs, I see their landlady laughing at the conversation going on above her.

Next door to those neighbors lives who I call the cat lady. She has only one cat but gives me the impression that she could easily become the owner of 20 more. She is the owner of the house and in the years that I have lived here, she hasn't kept a tenant longer than ten months. She tries to control the tenants lives...strange they don't like that.

Directly across the street there was an elderly woman. No, not what you think. She's still with us but now lives in the middle of the block with that con of a grandson. Poor thing doesn't realize that she's being used. Now her landlady is a wonder. She, her son and two huge dogs (no idea what they are except BIG) live upstairs. She has lived her all of her life and knows everything about every neighbor on this street.

The couple that lives on the left of her are a sad pair in my mind. He's a bully and she puts up with him. In the dead of winter I can hear him yelling at her. In contrast, downstairs is a young couple that have the sweetest little girls on the block. The youngest is a daily reminder of my sister and the reason for this little ditty. Her name is Marie but I call her Sarah. She has long dark hair that she flips because she can and dances to the music in her head that only she can here. She is the neighborhood's little drama queen. I first became aware of her when she was in her yard and wanted to get back in the house. I heard her yelling...."Won't someone let me in? Why is this happening to me?" She sounded exactly like my sister. She stands on the hood of her dad's car and sings her heart out to anyone that will listen and has every little boy on the street at her feet doing her bidding. All this and she is only five...better keep an eye on her dad!

We have a few doors down a gentleman that I call "Idaho man". He moved here from Idaho a year or so ago and has been, up until now, the most annoying person I have ever had the pleasure of having as a neighbor. He and his family have invaded the street. They multiply like rabbits and are everywhere!

And that brings me to LaRue. LaRue is my elderly neighbor who now spends her winters in the Carolinas and Texas. She has to be the most lovable woman I have ever met. She is in her late 70s, and still very active. She knits lap robes for nursing homes and bonnets for preemies. She watches her grandson on the island almost full time and still manages to deliver for meals on wheels. I have spend many summer afternoons on her front porch just gossiping about the rest of the neighbors. It amazes me that she knows so much about her neighbors just by sitting on her porch...but then so do I.

The Smells of Life

smell n 1 the ability to sense things with the nose. 2 an odour. 3 an act of smelling. v 1 sense the smell of 2 give off a smell. SYNS n ODOUR, scent, aroma, perfume, fragrance, bouquet, stink, stench, reek; v 1 SCENT, sniff 2 STINK, reek *from the Oxford Dictionary and Thesaurus*

Now I bet you are wondering "What the devil is she talking about?" Well, I'll tell you. The other day I was rummaging through the refrigerator for something for lunch. The sliced turkey was calling me (I swear it was). And what goes good with turkey? Right, crispy bacon (my readers are brilliant). As I was frying the bacon, a memory of my childhood that was so strong, it almost knocked me over. I stood there and was transported to my Grandma Zaky's home. I loved the cottage she lived in. The first floor as you walked in was a mud room where Grandma would hang clothes in the winter and was basic storage. To the right was the kitchen...and to a little girl, huge. In the back of the kitchen to the left was the bath with the laundry beyond that. The stairs to the two bedrooms were in the back of the kitchen. And on the left was the parlor. During the winter months, Grandma would shut off the upstairs and sleep on the futon she had in the parlor and used as her sofa. She did this because the cottage was heated by a Moore heater in the parlor and the gas on gas stove in the kitchen (what I wouldn't give for that stove). We, meaning Jim and I, could only stay with her on during the warmer months. Oops, off the beaten path here. Back to bacon.

I was taken to the bedroom at the top of the stairs, the morning sun shining through the window. Grandma would never wake me, I was allowed to sleep as long as I like. However, even though she never woke me in the conventional way, she would wake me. I would be laying there, between the aired to dry sheets, smelling of sunshine when another smell would waft into the room...bacon, crisp fried bacon. This smell always reminds me of Sunday mornings with Grandma. I would stumble down the stairs (no morning person here) and plop onto the chair at my place at the table. Hair hanging in my face, head hung low and then there they came, two slices of bacon, along with eggs and toast. Then, dressed in our Sunday best, we would walk to St. Martin's for Mass. Now you have to understand, Grandma was a Roman Catholic, I'm a United Methodist. Two different worlds. And I loved to go with her. Please keep in mind that this was before Vatican II when Mass was still said in Latin. How I loved Mass in Latin. True, I didn't understand a word but it was elegant in the mind of a ten year old. Hell, it's still elegant in the mind of this 52 year old.

I love the smell of tobacco, cherry pipe tobacco, mmmm, I love the smell. Grandpa Jake smoked both cigarettes and a pipe. As a child I might be running through my grandparents home from the kitchen to the parlor by way of the dining room, coming to a screeching halt in front of the humidor. Opening the small door, I'd stick my face in there and inhale deep. Even though most states have laws now banning smoking in public places, ever now and again on a walk or bike ride in the neighborhood, some gentleman will be smoking a pipe filed with cherry tobacco. I have been known to turn and look for Grandpa.

Let's talk spring and lilacs. White ones, pinks ones, light and dark purple ones. A favorite of mine, my mom's and now my daughter, the smell of a lilacs brings floods of memories. It reminds me of Switzer's back property line. Warm spring days, under the fragrant bushes, sharing secrets with Laurie, my best friend. Memories of going to the railroad tracks on Leydecker Road to get lilacs for Mother's day with Dad in the spring and then for elderberries in the fall (hmmm, another story there). Shawn, Lenora's boyfriend, bringing me lilacs every other day just because she told him they were my favorites. Planting the lilac trees in the back yard of our first home and having them bloom in the fall after Mom passed, thanks for watching over me Mom.

All smells bring about some kind of memory, but not all the smells are pleasant. For example, the smell of a skunk. The smell of a skunk no longer bothers me, having grown up on a main street, which was heavily traveled by not only cars but large trucks as well, our street was hell on pets and small animals. A common summer night oder would be the pungent smell of skunk that filled the air. The smell was no longer pleasant after Ginger, our little terrier mix, decided to tangle with that little black and white kitty that made it's was to our back yard. She only understood that she was defending her family.

I did a little survey of friends to get their favorite smells...Randi loves the smell of men in Polo (so hoping she means the cologne and not the other polo) and the smell of bacon. Bleach is a favorite smell of Corky's, this may explain why she has become a treasured friend(I think we both have inhaled more bleach than we should). Darren is in love with the smell of bacon and strong black coffee brewing. In the time I have been friends with Darren, these scents are not a surprise to me. He has mentioned both in many a status. The sea is the favorite smell of Joj. Ted's claims his is "girls...girls...girls". Elvis has possessed him or my first thought is correct and I do not want to go there. Rexieman loves the smells of bacon (beginning to get hungry here) and fresh cut hay.

Other comfort smells for me are onions frying, burning paint, charcoal burning and leaves in the fall. When I smell Old Spice, Tabu or White Shoulders, I'm getting a hug from a loved one that is gone but most certainly not forgotten.

Next time you smell a fragrance, whether it's a rose, a turkey dinner or the smell of a newborn infant, embrace that scent and dive into the memory it brings you.

Memories of Moms

Mother's Day was a day I always took for granted when I was young. And now, that most of the "moms" in my life are gone I wish I hadn't.

Old Grandma Barren passed when I was about 4 or 5 years old. My memory of her is so strong it's like it was yesterday that I lost her instead of 50 years ago. Mary Barren was a woman small in stature but to me as large as life itself. My fondest memory of her fixing a small desert plate for herself, always on a diet, yet she would reach over and pick food off your plate. In later years I found out that Old Grandpa loved her enough to bring her to America, not once but twice, having taken her home of Austria because she was homesick. According to Mom, when Old Grandma passed, she came to me told me she had, that she'd be with me always and has been my guardian angel since...I've kept her busy.

Grandma Zaky was my favorite, or so I thought, because she spoiled me. I have hundreds of fond memories of this woman. She taught me to knit, crochet, bake and what it was to spend time with one you love. On any weekend stay with her, I would wake to the smell of bacon and fresh baked bread. We would walk to the bus stop and head downtown to shop at AM&A's then lunch at the Woolworth counter. And as an extra gift from her, I look like her.

Being with Grandma Jake was like being with Mom, who would have known I would have missed her so much. I remember watching her sewing doll clothes for extra money and working her crossword puzzles. But what impressed me most was her love and devotion to her husband. I have never known anyone with that kind of love, including myself. After Grandpa died, she died everyday until they finally pronounced her two years later.

And then, there is my godmother. My mother's sister, Pat. She was called Patsy when she was young, until the day she found out what a "patsy" was...from that day on, she was no one's Patsy. She does not let anyone walk over her and I find as I grow older, she has passed this on to me. Not to the degree she has mastered it but I'm a willing student always learning. My fondest memory of her is not one that I experienced with her but a story that was told by my mom. At one time, my grandparents owned a rabbit farm in West Seneca, at the mouth of what is now the entrance to the 400. They were getting prepared for a move back to Silver Creek and still had some rabbits left. Now one of those rabbits was a three legged little think that the girls (Mom and Aunt Pat) named "Peg Leg". Grandma made stew and used all the rabbits, including Peg Leg. Little Patsy, too young to count very high, never knew that there was an odd number of legs in the stew and assumed that little Peg Leg was given a good home. Very touching story. I wasn't until decades later, after her father died that Aunt Pat learned the truth about the pet. As she sat there in tears at the age of 32, her mother and sister, showing their sympathy, laughed like hell. It amazes me to this day that I knew of Peg Leg's demise before she did.

Evelyn Switzer was not my biological mother but the mom of my childhood best friend. Mrs. Switzer, the mother of seven, had a great sense of humor and was great to have around. She would play board games with us and later go drinking and camping with us. Thinking back on it now, she was probably in her 60s when she would go to the bars with Laurie and I. Bless her she could drink but what alway impressed me more was no matter how much she drink, that woman never had to pee! Looking back, she taught me that just because you become a mom doesn't mean you're life is over.

And then there is my Mom. She was my nurse (and had the cap to prove it), my maid, laundress, tailor, taxi driver, bank, cook and friend. I'm the mom I am today because of her. I have a lifetime of memories of this woman but among them, her dancing in the kitchen singing "If I Were a Rich Man" from Fiddler on the Roof. The look on her face when she realized I was there was a real Kodak moment.

Because of all these women I am proud to say that I am spoiled, I'm crafty, I can cook and bake, I'm feisty. I play hard. I love harder. I would love more than anything that in 50 years, there will be someone that says "and this is was I got from Lynda."

Anna's Story

Chapter Three

He stood in the shadows of the front porch, smoking a cigarette, watching the girls walk by the house. Normally, Stephen would not be home this time of day. Today was his day of independence, he was becoming a citizen of the United States. This past year since arriving has left him very little time to be social. He came to this country, leaving everything behind after the War. There wasn't much left and he wanted more for himself than he'd have gotten there. He had been living with friends of his parents for the past year, working on the railroad during the day and going to school at night. He was ready to bust with want to get out from this house.
He never saw her before, or at least never noticed her before today. She was beautiful. A tiny little thing with dark brown hair that shined like chestnuts. She wore it in the flapper bob that was so popular. Her eyes were as dark as a doe's and had the same look of innocence. Her cheeks were blushed with the kiss of the wind and Stephen could hear her laughing with her friend. It sounded like glass wind chimes, delicate as it filled the air. He knew he was not ready to settle down yet but this girl stirred something in him that he hadn't felt since coming to America. He knew that he would be taking the time to get to know her very soon.

A few weeks later, there was a community dance at Sacred Heart. Stephen decided to attend but did not bring a date. He was hoping not only to get a glimpse of the young woman that he saw walk by his home, but to meet her as well. He had been late to work a couple of times, waiting, wanting to see her and her friend go by. He knew her name was Anna, he had asked around the neighborhood. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Anna. She was very popular with young and old. She was a good catholic girl from a good family. The more he heard the more he wanted. And tonight he was going to be introduced. He'd been planning over a week for this night.

The basement of the church was decorated for the Spring Dance. Left over flowers from Easter were used as the table centerpieces. The tables covered with a white linen cloth sprinkled with petals. Streamers were hung from the ceiling looking like maypoles to be danced around. Mr. Stueben, carpenter by trade and neighborhood handy man, created a gazebo that was the dance floor for those who chose to dance. Streamers and flowers sprayed the gazebo. Pastel Chinese lanterns were hung from the ceiling among the streamers, giving the impression of a soft, warm spring day in a country meadow. Spring was cold and wet, cabin fever had set in over the winter and the neighborhood was ready to venture outdoors to see their friends.

Stephen had become friends with one of Anna's neighbors so he would have a proper introduction to her.

"Stephen, my boy", Mr. Drawert was doing his best to be discreet with his introductions, something he was not an expert at. "Please meet Anna Barren, she is the daughter of my good friends, Andrew and Mary. I'm sure she will be happy to introduce you to the other young people here at the dance."

"Anna, the pleasure is all mine", said Stephen as he took Anna's hand in his, kissing it softly. "It would please me very much if I could be your escort this evening. Unless, of course, you are here with someone." He knew that she was not here with anyone else, he had done his research. Several young men had asked Anna but she had turned them all down.

Anna replied, "Of course, I would be happy to introduce you to anyone here. I see the Bloombergs and the Sonnenfelds over there. Both very prominent families here. Both have lovely daughters. I am assuming that is the reason for the introductions?"

"No", Stephen said, leaning toward her. "The reason for the introduction to you was to meet you. I could think of no other way".

"Humft, maybe coming up to me and saying 'Hello, My name is Stephen Zakutansky'. Oh", she gasped. Forgetting that Mr. Drawert did not mention his last name. A blush came to her cheeks. He smiled down at her, knowing then that she was just as interested in him as he was of her. She had also done her research. She was outspoken and that only drew him to her more.

He spent the rest of that evening, holding her in his arms as they danced. She came only to his chest and he had to bend down to hear her. Others tried to cut in but Stephen had not allowed that. It was clear that he had placed a claim on her, and she was more than willing to be claimed.

As the night began to wind down, Stephen asked Anna's parents if he could walk her home from the dance. Andrew looked questioningly at Mary who nodded slightly. He looked from his wife's face to his daughter's and found that this was an argument that would be lost if he tried. He felt as if Anna was slipping through his fingers, but also felt the need to let go of her. He took Stephen's hand in his own and said, "Fine, bring her home safe", as his eyes began to water.

Once outside, Stephen placed his coat around Anna's shoulders and kept his arm there a bit longer than he needed. He ran his right hand down her left arm, slowly and took her hand in his, her fingers curled around his. They walked hand in hand unhurriedly to her home. As they walked, she gave a small history of who lived in this house or who owned that store. He could have listened to her for hours. Her voice as sweet as a lullaby.

They came to her house, the walk ending much faster than he wanted it to. As they reached her front door, he turned her to face him. They stood there, Anna looking up at him, her eyes searching his as if she had looked into his soul. Maybe she had. Stephen cupped her face in his hands and brought his mouth down over hers. He kissed her gently, not once but twice. As he began to pull away, Anna reached her hands behind his neck and brought him back down to her. He kissed her again, deeper, with more passion and longing this time. As he pulled away from her, Stephen saw in Anna's eyes the same longing.

Tonight he knew that he found the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. Walking backward toward the street, he asked if he could call on her the next day.

"No, I'm afraid I have to help with the spring cleaning." She saw the hurt expression on his face, even in the shadows, and quickly added, "But, please, come to dinner on Sunday after Mass. About one o'clock."

Smiling, he whispered back, "Nothing would please me more. Until then." Anna turned to go into the house. Stephen turned and found he was walking with a bounce in his step and he could still taste her sweet lips on his as he whistled on his way home.

Love at First Sight

I picked her up the spring of 1979 and fell in love with her. She was a country girl. She wasn't what you would call beautiful. In fact, she was probably what you would call a step below plain. She was not upper class, she was poverty...and she was cheap. But she had soul and for a mere one hundred dollars, she was all mine.

A 1970 Volkswagen Beetle in what may have been a hunter green at one time but was by then more rust than green. She was a semi-automatic, the metal plate still attached to the hood of the engine in the back. For those of you who don't know what a semi-automatic is, you still shift the gears manually as if you are driving a standard but there is no clutch. Cyril, my stepfather, drove her home and taught me how to drive her. He decided that if I could drive her, there was not a vehicle out there that I would not be able to handle. When driving down the road, I was unable to sneak up on anyone. She sounded as if she needed winding as I drove her and her timing was off so while stopped at a light, I would have her in neutral with my left foot on the brake, the right on the gas. It did take a certain amount of talent to drive her. I would fill her tank with a five dollar bill and we'd go miles and miles for two weeks.

The trunk was so rusted that you could not use it for what it was intended (the spare tire was suspended by bungee cords). Anything and everything was loaded into the back seat making shopping, camping and passengers all real challenges.

Because she was only a little four cylinder whose timing was off the beam, going up hills was a definite challenge. Down on the other hand was a breeze. My best friend and I would go out to her sister's just about every weekend. The village of Attica is only about 35 miles from here, not a long trip at all. But to my little Bug, it could have been hundreds. There are hills that must be conquered in order to get there. These hills are not large to the average vehicle. I found that if I were to speed down hill first, I'd just about make it up the next hill. Of course, it would help if my passenger(s) and I would lean forward. It's really best not to ask.

On one particular trip, an eighteen wheeler was traveling behind me, poor devil. The hills where coming up and I did not want to hold this poor driver up, his vehicle would have just as much trouble as mine. Waving frantically to get him to go around did absolutely nothing. I have always felt that he stayed behind me because, deep in his heart, didn't think the little engine could. But her engine would say, "I know I can, I know I can".

Camping was the top form of entertainment back then, second only to drinking, whether it was a holiday weekend, bluegrass festival or just for the sake of camping. It was my little green Bug that would get us there. The backseat was piled high with a tent, case of beer, bedding, case of beer, food, case of beer, cooking utensils, case of beer, suitcase, and a pouch of whatever for shots (bet you thought I was going to say a case of beer). And off we'd go. She'd get us there and back regardless of the distance.

She took me to some great concerts along with a friend or two. Once I had her loaded to the max. The concert was The Allman Brothers Band and there was eight of us in her. The backseat of the 1970 Beetle would hold two people comfortably. Behind the backseat and the engine was storage which was large enough to hold a suitcase but not much else. On this particular trip, we packed three in front and five in back. I now know how an overstuffed phone booth felt like.
The smallest of our group was stuffed in the storage way in the back. She would lift an arm on occasion to let us know she was alright. In the back seat sat three friends with the fourth laying across the other three. And in the front with me sat my brother and his girlfriend on his lap. Along our little group went, down the thruway to downtown and the Aud. I learned a valuable lesson that night. One should never have anyone on a lap in the front seat of a standard. Every bump we hit, my brother's friend would bounce and hit the gear shift. Although she never complained, I can't help thinking how uncomfortable that was. It's hard to believe to this day that we drove to the Aud most of the way in neutral and managed to make it in one piece.
With my Bug, I took my younger siblings to places they may not have otherwise been able to go. I'd yell for Midge, the family collie, asking if you'd like a ride and in she'd go, taking up the entire back seat, head out of one window and tail out the other, not giving a care where we were going as long as she got to go with me. The Bug and I went on shopping trips and out drinking with friends. My favorite nights out were the mornings after when my stepfather would enter the kitchen, hair on end and announce that I was in early the night before since the hood was cool to the touch when he got home (at four am). I can still see Mom and I laughing later because he'd forgotten the engine was in the back and he was feeling the trunk. I had arrived at home only five minutes before he did.
Our relationship ended with summer, her timing having melted together. But it was the greatest summer. I couldn't bear to watch as Cy towed her away, my Dad's arm around my shoulder and my Mom rolling her eyes behind me as the tears flowed down my cheeks. That little green and rust Bug gave me my independence and over 30 years later, I still mourn the loss of my first love and the joys of that summer so long ago.

A Tribute

This is a tribute of some of my co-workers. If you are not mentioned, it doesn't mean that you will be forgotten.

Sophia, you and I never really saw eye to eye. And I will be the first to admit that you would get on my last nerve on a regular basis. But (and there is always a but), I admire you for not retiring and continuing to work. I can only hope that my family has not put me in a home by then (I suspect it's been picked out already!).

To my podmate, Pauline. Cathy asked me if I thought you would be good in private pay. Yes, you may now blame me for that move. I told Cathy that I thought you had the right stuff and as far as I'm concerned, I was right. You speak with your hands, and on more than one occasion, I've wondered it that plane was ever going to land. But it's all good. You have become a close friend. And it still and always will amaze me that my brother and your sister were born on the same day and year, both at the same hospital! That you lived around the corner from us at the time. As you always say, "You never know who you will meet again." And I'd say our paths will cross several times more.

Berta, my buddy, my pal. We have now worked together at our last three jobs, I'm not sure I can work somewhere without you. So the plan is, wherever I go, I will tell them if they want me, they have to take you too! But on a very serious note, Berta, you are so compassionate that about your job, to a point that I'd swear that you were the founder and CEO. Berta, I love your sense of humor, the fact that you are able to laugh at yourself. Oh, and Berta? You remind me of my mother. ;)

Going through life in denial is really not the way to go Janice. But if that is the path you choose, be sure to feed my chickens, fertilize my crops and shoo the raccoons away. Janice, kidding aside, we have worked together for two different companies and I've grown to respect your work ethics. I also can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate your support in my personal war to quit smoking.

As a single mom of an active and imaginative five year old, you have your hands full and when you took on the responsibility as Team Lead for your little troupe, I was proud of you Holly. Management made the right choice. You have a love for your co-workers and your family. It shines through when you talk about them and the discovery of your extended family in Italy. I hope you meet them all soon.

Nancy, I'll will hear your laughter and the call of "In coming!" in my sleep. Regardless of the mood or stress in the office or others, you managed to laugh. Thank you for that.

Ellen, you may be the smallest in stature, but you are larger than life when it comes to your work and friendships. As a team leader, you took on projects than most and never seemed to let it bother you. The calm you show under stress makes you that great leader.

You are never at a loss for words, Debbie, and always you speak your mind. This combination has not necessarily made you most popular with some but always with me. Over the past two years we have worked together, laughed together and cried together. While I wish that I would have been asked to stay, I'm very glad that they asked you.

Cynthia, I have to admit that most of the time that I worked with you I honestly didn't think you were all that fond of me. But I did feel respect from you as I hope you felt from me. I can not remember the last time I worked for a woman that worked so hard for her employees. I can't say enough about what you tried to do for us and I'm sure you wish it would have been more.

Scarecrow, I'm going to miss you most of all. Cathy, I'm sure that there have been times when you wished that you never hired me. I know at times I gave you a hard time. Feel free to think of me as one of those tests that you have during your lifetime. It was an honor to work for and with you. Of all the new friends I met here, you have become one of my closest friends. And Cathy? When I left, we were zero calls out...

Of course there are many more women that I worked with, all great in what they do, all have touched me in one way or another. Everyone of you is a class act...best of everything in the future.

Anna's Story

Chapter Two

Anna begins walking in the direction of her gaze. She was still silent, walking through the crowd that separates like the Red Sea. As if wearing blinders, she sees nothing but the sight before her.

"Mein leibhaber, mein Zigeuner, my Steve!", she cries out. A life-size portrait of her husband stands before her, She has been a widow for over 50 years and has never stopped loving or missing him. He is her gypsy, the man she fell in love with all those long years ago.

Heidi, her eldest granddaughter, always interested in the man she never met, had the life-size photo of her grandfather made from an old wedding photograph for the party. There were also enlargements of other missing family members that have been long gone. Pictures of her parents, her brothers and their wives. Only one was missing and that was her sister, Mary, gone these past 100 years. She never met her older sister and there were no pictures of her to be found. As Anna stands there, her family begins to come, surrounding her. Her favorite great-granddaughter, Katrina, Heidi's youngest, is standing next to her, arm around her shoulder, asking, "Old Grandma, are you okay? You look like you have seen a ghost."

Anna's voice cracks as she replies, "Yes, child, I am. Just a bit of a shock and lost in my memories."

"Come, sit down and I'll get you a cup of tea. Relax and have fun, it's your day after all." said Katrina.

As Heidi wheeled in the cake, ablaze with 90 candles, Anna looked into Heidi's eyes. Heidi how pleased Oma was but also saw something else, a flicker, like a candle almost blown out in the wind. And as her family gathered around the cake and sang, Anna's thoughts moved back over her long life.

She grew up in what is known as the Valley on Exchange Street in Buffalo. The neighborhood was of Hun-Austrian immigrants. Her parents had moved back and forth from Austria to America several times before her Papa told her Mother to choose a country. With World War I beginning, America was were they would make their permanent home. When she was a young woman in her teens, a family from Czechoslovakia had moved into the neighborhood. With them, they brought a border, a young man of 17. To Anna, he was the most handsome man she ever laid eyes on and decided then and there she would marry a gypsy.

Anna went to a Catholic high school in her neighborhood with her best friend, Celeste. They changed their route to school in order to pass the Gypsy's house. Leaning toward Anna, Celeste whispers, "Ann, I don't understand why you have me take the long way to school, that new kid goes to work very early in the morning, he's been gone for hours!"

"Yes, I know Celeste, you tell me that every morning." said Anna. "But what if he is late one day? I want you to see him, he's so handsome. I want going to marry a gypsy like him someday.

Celeste rolled her eyes, "And so you tell me every morning!" And of they went as they did every morning, until almost a year later.

Seniors and just about a month away from graduation, Anna and Celeste, heads together, walk the same route they started a year ago. Their voices low, whispering teen girl secrets to one another, Anna felt eyes on her, almost as if they were burning into her soul. As she looked over her shoulder, she saw her gypsy, watching her. There was a stirring in her that she never felt before, unfamiliar yet not at all unpleasant. She never told Celeste, who after a year of taking this detour, never stopped complaining of the extra blocks, that he was there, watching. She looked into his eyes, certain that this would be the she gypsy would marry.

Peter's voice brought her back from the past, "Ma, it's time to open gifts. Are you feeling alright? You look a little pale".

"I'm fine Peter. Let's get the young ones to help Old Grandma open this mountain of gifts".