Category Archives: Family

Dear Dad, luv Judy

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My Dad in his World War II Army photo

My Dad in his World War II Army photo

By Judy Berman

Flashes of lightning and the rumble of thunder are comforting sounds to me. I sleep easily thru a storm, and I have my Dad to thank for that.

It’s one of many things he wrote about when he began writing to me after my Mom died.

His letters covered cautionary tales on my decision to become a teacher, insights about zoning in the Nevada desert and humorous asides. As I reread them, I recall a Greek diner owner once telling me, “No matter how old you get, you’ll still be your parents’ little girl.” So true.

So, electrical storms don’t faze me. Here’s why:

As a kid, when lightning crashed all around, Dad taught me to look at nature’s light show with the cool demeanor of a mathematician in a lab. I’d peer out over the couch into the night sky and gauge how far away it was.

All grown, many years later, I’m reading a book by Patricia Polacco to my grandchildren. The author explains how her grandmother figured the speed of sound. I quickly jot off a note to Dad for his opinion. Dad wrote back that Polacco’s grandmother was way off in her calculations in counting the time between sightings of lightning and the sounds of thunder.

“A rough figure is 1,000 feet per second. So 5 seconds would be a mile. That’s what we did when you were a kid,” he responded.

Dad watching my brother, Hank, play chess.

Dad watching my brother, Hank, play chess.

Whether we were buying a car or switching jobs, Dad was there to offer his advice or share his experiences.

On education, Dad’s view on our schools is echoed by many today. He didn’t think the schools paid enough to its school resource officers or to its teachers.

“The pay is not high enough to attract former metro cops. The same problem applies to teachers. The salaries offered will not allow teachers to buy decent housing,” Dad wrote.

“I’m afraid your world and that of your students are very far apart.”

How true. In this ever-changing world, that is the one constant. Nothing remains the same – except the low pay.

His take on the lighter side of life was a welcome diversion. Even when he was being corny, he was the master of delivery and timing. Mom would gently scold us: “Now, stop laughing. You’ll only encourage him.” Then, she’d turn her head away from us because she was laughing, too.

Once, I wrote Dad asking how the joke went about a worker stealing wheelbarrows. He, ever the skilled raconteur, spun out the following tale.

This “reminds me of a guy who was working at the atomic test site. These atomic blasts involve a good deal of earth-moving equipment before and after the shot.

“In the 1960s, some people did their own home-building, and the lot had to be cleared by a bulldozer. This guy decided to earn extra by clearing lots on the weekend. To do that, he needed a bulldozer.

“He decided to steal one from the test site. Since the test site is very remote, he managed to sneak a trailer in, load it, and haul it home. With so much equipment up there, they didn’t even miss it.

“Things were going beautifully until the hydraulic system failed. So he had another brilliant idea. He would sneak it back on the test site, let them repair it, and then steal it again.

“They caught him when he was bringing it back.”

And Dad had a postscript to my query: “Never precede a joke with an explanation.”

The mailbox no longer holds the appeal for me it once did. My Dad’s letters stopped in 2011, shortly before his passing.

To all Dads on Sunday, June 16th, whether by birth, step, adopted, mentor, Big Brother … Happy Father’s Day. Give yours an extra hug from me.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Judy Berman and earthrider, 2011-12. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to (Judy Berman) and (earthrider, earth-rider.com, or
earthriderdotcom) with appropriate and specific direction to the original
content.

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Video: One of Dad’s favorite musicians, Dave Brubeck, playing “Take Five”  

Main photo: My Dad, Joseph H. Fiet III, in the Army during World War II

Photo: My Dad watching my brother, Hank, play chess

Dear Mom, luv Judy

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Mom listening as I talk about our adventures

Mom listening as I talk about our adventures

By Judy Berman

Any time I get a whiff of a fresh-baked apple pie, it takes me back to my teen years and our home in the country.

The apples for that pie might have been picked only a few hours earlier. As it bakes, my Mom prepares spaghetti sauce made from tomatoes in our garden.

Savoring her dishes, it’s hard to imagine her as a novice in the kitchen. But she was when she first married. Mom would lament, years later, about Dad’s ordeal when he was in the Army during World War II.

She said Dad had three choices: eat her cooking, the food at the Mess Hall, or starve.

Evidently, Mom was a quick learner, because Dad survived. Not wanting me to repeat her mistake, Mom made sure I was better prepared and knew my way around the kitchen.

Her lesson in survival skills didn’t end there.

While I was in high school, she taught me how to type on a manual typewriter in our kitchen. Mom blindfolded me so I wouldn’t focus on the keys. It worked. As a result, my typing speed and accuracy improved.

Mom was most in her element when she was reading by a cozy fireplace. Her constant companions were Alexander Dumas, Charles Dickens and Jane Eyre. She’d take my brother, Hank, and me to the library, where I’d immerse myself in adventure stories, Agatha Christie mysteries and exotic places.

Mom and Dad outside their home in Boulder City, Nevada

Mom and Dad outside their home in Boulder City, Nevada

She hated the cold. So why did she leave her comfort zone? Some moms do just that when their child gets involved in sports. They sit on the bleachers or sidelines for hours to root their child on.  In my case, when I joined the Girl Scouts, Mom became an assistant leader, and encouraged me to learn more while having fun.

Mom would brave the night’s chill to point out the constellations to help me earn one of my many badges. She’d join me on camp-outs, and make s’mores and other treats over an open campfire.

There are so many things that remind me of Mom. I just wish I could share one more day with her to tell her how much I appreciate the time she spent with me and for her love – even when I was being an ornery teenager.

Happy Mother’s Day to all moms on Sunday, May 12th.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Judy Berman and earthrider, 2011-13. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to (Judy Berman) and (earthrider, earth-rider.com, or earthriderdotcom) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Music Video – Alan Parsons Project, “Time” 

Music Video – Dean Martin, “I’ll Be Seeing You” – I can just see my Mom singing and dancing to this tune.

Main Photo: My Mom, Milly Fiet, and me in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Photo: Mom and Dad outside their home in Boulder City, Nevada

The Greatest Gift

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"You've been given a great gift, George! A chance to see what the world would be like without you." (Henry Travers and Jimmy Stewart, "It's a Wonderful Life."

“You’ve been given a great gift, George! A chance to see what the world would be like without you.” (Henry Travers and Jimmy Stewart, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”)

By Judy Berman

It was nearly Christmas. For the second year in a row, I searched for the one gift I knew our two daughters would love. But it eluded me.

Finally, I found them in a flea market. The price! It was a black market price – way beyond what the Cabbage Patch dolls sold for when they were available in the stores. Despite that, I bought two. I couldn’t wait to see our daughters’ faces when they opened their presents. It would be the best Christmas ever.

There were a few other times when there was too much month at the end of the money. When I couldn’t afford new shoes for my youngest to wear when she was in a school play. When we had a turkey one year only because it was a gift from my employer. Our girls never complained, but I felt like a failure.

Not on the scale of a George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life. The Frank Capra movie, starring James Stewart and Donna Reed, was released Christmas 1946.

Based on the short story, “The Greatest Gift,” by Philip Van Doren Stern, it begins with George “leaning over the railing of the iron bridge, staring down moodily at the black water.”

He is having very dark thoughts indeed.

In the movie, there’s an angel’s voice saying it’s a crucial night for George Bailey.

“He’ll be thinking of throwing away God’s greatest gift. Joseph, send for Clarence.”

Clarence’s mission is to convince George that his life is worth living. If Clarence succeeds, he may earn his angel wings. It’s a hard sell. George feels trapped in his job, unable to pay the bills, and that he’s missing out on adventures that others have enjoyed. He’s desperate.

He tells the stranger, “I wish I’d never been born.” That strikes Clarence as an excellent idea, and he grants George’s wish.

“You’ve been given a great gift, George! A chance to see what the world would be like without you,” Clarence said.

“Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives, and when he isn’t around it leaves an awful hole, doesn’t it. You see, George, you really had a wonderful life. Don’t you see what a mistake it would be to throw it away?”

It doesn’t take George long to realize he wants to live. In flashbacks, we see that George’s life fits the definition of success: “To know even one life has breathed easier because you lived … “  George begs for Clarence to help him. Despite the bumps and bruises he’s experienced, he wants to be back with his family.

Screenshot of "It's a Wonderful Life" with Donna Reed, Jimmy Stewart and Karolyn Grimes (as Zuzu).

Screenshot of “It’s a Wonderful Life” with Donna Reed, Jimmy Stewart and Karolyn Grimes (as Zuzu).

This movie, that is now a holiday classic, actually lost money at the box office that year. The critics thought it was too sentimental. Its staying power, however, can be attributed to the movie’s optimism.

I smile when I think of that Christmas long ago. My girls were delighted with their dolls. But those presents were overshadowed by a greater gift that we’ve all been given: life.

We touch the lives of so many people. Sometimes, in ways we’re not fully aware of.

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Movie Trailer: It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) 

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Judy Berman and earthrider, 2011-12. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to (Judy Berman) and (earthrider, earth-rider.com, or earthriderdotcom) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Main photo: Henry Travers (as Clarence Odbody) and Jimmy Stewart (as George Bailey) in It’s a Wonderful Life.

Photo: Screenshot of It’s a Wonderful Life with Donna Reed, Jimmy Stewart and Karolyn Grimes (as Zuzu).
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/ab/It%27s_A_Wonderful_Life.jpg/640px-It%27s_A_Wonderful_Life.jpg

Quote on “Success”  – “To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived – this is to have succeeded.” This quote, often attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson, actually was written by Bessie Anderson Stanley.
http://emerson.tamu.edu/Ephemera/Success.html

Detours On a Holiday Journey

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Steve Martin and John Candy in the odd-couple road trip buddy movie, “Planes, Trains and Automobiles.”

By Judy Berman

Crowds jamming the airports and train stations to get home for the holidays. For a real traveler’s nightmare, throw in some snowstorms, flight delays, sleeping on your luggage at the airport, and stress about catching a connecting flight or train.

One year, on our way to see my folks in Vegas, the snow began flying fast and furious. Our flight from New York had an unscheduled layover in Chicago. It looked like we’d be spending an overnight with our two small children at O’Hare International Airport.

Snow plows trying to clear an airport's runways.

Snow plows trying to clear an airport’s runways

Tantalizing thoughts of turkey, stuffing and pumpkin pie vanished as I considered we might be dining on airport terminal – note the word “terminal” – food. Tasteless burgers, greasy pizza, stale pretzels and watered-down sodas.

Still, our experience pales next to Steve Martin’s plight (as Neal Page) as he tries desperately to find a way home for Thanksgiving in John Hughes’ 1987 movie Planes, Trains and Automobiles.

Neal’s plans are doomed from the start. Missed cabs, a canceled flight and a stranger he just can’t seem to shake: John Candy (as Del Griffith).

Neal, an uptight ad rep, wants to be left alone. Del, a jocular shower curtain salesman, comes off as an annoying blabbermouth. This odd couple’s road trip begins when a storm forces their plane to be rerouted to Wichita, Kansas. They are forced to hunker down in a fly-by-night hotel and are robbed as they sleep.

A few more hitches and Neal decides they should go their separate ways. He  heads to a car-rental parking lot. But his car is not there and he has a meltdown.

After a 3-mile walk back to the terminal, Neal is seething, and rips into the Marathon Car Rental Agent (played by Edie McClurg). His one-minute, profanity-laced tirade and McClurg’s response are hysterical (and earned the movie its “R” rating).

Who comes to Neal’s rescue as he is about to hail a cab? Del.

On the road again, Del gets into the music while Neal sleeps. At one point, his car spins out of control. They wind up driving the wrong way on a highway and into the path of two semis. Miraculously, they escape unscathed … until they set down on their luggage in the road and realize that their car just burst into flames.

It’s not the end of the mishaps or of the hilarity. When they part, Neal begins to laugh about their adventures. He realizes Del is the “real article,” and recognizes a deeper truth.

When Neal does get home for Thanksgiving, he’s not alone when he walks in the door.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Judy Berman and earthrider, 2011-12. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to (Judy Berman) and (earthrider, earth-rider.com, or earthriderdotcom) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Main Photo – Planes, Trains and Automobiles starring Steve Martin and John Candy

Movie Clip – “You’re Going the Wrong Way” scene in Planes, Trains and Automobiles, with Steve Martin and John Candy.   

Photo: Travel – airport – snow removal – Heavy Oshkosh trucks are removing tons of snow from the airfield runways, taxiways and parking ramps after a snow storm dumped 12 to 18 inches of snow in the area. At Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst, N.J.. Taken Feb. 12, 2010
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/dd/Oshkosh_snow_removal_vehicle.JPG/640px-Oshkosh_snow_removal_vehicle.JPG

Say Cheese

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By Judy Berman

All the girls in our family are ready for their close-up for a family photo in a studio. We primp, fuss, wash and brush our hair. Then we speed off in my Honda.

After we sign in, we wait impatiently for our turn. Two employees walk right by us, totally unaware of the whole waiting room.

One returns to the front desk, where the photographer is. Suddenly, she steps back and says in an “oh, my gosh” voice to the photographer: “Did you see the size of that dog?”

I look around the waiting room. Yep. Mine is the only one there. She has to be talking about our St. Bernard, Heidi. The photographer mutters “yes” as she appears to study her shoelaces.

Really, though, Heidi isn’t any problem. If you discount the fact that the photographer has to rearrange the furniture so we could fit the dog in the studio.

Also, being alert for more than 15 seconds at a time is a challenge for Heidi. Her favorite exercise is lying down, which she did quite a lot of, just as the photographer is trying to snap her picture. I suggest props for supporting her in a sitting position, but the photographer fails to see the humor in my remarks.

Leaving the room is more of a hassle than entering. Heidi doesn’t know how to back up and stubbornly resists any efforts to help her. Finally, we manage to turn her around.

I knew the pictures are going to be winners, and told the photographer we’ll be back soon. I had to leave because I can’t stand to see a grown woman cry.

Now, here comes the really hard part. I have to go home and explain to Tumbleweed, our cat, why she was left out of the picture.

A tribute to a wonderful, gentle dog we had many years ago.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Judy Berman and earthrider, 2011-12. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to (Judy Berman) and (earthrider, earth-rider.com, or earthriderdotcom) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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* Main Photo:
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Carl_Reichert_Dinnerparty.jpg
 “Dinner Party,” by Carl Reichert (1836-1918) – This is a faithful photographic reproduction of an original two-dimensional work of art.

* Photo: family photo of my girls, Danielle, Jenn and Heidi

Surviving the Summer with Teens

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By Judy Berman

“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” Most credit author Charles Dickens for that first line in “A Tale of Two Cities.”

But I believe it is coined by parents of teenagers during summer vacation. Even though our daughters’ teen years are far behind them, my hubby, Dave, and I recall that period all too well.

For the teens, the day following the last day of school, it is the best of times and the worst of times. For us, it is the worst of times and times too horrible to contemplate.

Enter the 16-year-old with her first car. Danielle now has the mobility to leave her block unchaperoned for the first time on wheels numbering greater than three.

Her parents, however, are a wreck until she returns home, sometime perilously close to her curfew. So’s the auto. The vehicle limps home on flat tires. By night’s end, the car is a dedication to junker-car heaven.

Next, the 14-year-old. A telephone is permanently welded to Jenn’s hand when she first wakes up until she falls asleep – still talking.

The front door of our home is a revolving one, and more strangers are in our family room than crowded the deck of the Titanic as it sank. These people are friends, acquaintances and passers-by whose common bond with our daughters is they share the same area code, our living space and our food supply.

The best of times for the teens is their total freedom, absence of responsibility and mobility. The worst of times for them follow all the above when they’re grounded anywhere from one week to three years for various infractions of house rules.

The worst of times for us is when the neighbors no longer speak to us because they haven’t had a full night’s sleep since June. The final straw is when our daughter’s car, and the tree in front of our house, are swaddled in toilet paper, and the paper hangers leave cackling loudly and squealing their car’s tires from here to the state line in the dead of night.

The times too horrible to contemplate are when we, the parents, are grounded along with our kids. We go no farther than the mailbox at the end of our driveway for fear our daughters may have too good of a time if our absence is longer.

While I’m at it, Dickens must have stolen that last line, too. “It is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done.”

That’s definitely the parting shot parents the world over yell to their children as they board the bus for school at the end of summer vacation.

[With apologies to my daughters, and Keith (who later joined our family as our son-in-law), thanking them in advance for letting me have fun at their expense. This story – with some minor tinkering - was published in The Post-Standard in Syracuse, N.Y. when they were still teens.]

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Judy Berman and earthrider, 2011-12. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to (Judy Berman) and (earthrider, earth-rider.com, or earthriderdotcom) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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* Main Photo: toilet papered tree
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b8/Toilet_papered_tree.jpg/640px-Toilet_papered_tree.jpg

* Photo – Danielle, Keith and Jenn at Excalibur, Las Vegas

* Photo: teens about to board the school bus
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3d/Children_about_to_board_the_school_bus_%28Thibodaux%2C_Louisiana%29.jpg/640px-Children_about_to_board_the_school_bus_%28Thibodaux%2C_Louisiana%29.jpg

The Case of the Missing Lunch

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By Judy Berman

Loss is something we all have weathered, whether it’s a defeat in a game, keys you can’t find or the loss of a friend.

This story, however, is about more than a missing lunch.

There must come a time in every kid’s life when they ask: “Just what were they thinking?”

“They” being their parents. That moment came for me in fifth grade.

I was not a fussy eater. Mom never had to worry about leftovers. Our cocker spaniel, Rusty, scarfed up any unclaimed meat – even if it was only unsupervised for a minute or two. I cheerfully gobbled down the remaining potatoes and veggies.

But there was one thing I hated: egg-and-olive sandwiches. Separate, fine. Together, repulsive.

I don’t know what possessed my Mom. She packed one for me for lunch. I looked at it in disgust and reluctantly plucked the bag containing the sandwich off our kitchen table.

By lunchtime, it was nowhere to be found.

I opened my desk in class and gasped, “Where’s my lunch?” A fellow student told the teacher he’d seen my lunch earlier that morning. Everyone was puzzled by its disappearance.

We had no cafeteria. So I was sent to the principal’s office, where he shared some crackers and milk with me. He looked bemused like: “What the heck is going on here?”

When I got home, I told my Mom about my missing sandwich. She didn’t say anything, but, after that, I was packing my own lunch every day.

She was on to me. Guess I wasn’t as slick as I thought.

What happened to that lunch? I’m sure the statute of limitations has run out on this one. So here goes. I ditched my lunch – sandwich and all – in a trash can on Main Street across from Harvey Brothers’ grocery store on my way to school. The student who said he saw it in my desk meant well, but he was mistaken.

Sorry, Mom.

So, what else was lost?

My little white lies, fibs, tall tales and outright whoppers … finally caught up with me.

My “ah-ha” moment happened after a really minor incident. I realized my parents doubted even the smallest things I’d told them even when I WAS telling the truth.

I knew I’d gone too far. I decided I better clean up my act to regain their trust.

Now, nothing could persuade me to tell a lie. OK, I lie ALL the time on surveys where they want to know your age, weight, income and the location of all your valuables. (Valuables? Fuhgeddaboudit! Our 12-year-old TV is the newest thing we’ve got.)

I’d make one other exception. If a friend asked: “Do I look fat in this dress?” Well, if she did, I’d sooner take a bullet than tell the truth.

Trust me on this one: The truth is out there. But, sometimes, that’s not what we’re really looking for.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Judy Berman and earthrider, 2011-12. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to (Judy Berman) and (earthrider, earth-rider.com, or earthriderdotcom) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Photo: Egg salad sandwich

Photo: Alley Grafitti – Lies – graffiti seen in a downtown alleyway in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada– May 18, 2008
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Alley_Graffiti_-_Lies.jpg

To Dad, With Love

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By Judy Berman

With his western cowboy hat tilted at just the right angle, my Dad looked like he’d spent his whole life rounding up cattle and riding horses.

Looks can be deceiving. But the Philadelphia native shared at least one other trait cowboys are known for. He played it close to the vest, not always revealing what he thought.

Like E. F. Hutton, when my Dad spoke, people listened. For good reason. He was knowledgeable, a superb storyteller and easily cracked me up with his jokes – even the corny ones. OK, especially the corny ones.

This year is the first year Dad won’t be with us to celebrate Father’s Day. As I meander down thru Memory Lane, so many thoughts and memories rush to the surface.

Growing up, I thought my Dad could do it all. He was a true Renaissance man.

He made the first radio I owned – a crystal radio set. A memory I treasure because I loved to listen to the music and programs on radio. Dad also made the first TV set we ever owned. Talk about bragging rights.

As an electronics engineer, Dad tinkered with many electronic gadgets at our home long before they became staples in just about everyone’s home.

When he wasn’t building or fixing things, he’d unwind by playing the guitar. I can still recall haunting tunes, upbeat jazz and classical music that he entertained us with.

Dad was the gold standard that I measured all my dates by.

His curiosity was passed down to me. It led me to discover new ideas, new cultures and places.

He also challenged me by giving me riddles to solve. What do you know? What can you infer? What’s going on?

Here’s an example of a riddle he might have posed to me that I found online:

“A man was shot to death in his car. There were no powder marks on his clothing which indicated that the gunman was outside the car. However, all the windows were up and the doors were locked. After a close inspection was made, the only bullet holes discovered were in the man’s body. How was he murdered?” (Answer below)

This meant I had to think outside the box, to look beyond the superficial. I had to deduce. Great life-shaping skills. Sometimes, I succeeded. Other times, Dad had to supply the answer.

Then, I’d do the hand plant on my forehead. Oh! That was so logical. Next time, I’d try harder to figure it out.

That, more than anything, helped guide me in life.

I’d like to be able to tell him: “Thank you, Dad for providing me with love, security and making me think. Thank you for everything you did.”

To all fathers, whether it’s by birth, step, adopted, mentor, Big Brother … Happy Father’s Day on June 17th and on every day.

(** Answer to riddle: The victim was in a convertible. He was shot while the top was down. **) 
http://www.funnyriddles.net/A-Strange-Murder-Riddle-225.htm

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**  A special thank you to C.J. of Food Stories who nominated me for the Illuminating Blogger Award. Check out her website at
http://foodstoriesblog.com/
  and find many creative ideas for desserts, meals and dining. She quotes Hippocrates: “Let thy food be thy medicine and thy medicine be thy food.” She said he knew the power of proper nutrition well before current science became aware of this fact.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Judy Berman and earthrider, 2011-12. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to (Judy Berman) and (earthrider, earth-rider.com, or earthriderdotcom) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Main photo: Dad and me, Nelson, Nevada (2002)

Photo: Dad in U.S. Army (1943)

Photo: Dad (in center) and his classmates in Chicago, Ill.

Camping, Anyone?

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By Judy Berman

Ah, camping! Pitching a tent and communing with nature! As Memorial Day approaches, it’s a time when many begin to think about the great outdoors, the lure of the water and the call of the wild.

The last time I heard the call of the wild – it seems a lifetime ago – was when we pitched our tent in the middle of a square-dancing marathon. The strains of do-si-do still cause an involuntary shudder in our household.

Still, off we bounded with optimism in our hearts as we pitched our tent on the lake’s edge. Our eyes were bloodshot from absorbing the sights and sound that suburbia locked out.

These were some of the attractions of our camping grounds. The water was so far from our campsite that, on the return trip, I drank most of the water supply to fight off dehydration.

The bathrooms, which my children discovered a need for at 3 a.m. and 5 a.m., were so far removed from our campsite that I had to take them there by car. (This is when they were much younger.)

Low-flying helicopters buzzed the rec area during the day because some bright flyboy discovered that the showers had no shower curtains and no roof.

The dark spot on the horizon was an approaching rainstorm. The flashes of lightning looked so picturesque off in the distance across the lake. Our friend warned us about the slight shift of wind.

So we secured the tent, tied down the flaps, put most of our gear away and slipped into our sleeping bags, expecting to be lulled to sleep by the gentle patter of rainfall on our tent.

What we hadn’t anticipated was the slight shift of wind, predicted by our friend, that amounted to a gale force of 50 mph winds and rain that descended like a torrential downpour. The wind savagely whipped around our tent and uprooted some of our supporting frames.

We sought refuge in our car which really was not designed to hold two adults, two children and a St. Bernard.

When the rain stopped, we gratefully got out of our cramped quarters. Bad news. Everything, including our sleeping bags, was drenched. We packed up like thieves in the night and began our long haul home.

At 3:30 a.m., we finally arrived home. We peeled off our wet, sandy duds and tumbled into bed.

That experience still cuts through me like a knife. When anyone suggests in an upbeat, chipper tone that we go camping, I recall how our dog would bolt under the table and whine pitifully. To this day, all the rest of us still register panic in our eyes at the thought of a return to the great outdoors.

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What family vacation makes you chuckle or dive for shelter? Comment below.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Judy Berman and earthrider, 2011-12. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to (Judy Berman) and (earthrider, earth-rider.com, or earthriderdotcom) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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* Main photo: Camping – Danielle and Jenn – Labrador Pond, Tully, NY

* camping – cooking
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Myaso_(2642493568).jpg

* Camping graphic –
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Camping.png
  Source: USDA Forestry Service website

 

Dancing in the Car

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By Judy Berman

My red Nissan Sentra lurched and shook as we sped down the highway.

No mechanical problems. Just the usual. Thru the years, my car has been more than a mode of transportation. It’s also been our personal jukebox.

My daughters and I were rocking out to the tunes on the radio – singing loud enough to be heard above the traffic noise on 690. Passing motorists pointed at us good-naturedly and laughed along with us.

We were having a grand time. Summer was just around the corner. We rolled down the window and blared Chaka Khan’s “I Feel for You.”

“I’ll make it more than just a physical dream. I wanna rock you, Chaka, baby. Cuz you make me wanna scream, Let me rock you, Rock you.” (Chaka Khan, “I Feel For You”)

Little did we realize the sexual undertones of some of the songs we were jamming to, such as Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” and “1999.”

“I was dreaming when I wrote this, so sue me if I go too fast. But life is just a party, and parties weren’t meant to last.” (Prince, “1999”)

That was tame, But I just blush now when I really listen to some of the lyrics.

The music’s appeal was its danceability and, if we could have, we would have been dancing in the car.

The Beatles’ “Rock and Roll Music” was a couple of decades older. When it came on though, my girls never missed a beat.

“That’s why I go for that rock and roll music, any old way you choose it. It’s got a back beat, you can’t blues it, any old time you use it. Gotta be rock and roll music if you want to dance with me.” (The Beatles, “Rock and Roll Music”)

No trip thru Syracuse was complete until we stopped at Columbus Bakery and bought two loaves of Italian bread. The music escorted us home to Liverpool. By that time, Danielle and Jenn demolished one of the loaves. I might have had some myself. I’m sure they recall the outcome differently.

Then, as we neared home, I’d turn the corners a tad sharp in our neighborhood so that they’d tumble against one another – first to one side of the car, then the other. More giggles. They’d squeal with delight and beg me to do it again. I gladly obliged.

Several years later, the musical tradition continued. Turning onto our street, my timing was perfect. Meatloaf’s “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights” came on. It’s about 10 minutes long, but we waited for our favorite part when Meatloaf, in the heat of passion, promised to wed his girlfriend.

“I’ll never break my promise or forget my vow … I’m praying for the end of time. It’s all that I can do. Praying for the end of time, so I can end my time with you.” (Meatloaf, “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights”)

By now, we were parked in the driveway, waiting for the next song, “Y.M.C.A.,” that closed this particular radio show.

If anyone had seen us singing and performing this disco song in our car, they would have thought we were certifiable.

This routine is just a memory chip away. When I hit rewind to replay that rock and roll music in my head, I just smile. It reminds of when Jenn and Danielle rode along with me. My girls completed my days and nights.

    What’s your favorite driving song? Comment below.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Judy Berman and earthrider, 2011-12. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to (Judy Berman) and (earthrider, earth-rider.com, or earthriderdotcom) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

* Photo: The Beatles at Kennedy Airport in 1964
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Beatles,_Kennedy_Airport,_February_1964.jpg

* Photo: Prince in Paris in 2009
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/ea/Prince.jpg 
       Author: Nicolas Genin, Paris, France

* Photo: Chaka Khan in concert in Santa Ynez, Calif.in 2006
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/10/Chaka_Khan.jpg

* Photo: Village People – Y.M.C.A. – 1970s disco group
http://www.listal.com/viewimage/52783

* “Rock and Roll Music” – music video with The Beatles (1964 song)
http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Rock+and+Roll+Music+Beatles&mid=AE3F5E63286E2C4B39A5AE3F5E63286E2C4B39A5&view=detail&FORM=VIRE5

* “I Feel for You” – music video with Chaka Khan (1984 song)
http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=i+feel+for+you+chaka+khan+lyrics&mid=DAC8A78F458AE54A4EFADAC8A78F458AE54A4EFA&view=detail&FORM=VIRE1

* “1999” music video with Prince (1982 song)
http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=prince+1999+music+video+official&mid=64B37BACF8AEB2FD7B9B64B37BACF8AEB2FD7B9B&view=detail&FORM=VIRE3

* “YMCA” music video with the Village People (1979 song)
http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=ymca+music+video&mid=077162ED5F556270EC9D077162ED5F556270EC9D&view=detail&FORM=VIRE3