The Oldest Blogger On Earth

Goodbye Oldest Blogger on Earth

2011-01-15T10:47:00.000-08:00

It is with great sadness that we announce that our mother Elvira S. Oliver passed away on December 29, 2010 under the care of Hospice after an illness of 5 months. She was severely aenemic and could only survive longer if she had frequent blood transfusions. She choose, rather than to go on further, to ignore her need for hemoglobin and to die what she hoped would be a peaceful death. Learning about Hospice Care she wished to die at home with nursing care and so choose Hospice which is paid for under Medicare and provided Beth, Helen and Linda to her as her devoted and loving nurses. In addition, at the end she was cared for by Johana Afume her 24 hour live-in aid from Visiting Nurse Association, an angel with great patience and tolerance, Elvira was livid about her loss of independence. Johana was paid for under Medicaid.

More than anything she wished to continue blogging until she could do it no longer. Unfortunately that was sooner than she would have liked because she develped a blood clot in her eye and eventually became totally blind. She wanted to type her own blog as she had always done, and we argued with her that she should allow someone to take her dictation and type it in for her. She would not agree, but right before she became totally incapacitated she wanted to try, but she could not see the buttons on the taperecorder and so could not continue blogging.

Elvira entered a nursing home briefly (5 days) but left because she was the only alert patient in a subacute section. Her needs were ignored. They didn't come to take her to the commode. (She could still walk with assistance) They left her to go in her pants because that is what all the others would do. They didn't give her her eye medication which was to prevent infection and keep the pressure low in her eye and the relieve the irritable scratchiness she felt, even though she had become totally blind only two weeks before. They didn't help feed her every meal, although she could barely eat on her own. And they ignored her need to remain as self-directing as possible.

Hospice ( in which the Federal Government is planning sadistic cuts, along with all other homecare) provided for her need to maintaiin her dignity and remain self-directing. They provided medication (morphine) to ease her pain from a terrible bedsore which became an awfully deep wound (from staying in her waste in the nursing home.) It also relieved the pain from the difficulty breathing of congestive heart failure. They provided assistance in getting to the commode as long as she could walk, and diapers with frequent changes after that. They provided moral support, humor, compassion and love and kept her spirits up until the end.

She wanted everybody to know how she enjoyed blogging and how it gave her a purpose as she rounded the corner into a new century of life. She especially enjoyed the comments she received and waited anxiously for new ones. Mom wanted to die in her own home and refused to be cared for outside her home as she realized that nursing homes are not equipped to provide a high level of care to those who are dying. Hospice was able to make her wish come true.

She died peacfully with one of her dear nurses, Beth, at her side.

To all her friends and followers. Thank you providing enjoyment and meaning to her at the end of her long life. We know she watching from up there to see who is the next Oldest Blogger.

THE CENTENARIAN - Chapter II

2010-09-05T11:08:00.000-07:00

Continuing with my 100th year birthday celebration, I would like to tell you what Laurie Magnant-Oliver, my Vermont grandaughter, presented to me. A lovely book containing a volume 0f all my postings from August 24, 2009 to June 28, 2010 with autographed comments from family members, in addition to the comments from my cyberspace friends. What a treasure!

I was so enthused and happy to be embraced by this beautiful garden of human love -flowers that I could not imagine even in my wildest dream, that I would be able to embrace any more. But I did! I wish to end this chapter sharing with you an essay written by one of these flowers, also a real Angel, one who guards me night and day, my own daughter Angela. Here it is:

Elvira S. Oliver
The Oldest Blogger on Earth

Everybody in Carmel, N.Y. who takes the Paratransit bus knows her as Elvira, the oldest blogger on earth. Her chariot picks her up outside the front door of Hughson Commons in Carmel, N.Y. a haven for senior citizens. With silky white hair blowing in the wind, she leans lightly on the polished branch 0f a mahogany tree and, softly smiling, greets the bus driver and his aging crew. In spite of her years, she moves gracefully reminding one of an elegant but feminine Yoda, as she steps into the bus. At 99, she imparts a tough wisdom and is the epitome of independence and a good natured feistiness.

Delivered by a neighborhood midwife of Italian immigrants, Arcangela and Salvatore Sperduto of Brooklyn, N.Y. on July 18, 1910, Elvira Oliver grew up so Italian she didn't realize she was American until she was well into her teens.

Elvira gave up her car at 98, because she lost the vision in one eye as the result of a mini-stroke. She prefers to take the bus so she isn't a burden, but her daughter will drive her anywhere. "I want to do things myself and remain as independent as possible" is her mantra. If you visit her apartment, you may smell fried onions and meatballs simmering in sauce. Complete pasta dinners are still served at her house for her family. Still cleaning and shopping for herself. Elvira loves to go out on the Paratransit meeting new people and relaying her stories.

From the time she was 8 years old until she started high school she worked as a clerk in her mother's Italian grocery store on the ground floor of the three-story brick apartment building her parents owned. While waiting to serve customers you could find Elvira roller skating over the wooden floor getting in some treasured moments of playtime. Papa crafted a small wooden stool on which she sat at other times, st0ically, in the shadows behind the counter doing homework and keeping a list 0f all the transactions. Until starting school she spoke only Italian, and shyly blushed for a long time while speaking English. These feelings of embarrassment and the desire to overcome them led her to become a good writer with an extensive vocabulary. Now, looking up every word that is not familiar continues a childhood habit. Yet, today she is articulate, animated, self-confident, outgoing, and she tells a good story.

Elvira worked her entire life until 80 years old. Laboring as an executive secretary for the top staff of large companies, a speed queen of dictation, she could clock in at 125 wpm and type at 100 wpm. When she made changes in letters and reports making them more spirited, her bosses soon realized she was an excellent writer. Eventually, she composed sales and other correspondence with her bosses just dictating the gist of what they'd like.

Elvira married a man of English descent whose father was a mining engineer and the head of an upper middle-class family in Oxford, New Jersey. They met at a friend's wedding. She was very sensitive about her immigrant roots and sometimes suffered from the family's unfortunate but rather typical attitudes towards "Eyetalians".

Martin, her husband, who workeed as a salesman for Merck Corporation traveled extensively in the South, keeping him away from home for weeks at a time. With her husband away, she made all the decisions facing the family.

After twelve years, Elvira separated from her difficult and painful marriage. By standing up to her husband, she delivered herself into a state of liberation. Taking on the responsibility of a family by herself, she became a pioneer in this endeavor. Elvira continued to live in the apartment she had shared with Martin, for divorce was still scandalous during the late 40's. She became a modern woman as she plowed her way through difficult work situations and raisd her three young children without support from Martin. She faced the world of work where many bosses tried to take advantage of her excellent skills and her marital status by giving her too much work and too little pay. If she didn.t get a raise she deserved, she would quit. She was so talented, she could easily find another job. She has lots of stories.

Because she is a fighter, Elvira does not allow anybody to take advantage of her. When a product doesn't live up to its advertisements, when promises are made and not kept, when someone tries to exploit or opportunize, she starts to write. She writes to CEO's, managers, town officials, congressmen. whoever can act as an arbiter of injustice. She usually wins. So many times she has been right, and through extensive organization and record keeping has been able to prove it.

Elvira once worked for Congresswoman Edna Kelly of Brooklyn, one of the first women in Congress. Forced to put her children in a boarding school for children from broken homes near Verbank, New York because she could not afford or find the day care she needed, she worked two jobs providing for her children's needs. Many years later, the good congresswoman introduced what became legislation, for a tax exemption for the cost of licenced childcare, on behalf of Elvira and other working mothers in similar situations. Today, Elvira is very proud of her three children Tom, Floyd and Angela who are all retired now. Tom became an Air Force Major, Floyd the Station Manager in Wqashington, D.C. for American Eagle Airlines, and Angela a Child Welfare Administrator. She has three grandchildren and two great grandchildren.

In her Blog, she takes you back to the early years of the twentieth century and how it felt to be an Italian-American through her story "The Joy of Growing-up Italian"which has spread world-wide over the Internet, unfortunately without giving her even a byline other than "Anonymous".

Eric Shackle an Internet Investigative Reporter and Publisher well-known for his blog "Life Begins at 80" has reviewed all of the different versions she has written over the years and compared them to those on the Internet and believes she is the actual author. He also saw her driver's license and has verified her as the oldest blogger in the world, as known to date. He was a friend of the two previous bloggers wro died at 107 and 108.

It has been one of her remaining goals in life to receive credit for the story which she circulated to all of her friends and acquaintances of Italian descent by the hundreds across the years, and is now read aloud in Italian-American Clubs all across the country.

The oldest blogger on earth can take you back in great detail to World War I, the influenza epidemic of 1918, the Depression of 1929 (she was the sole support of her family of eight), World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War. As a child, she lived jn a world without electricity or modern conveniences and tells stories about small apartment buildings in Brooklyn that had only one commode in the cellar for all the tenants. Across the years, Elvira has seen many mechanisms of living morph from one form into another....gas lights into incadescent electric bulbs, boiling laundry on the stove, scrubbing it on washboards and hanging it out on the line, to automatic washers and dryers. Elvira is Time's witness. Her blog relates the saga familiar to only a few of our oldest seniors. With her long and eventful life, Elvira can fascinate you and make you laugh and cry, and people of all ages will enjoy her blog.

By Angela D'Ambrosio
..................................................................

In my next chapter, I will tell you how my one hundreth birthday continued for several more days. Lucky for me that ladies' hats presently are not in vogue, otherwise I would not be able to find one that woul fit me.

Good Night......Elvira

The Centenarian - Chapter 1

2010-08-30T10:02:00.000-07:00

Hi there!

I'm willing to wager that most of you who follow my blogs have been wondering the reason for my long silence or, perhaps, even believing that Elvira has gone on to her eternal resting place. Nope!

I am happy to say that I had a marvelous birthday on Sunday, July 18th, 2010, celebrating one hundred years of my miraculous life on Planet EARTH in the company of my precious family. Angela took on the responsibility of planning this lovely day and was rewarded when late that evening ALL retired with smiling faces.

The reception was held at The Olive Garden in Danbury, Connecticut, a very nice restaurant catering to a superb Italian menu. After dinner, Happy Birthday was sung by my guests and some of the waiters and was followed with a Gift Certificate and congratulations from the Manager for my 100 years and also for being THE OLDEST BLOGGER ON eARTH, at least for the time being.. Then, to continue the celebration, Angela had reserved the Club House at the apartment complex in which I reside. An hour later, we entered a Club House decorated with streamers and balloons by my niece and nephew, Gabriella and Sal; the room was festively beautiful to behold.

Tom, my son, announced he had a surprise.....and what a surprise it turned out to be! He had produced a DVD and labeled it "THE SPERDUTO/OLIVER SAGA"......and when viewing it (as if in a dream), some of the events travelled back in Time. The great applause at the viewing-end of the DVD prompted Tom to say that he would endeavor to produce another one encompassing in more detail a more complete Saga of the Sperduto/Oliver family. So, for the past several weeks, I have been rummaging through drawers and boxes, gathering and mailing photos and negatives to Tom for his enormous project. I'm glad to say that I am presently working on the last box and it contains photos of my Italian ancestry. On the back of each photo, it will be necessary to note who is the person; that is, if I can.

After viewing the DVD, a beautiful cake with glowing candles was placed on the table for us to whet our waning appetites. As conversations began to fade, Floyd (my San Diego son) rose and gave a tribute to the Mothers of the world, directing his words especially to me, as well as to my own long-departed Mother Arcangela, his beloved grandmother. Oh! how I wish that he had written it down, so that I could have presented it to you now. It was so beautiful!

Shipping and Handling Charges

2010-06-28T14:35:00.000-07:00

Smells like a SCAM.

I believe that the Attorney Generals in all the States should make sure that this practice of collecting "shipping and handling charges" on items purchased via Television Ads, Internet, and other means, should be abolished or curtailed, especially when cancelling an order before it reaches the shipping department or when "it is not yet in the system.

I am not blaming the employees for this; they are only doing what they are told to do. The blame goes to the one who institutes this practice. I can't even blame the CEO; it is usually the upper-scale employee who best qualifies as the "Madoff" of the company, although the CEO is responsible for his employment and actions.

I am going to try at this writing not to mention names, but if the order I placed at 1:oo am this early morning of June 28, 2010 (by calling a number shown on the TV-ad) is not cancelled as per my request approximately ten hours later, and was informed "it is not yet in the system", then I shall come back and expose the name of the company. Who, in spite of my early cancellation and the fact that "it is not yet in the system" will ship the order, charge me for the product, plus shipping and handling charges. Then when the product arrives, I can refuse the product. After it is returned and again redeemed by them, they will issue a full refund for the product, less the shipping and handling charges.

Now you have no product, but they have gained a revenue of about Six Dollars by shipping a product which you cancelled before it was even in the system. In this particular case, the shipping and handling charges are $6.95. I am willing to bet that the actual mailing would be less than a dollar. A profit to them of about $6.00 on an order that was cancelled before 'it was in the system'.

If the cancellation is made before it is in the system, I just cannot understand why it could not be retrieved before it reached the shipping department. The response can only rightly be that the moment you place an order, you are charged immediately.

If I go to the supermarket, the store clerk does not follow me around with a calculator and ask me to pay for items I have not yet placed in the shopping cart. When I get to the shipping department (in the supermarket, it is known as the 'cashier's counter), each item is charged, wrapped and placed in the cart. It has been 'shipped' to me and charged properly.

Nothing is free. Be especially aware of those that offer a Free Gift with the purchase of a non-tangible offer, but charge 'shipping and handling charges' on the free gift which can only be used with the offer. Here's the catch: You are allowed to cancel the so-called offer and receive a refund. But what are you going to do with the Free Gift that you cannot use, on which you paid rather steep shipping and handling charges which are not refundable, and on which they paid a miniscule amount of money to mail to you.

You can believe all of the above or not. In several weeks, God willing, I will be 100 years old. I worked in the business world until I was eighty years old and saw the many changes that took place and reveled in them most of the time. I am a clipper and a saver and want to assure you that I can prove with actual documents, that the postings I have submitted are not fairy tales.

Putnam Hospital Center - Valet Parking

2010-06-12T11:32:00.000-07:00

I don't know how many people would say that they enjoy a visit to a doctor's office. Well, here I am admitting that I look forward to my visits to my eye doctor's office. Dr. Allan Farquhar is renouned in our area as a young dedicated ophthalmologist surgeon and I have placed myself completely in his hands. It is with the knowledge that he will do all that he can within his power, to enable me to maintain what vision still remains, so that I may continue to blog for a little while longer. I always leave his office in a very happy mood, filled with exhilaration from all the attention showered upon me, not only from his staff, but from Dr. Farquhar himself who takes time from his exceedingly busy schedule to answer all my questions.

When I leave, I usually sit on a bench in front of 664 Stoneleigh Avenue building (which is part of the Putnam Hospital complex) and wait from zero minutes to an hour for a bus to take me home. I don't mind waiting; I'm happy.....and I watch the perpetual 'movie' enfolding before my eyes.

As people enter or exit the building, I try to decipher from their facial expressions and demeanor what brought them to the hospital today. Have they come to keep an appointment with a doctor in his office, for an x-ray, or have they come to visit a loved-one who is lying in a hospital bed?

Look over there to my right! The new Camarda Building. And my thoughts flow back to the day several weeks ago, when Angela and I had occasion to enter its lobby, and I said: "Wow! its beautiful. Just look at that grand piano! Is this a Music Hall or a Theatre? It certainly should be used for fund-raising events."

At this point, I wish to emphasize that unless I quote " " something, all the thoughts and observations are strictly mine and I'm solely responsible for them.

When I initially came to Carmel, I remember trips to Putnam Hospital required visitors to park their own car and then paying an hourly fee on exiting the grounds. However, on a visit to a doctor's office, you could obtain a validated coupon for free parking. But now, several years later, parking is completely free. To me, this is an Act of Kindness. After all, people do not go to hospitals or doctors' offices for enjoyment; why add insult to injury?

As my eyes roamed the area, I focused on a small shelter tucked-in between bushes just a few feet before the entrance to the building. I realized it was placed there for the use of the valets. I do not know when this valet service began, but I thought it was a nicer way to garner revenue rather than charge everyone for parking. And I wondered what the fee would be!

The shelter was occupied by two, three or four young boys or men wearing bright orange jackets. As a car approached and stopped, and after all passengers were discharged, one of the smiling valets would hand something (a ticket I assumed) to the driver/owner, and wisk the car away.

Then I noticed that some of those, that exited the building, would walk over to the shelter and hand a ticket to one of the valets, who would hustle out to the parking lot to retrieve the car. And here is when I noted two different scenarios work out:

1. When a car was retrieved and presented to the owner, I noticed the owner stretch out his arm and shake the hand of the valet, both smiling at each other. Then the valet still smiling raised his hand as if in an army-salute, but probably more as if waving goodbye.

2. When a car was retrieved and presented to the owner, I noticed the owner look away from the valet, get in the car and drive away.

I sat there saying to myself "I don't understand this; I must get to the bottom of it". I rose and slowly walked to the shelter. I approached the valets and said "I've been sitting on that bench and watching you boys work....and I'm puzzled. How much is the fee and how and when is it collected?" With a great big grin on all their faces, each eager to explain: "Lady, there is no charge; its free." Then I asked a question which I prefaced with 'I probably should not ask this and you don't have to answer' but "are you volunteers?" There was just a slight hesitancy, but then one young man spoke for all of them........and let me put it this way for my blog-readers: Its a great service the hospital offers and they gladly volunteer to serve as valets at a minimum wage. The tips, of course, make for a descent living, especially in this bad economy when lots of boys and young men can't find a job. They are rendering a service and enjoy doing it.

Kudos to Putnam Hospital for expending revenue by hiring caring young men to serve the visitors that make use of their facilities. Every hospital should follow their example.

However, I believe an Act of Kindness should, at least, be rewarded by an Act of Appreciation. So to those who just keep taking and not giving....Shame on you! The next time.....just look at the person and say 'Thank you"; it doesn't cost anything.

Memorial Day

2010-05-30T10:32:00.000-07:00

Today is Sunday, May 30, 2010 and it is Memorial Day.

At three o'clock this afternoon, I will suspend anything I am doing to concentrate and remember all those patriotic heroes of all wars who gave of themselves to serve our country. Among my heroes, I salute my sons Thomas and Floyd.

However, I want to pay tribute today to two men who became part of my extended family about sixteen years ago and who are a source of inspiration to many young people, and most of all to me. They are Raymond and John.

Raymond is Laurie's father, and Laurie became my granddaughter when she married my grandson Thomas Jr. Since then, Raymond has become a grandfather twice more and I have been blessed twice with the title of 'great grandmother' by handsome Evan and beautiful Maeghan.

Raymond has been involved, in the past nine years, in several missions in our conflicts overseas. His son John, also a father, is now serving his third or fourth mission there. I hope and pray that he will be returning soon safely to all his love-ones.

The other day, in a local newspaper (The Putnam County Courier), I came across an article which filled me with emotion. Perhaps it will inspire you to read and explain to our young folk the true meaning of Memorial Day.......that it is not the beginning of open-season for backyard barbeques or opening-day of beaches.

"IN FLANDERS FIELDS......"

"Canadian poet John McCrae wrote the famed poem "In Flanders Fields," after his experience as a field surgeon at the Second Battle of Ypres in 1915.

The poem was inspired by the funeral of a friend who died in that battle, and the reference to poppies in the Flanders fields led to the tradition of wearing paper poppies in honor of those who have died in war.

The poppies reference was not accidental: the flower, a source of opium, is a symbol of sleep, and as the poet Sackville noted, its cousin, death.

The American poet R. W. Lillard wrote, "America's Answer," in reply to Flanders Fields in which he said: Fear not that ye have died for naught; The torch ye threw to us we caught, Ten million hands will hold it high, And freedom's light shall never die!

Here are the words of McCrae's poem:
IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from falling hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.""

Its a beautiful day here in Carmel; I hope yours is, too.

Elvira

High School - Chapter 5

2010-05-28T17:00:00.000-07:00

My last chapter referred to an event that took place in GCHS and came to a glorious conclusion after many years............

Many times over my long life, I have recounted the story of the swimming pool edict by the principal of GCHS, Mrs. Evelyn Allan. And whenever I completed the story, I realized that no one believed such a tale. But it was always real to me and since I acknowledge that I am a repeater of good stories, I continued to tell it.

One day, in my Life-bio class (year 2006), I chose this particular event as my home-work story. When I completed reading it to the class, I looked up to see a shifting of the eyes from one person to another. I was embarrassed but made no comment and neither did the others. It is an incredible story; why would someone be deprived of graduation for not learning to swim. I'm sure that even my blog friends and followers have been thinking the same thing.

Now, let me bring you to January 1, 2007. On this celebrated day, I was alone in the afternoon. I decided to practice my new-found skills of surfing the internet. (Remember, I started computer classes in 2006). Let me see: "I wonder if any of my high school friends are still living.' No luck! I tried to recall the names of some of the newspapers of 1928.....and the Brooklyn Daily Eagle and the Brooklyn Standard Union came to mind and I scanned about 95 pages. I was about to give up when up popped a page "Brooklyn Standard Union - 1929 News- June. I really can't account for continuing, but I did.......and lo and behold, I came across this article, and I quote it word for word:

20 June 1929
GIRLS MUST SWIM OR STAY HOME AT COMMERCIAL"S GRADUATION
Pupils Have Until Next Tuesday to Obey Edict
Mrs. Evelyn W. Allan, principal of the Girls Commercial High School, is enforcing the rule that all girls graduated from the school must be able to swim the length of the 75-foot pool in the gymnasium, The penalty is loss of the privilege of participating in the commencement exercises, which take place next Wednesday. Instead they will get their diplomas by mail.

"The only way to make the girls learn how to swim," said Mrs. Allan today, "is to pursue more or less drastic means. Barring a girl from her commencement will act as a tonic on her to learn to swim."

Mrs. ALLAN said that the pool will be open all day every day until next Tuesday, the last opportunity to satisfy the requirement, and those girls who have not yet traveled the 75-foot tank under their own power still have ample time in which to master enough of the art of swimming to cover this distance.

Mrs. ALLAN declared that the Girls Commercial High School has occupied its new building for five years now. All this time the girls have been aware of the swimming requirement and they have had four years in which to learn, the pool being available to them during their entire stay at the high school. A month ago, more than fifty seniors had still failed to swim the length of the pool. Yesterday this number had dwindled to twenty-nine. Mrs. ALLAN said that she expected the number to melt away considerably during the next few days.

Mrs. ALLAN said 249 seniors are to be graduated from the school next Wednesday and of this number, she expects to have only a handful barred from the commencement exercises because of failure to swim the length of the tank. "Barring this handful," she said, "will not only stimulate those barred to learn to swim, but will act as a lesson for the seniors to come, who have thus far been backward in availing themselves of the opportunity offered by the new, beautiful pool we have here."

**************************

You will note that Mrs. Allan became a bit more lenient in her threat a year and a half after I graduated. It was no longer 'loss of graduation'; it was 'the loss of participating in commencement exercises'.

I quickly made ten copies of this on my printer on January 1, 2007, and at my next bio-class handed each one a copy, and smilingly said: "He who laughs last, laughs best".

Yes, I was in my glory. After 79 years, I have been vindicated.

I've mentioned several times that I'm not computer literate. The easiest way for me to locate this EDICT quickly is to Google Search as follows: Mrs. Evelyn Allan - Brooklyn Standard Union - June 20, 1929.

Elvira

High School - Chapter 4

2010-05-25T14:58:00.000-07:00

This will bring me to the last two weeks of my attendance at Girls Commercial High School.......................

Several days after the family's happiness regarding the Life Extension incident, on arriving at school, my first class of the day was swimming, which was to be the last swim session of the term. Ater roll-call, one teacher said that she had just received a bulletin from Mrs. Allan, our school principal, and as soon as all the chatter stopped, she proceeded to read from it: 'That any girl who had not learned to swim at least across the width of the pool, would not graduate.'

I can't recall my immediate reaction except that my whole world collapsed. I sat down on the floor, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. Then I felt the arms of my teacher embracing me, whilst assuring me that I still had ten days to learn.

The last ten or twelve days before graduation were usually spent by most students 'just-fooling around', visiting friends and teachers in different classrooms, signing autograph books, and attending to last minute details. But, not for me! I didn't dare say a word at home. For the next seven days, I rose, dressed and walked to school in a trance. There, I would don my bathing suit and report to the pool area. My teacher, realizing how dreadfully scared I was, patiently kept coaxing me. I kept going in and out of the water but hanging on to the ledge constantly. Then I heard the teacher call me back into the water: Elvira, please come back...I'll be right here with you; just have faith in me; you will not drown. Eventually, very slowly, I walked down the several steps into the shallow end of the pool. "Now Elvira, just do as I say: Now throw yourself backward (yes, I'm holding on to you), wave your arms through the water (yes, I'm still holding you), splash your legs up and down (yes, still holding)...........and about minute or two later, I heard several teachers and a few students yelling and clapping their hands, and the teacher in the water with me, saying "mission accomplished". Then I was told.......that without my realizing or being aware of it, and after the last 'yes, I'm still holding', she released her hold and I just floated across on my own steam. Her report to the principal's office was that I swam across the pool.

Are you out there listening to me? I've told you more than once.........REAL angels are everywhere, and they are just ordinary people.

Yes, I graduated from Girls Commercial High School with Rose Lorber in January 1928. In my new autograph book, this time she wrote "Too bad we won't be going to three schools together". And, in the Year Book, under my picture was printed:

Elvira you're not so unoberved
We know you're doing your share
Twixt printing room and typing
Your days are not free from care

A very lovely and very distinguished lady, Louise Hoover, was our Commencement Speaker. A year later, her husband, would become the President of the United States. Unfortunately, only seven months into President Herbert Hoover's administration, sounds of newsboys, down on the streets below offices, resounded with "EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT!"......and the whole world remained in a Great Depression until World War II.

However, in February 1928, I entered the business world with the economy rather
good. No longer was I the little girl who worked in her Mother's grocery store. I was a stenographer and bookkeeper on her way to a job in a medical office in Manhattan. I had become an American young lady whose heart was wrapped up tightly, enclosing forever, all that warm Italian culture. which, to this day, has sustained me throughout my extraordinary journey in this life.

There is one more chapter regarding the incredible event that took place in GCHS, which, after many years, came to a glorious conclusion for me.

So until next time........Elvira

High School - Chapter 3

2010-05-24T09:43:00.000-07:00

In my last blog, I wrote that I had two years left of high school days---------

The last two years at Girls Commercial High School found me exceedingly happy. Days flew by quickly, Before I knew it, we were preparing for the 1927 Christmas-time festivities. With only a few days more than a month away, we talked a great deal about the expected graduations; my younger sister Marie from grade school and bound for GCHS, and my graduation from GCHS and bound for-who-knows-where. I was 17-years old, but very naive regarding the world outside of my neighborhood. No one seemed to ask, nor did I ever question what I would do with the knowledge I had acquired over the past four years. The answer came again in the form of real angels..............

Returning to school after the Holiday-break in early January 1928, recruiters from the Life Extension Institute presented themselves at GCHS seeking soon-to-be-graduates with excellent stenographic skills who would be able to take rapid dictation from doctors. Four students were to be hired to start working immediately after graduation..... and I was selected as one of them.

At dinner that evening, my family was in a state of jubilation: Elvira was going to be a stenographer and take dictation from doctors. Every morning, she would board a St. John's Place trolley car, which would take her to Flatbush Avenue; and from there, go underground to a subway train which will carry her to 42nd Street Times Square. Best of all, she was going to earn $15.00 for 43 hours per week....nine to five Monday through Friday and nine till noontime on Saturday. Wow! 35-cents an hour. And just imagine, she didn't have to spend time scanning newspaper ads or pay an employment agency to find a job. How lucky can one be!

It's true. There was not a dark cloud in the sky; just a lot of blue, blue skies.

My last two weeks at GCHS is still another story.

Elvira

High School - Chapter 2

2010-05-19T17:29:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I told you about the wonderful Christmas present given to me by my Father.....that he fully supported my wish to graduate from high school. So let's continue.....

With my new found happiness, I set the ball rolling. I changed my studies from an academic course to a commercial one, which included bookkeeping, typing and the handwritten 'lost' language of stenography in which I excelled and enjoyed tremendously.

The transition from academic to commercial caused me to lose quite a few credits....and if I still wanted to graduate with Rose Lorber, somehow, I had to recover those credits. I sought the advice of my Grade Advisor (a music teacher whose name, at the moment, I can't remember) and she directed me to summer school classes at Erasmus Hall High School on Flatbush and Church Avenues in Brooklyn. I enrolled and the summers of 1926 and 1927 were spent at this school accumulating the necessary credits.

During the first two years of my high school days, a new building was being constructed for Girls Commercial High School on Classon Avenue and Union Street.....opposite the famous Brooklyn Museum and across from the Prospect Park Botanical Gardens. In the interium, some of the students were temporarily housed in annex buildings throughout the borough. Rose and I were placed in an annex on Gates Avenue, between Tompkins and Stuyvesant Avenues....and each morning at eight o'clock, we boarded a Gates Avenue trolley at Greene Avenue and St. James Place after walking four long blocks.

Christmas 1925! What a wonderful Christmas; it continued to reign gifts. On returning to school shortly after the holidays, the students at the annex received a surprise announcement, but to me it was a gift: The new term, beginning the first school day in February 1926.....we were all to report to the new building on Classon Avenue; that all Girls Commercial students, for the first time, would all be together in a magnificent building, with a very large auditorium and a huge swimming pool.

Yes, I proudly walked through the Union Street door of this magnificent building on the first school day in February 1926. There was no need for a trolley; I walked ten short blocks straight up Washington Avenue. And on most Friday afternoons for the next two years, I stopped and chatted with my Aunt Filomena (my Mother's youngest sister) whose house I passed-by each day. I decided I would try to do my very best in all the activities assigned to me,

Part of the Gymnasium curriculum was a swimming class once a month. Students were required to purchase a standard-style swimming suit at the school store, and when I asked Mother for the money, I thought she was having a heart attack. She screamed and cried: "No! No! No! You can't go in the water. You will drown." And once again, I sat down and listened to a tale of woe from my dear loving Mother: In Italy, when she was 17 years old, she was riding a horse across the meadows, when she came to a stream she had crossed many times before on her way to and from her home. This particular day, something in the water disturbed the horse and she was thrown into the stream, rendered unconscience and nearly drowned. Fortunately, she was rescued by a neighbor but remained slightly incapacitated for almost a year. "So you must understand; you must not go into the swimming pool; you must promise me; promise me." What could I do, I promised....although I had no idea how to handle it.

Well, I don't recall what excuses I gave once a month to the swimming teachers. However, there is one excuse I used legitimately and frequently; but I can't recall what the others were. As I sit here typing, I calculate there must have been at least 20 swimming sessions during the next two years, and perhaps for the five or six legitimate excuses, I truly can't recall the other fourteen or fifteen ones. Since I can't remember any stress, it probably didn't matter much to the teachers. I'm wondering if I just said "I don't want to swim today"....or did the teachers say to each other "We don't force anyone to climb the ropes, so what's the difference."

Was I a tomboy? Yes, I was. Did I play basketball and all the rougher ball games? I sure did! I remember qll the long black stockings that had holes in them from the falls, scraping the grounds. Did I climb the ropes? Why do you ask? What a snap.....heck, all the way to the top!

I remember clearly....that every Monday morning, we assembled in our beautiful auditorium and after pledging allegiance to our Flag, I can bet that even the people staffing the museum could hear us sing our school song:

We're Girls Commercial
Yes we are, yes we are
In everything, we are the star
We are the star
Ooooh say by jinx
Now don't you wish that you
Belonged to Girls Commercial too.

Two years to go and I will graduate from high school.

To be continued.

Goodnight..........Elvira

High School Entry

2010-05-18T17:07:00.000-07:00

My last posting referred to the fact that by sheer luck I was going to be a student in a high school. The story continues as follows:

Rose Lorber had signed up for an academic course at Girl Commercial High School to prepare her for a two-year college course at a teacher's training school. Since I was going to high school for only one term (five months),....shucks, I might as well go there too; at least I would be in school with Rose.

As the end of the five-month reprisal date approached, once again my brother Nicholas spoke on my behalf. He told my Father that it would be a shame to withdraw me from school: "Elvira is doing so well." After a rather heated discussion, with pros and cons being bantered about, Dad relented, and "Bene, go five more months".....and after that period expired, another five months.

I was 15 years old at Christmastime 1925 and I had decided it was time to stand up to my Father and his old customs. Ho! Ho! Ho! What a joke! After a late and rather long Christmas breakfast with home-made struffoli, panzarotti, demi-tasse with a touch of anisette instead of coffee with milk, Dad rose from the table and went to the basement to attend to some of his daily chores. After clearing the table and attending to my other duties, I went down to confront my Father. As he was placing some wood in the stove, I blurted out: "Papa, I want you to know that I'm tired of your five month extensions; I've been in high school almost two years and I've decided to go through the full four years and graduate. My Dad turned, looked at me standing in the doorway; then quietly but sternly said: "Come here." Afraid of the thrashing I was about to receive for speaking so disrespectfully, I stood there petrified. As father drew closer to me, he took me by the hand, walked to his chair, sat down....and with the warmest embrace I can still feel, my Dad gave me the best Christmas present I could ever have received. It was nothing tangible.....just words. Words that have been forged in my memory-bin forevermore. "Now! Now! is that what has been bothering you? Who said you would not graduate! Of course, you will." Suddenly, I realized that my Italian father was slowly, but surely, becoming an American.....and, by golly, I WAS an American.

I'll stop here; I'm a bit tired Will stir up some energy and try to get back tomorrow.

Elvira

Grade School Graduation

2010-04-27T16:42:00.000-07:00

As I was approaching the end of January 1924, I also knew that my school education would also be ending. For some time, I had been alerted by my dear Italian Father that it was time for me to take over some of the more tedious burdens of my Mother, to allow her to devote more time to her store business, and to prepare me for my future role as wife and mother. This is something I accepted, albeit grudgingly, but with great respect, because it was the way of life. Most all of the other Italian girls in my neighborhood, who were graduating from grade school, faced the same reality; however, they usually became factory workers.

In New York City in those days, it was the law that if you were under sixteen years of age when completing grade school, it was necessary to acquire Working Papers whether or not you became a wage earner. To facilitate matters to obtain these papers, an application form had to be filled out and signed by the school's principal and then presented in person to the proper government-agent whose office was on Tillary Street in downtown Brooklyn. New York.

I remember the day it was my turn to go to the principal's office. As I entered, Mr. Harding rose and came from around his desk to shake my hand, and, "What brings you here to see me, Elvita." Working Papers, I said. "Working Papers? Why? Aren't you going to high school?" No. And silently, without saying a word, he shook his head from side to side. He pulled out an application form from his desk drawer and started to fill out the form......Name: Elvita Sperduto, Address: 946 Atlantic Avenue, Birth: July --, 1910. And then a long pause, as if he was thinking. No longer gloomy, he looked at me smiling gleefully, and words just rushed out: "Elvita, you're going to high school whether your father likes it or not, You are not going to be 14 until July and that's six months away. The Law requires that you must be at least 14 years old before your schooling ceases. You are only 13-1/2 and, therefore, you must attend high school at least for one term before Working Papers will be granted." I was stunned! Once again, Mr. Harding walked around his desk and, this time, instead of shaking my hand, I received a great big bear-hug. (That would be considered inappropriate today. What a shame!) I'm almost one hundred years old and I still love that man...Mr. Franklyn Harding, the Principal of Public School #11.

I just could not eat dinner that evening and Mother thought I was ill. After dishes were cleared away, Father sat back in his chair and surveyed his domain. A few words from here and there and then I blurted out: "Pa , whether you like it or not, I'm going to high school" and continued to relate the conversation in the principal's office. I can still see my Father, rising in his chair, shoulders spread back, bang on the dining room table, and in a rage bellow: "No one is going to tell me how to raise my children. You are lying. You and the principal 'cooked-up' this story." Thank God for Nicholas, my oldest brother who was now 25 years old and worked as a private chauffeur driving a Lincoln limousine for a very wealthy financier. Nicholas spoke in a very quiet tone: "Pa, it is the law. You will be arrested and sent to jail. I happened to visit a few of my old teachers several weeks ago and they all said Elvira is smart....and, after all Pa, it's only for one term." Nick was able to calm down this enraged but truly law-abiding man. "Bene, justa fer fiva muns." Mother was removing pots from the back of the coal stove and with her apron wiping away tears. My brothers were elated "Gee, El, you're going to high school. Wow!" My sisters looked at me with awe.

Now I'm in a dilemma. I really wanted to be a dancer or fashion-designer. But, I'm going to high school only for one term. Heck, I'll ask Rose Lorber where she was going. The next day and with autograph book in hand , I met Rose and told her the above story. And as I mentioned in my last post, Rose said: "Goodness gracious, after all that was said and done. Give me your book, Elvita"....and wrote the poem about Moses.

.......................................................................................................

By sheer LUCK I was able to attend high school My 4-A teacher had me skip a class; instead of promoting me to the 4-B, she placed me in the 5-A class. Had I not skipped a class, I would have graduated in June 1924,,,,,..in July, I was fourteen and my Italian culture would have prevailed.

.....................................................................................................

Rose and I both graduated from Girls Commercial High School in January 1928 and that is another story!

Autograph Books

2010-04-20T17:16:00.000-07:00

I have not been able to energize myself for the past several weeks due to the fact that a member of my family, one very dear to me, has had major surgery, and it has taken a toll on me.

Since I'm still not up to composing something for you, I will post from time to time facts relating to memorabilia I have accumulated over the years, as well as thoughts that come to mind as I daydream through each day.

I'll start with a box that I recently brought up from the storage in the basement. I pulled out of it two autograph books: one from grade school (year 1924) and the other from high school (year 1928. The grade school one quickly reminded me of a poem my best girl friend wrote, and before I scanned the pages to look for it, I tested myself to see if I remembered it.....and sure enough I did. Here it is:

Moses was a good man
Of children he had seven
He thought he'd hire a donkey-cart
And drive them all to Heaven
But sad to say
He lost his way
Although he knew it well
He overturned the donkey-cart
And drove them all to................
Now don't get excited
Now don't get red
Instead of going to Heaven
They all went to bed.

Rose Lorber was my best girl friend and lived across the street from me on the second floor in a tenement building. Her family were the only Jewish people in our neighborhood, and her father Samuel Lorber was everybody's plumber. Rose was very aware of the differences in our cultures and we each respected the others. She knew that my school days would end with my graduation from grade school, Therefore, the day after I learned I could attend high school and told her the good news, we jumped in glee and clung to each other. Then in a more serious tone, Rose said: "Goodness gracious. after all that was said and done. Give me your book, Elvita"...... and wrote the above poem. In my next posting, I will tell you about this chapter in my life.

............................................................

And now: A Joke for the Ladies

The editor of a paper in Providence lately informed his readers that the ladies always pull off the left stocking last. This, as may be supposed, created some little stir among his readers, and while in positive terms they denied the statement, they at the same time declared that he had no business to know it, even if such was the fact. and pronounced him no gentleman. He proved it, however, by a short argument: when one stocking is pulled off first, there is another left on, and pulling off this is taking off the left stocking last.

..........................................................

And: Did You Know

Australia is the richest source of mineral sand in the world.

The average normal speed of birds in order to remain aloft in flight is reported to be about 11 miles per hour.

Color telephones were first mass-produced in 1954.

A coward was originally a boy who took care of cows.

The famous Russian composer Aleksandr Borodin was also a respected chemistry professor in St. Petersburg.

The fastest moon in our solar system circles Jupiter once every seven hours....travelling at 70,400 miles per hour.

.........................................

Until next time Elvira

The Poetess

2010-03-30T20:38:00.000-07:00

As I have mentioned in a previous post, from time to time, I would like to honor friends that have enriched my life, each one in his or her inimatable way.

Danita is a lovely lady, who as a child grew up in Texas. Today, she is a Mother, Grandmother and a vivacious Realtor in Putnam County, New York...and one of my colleauges and an alumni of the Life-Bio Class under the supervision of Mary Andriola. Danita has been able to over-ride the many trials and tribulations which enter one's life, by remembering that she is still THAT little girl in Texas who was fazed by nothing.

Danita is our Poetess and writes in prose. Her subjects are usually enriched with the splendor of Nature. Here is one of my favorites........

TIME by Danita Mancini

Is it your time or my time
Even though we live
In the same Universe
I can tell you
We look at it QUITE differently
I ALWAYS
Have to be before time
I am that person
Who is waiting for you
Because you are NEVER ON TIME
You say you never have enough time
Time is just the spaces between events
How we use that is what makes the difference
What do you mean you never have time?
Why
Did someone steal it?
Does it mean you waste time
Dream time away
Do you think
There is a third
Dimension your not privy to
Or are you unrealistic on
What you can do with time?
Does it mean you let other people
Tie you to their thoughts
Fleeting your time away
I have always run everywhere
And often wondered how
People can pass snail paced through
Do they daydream more than me?
Have more pleasure than me
Or smell the roses more?
Let me tell you
AT A RUNNING SPRINT
I can smell those roses
And I can observe it all
To this day I bless my Mother who
In her infinite wisdom
Didn't think I ever moved fast enough.

-------------------------------------------

More of DID YOU KNOW:

A full moon always rises at sunset.

The side of a hammer is called a cheek.

About 33,000,000 Americans do crosswords in newspapers, journals, and paperback books.

Ostriches stick their heads in the sand to look for water.

The forest of the Canadian Lake District is so dense that during Winter snow stays on top of the trees and the forest floor stays bare.

Hope you enjoy..........Elvira

Joe, the Shoemaker and Salvatore

2010-03-25T13:35:00.000-07:00

It is the perception...that as one becomes older, the brain loses the capacity to retain the visions of the Present. Somehow, I think it is false and I may be completely off base. But at this moment, I care to believe it. I know almost nothing about computer technology or its language, but did I read or comprehend correctly, that one can retrieve anything you have discarded into the 'trash-bin' of the computer? Goodness gracious! If that is so, then why can't you retrieve from the tired brain, the thoughts that the Present environment deemed unimportant, and quickly discarded them into its trash-bin. I think that all the tired brain needs is stimulation,,,,a trigger of something similarly long past, to bring it back to the present. Let me try to explain what I mean......

On intermittent Wednesdays, the alumni class of Life-Bio meets. And on several occasions of late, one of the members, if she thinks she's late, has rushed into the room, apologizes, and Mary assures her that she is not late. Somehow, on these occasions, I would feel a slight breeze flow past me, but the sensation quickly disappears. It never happened when the other "young ladies' entered the room and calmly sat down with a 'good morning'.

Then just a few days ago, as I was sitting quietly in my chair reading the local newspaper, I dozed off and dreamed. Into my day-dream appears Danita (yep, that's her name), rushes into the kitchen, and exclaims 'Oh, am I late, am I late?' Father gently says 'slow down, slow down. No, you,re not late for dinner.'......and suddenly I awakened by the noise of a para-transit bus backing up.

That was it for me! I really believe that on the few occasions when it seemed I felt the slight breeze at the time of Danita's 'rushed' entrance, that it was the Present trying to connect to a similar 'rushing' pattern in the Past....and when the Present was unable to trigger my memory in the waking state, it endeavored to reach me in the imaginative state...in the day-dream.

To those who have been reading my posts:: Remember when I posted excerpts from Wayne Dyer's IMAGINATION, wherein he mentions that YOU are all the characters in your dreams, whomever or whatever it may be. I believe this to be true. The Danita in the dream was ME...and my Father's 'slow down, slow down' was a way of of reminding me of his conversation with Joe, the Shoemaker.

And here is the reason that I place so much emphasis 'on the slight breeze I felt and caused by Danita's rushed entrance': It is a very fond memory of my dear Father in 1949, a year before he passed away.............

One day my Father came home for dinner after spending a few hours in the afternoon chi-chatting with Joe, the Shoemaker. In those times, to be a shoemaker was considered quite a meaningful profession. Shoes were not easily discarded after the soles were worn out. They were usually half-soled once or twice before the upper leather of the shoe became useless. Joe's store was at the corner of our long block, St. Johns Place, just two doors in from the corner, before it intersected with Nostrand Avenue, which became one of the great shopping avenues in Brooklyn.

Ernie, who never married, lived with my parents in the six-family apartment house they owned. They lived in one of the apartments on the second floor, and I rented from them the apartment directly underneath. I heard three bangs from the pipe in the dumbwaiter shaft; it was the signal that someone upstairs was trying to contact me. I responded, and my Father said: "Elvira, if you have not had your dinner as yet, come up and join us. Ernesto is home too, I have something funny to tell you."

Although many years had passed, we still abided by some of the old traditions. One of them was Mange e Cheto (Eat and Be Quiet) and the other was consuming the usual Thursday dinner which consisted of freshly cooked pasta and last-Sunday's leftovers, including the meatballs and bracioli. Ernie and I were like small children, waiting patiently, and then Ernie: "Come on Pa, what's funny?" Sitting back in his chair and grinning broadly, he said: "Joe asked me a pecular question today. He wanted to know, Elvira, if you had a physical ailment." He stopped because I had a look on my face, my mouth wide open. Still grinning, he continued: "Joe said, you know, Salvatore, your daughter does not walk properly; she runs. She goes past my store , waves to me, and before I can wave back, she's gone. Is there something wrong with her?" At this point, we just could not stop laughing. "And what did you say", Mom asked....and Ernie and I followed with the same question. I said to Joe: "Elvira has been like that since her very young days when she was her Mother's assistant in a grocery store. At about four o'clock each day, the customers would line up in the store to buy food for the evening meal, and it seemed like every customer was in a hurry." And I told Joe: "In order to serve each customer quickly, she hurried from one shelf to another, from bin to bin, from one area of the store to another, to fill the orders and keep the customers satisfied. She's in the same fix today; she goes from one job to another. We are so used to her pace, we don't notice it as different from the norm....and I guess its a habit she will not outgrow until she is an old lady." Turning to me, my Father said: "Joe was greatly impressed today...but we here, Elvira, want you to know that we have been impressed by you since you were a little girl. Haven't we, Arcangela? Now give me a hug and go home." Filled with this display of love and affection from my family, what more could anyone want!

For the young who read this, you may wonder why the customers waited until late in the afternoon to buy food for the evening meal. You are lucky to be born during the last fifty or sixty years. Because, in my time, to buy food in advance presented a major problem. To preserve food for future use, refrigeration is required, and the only accommodation in the 1920's and 1930's was an ice-box, which did not have the capacity to store much food. Several times a week (perhaps it was more frequently; I do not remember) ....an ice man, with a block of ice held together with a pincer and slung over his protected shoulder, would patiently climb two, three and four flights of stairs, to deliver ice for only ten or fifteen cents, depending on the size of the block. He would place the ice in the upper part of the box, In the inside rear was a pipe which fed the water from the melting ice into a pan under the ice box. Every evening before bedtime and every morning, it was necessary to empty the pan under the ice-box to avoid the spillage of water on to the floor.

- - - - - - - - -- - -

I would like to post a tribute to my friend Danita, whose mere 'rush' into a room, triggered a fond memory of my dear Father, as noted above. I'm a bit tired now, but I'll be back after a few restful days. Until then......Goodnight.

Elvira

What is my Name?

2010-03-21T11:04:00.000-07:00

March 21, 2010

The other day when I posted "School Days - Chapter I", I stated that the reason I remembered those thoughts was because someone addressed me as Elvera, but what I forgot to tell you was that for the first time, with determinaton but politely, I corrected the lady and asked her to please pronounce my name Elvira (with the long 'i'). At home that evening, I recalled the incident and was angry with myself for being so arrogant. However, I pacified myself by saying:
"I don't care; I've been Elvira for 62 years and I'm not going back there any more".

I also forgot to mention that the name Concetta was one that I have had to acknowledge twice during my life, due to necessity, Once in 1964 and again in 1984, each time when I applied for a passport. In 1964, I obtained an application, filled in the information required, with my signature as Elvira S. Oliver. Lo and Behold! The passport was declined because the government agent could not identify me as a citizen of the United States.. I readily submitted a copy of my birth certificate....and now with the passport in hand, I spent two weeks exploring Tahiti and New Zealand.

Tahiti was absolutely a new and beautiful world. One of my highlights there was seeing Marlon Brando, the Hollywood heart-throb. He was basking in the sunshine on the beach in front of his home, with his beautiful Tahitian wife.

I fell in love with New Zealand, especially Christ Church, even though I had two life-challenging experiences. I never did see so many beautiful children with such rosy, rosy cheeks. However, I remember a city by the name of Rotorura; but I'm not sure if I'm spelling it correctly, or even if it was the place where we tourists were caught in a gale out in a small glass-enclosed boat. Our bold and brave Captain managed to steer the ship (with ten frightened would-be-sailors) towards land on which we were able to embark. With feet on solid ground, but surrounded by many trees, we sat on the trunks of trees, and chatted away. The Captain assured us that we would be found....and no longer frightened, we waited four or five hours to be rescued. I still have vivid pictures in my memory of rescuers in their bright yellow rain-gear, chopping and sawing fallen-down trees to reach us.....and later, arriving back at our hotel, mid great cheers of joy and celebration....and, best of all, to a sumptuous dinner.

The other frightful incident was on a tour to a city that was buried for some years by an earthquake, but still had tops of buried trees growing above ground. There was an area where tourists, if they wished , could venture down into the underground via a stair-well.....and, of course. I became the leader of the band. Down the steps I gingerly ventured, with eight or ten other followers, one behind the other. Several minutes passed when my breathing became constrained. I sat on the step to rest, looked up, and realized that I was alone in this semi-darkened pit....and further, that I had a loss of energy. When the bus was about to leave, the driver noticed that one passenger was missing...and on roll-call, who would it be but yours truly. Lucky for me, the tourist behind me remembered that I was continuing downward when he and his wife became tired and called-it-a-day. Labouring with my breathing, I barely was able to respond YES to the voice from heaven-above: "Elvira Oliver, are you down there?" The driver encouraged me to take one-step at a time, rest, and continue....and "as you rise, your breathing will get better". Gosh!, I wish I could remember the city. Perhaps somewhere in my treasure chest is the answer, or perhaps Eric Shackle will once more come to my rescue to prove I'm not making up these stories.

I have such fond memories of Christ Church and the beautiful people I met there. I would like to tell you about them; I have the will but lack energy. I will just have to wait and see, as time goes by.

The second time I used the name Concetta was in 1984 on a passport for the two trips to Italy; the first in mid-January when I was invited to vacation at the home of Filomena and Gerardo Sperduto. They were cousins from Italy who became citizens of the United States , I believe, sometime in the sixties. They had just purchased a condo in Avellino in order to vacation there and continue to be a part of the Sperduto family throughout Italy and Switzerland. I met many, many cousins...hundreds of them, previously unknown to me. I was there one month and every day was a feast day. They would call each other on the telephone (upon my arrival at one's house) and excitedly say: "Venite, venite; la Americana e qui. (Come over, come over; the Anerican is here.) I felt like I was a celebrity. In August of the same year, I was invited to be a guest at the wedding of a second-generation cousin. I found myself being transported back into my childhood and into my Italian culture. I joyfully responded to Elvira (el-vee-ra).....and each time my name flowed from the lips of my cousins, I heard the whispering voices of my Mother and Father in the breeze.

From Memories to:

Did you Know..................

Our eyes are always the same size from birth.

The brass family of instruments includes the trumpet, trombone, tuba, cornet, flugelhorn, French horn, saxhorn. and sousaphone. While they are usually made of brass today, in the past they were made of wood, horn and glass.

Five years ago: The first successful cloning of human embryo.

Lake Baikal is the deepest lake in the world.

Every year in the United States, 625 people are struck by lightening.

There are no poisonous snakes in Maine.

In Britain's House of Commons, the government and opposition sides of the House are separated by two red lines. The distance between the lines is two swords' lengths, a reminder of just how seriously the British used to take their politics.

School Days - Chapter 1

2010-03-18T19:54:00.000-07:00

Thursday, March 18, 2010.......School Days - Chapter I

One day last week, someone called me Elvera and memories of the difficulties I endured with my name , for almost forty years of my life, flashed across my mind. It started at the beginning of my school days.

I do not remember who accompanied me to Public School #11 in Brooklyn, N.Y., when I was just several months past my sixth birthday, to register me for classes. Nevertheless, whoever it was had to present my birth certificate....and the registrar at the school office depended on the information thereon. All well and good, you would say, until...during the first four days, I would refuse to go back to school after luncheon breaks. On the fourth day, my Mother had enough of this nonsense. Seeking an explanation from my brothers Alfred and Ernie, and receiving none, she could not understand the reason for my distress, particularly since I had previously expressed great joy when informed that I was going to attend school. This transpired in the kitchen behind the store. Mother then sat on a chair, took me into her arms, sat me on her lap, and with my brothers listening, persuaded me with her soothing words to tell her the cause of my distress. Sobbing, I told them that an Italian girl told the Americanos that my name meant tomato-paste, and they were laughing, taunting, and calling me "conserva"....and further to add insult to injury, that my teacher kept scolding me in the presence of 47 other pupils. "What
would she say", Mother asked. She would say: "When I call your name, you must stand-up beside your desk or raise your hand". And Mom, she never calls my name....and when I tell her that I never hear her call me, she walks away very angry. Mother realized that if the Italian girl was calling me "conserva", then the teacher was probably calling me 'Consetta', which was the anglicized way of pronouncing 'Concetta' (but in Italian pronounced con-che-ta). Mother solved the problem.

I returned to school on the fourth day after the luncheon break....and Ernie escorted me to my classroom. With me in hand, he approached my teacher at her desk, and recounted the difficulty they (Mom and brothers) had with me about returning to school for the past four days....and Mom said: "If you are calling my sister Concetta, she will not respond because she does not know that word and does not know that is her first-given name. At home, we call her Elvira (pronounced el-vee-ra). The teacher, a lovely person, apologized....and since she had never heard of the name Elvira (el-vee-ra) before, she asked Ernie "How do you spell it." His reply was "I don't know." (Ernest was ten years old and I imagine it was the first time he was asked to spell anyone's name except his own.) Then the teacher asked him to pronounce Elvira (el-vee-ra) several times and came to the conclusion that it sounded like El-vee-ta, and from there on, I was referred to as Elvita by all my school friends. Upon graduating from Grade School in January 1924, my diploma states Elvita Sperduto.

Shortly after I was attending High School, I remember sorting through some papers with my Mother, and in so doing, came across a packet of envelopes tied with a blue ribbon. Mother handed it to me and asked me to read them. They were the children's birth certificates...both civil and baptismal. I was thirteen years old and it was the first time I read that I was named Concetta Elvira Sperduto. When I questioned Mother why I was not called Concetta, for more than an hour she delivered a very impassioned story. I was also surprised to see that the correct spelling of my name was Elvira.

I thought it was high time to correct a misunderstanding, and on the very next school day, I marched into the principal's office of Girls Commercial High School and corrected the spelling of my name....from Elvita to Elvira. And when I received my high school diploma in January 1928, it was properly noted as Elvira Sperduto.

I stopped answering to Elvita, but since all the other Italian girls in the neighborhood named Elvira (el-vee-ra) anglicized their name to Elvera), I conformed and responded to Elvera , but continued to spell it correctly; that is, Elvira. Is this the end! No sireeee!

For the next 25 years, I responded to Elvera. In 1948, I became a single Mom and found that one job was not sufficient to provide for me and my three children. In order to earn more, after my nine to five workday, I hurried home to prepare for my eight pm to one am job. I became a hat-check girl in Club 28. When I applied for this second job, Mr. Lockwood (my employer)
reviewed my application. He raised his head and said: "I believe you introduced yourself as Elvera , but you signed this application as Elvira (he pronounced the 'i' as in the English alphabet). Which is it? " For my excuse, I advised him that I lived in an Italian neighborhood and that all the other Elvira's rather than pronounce it the Italian-way, decided on Elvera. He seemed annoyed with the stupidity and said: "My wife's name is Elvira...she's a beautiful Southern belle from the hills of Tennesee, a proud Swedish woman, and she pronounces her name Elvira (long 'i'). " I replied: "Mr. Lockwood, I want and need this job. You may call me anything, just give me the job." After one year, I became the Cashier. We became very good friends.

Some years later, the group of singers known as The Oak Ridge Boys wrote a song ELVIRA and pronounce it as did Mr. Lockwood, and as I do now for the past 62 years.

And now more of DID YOU KNOW, especially for my cyberspace friend:

The Bible still is the world's best selling book.

Hydroflouric acid will dissolve glass.

Soldiers arrived to fight the Battle of Marne in World War I - not on foot or by military airplane or military vehicle - but by taxi cabs. France took over all the taxi cabs in Paris to get soldiers to the front.

The human head contains 22 bones.

Men get hiccups more often than women. On average a hiccup lasts 5 minutes.

A green diamond is the rarest diamond.

The oldest inhabited city is Damascus, Syria.

A cat's jaw cannot move sideways.

Humans blink over 10,000,000 times a year.

Despite his great scientific and artistic achievements, Leonardo Da Vinci was most proud of his ability to bend iron with his bare hands.

.............Elvira Oliver

Wayne W. Dyer - PBS "Excuses Begone"

2010-03-07T16:40:00.000-08:00

Sometime ago, to be exact on October 28, 2009, I posted "Imagination" which I copied from "Wisdom of the Ages", a book I was reading in Kent Library, written by Dr. Dyer. Today, he was on TV's Public Broadcasting Station and I watched intently the presentation he gave "Excuses Begone". I was once again mesmerized. In fact, I called several of my friends, told them "drop everything you're doing and turn on Channel 13. " I listened for more than two hours.

Wherever you are, if you are feeling lonely, depressed, feeling sorry for yourself, or whatever ails you, then I suggest you obtain this book "Excuses Begone"....and start a new life for yourself. There is a book especially for children carrying the same title which should be a must in every household.

On a different note: In the mail once a week, a small magazine is placed in our mailboxes which contains mostly classified ads. However, to fill in spaces, are little tidbits which I enjoy reading. I am ging to refer to them as "DID YOU KNOW" and will post them from time to time. although I cannot swear as to their veracity.

DID YOU KNOW:

Peanuts are an ingredient of dynamite.

A snail can sleep for three years.

An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.

The San Francisco cable cars are the only mobile national monuments.

Dating back to the 1600's thermometers were filled with brandy instead of mercury.

Time slows down near a black hole; inside it stops completely.

Ancient Greeks and Romans believed asparagus had medicinal qualities for preventing bee stings and relieving toothaches.

Bacteria, the tiniest free-living cells, are so small that a single drop of liquid contains as many as 50 million of them

Liquid detergent is added to the beer in beer commercials to make more foam.

Before 1859, baseball umpires were seated in padded chairs behind home plate.

Until next time........Elvira

DON'T SAY "OH, I CAN'T"

2010-02-20T13:42:00.000-08:00

February 20, 2010

"Oh, I can't!" What terrible words to say! Shame on you for even wasting your energy to speak them. To say "I'm afraid" is a human emotion,,,and it is okay to express them.-----But, "I cant".......uh! uh! uh!

My daughter-in-law Vicki sends me lots of e-mails with audio attachments. There is one in particular everyone should see.....and, if and when I learn how to send it to you, I wll be sure to do so. It depicts the life of a young man about 20 years old, blind and crippled since birth, who has become a musical genius.

I recently posted a tribute to my dear neighbor, Milton Madans, who passed away on January 19th. When he was alive, all the other residents knew him only as a nice man. He never knew what I thought of him; I waited to express myself after his death. Because Time is limited for me, I want to be able to honor as many of those who have enriched my life. Let this be the beginning:

It brings me to my granddaughter Seeley. She is not of my flesh, but she is dear to my heart. When my son Tom married Vicki, a three-year-old beautiful blonde child became part of our extended family....and, immediately, we all fell in love with her. I remember Seeley in a bathing suit, waiting with four or five others, at the Amarillo, Texas Airport. waiting for a flight from New York City on which a dear friend, Everett, was arriving for the wedding which was being held at the Officers Club. (Tom was in the Air Force.) Everett was a heavy six-foot tall and after hugs and introductions, he leaned down and picked-up Seeley. Smiling broadly at Seeley, he said: "What a pretty bathing suit. Will you lend it to me?" Seeley placed her hands on his chest, pushed back, stared straight into his eyes, and perplexedly said: "No. You're too big; I'm small."

Seeley is now almost 48 years old....still beautiful, very charming, very intelligent, and extremely self-sufficient. She is the proprietor of an Employment Agency (Oliver Staffing) in New York City and loved by many of her employees and affiliates. Seeley has appeared on Television, hosted by House & Gardens; she has dabbled in Real Estate; and she has just recently completed the construction of a most magnificent waterside residence in Santa Domingo.

Just as I was unable to fathom how my dear illiterate Mother could add a column of numerals accurately; I still cannot understand, after all these years, how Seeley accomplishes all that she does with great impairment in her vision.

So....don't come to me and say "I can't." You can be sure....no sympathy will be extended to you by me!

Several weeks ago, I received a phone call from Seeley who lives in New York City: "Grandma, Miguel and I are coming up to Carmel. And , Grandma, we're kidnapping you. We're going to take you to a restuarant in White Plains where they make meatballs just like you do." After dinner, we went sight seeing. I had never been in White Plains, but I travelled many times on the roads surrounding it. I always thought of White Plains as a suburb of New York, so I was really astounded to see the huge buildings and all it encompassed.

What a wonderful, wonderful day!

Back in my apartment, Seeley and Miguel promised to kidnap me once more....as soon as the weather was better. It will then be 'the new sights of New York City'. I haven't been there in ten years. I'm looking forward to it...hopefully, and full of Grace.

I love you, Seeley.

Grandma Elvira.

CHARITABLE-GIVING SCAMS

2010-02-19T13:39:00.000-08:00

To-day is Friday, February 19, 2010

After a talk given at the Center I visited yesterday, the following ditty came to mind as I was riding on the bus driven by Houston, the ParaTransit bus driver. Its the way I remember it but I'm not sure if I'm quoting it correctly:

You can fool some of the people, most of the time
Most of the people, some of the time
But you can't fool all the people all of the time.

...............because we have Guardian Angels. I don't mean this in a spiritual sense; its meant by me to signify only that there are people everywhere who care for their fellowmen. I know that recently many people in these United States are disillusuioned by those in the political arena, but I hope they realize that they have a choice at the polls, and that many times we do elect those that are truly dedicated to a just cause, and we need them to maintain honesty and tranquilty. I'm certainly not a political activist; I'm just a person who has lived a long time and just expressing my views. Therefore, let me continue. I sincerely believe that the services rendered to us by the office of the Attorney General is one of them. Presently, in New York State, we are honored by the man we elected, the Honorable Andrew Cuomo. (I bet he's a paesano. If so, I hope he reads my essay "The Joy of Growing-up Italian.) From my perspective, he and his staff are Guardian Angels. One of his representatives is a young man (yes, young as compared to my age) who has been extending his hand to those of us who are most vulnerable in times of catastrophies. His name is John Katzenstein. I first met him last December when he visited the Golden Age Center in Patterson, New York. We are a group of "seniors" who meet every Thursday (weather permitting), indulge in a cup-of-coffee and a bun, play bingo and cards, and chit-chat. Occasionally, we entertain a speaker (or should I say he entertains us) and John Katzenstein is one who re-visited us yesterday (February 18) specifically to warn us about charitable-giving scams perpetrated by unscrupulous members of our society on the elderly. He spoke in a very friendly manner, eloquently and informatively about the proliferation of scams, particularly caused by the recent Haitain earthquake. He alerted us to the differences between good and bad Charities and he distributed leaflets and booklets, describing in more detail many of them.

On arriving back home, and because I sat down and enjoyed reading all the leaflets I had gathered at the Center, I felt that it was incumbent upon me to share with all my friends in the World, the vast information I received directly from John Katzenstein. And, here it is: Go to your computer and.........................Oh! Oh! I'm in trouble. I don't know whether I should say "click" or "go to the website". I'm still a novice concerning computer language...and I thought stenography was difficult back in the 1920's. Anyway, just to be sure...I turned on my computer, brought up Google and typed in the words I found at the bootom of one of the leaflets: http://www.charitynavigator.org--------and/ sure enough, it brought up the websites I wanted to steer you to.

Now I ask you to please be sure this information is given to all your friends, young and old, who have not had the privilege of listening to John Katzenstein, as I have. I hope he visits us again real soon.....and I hope its okay to give you his office phone number: 914--422-8755. I don't know if he is a Blogger or a follower of other bloggers; but, if he is, I hope he is not offended that I took this liberty.

Elvira

Cover Girl

2010-02-15T17:16:00.000-08:00

February 15, 2010

I am realizing more and more each day that people are not surprised that I blog; it's only when they hear how old I am that they appear to have been struck by lightening. Then they are even more surprised to learn that I am existing at my age without any prescription medication. However, I do take a few vitamins each day.

In fact, when I was nearing my 94th birthday, I read an article in the local newspaper written by Liz Smith, the Celebrity Columnist, who said "Susan Sarandom somewhere over the 50 is the new face of Revlon. Her still dewey skin gives hope to mere mortals. How does she do it? (Aside from those Revlon products?". Although I am no celebrity and absolutely, for certain, no beauty, I was quietly chagrined. I said to myself "Huh! What a fuss over such a young lady! I'll soon be 94 years old and there's not a wrinkle on my face. I'll write to Cover Girl.". (Aside: This is what 'old ladies' do when they have lots of free time on their hands...they write letters.) Sure enough, that's exactly what I did. I got out my IBM electric typewriter and wrote to Cover Girl. I repeated what Liz Smith noted in her column and also advised them that I had been using Cover Girl make-up for over 45 years....and, further, that whenever anyone asked me to what I owed my unwrinkled skin, I always replied "To Cover Girl make-up". I also asked Cover Girl "Now what do you think of that! Perhaps (ha! ha!) you would like to use me as the new face of Cover Girl."

And, just as I did back in 1968 when I originally wrote my essay 'The Joy of Growingup Italian', I placed a copy of the Cover Girl letter in a drawer and forgot about it.

I won't tell you all that transpired over this Cover Girl letter; it would take up too much space. It was just a little bit frightening on my part...and then really! really! hilarious. Cover Girl graciously responded several weeks later and I quote one of the most significant paragraphs: "At this time. we have a full roster of Cover Girl models. We will certainly keep you in mind in case an opportunity arises. However, we did want to show you what you would look like in a Cover Girl advertisement, so just for you, we developed the enclosed sample ad. We hope you like it. We've also enclosed a bag of Cover Girl products as a thank you for being a loyal customer...and as an early birthday present! Thanks again and take care! "

I wish I knew more about the Internet; I do not know how to scan photos. As soon as I am knowledgeable, I will post the picture-ad that Cover Girl made up 'just for me'.

So to my peers: Get up and put your best foot forward!

Elvira

Past & Present Holiday Seasons

2010-02-13T19:05:00.000-08:00

February 13, 2010

Not too many years ago, the Christmas Season started the day after Thanksgiving.. It seemed like everyone got busy, Busy mothers, however, found it a blessing to control fussy or anxious children by simply saying: " Santa knows if you are good or bad,,,,so, no ifs or buts,,,,you better study and do your homework....if you want that doll or bycycle. " The daddys hurried with their breakfasts, before they left for their workplaces just a little bit earlier to avoid the sardine-packed subways and trolley=cars. It really didn't make much difference, because everyone had the same idea. Stores were decorating and stacking shelves. Christmas trees were bought some times as early as three weeks in advance and stored in the backyards. Then someone would say "Wouldn't it be nice if it snowed." In this way, the trees would remain fresh until Christmas Eve. The air was filled with friendliness and anticipation.,,,Hi! Merry Christmas. Then Christmas Eve. "I wonder if they are asleep." "Mom, I have to go to the bathroom." Then, dusting off the tree, setting it up, putting all the gifts under the tree. One last check: under beds, sofas, closets. attic and garage,,,just to make sure all are there. Finally, you just plop into bed, but not for long...you are awakened by the clattering of hooves, not from reindeer, but by gleeful children. And then, sometime later, the gathering of family and friends around the dining room table. consuming all the food, some prepared several days earlier. Lots and lots of talk...reminiscing about other times, and soon some naps wherever someone could lay down his or her head. Later, more aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. Merry Christmas! Those were wonderful and joyous times; it was the PAST...the Twentieth Century.

The PRESENT....the Twentyfirst Century. For me, last Christmas was spent at my daughter Angela's house and it will remain in my memory as very enjoyable....but, it was different. Angela hosted her family and extended family, and, as I have already mentioned, I was there too. And true to her wee-bit Italian Culture, the food she prepared and served was traditional. However, the desserts were store-bought....and, in spite of 'no struffoli', we had a wonderful time. Leaving to go back to my apartment and while sitting in the car, I happened to mention that no one seemed to decorate their houses anymore, and that the usual carols were not heard in stores or on TV. Suddenly, I was transported into Christmasland by taking a different route home. Christopher, my musical Grandson, drove me to a community which I did not know existed, and for almost an hour Angela and I were in Heaven. Each and every home was decorated more beautifully than the other. This gesture on the part of Christopher helped to alleviate the sadness I felt not seeing Floyd and Tom-and-family; they live so far away and were not able to join us for Christmas.

The PRESENT is somewhat different. I see things through 'The Clock of Ages' and. believe me, just as all previous centuries have been different, so will the Twentyfirst Century. In spite of all that has happened during the 20th century, I think it is one of the most innovative centuries of all Time. And yet, it has brought about the destruction of the family structure....and unless morality is revved-up once more, all the future scientific innovations will be for naught and possibly even destroy civilization.

One evening, I just decided to surf the Internet and came across a website that greatly disturbed me. I can't even remember the category. However, I do remember it was about the
former oldest blogger on earth, Olive, who passed away last year at the age of 108. These two young men were saying such derogatory remarks about her; it upset me tremendously. Then I decided for me to stop posting would be exactly what they would like to see me do. So here I am again!

Conversation with Sal

2010-01-23T13:47:00.000-08:00

I wrote the following in my Life-Bio Class at the Kent Library about a conversation I had with Sal on August 30, 2006....and I think its appropiate to remember it today with all the commentary about Port-au-Prince, Haiti....and the fact that I just remembered Sal had a birthday several days ago; he's now 68....and as soon as I post this, I will place a call to him.

"Sal called me this afternoon....and its still raining. Sal is my nephew, the son of Alfred, the youngest of my four brothers....and I am the only surviving aunt. Sal lives on Long Island and some time has passed since I last spoke to him. You just can't imagine how happy I was to hear his voice. 'Hello, Aunt Elvira, this is Sal.' After a few pleasantries, he asked: 'What mischief have you been up to?' 'Sal, how much time do you have.' "As much time as you want....and , guess what! I was the one that requested 'we call it a day', after we talked (or rather, I talked) for two hours and twenty-five minutes. Sal wanted to keep going, but 'Okay, Aunt Elvira, I will talk to you again real soon."

You may ask: Why did Sal want to continue talking after being on the phone so long. Well, we happened to be talking about the weather, and about the hurricane over Cuba and the Dominican Republic, and Haiti....and we were wondering what ever possessed Seeley (my granddaughter) to buy a Condo and some waterside property in the Dominican Republic, where it was so close to Haiti: such an impoverished and chaotic country. And, then, I very casually said: 'I wonder how our relatives are faring in Port-au-Prince.' And Sal, believing I was jesting: 'Ha! ha! Its a good thing we don't have any there.' 'What do you mean, Sal; maybe my generation of cousins is gone, but all their children are there.' I could sense the disbelief, but still laughing: 'Are you saying, Aunt Elvira, that there are Sperduto's in Haiti, lots of them.' 'Yes, the children of my male-cousins...Nick is one of them...and Gerardo, a doctor, would be Sperduto's, but the children of my female-cousins would probably have french names.

I won't go into that phase of my story here; it is rather a lenthy chapter in my biography. Sal, who is now 64 years old, knew absolutely nothing about the family in Haiti...about my Father's younger brother, Michaela-Arcangelo, a maker of shoes, who with his Italian blonde bride, left Italy in 1902 to migrate to Port-au-Prince Haiti. He was the first man to manufacture low-cost shoes in Haiti and made them available to the poor inhabitants. When his oldest daughter Concetta (pronounced con-che-ta) was seventeen, she was sent to live with my family in Brooklyn, New York in order to seek a husband of similar ethnicity, as there were very few available in Haiti.

Sal was so fascinated and intrigued by the facts I revealed. And it was the mere mention of the weather over Cuba and its neighbors that triggered my brain with memories long forgotten."

Just a reminder......The above was written by me on August 30, 2006. And now I shall call Sal and belatedly extend my best wishes for a happy and healthy 68th birthday and many more years.

My Neighbor Milton Madans

2010-01-21T12:17:00.000-08:00

I have just returned from the Cargain Funeral Home where I went to say Goodbye to my dear neighbor Milton Madans, who passed away last Tuesday morning, January 19th. 2010...and to offer my condolences to his family.

Although today is a sad day, it's also a beautiful day, with lots of sunshine...and nary a cloud in the sky to obscure seven years of vivid memories of a lovely man.

Milton....a tall, quiet, unassuming gentleman...a very quiet intellectual man...a man who loved his family, his friends and neighbors, and his home. And he loved Nature: I never saw such gorgeous spider-plants, growing magnificently in the inner sunshine of his apartment window. He loved working with wood as was remarkably noticeable by some of his objects and furniture. I wonder what has happened to the rocking horses he made some years ago! I hope they are in the hands of someone who will appreciate and treasure the skills of a talented ancestor...and perhaps sometime in the future reveal that he or she may have inherited the same skills.

(To Milton: I'm "mad at you" Milton. Not once did you refer to your military service. I am so proud of my two sons, Thomas and Floyd, that I unabashedly sing their praises for serving in the Air Force and Army. For me, and for a just cause, there is nothing greater than to lay down your life for your fellowman. I was so surprised and very happy to see that our Government, present to your family, the Flag of the United States of America in gratitude for the services you performed many years ago.

Goodby, Milton! May you Rest in Peace.

P.S. Come back once-in-a-while....and say "hello"}.

World War-I Parody

2010-01-07T17:44:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year!

If you have been wondering why I have not blogged for almost a month, the answer is simply that I have been preparing for the holidays and the new year. What used to take me a few minutes to accomplish, now takes me an hour. My Mother used to say that whatever was the appearance of your house on the last day of the year, THAT would be it for the next year. So true to tradition, I have been clearing out drawers, closets, cabinets and my files. The job is not complete, but it will have to do for the time being.

Several weeks ago, I awoke in the middle of the night from a dream, in which..............

I was sitting on a bench in front of our grocery store with my sister Rose, when we saw our cousin Connie strolling down the street towards us, and happily singing a song. Connie was about 17 years old and I about 13. In those far off days (about 1923), the Facts of Life were grnerally acquired outside of the home, and Connie usually prided herself on being the informant of carnal knowledge to the innocent adoloscent girls on Atlantic Avenue. In the dream, Connie joined us and proceeded to teach us the words of the song, although Rose and I had no idea what the words meant. We kept singing the song over and over again, when suddenly....I awoke from the dream. I turned on the light and immediately started to jot down the words on a note pad. But just to show you how the mind works.....awake, I could recall only a few scattered words and lines. Back to sleep....and miraculously, I flowed into the same dream....Connie was still there...and we continued to sing. Fully awake in the morning, I kept humming the melody....and every once-in-a while, several words or lines would be revealed. After several days of humming, I was able to recall all of the words to the song. For the past 75 years, I don't ever recall hearing those words before. Why! I do not know and I have been pondering ever since. Perhaps its because the news today dwells on war topics and the endurance of our brave soldiers, I am completely ignorant of the mechanics of The Brain, but somehow I believe the news I read today has triggered the memories of previous wars. For instance, for many years after World War-I, the Government maintained the Brooklyn Navy Yard ....and on any day, you would see many sailors walk the streets of Brooklyn , with their bell-bottom pants flouncing in the breeze. It was a beautiful sight to see!

Christmas was celebrated at my daughter"s house...and after a sumptuous dinner, we sat around and talked. I recanted all of the above facts, and all those present (including my three adult grandchildren with impeccable reputations) insisted I sing the song, even though I thought it was risque. After my rather raspy melody, there was lots of chuckling and laughter; the comments were "BLOG it, Grandma; it shows how life was lived in your time....how morality was viewed in those days....what a difference from today". So here it is:

When I was young and foolish, it was my heart's delight
To go to balls and dances, and stay out late at night
It was at a ball I met him, and he asked me for a dance
I knew he was a sailor by looking down at his pants
His shoes were brightly polished, his hair was neatly combed
I danced with him all evening, and then he begged me home
It was in my Father's hallway where I was led astray
It was in my Father's hallway where I was forced to lay
Now girls, now girls, take warning
Now girls take warning from me
Never let a sailor get an inch above your knees
For he will say he loves you
And he'll swear that it is true
But when he gets just what he wants
He'll say...To hell with you.

Then I was asked if I remembered other songs or parodies depicting morality during the 1920's and 1930's.....and here is one:

You're the kind of a girl that men forget,
Just a toy to enjoy for a while
For when men settle down, they always get
An old-fashion girl, with an old-fashion smile
And you'll soon realize, you're not so wise
When the years will bring you tears of regret
And when they play...Here Comes the Bride
You'll stand outside
Just a girl that men forget.

Yes, things have changed!......and I think it all began, when women who worked in War Plants during World War-II, were required to wear pants for protective purposes. However, when the war ended and the heroes returned home, the women forgot to take the pants off. Which reminds me of an incident, just a short time ago, at a social gathering of local women; soneone turned to me and said: "Elvira, I dont recall ever seeing you in a pant-suit. How come?" I was taken by surprise, and since I didn't want to offend anyone, I replied: "Well, let's put it this way! See that door! If a beautiful woman, dressed in a very stylish pant-suit came through it, I'm sure you would all look and say Georgeous! Wonderful!. But, if a handsome man wearing a lovely dress entered, what would be your re-action?" No one offered a response.

Until next time......Good Night.

Pearl Harbor Day

2009-12-09T16:12:00.000-08:00

As I approached my computer today to blog about the Publics abysmal (not quite) lack of memory of Pearl Horbor Day, December 7, 1941, I thought of my son Floyd whose birth at that time was imminent. Floyd, as you know, lives in San Diego and is the one who started me on the BLOG road. I was thinking: Gosh, Floyd has been blogging and not once have I read any of his postings....and then I said to myself: As soon as I complete this posting, I will look for my son on the Internet. Now, I'll go back to Pearl Harbor.

Each morning, usually, I say....today is such-and such-a-day. The day before yesterday was Monday, December 7, 2009......and I immediately remembered it was Pearl Harbor Day. I searched for the small stick-on flag someone had sent to me in the mail...found it...and stuck it on the front window. It was not visible to the pedestrians on the sidewalk, but I knew it was there...and it was in memory of all those Heroes who lost their lives in Pearl Harbor in 1941. Memories of that day quickly came to mind. I was expecting another child; I had already washed nearly everything in sight, walls included; placed everything in its proper place; and even darned some of my husbands socks....just in case! (I was living, once more, in the old house on Atlantic Avenue where coal was used for heating. My parents lived on St. Johns Place...in a white-stone three-story six-family apartment building, which they purchased in 1923, but we did not move into one of the large apartments until 1933 when I was still unwed. At the time of purchase, the apartments had beautiful marble fireplaces in which were installed small half-rounded black stoves with little isin-glass windows. They probably took the place of wood-burning fireplaces. When? I do not know. However, sometime between 1928 and 1929, another change took place which saddened me enormously....these beautiful isin-glass stoves were replaced with radiators, set up against walls under windows, and emitted steam heat.)

There I go again! How did I get from Pearl Harbor Day to rambling about houses? Let's get back to Pearl Harbor.....go up to "just in case!"..................

Mom had come from St Johns Place on the trolley car to spend some time with me before my time to go to the hospital. She was in the kitchen watching Tommy play with his toys...and I was in the next room (the bedroom) placing the 'darned' socks in the drawer of the bureau, when a voice from the radio on a shelf above the kitchen table blasted Pearl Harbor has been attacked by the Japanese. I dropped the socks, hurried into the kitchen, to explain to Mother what that meant. Shortly afterwards, we all heard President Roosevelt's speech..."The Day of Infamy".

That was my memory of Sunday, Decemer 7, 1941 as I was waiting several days ago for Angela to take me shopping. Off we went: to the supermarket, to the post office, and to Comcast to see if my building was wired up for Fios installation (whatever that is?). On the way home, I said to Angela: I can't believe that no one knew what today was. Reading the newspaper later that evening, the story of Pearl Harbor was covered sparingly.

However, the next day (Tuesday, Dec. 8, 2009), I read a rather lengthy article by a columnist for the same newspaper, Phil Reisman, entitled " 'In Infamy' but fading with time". It was a lovely article, but sad. I don't know if you can reach him on the Internet. I did! Just Google
search: preisman@lohud.com. Its The Journal article of December 8, 2009.

My metabolism is still strong; I think I'll do some searching for Floyd's postings. If I find any,
look for me in a day or two.

......Elvira

Brooklyn Public Library

2009-12-06T16:59:00.000-08:00

INTO EACH LIFE SOME RAIN MUST FALL!

Now where did those words come from? I don't recall my parents saying them. Sometimes these words haunt me, especially at times when my spirit is low. It seems like these words splash across an invisible screen....and suddenly, I'm revived. I know songs have been written using these exact words, but they have been lodged in my memory since I was a young child. So, let me go back to my early childhood to search for the answer:

When I began school at the age of seven in first grade (and spoke only the Italian language), my teacher was fascinated by the speed I learned English, and it compelled her to devote more time to me than was advocated. She was not aware that my parents, now that I was also a student, insisted that my brothers speak only English when addressing me. By the time I was nine years old, I could read as well as my brother Alfred, who was two years older.

It was near the end of my two and one-half year stint in grade school in June 1919, with Summer vacation fast approaching, when Miss Frazier (our 3-A grade teacher) advised us to continue to read as much as possible, and she went on to extol the magnificence of an institution referred to as The Library. "Many, many different categories of books lined the shelves, and you could gather a tremendous amount of information....and best of all, it was all free". And my eyes must have bulged completely out of my head. I wanted to get home quickly to tell my Mother about The Library and was agonizing about how to convince her about the importance of belonging to one. On that day, I found my brothers playful mood with their friends (on the way home after school) rather frustating. See....up to that particular day and during school-hours, I was not allowed to walk home alone. You will have to understand....that I was not quite nine-years old....and just a little GIRL. As we approached Atlantic Avenue and St. James Place, my brothers' reflexes switched from their buddies to me. Each groped one of my hands as we crossed Atlantic Avenue...just in case Mom was watching from the store window.

After entering the Store, I quickly engaged my Mother in conversation about The Library...speaking in spurts of Italian and English, trying to make her understand what I was talking about. She finally quieted me down, and said: "Of course, of course you can....you can start to-morrow". There was absolutely no challenge....and if there was any dissent from Papa, she would take care of that , too . At that moment, no one could ever tell me , that there was a greater Mother than mine; she was the smartest person on Earth. I marvel to this day, how (although illiterate) she could add a column of ten or fifteen figures and arrive at a correct total. Even she could not explain it; sometimes she would say "buono senso" (common sense) or say "cervello buono" (good brain).

I was very fortunate at the age of nine to have a Mother who trusted me to venture through five blocks of paved streets to the Brooklyn Public Library on Franklin Avenue. Other Italian mothers (usually store customers) began questioning my Mom's approval of this flagrant pursuit of Elvira (El-vee-rra); but my Mother would silence them by saying: "If she is old enough to assist me here in the Store, she certainly is old enough to get books from the library".

I began to assist Mother in her Grocery Store when I was about eight years old. It occupied the ground-floor of a town-house type building and had living quarters on the upper two floors. My Father made a stool, especially for me, so that I could reach the countertop. This same stool also became a sitting stool, placed behind the counter, where I could study and read. It was placed close to the store window so that the daylight could reach the face of my open book. I managed to read many, many books here in my sanctuary. During my pre-teen years, I am sure every Grimm and every Hans Christian Anderson fairy tales were read more than once. I loved the children's poems by Robert Louis Stevenson and I can still recite some of them to this day.

It was probably during these early days of my life that I first read of the words: Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall. To me, these particular words signify, that in our Lifetime we must experience 'despair' and 'happiness' to understand the difference between 'right and wrong' and 'good and evil'.

LIBRARIES.........Yes, I still continue to believe that they are magnificent institutions!

...............Elvira Oliver

Alfred's Torn Shirt

2009-12-01T20:01:00.000-08:00

One of my Memories:

My brother Alfred was just two years older than I. He was truly a Saint....so kind, compassionate and loving. These attributes, he carried with him throughout his lifetime.

One day in 1920, when he was twelve and I was ten, I heard Alfred dashing through the hall vestibule door (instead of coming in through the store-door), hurriedly up to the bedroom floor where I was performing my after school chores (making up beds), before I proceeded to the store area to relieve my Mother. "Oh, El, El....look at my new shirt....Mom will kill me". What happened? "I was playing with Johnny and he grabbed me....and look El, my shirt is torn". I helped him to remove the shirt, and after examining it, quieted Alfred by informing him to stop crying....that I thought I could mend it. It was the custom in our household to change into play-clothes immediately after school. I scolded him: "If you did what you were supposed to, this would not have happened". The shirt was not torn, but ripped out of a shoulder seam. I instructed him to tip-toe downstairs to the kitchen, collect some matches, and thread and needles from the sewing machine. "Sh! Sh! Let's go down to the cellar and I'll try to mend it for you. " (Luckily for us, Mom was busy in the store; it was the busy time of the day.) I sat on a box placed against the wall of the coal-bin and Alfred sat on one of the stone steps that led up to the side-walk. With Alfred holding the candle, and sobbing softly, and I desperately trying to sew by the dim light, the mission was accomplished. Several wash and ironing days went by and never a harsh word from Mom. Al and I were convinced we put one over on Mom.

Many years later, during one of Mother's visits to see the grandchildren, I decided to do some ironing of my own children's clothing. My baby Angela was playing with the buttons on my Mother's beautifully embroidered, pleated white blouse , when suddenly Mom giggled and then laughed. I thought she was amused with the baby's antics until she said: "You know, as I am watching you ironing, I just remembered somethng that happened one day, many years ago. When you were a little girl, I was ironing one of the new shirts I had made for Alfred, when I noticed hand-sewn stitches in the shoulder seam...almost like embroidery. I knew then that Alfred, when in trouble, had gone to 'his little mother' for help." I laughed and laughed...and then asked Mom why she never said anything. I can still see my Mother, with Angela in her lap, seriously saying: "Why? I was so proud of the good job you had done, and I was so proud of myself...that you learned from me to sew so well, I had no intention of spoiling a deed well-done.

Can you beat that! What a wonderful Mother I had!

Sarah Palin - Inspiration

2009-11-19T17:42:00.000-08:00

Earlier today, I attended the 25th Annual Thanksgiving Luncheon Celebration at the Matthew Paterson Elementary School hosted by the Carmel Teachers' Association....and I want to thank all those teachers, and especially those beautiful, talented children who made it a very eventful day....and who pulled me out of the sea of doldrums that had inhabited me for the past several weeks.

As the days go flying by, and as we here in the United States say 'The Holiday Season' is fast approaching, some of us who have lived past ninety, tend to wonder if this will be our last one. At least, these are the thoughts that rattle through my brain sometimes. Particularly , I wonder if I have resolved satisfactorily every adverse obstacle strewn in the paths of my journey on this Earth. And, truly, my answer is No! It is said 'Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely'....and I have allowed the most powerful organization in the world (bar none) force me to retreat. Money talks...and I have very little of it.

ADD to the above, the words of a marvelous young woman, the former Governor of Alaska, who appeared last night on Sean Hannity's TV Show. She referred to an incident when her Father cautioned her "not to RETREAT, just RE-LOAD". She further stated that her agenda is to tell the truth, even though she knows she will be "clobbered" by some elements of the media, and probably called a "radical".

All of the above inspired me late this afternoon, after a short nap, to resurrect the battle I retreated from during the seiges of 1994 through 1996....to revive the impetus to win the battle (with full-speed ahead) by re-loading all the ammunition I have available in my files, plus additional information I accumulated since 1996. I feel exactly like Sarah Palin. I'm going to re-load (just tell the truth)....and I don't care if I'm clobbered, called a radical, or even a silly-old- crazy fool by some. I've already left my mark on this Earth....and all that know me say it's a good one.

It probably will be several weeks before I return to this subject. I will endeavor to communicate again with my adversary, to see if we can reach a suitable and amicable conclusion. More than anything else in this world, that I looked forward to, was (eventually) to be with my loving family for eternity in a sacred garden, not in one that has been descrated.

To Our Creator: Thank you for all those great scientists who gave us the power to search for righteousness. It must be hidden somewhere in the Computer. Let's find it and let's keep it free from absolute power,

To all.....HAPPY THANKSGIVING.

Michael S. Dell - Miss Shuvha

2009-11-09T15:06:00.000-08:00

Today (Monday, 11/9/09 at 3:00pm EDT), I received a promised follow-up call , from Mr. Michael Dell's representative Miss Shuvha , to inform me that the dispute regarding the validity of the $50.00 coupon conferred upon me when I purchased my new Dell computer, has been completely resolved, and that my account finally shows a zero balance. Thank you Mr. Michael Dell and Miss Shuvha for cooperating with me to see that justice prevails. Again , thank you very much.

I just want to tell all out-there in the Universe: If you believe you are Right and you can prove it, and you cannot resolve it through the usual corresponding methods, then by all means use the computer; because, it reaches millions of people almost instantaneously... not just an unconcerned few. But remember....always be truthful and gracious.

And to all those youngsters under the age of sixty-five, if you are wondering what to get your parents for Christmas, why not get them a computer (if you can afford it) instead of a sweater or blanket!

What a wonderful day!

Till next time.....Goodnight. Elvira

Mr. Michael Dell, CEO Dell Corp

2009-11-03T10:38:00.000-08:00

When an old young-lady can rise on a beautiful sunny day and smell the roses, what more can she ask for! But I received a wonderful telephone call just a little more than an hour ago (Tuesday, November 2, 2009 at 12:22 EDST) from Mr. Michael Dell, via his representative (Miss Shuvha), that my account with The Dell Corporation will very soon show a ZERO balance. Miss Shuva will call me again on November 7th to confirm it.

Yes! Mr. Michael Dell DID HEAR the frustrated voice of the oldest blogger on earth,,,.and decided to resolve the 'misunderstanding'. Thank you Mr.Michael Dell.

The Dell Corporation

2009-11-01T09:07:00.000-08:00

To: Mr. Michael Dell, CEO
From: Elvira S. Oliver

Gee whiz, Mr. Dell! Did you find it necessary to go all the way to India to respond to my letter to you of September 21st? Since I cannot reach you directly, I am taking the opportunity of using the very instrument you sold to me, to confirm my response to you, by blogging, via the United States air-waves.

Mr. Dell, I never asked for a REFUND (to return 'money' in restitution); all I asked you to do was to HONOR (one's word given as a guarantee of performance) the $50.00 coupon which you so graciously conferred upon me at the time I purchased the new computer-----and with which I purchased a supply of ink in August-----and on which I promptly paid the difference.

And, I certainly do not NOW want the new offer (via Ms Shuva in India) of a $50.00 coupon to be used towards a future order. Really, how naive or stupid do you think I am! If you do not honor the first one used with the purchase of ink in August, how can I possibly believe you would honor a second offer.

I do not want to be harrassed or hounded with the usual monthly statement requesting pay-ment of $50.00 plus additional interest charges each month.

Please...just HONOR the original offer. Thank you."
My friends must be wondering why Elvira posted the above. Well, I may be old...but all my life (being a single Mom), I have had to fight for my rights, and I'm not about to stop now. I know for a fact that CEOs' seldom know the practices of their employees, but they are held responsible for the employee's lack of integrity. I'm willing to bet that he has not even seen the letters I sent to him.

Yesterday, October 31st, (Halloween), I received a 2-page unsigned letter from Dell Financial Services dated October 23rd (which in all probability was their reply to my letter to them of October 8th with a copy to Mr. Michael Dell). Quite frankly, I did not understand the financial-language, but phrases such as: "your account is past due" and "you are hereby notified that a negative credit report reflecting on your credit record may be submitted to a credit reporting agency"....is language I understand clearly. Here is my letter of October 8th:

"Dear Dell Services:
About 6:45 this evening until 7:05 EST, I had a conversation with your Ms Shuvha in response to my letter to Mr. Michael Dell dated September 21st. She advised me that Dell was willing to give me a coupon in the amount of $50.00 towards the purchase of any future order; but that Dell cannot give me a REFUND. Well, needless to say, that made me very angry.

I NEVER REQUESTED A REFUND. I have been requesting that you HONOR the coupon offered to me by (salesman) Mike at the time I purchased my new computer on March 16th, and confirmed by your Brooke on June 3rd. I purchased a quantity of ink on August 10th and immediately paid the difference of $19.35 between the cost of the "future" ink purchase of $69.35 and the $50.00 coupon offered to me. Now I suggest you read carefully Brooke's comments to me on June 3rd. I do not expect to make a future ink purchase or any other item for some time. For goodness sake....I'm living on borrowed time!

I do not know who is to blame in your company for not doing their job properly, but don't blame me. And remember what I said: I never asked for a REFUND. And please, do not blame Ms Shuvha; I believe she was saying what she was told to say.

And yes (until some one replaces me)...I am The Oldest Blogger on Earth.

Sincerely, Elvira S. Oliver"

I will be very happy to come back soon to tell you that Mr. Michael Dell has finally heard me.

Imagination

2009-10-28T16:15:00.000-07:00

By this time you know that I enjoy reading. One of the authors that mesmerized me is Wayne W. Dyer, and I took the liberty of copying a chapter from his book "Wisdom of the Ages" entitled IMAGINATION. I would like to share it with you by posting snippets of it for you, but for the full text, I am leaving it up to you to follow through. Mr. Dyer quotes a poem and then renders his thoughts: "What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep you dreamed? And what if, in your dream, You went to Heaven ....And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand? By Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)."

Mr. Dyer then says:

"The first step in creation, this unifying principle, is imagination. This poignantly simple poem invites you to delve into your imagination and reconsider your agreement with reality. What we know as real has its limits, but imagination is boundless in the dream state. Our agreement with reality invalidates the idea of being able to bring an object from the dream world into the waking world.

Reconsider what you are capable of in your dream state. Sleeping for eight hours each day means you will be in this dream state for thirty years if you live to the age of ninety. That is one-third of your life that you enter a state of awareness in which your agreement with reality is breached and you manifest everything that you need for the dream simply by the power of your thoughts. You have no concept of time, in fact you can go forward or backward in time at will. You talk to and see the dead, fly if you choose, walk through trees and buildings, change your shape instantaneously, become an animal if you so desire, breathe under water, and be in more than one place at the same time.

The most amazing part about all this dream activity is that for the length of the dream you are one hundred percent convinced that all of it is real. Your unlimited imagination is so convincingly powerful that for one-third of your life, you lose your agreement with reality.

When you wake, you say to yourself, this part is real and all that activity in my dream state is unreal. Go back to your dream state. Every character in your dream is YOU assuming those roles with your mind. When you are having a conversation with people in your dream, you are yourself, then at the same instant you are whomever you are talking to as well. You actually do not have conversations with someone else in your dream, you are those characters and yourself all at the same time. Similarly, the flower in your dream is not a flower in the same sense that you experience it while awake. In fact, you are the flower in your dream, and because your imagination shuts down to almost zero when you awaken, you lose the ability to create without limitation as soon as you leave your dream.

It is not absurd to think that it is possible to bring a flower from the imaginary dream state into the level that we agree is waking awareness. Everything you are capable of accomplishing, experiencing, and knowing in one-third of life spent in pure imagination, you can accomplish, experience, and know in the remaining two-thirds. The key is to banish doubts and allow yourself the privilege of flying directly into that ecstatic state while awake. Work at being a waking dreamer by allowing the same kinds of privileges, freedoms, and, yes, powers, that are taken for granted in a dream state.

To me it seems silly to think of being awake and being in the dream state as two distinct experiences of reality. I know that my dreams are not predictors of what is going to happen in my waking life, nor are they symbols that provide clues to the real me. For me this dream state is like an open invitation into the mystical world of imagination. It is my opportunity to explore limitlessness, to know it firsthand, and to become totally convinced beyond all doubt of the realm of imagination. Then while awake I can go into my imagination and use it to travel miles beyond ordinary waking awareness. Then this waking world becomes but a canvas to my imagination.

When you rewrite your agreement with reality, you can use your experience of that one-third of your life while ensconced securely in your imagination to accomplish all that you desire without going to sleep. Imagine yourself able to manifest into your material world whatever you are capable of conceiving in your mind, and let go of any doubts that you may have allowed to creep in.

To apply the power of your creative imagination in your life today, begin by:

* Always keeping in mind that you become what you think about, be very careful about any thoughts you harbor that involve doubt.

* Keep track of your dreams in the sense of remembering those 'unreal' experiences that you were absolutely convinced of while they were occurring. Then work at eliminating your conditioned benefits about their impossibility. You want to eradicate the word 'impossible' from your consciousness. Truly, if you can conceive it, you can create it.

* Literally rewrite your agreement with reality so that it reads, 'Anything I am capable of one-third of my life I can add to the other two-thirds if I so choose'.

* Live more in your imagination. Give yourself the freedom to wander into unfamiliar territory in your mind and to explore new possibilities in your fantasies, excluding nothing. These imaginative meanderings will ultimately become the catalysts for living an unlimited life.

Your imagination, just like your body, grows through exercise. Wake up and hold that flower in your hand."

I hope you enjoyed reading the above taken from Mr. Wayne W. Dyer's book. Goodnight..Elvira

The Cake is still warm

2009-10-17T17:09:00.000-07:00

Several days ago,on my TV, I watched intently the saga of a home-made helium balloon flying through space with the assumption that aboard was a six-year old boy. Happily, he was found safe and sound in his own home. It reminded me of an incident that happened to me on Thursday, October 8th, when a group of people joined together to find "Elvira". Angels are not illusionary images; they are real people who give their efforts and sometimes their lives to help and care for their fellowman.

I voluntarily gave up driving my car on April 30th of this year, and since then have been using the wonderful transport services offered to the elderly in Putnam County, N.Y.; namely, The Para Transit, for a minimum fee. The users must call the previous day by 5:00 pm to schedule an appointment. One of my constant appointments is to attend the Golden Age Senior meetings in Patterson, N.Y. on Thursdays. The driver usually picks me up first at 9:00 am, and then travels about 6 miles to pick up Yolanda and her husband Lenny. However, mistakes will happen......and on the morning of October 8th, when the bus arrived to pick up Yolanda, she noticed I was not on board.

Well.....I was quite irritated when I was not picked up after waiting in the lobby of my building until 9:20 am. I returned to my apartment, and after fuming for some time, I decided to forget about it and bake a cake. As I was removing the cake from the oven, I looked at it and said to myself: " What am I going to do with this cake? I have no room in the freezer. I'll call Kitty."
Kitty is a friend of mine, who lives on the same floor, but at the other end of the building. "Kitty", I said, "I was not picked up for my visit to Golden Age...and I was so angry that I decided to bake a cake. Would you share it with me." Kitty said: "I'd love to, Elvira". "Okay, I'll be right over". Kitty enjoyed eating a slice of the warm cake. (By the way, it was a Carrot Cake.) We enjoyed each others company so much that we did not realize several hours had passed by.

About 3:15 pm, I left Kitty to retun to my apartment. I walked just a short distance, when I saw a group of women about 75 -feet away, waving their arms like distressed chickens and babbling "Oh, my God, she's alright"....."Where have you been?"....."We've been looking for you." ....."The bus company said you did not show-up."....."The police were looking for you."etc. etc. etc. I was flabbergasted by all this attention, and after a million hugs, Joanne (my building Manager) surrounded by the residents she had contacted related the following:

That someone from the Golden Age Center called the police and advised them that Elvira was not present that day at the Center. The police contacted Joanne.....Joanne immediately contacted several residents, and when the policeman arrived, they all proceeded to Elvira's apartment. With the door held open by Joanne and the concerned residents, the policeman entered the apartment. From the Living Room, they heard "She's not here:....then from the Bathroom "Not here".....from the Bedroom "no one here". As the policeman was approaching the door to exit from the apartment, he checked the kichen area......and lo and behold, the mystery was almost solved. The Policeman , with a smile on his face, turned to all those standing in the vicinity of the open door, and said, "She must be okay....she must be around here somewhere...in the building.....see---THE CAKE IS STILL WARM."

Who actually called the Police and why?

When Yolanda returned home about 2:15 pm, after the meeting at the Center, she immediately phoned me at home; and when I did not respond, she immediately contacted the bus company, She was very concerned because, she and I, both had difficulty scheduling the previous day. Later, we learned the bus company had trouble with fallen telephone lines. She asked the bus Manager why they had not picked-up Elvira. She (the bus company Manager) told Yolanda that their driver called to say that it was 9:10 and 'no Elvira'.....that she called me and received no response....so she directed the driver to proceed, pick up Yolanda and Lenny. Yolanda continued and said: "Elvira is 99 years old and I'm very concerned." The bus Manager said: "Yes, I am too. I'll call the Police to investigate. Elvira is one of our prompt riders."

The rest is history. Mystery solved: "THE CAKE IS STILL WARM"

The Cake is still warm.

2009-10-17T17:06:00.000-07:00

Watermelon Seed

2009-10-09T20:26:00.000-07:00

Hi....

Something a little different today. A day at the Library: Rather than sit alone in my apartment, especially on a dreary, cloudy day, I visit the Kent Library. I sit there sometimes for several hours and just read. I came across this little adage one day, written many years ago , by William Jennings Bryan....and I hope you enjoy reading it, too.

POINTS TO PONDER:
Observe the power of the watermelon seed. It has the power of drawing from the ground and through itself. 200,000 times its weight. When you can tell me how it takes this material and out of it colors an outside surface beyond the imitation of art, and then forms inside of it a white rind and within that again a red heart, thickly inlaid with black seeds, each one of which in turn is capable of drawing through itself 200,000 its weight.......when you can explain the mystery of a watermelon, you can ask me to explain the mystery of God!

Goodnight.

The Joy of growing-up Italian - 4

2009-10-07T18:18:00.000-07:00

I can still remember my Grandfather telling me how he came to America as a young man "on a boat" which took 30 days to cross the Atlantic Ocean; how the family lived in a rented tenement, and took in boarders in order to make mends meet; how he decided he didn't want his children (four sons and three daughters) to grow up in that environment. All of this, of course, in his own version of Italian/English which I soon learned to understand quite well.

So, when my Grandfather saved enough money to buy a house, and I could never figure out how he bought it, that house served as family headquarters for the next forty years. I remember how he hated to leave it. He would rather sit on the back porch and watch the garden grow. And when he did leave it for some special occasion, he had to return as quickly as possible. After all, "nobody's watching the house". I also remember the Holidays when all the relatives would gather at my Grandfather's house and there'd be tables full of food and home-made wine and music. Women in the kitchen, men in the living room, and kids....kids everywhere. I must have a half-million cousins: first, second, and some not even related, but that didn't matter. And my Grandfather...his pipe in his mouth and his fine moustache trimmed....would sit in the middle of it all, grinning his mischievous smile, his dark eyes twinkling, surveying his domain, proud of his family, and how well his children had done in life: one was a cop, one a fireman, one had his own trade, and (of course) there was always the rogue. The girls...they had all married well, had fine husbands and healthy children....and, most of all, everyone knew RESPECT. Grandfather had achieved his goal in coming to America, and to New Jersey. Now his children and their children were achieving the same goals that were available to them in this great country, because they were Americans.

When my Grandfather died years ago at the age of 76, things began to change. Slowly at first. But then Uncles and Aunts eventually began to cut down on their visits. Family gatherings were fewer and something seemed to be missing, although when we did get together, usually at my Mother' house now, I always had the feeling he was there somehow. It was understandable, of course. Everyone now had families of their own and grandchildren of their own. Today, they visit once or twice a year. Today, we meet at weddings and wakes.

Lots of other things have changed, too. The old house my Grandfather bought is now covered with aluminum siding, although my Uncle still lives there....and, of course, my Grandfather'sgarden is gone. The last of the home-made wine has long been drunk and, in the Fall, nobody covers the fig tree anymore. For a while, we would make the rounds on the holidays, visiting family. Now, we occasionally visit the cemetery. A lot of them are there: grandfathers, uncles, aunts, even my own Father and Mother.

The Holidays have changed, too. The great quantity of food we once consumed without ill-effects is no good for us anymore....too much starch, too much cholesterol, too much calories. And nobody bothers to bake anymore....too busy, and it's easier to buy it now, and anyway too much is not good for you. We meet at my hose now, at least my family does; but it's not the same.

The differences between US and THEM aren't as easily defined anymore, and I guess that's good. My Grandparents were Italian-Italians, my parents were Italian-Americans, my wife and I are American -Italians, and my children are American-Americans. Oh, I'm an American alright and proud of it, just as my Grandfather would want me to be. We are all Americans now: the Irish, German, Polish, and the Jews....U.S. citizens all. But, somehow, I still feel a little bit Italian. Call it culture, call it tradition, call it roots. I'm really not sure what it is! All I know is that my children have been cheated out of a wonderful piece of heritage. They never knew my GRANDFATHER. (The end)

I hope you enjoy reading this. I'll try posting my last version (2005) soon. Goodnight.

The Joy of Growing-up Italian - 3

2009-10-05T18:45:00.001-07:00

As I promised you yesterday, the following is the 1978 version (and along with the very similar 1980 version); it was widely distributed throughout the United States by me and my friends. One of the words I changed frequently was MEDEGONES....to MEDICANS....to finally MERICONS.
The Joy of Growing-up Italian
1978 Version
By Elvira S. Oliver

I was well into adulthood before I realized I was an American. Of course I had been born in America and had lived here all of my life, but somehow it never occurred to me that just being a citizen of the United States meant I was an American. Americans are people who ate peanut butter and jelly on mushy white bread that came in plastic packages. But I was ITALIAN.

For me, as I am sure for most second generation Italian-American children who grew up in the 40's or 50's, there was a definite distinction drawn between US and THEM. We were Italians. Everybody else....the Irish, German, Polish, Jews, they were the "MED-E-GONES". There was no animosity involved in that distinction, no prejudice, no hard-feelings....just, well, we were sure ours was the better way, For instance, we had a bread-man, a coal-man, and ice-man, a fruit and vegetable man, a watermelon man, and a fish-man; we even had a man who sharpened knives and scissors, who came to our homes or at least outside our homes. They were the many peddlers who plied their wares in the Italian neighborhoods. We would wait for their call, their yell, their individual distinctive sound. We knew them all and they knew us. Americans went to the stores for most of their foods. What a waste! Truly I pitied their loss. They never knew the pleasure of waking up every morning to find a hot crispy loaf of bread waiting behind the screen door. And instead of being able to climb up on the back of a peddler's truck a couple of times a week just to hitch a ride, most of the "MED-E-GONE" friend had to be satisfied going to the A&P.

When it came to food, it always amazed me that my American friends and classmates only ate turkey on Thanksgiving or Christmas. Or, rather. that they ONLY ate turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. Now, we Italians....we also had turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce, but...ONLY after we had finished the antipasto, soup, lasagna, meatballs, salad, and whatever else Mama thought might be appropriate

for that particular holiday. The turkey was usually accompanied by a roast of some kind (just in case somebody walked in who didn't like turkey) and was followed by an assortment of fruits, nuts, pastries, cakes and, of course, homemade cookies and expresso with a bit of lemon or anisette. No holiday was complete without some home baking. None of that store-bought stuff for us. This is where you learned to eat a seven-course meal between noon and four in the afternoon; how to handle hot chestnuts, and put peach wedges in homemade red wine. I truly believe Italians live a romance with food.

Speaking of food. Sunday was truly the big day of the week. That was the day you'd wake up to the smell of garlic and onions frying in olive oil. As you lay in bed, you could hear the hiss as tomatoes were dropped into a pan. On Sunday, we always had gravy. The Medegones called it sauce....and pasta, they called it macaroni. Sunday woud not be Sunday without going to Mass. Of course, you couldn't eat before Mass, because you had to fast before receiving Communion. But the good part was....we knew when we got home, we'd find hot meatballs frying, and nothing tastes better than newly fried meatballs and crisp Italian bread dipped into a pot of gravy.

There was another difference between US and THEM. We had gardens. Not just flower gardens, but huge gardens where we grew tomatoes, tomatoes and more tomatoes. We ate them, cooked them, and jarred them, Of course, we also grew peppers (hot and sweet), basil, parsly, lettuce and zucchini. Everybody had a grapevine and a fig tree....and in the Fall, everyone covered the fig-tree and made home-made wine, lots of it. Of course, those gardens thrived so, because we also had something else our American friends didn't seem to have. We had a GRANDFATHER!! It's not that they didn't have a Grandfather; its just that they didn't live in the same house or on the same block. They VISITED their Grandfathers. We ate with ours...and God forbid, if we did not see them once a day.

To be continued. I'm tired. Goodnight.

The Joy of Growing-up Italian - 3

2009-10-05T18:45:00.000-07:00

The Joy of Growing-up Italian - 2

2009-10-04T16:22:00.000-07:00

I am not happy to keep harping about my essay, but I find it has created a bombshell among some who claim authorship, that I find it necessary to be assertive and defend what is mine.

When I wrote The Joy of Growing-up Italian in 1968, with some revisions in 1978, it was my memories. But there was , a part of my life, I tried very hard to keep it a secret. I was a divorcee....and it was treated very scandallously and sometimes with dire circumstances; for instance, you could not get employment. Therefore, in order to avoid mention of an ex-husband, I wrote it as if my son wrote it. However, in 2005 (when it seemed as if nothing was considered shameless anymore), I revised it and made it totally my story. The facts, words and phrases are exactly the same, except it is written in the first gender.... and it contains, positively all my experiences. I am going to blog (if blog is the proper expression) both versions: first the 1978 version , which appears many, many times as Author Anonymous with slight variations by the contributors, and, of course, by others who actually claim they are the authors. How could that be?

I am 99 years old. I have no agenda...except to show those who are interested, how a first-generation Italian-American viewed the World in the 20th century....and most importantly, to keep my brain creating for as long as I can.

I'm getting tired now......will catch-up with you tomorrow, or the following day with the 1978 version.

Goodnight!

The Joy of Growing-up Italian

2009-09-26T13:59:00.000-07:00

Hi! Everyone:

For several weeks , I've been very busy surfing the internet, seeking those who have placed the essay "The Joy of Growing-up Italian" on the Internet as Author Anonymous. I want to thank each and everyone for doing so. What a great show of appreciation! Several of you have also expressed a desire to know the author and John Pirelli is one of them. I believe he is the proprietor of The John Pirelli Lodge in Dayton, Ohio. Thank you , John, for your kind words.

YES! I am 99 years old.....and YES I am the author of "THE Joy of Growing-up Italian, which I wrote on an old manual typewriter in 1968.....and yes, I am The Oldest Blogger on Earth until someone else older than me claims the title. . The validator is Eric Shackle....the renowned World Newsman, Journalist, Internet Investigator and Publisher - to whom I shall eternally be grateful. It was my first blog that resulted in my being named as the oldest blogger....and it was my first blog, unwittingly, caused reaction to my essay The Joy of Growing-up Italian.

My essay gave me much pleasure over the years, especially in the seventies and eighties. Many paesan-friends, who had experienced all that I had were so delighted when they read my essay. When I lived in Toms River, N.J., I know for a fact, that my friends in Silver Ridge Park, as well as those in Holiday City, Crestwood Village, and several nearby communities, took my essay and made copies for their respective friends throughout the United States. I nearly fell-off of my chair, when Claire in 2006 told me it was on the Internet. When I was 95-years old, I wrote my last version after a Thanksgiving celebration in my apartment, and I marked it as the last version. It is very similar to the 1978-1980 versions...as to facts, words and phrases (except that I moved them around a little) and added a new paragraph. ....bringing it to the 'first person'.

To those who took my words, thoughts and phrases (which MY BRAIN created) and used them to be their words, I hold no animosity. Years ago someone coined these words: "Imitation is the greatest form of Flattery" I only ask them to read my future blogs and then to return to me the RIGHT to my essay.

See you later.

Never to Late to Learn -9/3/2009

2009-09-03T18:35:00.000-07:00

Here I am again. I received several comments on my first blog which gave me the incentive to go on blogging. In fact, I have found out that I do not know much about it and have spoken to Vivian, a representative of SeniorNet, to see if the new learning sessions at Kent Library (which will be starting in several weeks) will include a workshop. She promised to look into it. I hope it will become a reality, because I really hate to call on my daughter for solutions to computer technical problems.

I became a single Mom in 1948. I re-entered the business-world in 1949 until I retired at the age of 80 in 1990. During most of this time, I kept it a secret that I was a divorcee; it was considered very scandalous to be one. You must remember this: I had to make a living for me and my children. My parents were aging; there was no monetary support for the children and no alimony; and I worked at two different jobs, daily, for about ten years...until I reached the status of Executive Secretary. My children (then only 5, 7 and 9) attended boarding school in Dutchess County (Greer School in Verbank, New York) with only holiday visits and summer vacations at home with me and grandparents.. They lived with me just a few years. Tom, in college, came home one day: "Mom, I must fly." Off to Texas, to eventually serve two missions in Vietnam, and retire as an Air Force Major. Floyd found an interest in Horses, spent lots of his time in libraries, even as a very young boy, reading about horses, and accomplishments of world leaders in the early centuries. In his late teens, he dropped out of college and enlisted in the Army with duties in the States and in France. He came back home to work as an Agent for Eastern Airlines,; then retired from American Eagle as Manager of the Washington, D.C. Office Angela attended New York University and then worked and retired from Social Services.
Angela went back to work to be able to send her son, Christopher, to Berlee College in Boston. She retired once more, but she is now in the throes of a more difficult job: at my beck and call when I get into a computer-technical problem I have a lot to learn. As far as Christopher
is concerned: he is one of the lucky graduates, in this very bad economy; he has become a wonderful muscian and works as a sound designer for video games.

I'm a "saver" and a "clipper" and among my papers are My Memories. When I was 96 years old, on one of my frequent trips to Kent Library to see about signing-up for a computer course, a SeniorNet representative, Adrian Baker, suggested that I write my biiography, so I signed-up for the SeniorNet Life-Bio course, as well as the computer course. Since I am now a blogger, what better way is there to tell the world "NEVER GIVE UP". I survived by never feeling sorry for myself, doing the best that I could. I was working all the time; I never had time to be depressed. Work doing something - anything, but do something. Keep your brain working: Use it or lose it. I'm writing my biography to inform all those that I love: ....How I overcame adversities.....How I enjoyed the many amenities life offered.....My reaction to the new inventions of the past century (the airplane, private-indoor cleanliness facilities, the telephone, the automobile, the radio, the television, the lost art of stenography 'shorthand', and now the computer).....How and why thoughts rattled through my brain.....How ideas which popped into my head became creative tools.....How I frequently used the attitudes of "I CAN DO" and "I WANT TO" to become positive attitudes, instead of embracing negative attitudes, such as, I CAN'T DO" and "I DON'T WANT TO".....and most of all,, How and why I loved and showed compassion to those who passed in front of me.

These are the reasons for my interest in Life-Bio: to show how I survived, and to help them avoid the mistakes I made. I have found during my long tenure on this Earth that gifts of money and material things are insignificant compared to the gift of knowing WHERE YOU CAME FROM and WHO YOU ARE.

With the World changing so rapidly, my advice to all retirees is to scan your brain for all those MEMORIES, and start writing your biograph.

2009-08-24T19:37:00.000-07:00

Before I begin blogging, I want to pose a question to the Bloggers of the World: Am I now the oldest blogger on Earth? Even though a famous department store (which shall remain unnamed for the time being) declared my birth-datei invalid when I applied for a credit card recently, I was able to convince them, that it is still valid even thopugh I am 99 years old. And when my son Floyd who lives in San Diego, California visited me recently to celebrate my birthday, he convinced me to become a blogger...and that I now would be the oldest blogger on Earth. He came to this conclusion after scrolling through the Internet and read that the two oldest bloggers, at the age of 109, had recently passed away....Olive Riley on July 12 in Australia; and Ruth Hamilton on January 18 in Florida.

I was born in Brooklyn, New York, USA in 1910 to Italian immigrants, and I grew up so deeply ingrained in the Italian culture that I didn't realize until I was in my very early teens, that I was an American.

Many years slowly passed by, and after my beloved parents left this Earth for greener pastures, it became the custom for my family to gather at my house for special occasions. They came from Long Island: Centereach, Baldwin, and West Hempstead; from Brooklyn, N.Y.; from Sherburne, N.Y.; from Alexandria, Va. and even Burlington, Vt. All participated in the festivities, enjoyed the comraderie, and filled their bellies with real Italian food with all the trimmings. Then after three or four days, and sometimes a week, all departed.

One day in 1968, after a wonderful Thanksgiving celebration...and coming home from a rather hectic and busy day at the office, I entered an empty house. Alone and feeling somewhat nostalgic for the good old-times, I sat down at my kitchen table, and on an old manual typewriter typed "The Joys of Growing-up

Italian", jottting down random thoughts, regardless of gender or tense (past, present or future). Then after only a few friends and family members received a copy, I just placed it in a drawer and forgot about it. I did not come across it again until the Year 1976, when I moved to a beautiful house on the top of a small mountain in South Otselic, New York. Surrounded by forests, cornfields, dairy farms and down-to-earth country folk, I thought I was in Heaven. That particular area generated only a few paesans (Italians). As soon as I became acquainted with them, I eagerly presented them with a copy of my newly found essay.

The Winter of 1977-1978 found St. Otselic's roads rather impassable for a city-bred girl. Over 10-feet of snow was piled up in my driveway., and I would have been confined in my home all winter, if it wasn't for the generosity of the farmers, who came to pick-me-up with their tractors for special appointments I had to keep. My daughter Angela's concern for my well-being guided me into a new direction. Once more I packed my belongings and dropped the baggage in a small lovely house in a senior development known as Silver Ridge Park in Toms River, New Jersey. There, I suddenly found myself , once again, engulfed in the Italian culture. Without saying too much more, many copies were made of "The Joys of Growing-up Italian, and I gladly distributed it throughout the Village.

I refined the essay in 1980, and again several more times...correcting grammer, genders, tenses and punctuation, etc. As I became older, all one had to mention is that he/she was of Italian descent, and off went a copy of my essay. This happened quite frequently, no matter where I wandered: on trains, buses, and even on airplanes. Addresses were exchanged and new friends were borne.

Several year's ago, at a meeting of the Golden Age Seniors in Patterson, New York, next to me sat Claire. (Oh, let me shy away from my story and let me tell you something funny about Claire. She and her sister Connie live in a lovely estate in Connecticut, whose grounds are beautifully manicured and embellished with exotic plants and bushes. One day, she discovered that an unknown stranger had taken up residency on her grounds...food and lodging free. The stranger roams freely and frequently visits others in the neighborhood Each time he returns, he makes his presence known by tapping on Claire's back-porch. As soon as Claire or Connie glance through the plate-glass door, he strolls into a slow-dance, he spreads his tail into the shape of a fan, and shimmers magnificently with rainbow colors. What a show-off! But really, how can a Peacock say "I'm home!".) Now let's get back to my story. As Claire and I were engaged in a pleasant conversation, I learned she is a "paesan". Immediately I made known to her that I was the author of the essay "The Joys of Growing-up Italian" on which I had received many compliments over the years. A startled look crossed her face, and in a subdued tone said: "Elvira, its on the Internet". All Hell broke loose! I'm being plagarized!

I wll continue with this diatribe the next time I blog, if you find it interesting.