tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61258297066992195402024-03-04T21:09:29.378-08:00View From My Kitchen WindowJaninehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.comBlogger245125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-20760752962797732612022-12-08T04:45:00.000-08:002022-12-08T04:45:20.371-08:00Holy Day Feast of the Immaculate Conception December 8, 2022<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqEhB5zjsCaN3zGZObXCFMUuPN51CZ5wFyiRv2jn1d2XAEIq3fQkhaM2W9tWIGauNNmzbn5UKd7H0n7ZIkWKgt-IfEfu9fn-UpCmJ8HyyXt3TrLjMce3WwiM9RwlKFKRoPpG0OcGfx5y0l5dpdHVI3CLijEu1lzwVD31fgqxoTUoEr3OGph2XRRmn/s890/Margaret%20Heaney%20Fallon.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="890" data-original-width="643" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqEhB5zjsCaN3zGZObXCFMUuPN51CZ5wFyiRv2jn1d2XAEIq3fQkhaM2W9tWIGauNNmzbn5UKd7H0n7ZIkWKgt-IfEfu9fn-UpCmJ8HyyXt3TrLjMce3WwiM9RwlKFKRoPpG0OcGfx5y0l5dpdHVI3CLijEu1lzwVD31fgqxoTUoEr3OGph2XRRmn/s320/Margaret%20Heaney%20Fallon.jpg"/></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj20VfjaJNU83EBMgseNZ0dGhuFYrXDpZkZFLV1efl3EzDxF2_XW7u8NDnv34hmCTv-fkpsaRKXA1bpCjjxd7Dae4wt9r4sRWmtWCs4SE6Jcg82zVdIyBSS5ZgDYg-8hsnoOVi4pQ5zGnfw-qQxb8PBmk4dYS7SxeKN6_k8dHw6_s-sSGLgIdIPPVQU/s369/Mary%20Fallon.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj20VfjaJNU83EBMgseNZ0dGhuFYrXDpZkZFLV1efl3EzDxF2_XW7u8NDnv34hmCTv-fkpsaRKXA1bpCjjxd7Dae4wt9r4sRWmtWCs4SE6Jcg82zVdIyBSS5ZgDYg-8hsnoOVi4pQ5zGnfw-qQxb8PBmk4dYS7SxeKN6_k8dHw6_s-sSGLgIdIPPVQU/s320/Mary%20Fallon.jpg"/></a></div>
My paternal Aunt, Mary Margaret Fallon, was born on this day December 8, 1926. She was named after Mary, the mother of God and her grandmother Margaret Veronica Heaney who was born on December 8, 1859.
December 8th is the day that Catholics celebrate the Immaculate Conception of Mary, which is to say, that Mary was born without the heritage of the sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. I ponder these little bits of religious history and data every now and again as I reflect on how Mary Margret’s father ( my grandfather) was excluded from the Catholic Church. Excluded due to his marriage to a divorced non-Catholic woman with a child from that marriage. And yet, he chose to honor not only his mother, Margaret Veronica Heaney, but also Mary, the mother of Jesus when his third child was born on December 8, 1926.
I write about this in “He Didn’t Want to Work on the Railroad” pg 51.
“ At about 12 years old, Dad asked his father why he didn’t go to church. His father’s reply. None of your business. ”
“ He Didn’t Want to Work on the Railroad is available thru the author at jmower@hvc.rr.com or
Amazon Prime. Search the author name: Janine Fallon Mower
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-49870792094000655122022-12-07T10:21:00.002-08:002022-12-07T10:21:58.976-08:00Pearl Harbor Day Reflection <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-iDxL0oaBXT33uB_dUHFlf5HM1X6FIlhMTWZQIV01RaPgoFKFL18xi0brr4mjxDAZjHq9CEfgPrEJpMOsSMtRkEQSmQBUVSLpZQr0UHJDuo_hnaYLDJ2_Emo4ag7PaBOgHAnaLqGwGg6wtbpE_dUcTtXlV8ztHDhv-j49TtSQkU9XL7o0xeoKybB/s3024/IMG_4786.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; clear: left; float: left;"><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-iDxL0oaBXT33uB_dUHFlf5HM1X6FIlhMTWZQIV01RaPgoFKFL18xi0brr4mjxDAZjHq9CEfgPrEJpMOsSMtRkEQSmQBUVSLpZQr0UHJDuo_hnaYLDJ2_Emo4ag7PaBOgHAnaLqGwGg6wtbpE_dUcTtXlV8ztHDhv-j49TtSQkU9XL7o0xeoKybB/s320/IMG_4786.JPG"/></a></div>
Many of us will say that the 9/11 attacks were our generation’s Pearl Harbor. I worry that we will forget what happened at Pearl Harbor in December 1941. Jack Fallon was greatly moved by the enormity of the attack on the U. S. Military Base. When I wrote his biography “He Didn’t Want to Work on the Railroad” , I included his recollection of where he was and what he was doing at the time he learned about the attack.
An excerpt from “He Didn’t Want to Work on the Railroad” , pg 92
“ As Dad recalls, he and Shimmy were relaxing at the table after completing their meal, waiting for the waitress to bring their coffee. An especially entertaining musical piece played by Freddie Martin and his orchestra was on. The melody was from a classical concerto called Piano Concerto in B Flat. When retelling this story, Dad would frequently point out; it was one of his favorite pieces of music. He knew the song from its Ameicanized title, “ Tonight We Love” and if asked, he could sing it in his Irish tenor voice.
When retelling this story, Dad noted very emphatically, the music stopped abruptly. They both paused, wondering why the music suddenly went quiet, the song not yet at its conclusion. After some static, a man’s voice apologized for the interruption and the announcer stated that it was felt that the patrons should be told the news that Japan had attacked the United States fleet at Pearl Harbor on this dayat 7:55 am Hawaiian time, December 7, 1941”
An excerpt from “ One Marine’s Story Corporal John Fallon, U.S.M.C “
Pg 14 “ Dad was contemplating quitting Syracuse University at the time of our country’s declaration of war. If dad wasn’t in college, his selective service status would change and he would be eligible for the draft. One of his friends at Syracuse University, a fellow football player named Paul McKee talked to dad about signing up with the Marines in a reserve program of the U.S. Navy. If you signed up for a four – year stint, you would be deferred from going on active duty until you completed four years of college.”
Both books are available thru the author at Jmower@hvc.rr.com or Amazon, search author
Janine Fallon Mower
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-83294991462689041982022-10-14T07:26:00.000-07:002022-10-14T07:27:04.870-07:00New Goal- Unplug As Much as Possible<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKw10dTidWD6W9FcZfHNKzxp6a749TUMB0z2FmXdjat4Iq8asCbuD6V8hoROGEowrxZ_G1x367IZHX5M4Z6xUiMKd4MKGZ4We-Q84aGThhI_B7Ds1QMpJgjlsOe2a1MdRHzMwft7D66dGZD9QGhNnuERPv5SBZwAjHhtfFtDvK3_TWG6TsjtrCpsK4/s3088/oct%204.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKw10dTidWD6W9FcZfHNKzxp6a749TUMB0z2FmXdjat4Iq8asCbuD6V8hoROGEowrxZ_G1x367IZHX5M4Z6xUiMKd4MKGZ4We-Q84aGThhI_B7Ds1QMpJgjlsOe2a1MdRHzMwft7D66dGZD9QGhNnuERPv5SBZwAjHhtfFtDvK3_TWG6TsjtrCpsK4/s320/oct%204.JPG"/></a></div>
Got the bike out on the rail trail the other day. It was one of those beautiful fall mornings that required that I be outside in nature. I did have to pull myself away from the technology devices I have in my home. I’m glad I rescheduled all my computer work till another time.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZXCSfrs8TlIJR4vRsrUd2e8NTLsdmpfTs0HNVViolpavvdQ1MzEawzQ2Tnh6WP3v8Tv2j8iQtiA0likZ7yIHipzlT8CSNZFph-unzRml2hBEJNPPPXw2EHS7kiPPB79b0nvfbOaNXRTbM1U56a112J14TVyOpFOkHQ8pcp78dHzKxnbfX7N-Cn605/s3088/oct%202.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZXCSfrs8TlIJR4vRsrUd2e8NTLsdmpfTs0HNVViolpavvdQ1MzEawzQ2Tnh6WP3v8Tv2j8iQtiA0likZ7yIHipzlT8CSNZFph-unzRml2hBEJNPPPXw2EHS7kiPPB79b0nvfbOaNXRTbM1U56a112J14TVyOpFOkHQ8pcp78dHzKxnbfX7N-Cn605/s320/oct%202.JPG"/></a></div>
I think we were ment to spend more time in natural surroundings than modern life and busy schedules allow us to. I’m learning to put time out in nature first with a daily walk, a seasonal bike ride, sitting in the sun at the fleamarket, gazing at the firepit in the back yard. Staying unplugged as much as possible, my new goal. <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8M2393dR8LQHF5mXh-VDRua7aymIC4g4Nn08O6Qxdcw_V2cU1MBGuPb8xErVEzIvnj1yeY_WiFN7qBCjlIXh3Zo7j09E5gascJVbtTlCoJapPb1iR3cD-F2GWrD61YPnUE1Ln7WvUGOVPH-Jkew--xPwZsbj-ui9n0H15ASnySFcN95NknBGXOjCl/s4032/compassion%20and%20mercy%20.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8M2393dR8LQHF5mXh-VDRua7aymIC4g4Nn08O6Qxdcw_V2cU1MBGuPb8xErVEzIvnj1yeY_WiFN7qBCjlIXh3Zo7j09E5gascJVbtTlCoJapPb1iR3cD-F2GWrD61YPnUE1Ln7WvUGOVPH-Jkew--xPwZsbj-ui9n0H15ASnySFcN95NknBGXOjCl/s320/compassion%20and%20mercy%20.JPG"/></a></div>Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-9758614850039809582022-10-06T07:35:00.013-07:002022-10-07T17:52:09.730-07:00Remembering Winne Davis Fallon on her 100th Birthday - Recollections in Her Own WordsMy mom, Winnie Davis Fallon had somewhat of a nomadic life in her early years. Her mother, Ruth Bickner Davis, though divorced, led people to believe she was a widow with two young daughters. After living in Kingston for a few years, Ruth found work at a boarding house in Westkill, NY. ( c 1933) Winnie writes “ mom got a jo with these people who had a very nice house. I remember looking at pictures that were daguerreotypes. Flo and I walked to school. I remember looking at a totally rundown house along the way with the most beautiful yellow roses growing alongside. When we first went up to Westkill I remember riding thru “ the notch”. This was a long dirt road. One lane only. If you met another vehicle one had to back up to a passing place. <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a
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Ruth and her daughters were only in Westkill for one summer season. Winnie notes ” Then we moved to Kleines on MacDaniel Rd in Woodstock NY. ( c 1934) I can honestly say I had more fun as a kid living there. There were lots of kids. Evelyn and Marion were Flo and my age and the Reynolds kids were there for a time. Their father worked in the butcher shop in Woodstock. Their mom was a MacDaniel. “ She goes on the recall “ Uncle Charlie was the one we giggled at the most. Whose uncle I don’t know. He had his own room downstairs with an outside entrance. Anyway, he’d sunbathe nude out back behind the lilac bushes. The same place we dumped the slop buckets to kill the poison ivy.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd4lANfFiTSahlkAT7Jl1XZHpAAAkKRrYw8JQ9EumWj8DLtb6doqOXDPCNQslnz0WEzZwoiSwW-5zmtELELZvFVmqZKKFlIPvZ69ED3PE1VoEBM5kYjf2GGFxyaYagB_IUy1kTg0k5v96sfXj3pZZmwYsnqOL9DFhZWIS_vP-mxE7YstHWuLUECbMG/s500/meads%203.png" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd4lANfFiTSahlkAT7Jl1XZHpAAAkKRrYw8JQ9EumWj8DLtb6doqOXDPCNQslnz0WEzZwoiSwW-5zmtELELZvFVmqZKKFlIPvZ69ED3PE1VoEBM5kYjf2GGFxyaYagB_IUy1kTg0k5v96sfXj3pZZmwYsnqOL9DFhZWIS_vP-mxE7YstHWuLUECbMG/s320/meads%203.png"/></a></div>
“ She continues, “ “mom, Flo and I lived in the cabin across the road from the Kleine’s house. It was just a cabin, no inside walls. There was a common area for the whole unit. ( one room). No running water, no toilet, no heat. We heated by the woodstove in the kitchen. John the Norwegian handyman used to start the fire for mom. One day he got the fire going and closed the oven door. We left it open for more heat. When we came home from school and mom from working at the main house, we opened the oven door for warmth and there was our cat. Baked.
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C 1941 After high school graduation, Winnie Davis went to Troy NY to live with family friends Gladys and Howard. Within a few months she returned to Woodstock, and as she writes, “ I came home and worked at the Irvington for a while. Saturday nights were square dance nights. The bar was in the far corner and the whole outside walls of the room were tables. I made thirty to forty dollars on a Saturday night. Very good for those times. I saved up a hundred bucks and took off for California, footlocker and all. My trip across country was by bus. I paid $ 75.00 for my fare and had $ 15.00 left when I got there. Each large terminal had showers, so you could clean up. Thru the south west Native Americans would board the bus out in the boonies to get to town. They had no access to showers. Once in L.A, I stayed with a couple from Woodstock who had a small baby. I couldn’t get a job because I wasn’t yet twenty-one. So, I called my dad and told him I was in L.A. and he came and got me. Dad helped me with my driving and I got my licensee in November 1941. Mom and Flo followed me out. Mom and I went to L.A. to look for work. The first place we stayed in was in the Hollywood area. One evening we took a walk downtown to the Hollywood and Vine area. We were flat broke and went in to one of the radio stations. We got in to see a show. I got chosen to participate and won twenty-five silver dollars. We went out of there crying with joy. While in L.A., “ my mom got a job working for Sally Rand. ( Ruth had known her from her Woodstock Playhouse days) She was doing house keeping for her mother. Flo and I went along. The house was in Glendora California. One night Sally came home and she was going out on the road the next day, leaving at 5 am. Did I want to go along with the show? They’d teach me to dance along the way. God, was I scared. I went, and the first stop was Las Vegas. I drove her four-door tan Lincoln Continental convertible. What a car. So wonderful to drive. C 1942<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHiYlNl8aZZvX7zp-LtBo_wk47CzU108PBAxMJ31-PRP9ZTakW0qxFa5k2YD8X3OG-WX-u5Mx5j9LCWWAjb8iMWw1lzpTxquppZlTGnSTCA8MLoOgaOGEqbXAxJ6XKOa-uwIjXnNyRHK8BtPGI5_r7BHsSTpUEJ5sgQJ3wqG2Oc4y-nC33JSV2v2c/s3673/winnnie%20pr%20%282%29.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="3673" data-original-width="2239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHiYlNl8aZZvX7zp-LtBo_wk47CzU108PBAxMJ31-PRP9ZTakW0qxFa5k2YD8X3OG-WX-u5Mx5j9LCWWAjb8iMWw1lzpTxquppZlTGnSTCA8MLoOgaOGEqbXAxJ6XKOa-uwIjXnNyRHK8BtPGI5_r7BHsSTpUEJ5sgQJ3wqG2Oc4y-nC33JSV2v2c/s320/winnnie%20pr%20%282%29.jpg"/></a></div>Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-67215519953811350392022-09-21T17:43:00.000-07:002022-09-21T17:43:10.564-07:00Three Amazing Days Celebrating My Role as a Genealogist, Biographer and Storyteller<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">What a great way to spend my time these past few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hanging out at the Best Western in Kingston at
the annual conference held by the Association of Public Historians of New York
State.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I sat in on a talk by Taylor Bruck, UC Archivist and City of
Kingston Historian titled What is Historic About Kingston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, Bill Merchant gave a talk about
Marginalized Workers on the Delaware and Hudson Canal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To top the first morning off, I listened to
Bryan S. Thompson speak about The Fry Family Black Pioneers of Gouverneur. The
afternoon session was an excellent presentation by Richard Heppner Town of
Woodstock historian and JoAnn Margolis archivist on the topic of Augusta Allen
and the Woodstock Dress- One Woman’s Rise above Hardship within the Woodstock Art
Colony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lastly, Stephen Blauweiss
presented a synopsis of his latest project- Woodstock: 100 Years of the Counterculture
through Arts and Music. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday morning I decided to listen to Jordan Jace Education
Director of the NYS Archives Partnership<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Trust<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>titled The Historian’s Role
in Expanding the Historical Narrative in the K-12 Curriculum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked away from this session with a few
ideas for the Historical Society of Woodstock. Then I sat in on a very dynamic
panel discussion led by staff from the Southeastern NY Library Resource Council.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The over arching idea was how to make
virtual exhibits thus taking history to more people in an online format.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To cap the morning off Christopher Carosa
gave an informative talk about how to get your message out to the media.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, if I could only put some of these
suggestions into action!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The afternoon
was spent on a walking tour of the Stockade District.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We visited the Stockade District: the
Matthewis Persen House, the Friends of Historic Kingston, The Old Dutch Church,
The Firemans Museum and lastly, the Senate House Museum and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a tour of the Senate house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had almost four miles on my fit bit by the
end of that day! Admittedly, my mind was spinning with wonderful ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MZGp7YzqqzosPh9Qxju2kFJqSiHrEsqfAfDvTV0wZCw5Yf3lIC5WA-XcSqR4U0oyv4E1qqU4rIoeePWQdsbQRGgVsCElZWzm6NsHHHlLq0yoVFJTg2e53BpJ6UX37msnJjQPqWj9ZKtu1mzn9yuX0B69vzcwRml0jrqx_8lGuuhlcsmUsYxDSwnp/s4032/Janine%20conference%2011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MZGp7YzqqzosPh9Qxju2kFJqSiHrEsqfAfDvTV0wZCw5Yf3lIC5WA-XcSqR4U0oyv4E1qqU4rIoeePWQdsbQRGgVsCElZWzm6NsHHHlLq0yoVFJTg2e53BpJ6UX37msnJjQPqWj9ZKtu1mzn9yuX0B69vzcwRml0jrqx_8lGuuhlcsmUsYxDSwnp/s320/Janine%20conference%2011.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City of Kingston Historian Taylor Bruck on the left </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3nHGpiJtnLu0VRellilJJ64f28Q21r8RonIpjECPTv9b9cFTBvPt9w6OSL4dy5-IP7iX5vtkuU6dIHXfJiS8X8mjq8lk55Zsl58iBhwGhYHz82lLaFCQ87ceEdHkO-kS41fG4V9OWwVZfPuwhbshvTDf87AAwhEm9tw5nHzi7YB23w-9A9z-kR9UM/s4032/Janine%20conference%2010%20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3nHGpiJtnLu0VRellilJJ64f28Q21r8RonIpjECPTv9b9cFTBvPt9w6OSL4dy5-IP7iX5vtkuU6dIHXfJiS8X8mjq8lk55Zsl58iBhwGhYHz82lLaFCQ87ceEdHkO-kS41fG4V9OWwVZfPuwhbshvTDf87AAwhEm9tw5nHzi7YB23w-9A9z-kR9UM/s320/Janine%20conference%2010%20.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside the Matthewis Pearson House </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGC3pbPEARchZjM6SH0zN6SbMJTDr0XgQ0wZVVpdoCPmatx_0aT70YWUXj71pCnjcS2ZrHoC_R4CE7pbW80Zx4BMP5rYCKkseC6jf6bIQa3iUx9g7P-ZUqmjkeqzGx6PSM2Y9QPpfJBN7FmHqBnqFnL1cJmL0-Co59B4HfF7K4TSiYa9D0rlPNx01B/s4032/Janine%20conference%207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGC3pbPEARchZjM6SH0zN6SbMJTDr0XgQ0wZVVpdoCPmatx_0aT70YWUXj71pCnjcS2ZrHoC_R4CE7pbW80Zx4BMP5rYCKkseC6jf6bIQa3iUx9g7P-ZUqmjkeqzGx6PSM2Y9QPpfJBN7FmHqBnqFnL1cJmL0-Co59B4HfF7K4TSiYa9D0rlPNx01B/s320/Janine%20conference%207.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mural of John Vanderlyn and Sojourner Truth </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikxap0gclJ5W5hyP8-czmVh0aUF10x13_hOf6DwKmsa9Y4MLB9U4JM3VA-89ZPnjv5BOKVpxGxn8iSm9A7TkzlrI6_0wrwI3k05IV8LHf1jZDucOKlLvQKX45j0WGTPNuICFwVsoy2a4aBq9Ddmc0-2TNq9IUCWihrMhHoJzsZgN-J7lD4DZF6HWuZ/s4032/Janine%20conference%202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikxap0gclJ5W5hyP8-czmVh0aUF10x13_hOf6DwKmsa9Y4MLB9U4JM3VA-89ZPnjv5BOKVpxGxn8iSm9A7TkzlrI6_0wrwI3k05IV8LHf1jZDucOKlLvQKX45j0WGTPNuICFwVsoy2a4aBq9Ddmc0-2TNq9IUCWihrMhHoJzsZgN-J7lD4DZF6HWuZ/s320/Janine%20conference%202.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside the Senate House </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">To close the conference out on Wednesday I attended a
lecture about Peg Leg Bates resort: The Legacy of a Black Resort in the
Catskills. I am to young to remember
Peg Leg Bates so this was very informative.
Lastly, Karen McLaughlin Cuccinello spoke about her latest book Italian
Immigrants in Upstate NY, 1875-1925. I had lunch with Teri Reynolds of the
Woodstock Cemetery Committee. We shared stories of our family’s Italian history
in Kingston NY. Lots of seeds for great
ideas were planted at the lunch table. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> There is an incredible amount of rich history
here in the Hudson Valley and thru my biographical writing projects I will
continue to do my part to add to the historical record of the people who have
touched my life. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBZQp_Y1UHTtwomL3KHf7o8oMm3lkRI6WuVTmEwPgSVqGQfiKroiT-2s0KrZblqqMyNwxg9M4SwgAcQwHxoBAFFh5BWoW7Be5EuPI758uhVhQVgYHzJaVnzrcTqTDSjpjIfCtrFDAwb10VSxQsIkaT4MEspRFrlMp2R7fn94u83Gye5MttoPk3iHa/s3088/Janine%20conference%201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBZQp_Y1UHTtwomL3KHf7o8oMm3lkRI6WuVTmEwPgSVqGQfiKroiT-2s0KrZblqqMyNwxg9M4SwgAcQwHxoBAFFh5BWoW7Be5EuPI758uhVhQVgYHzJaVnzrcTqTDSjpjIfCtrFDAwb10VSxQsIkaT4MEspRFrlMp2R7fn94u83Gye5MttoPk3iHa/s320/Janine%20conference%201.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p>Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-8599038732325637432021-05-29T18:14:00.000-07:002021-05-29T18:14:21.203-07:00Memorial Day Dedication to Joe Ashkar <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhShx701G132CgAmSCQmivu4bns4Bg21woyJT7NQ_pSA0Jxpvu-xAiGYa3M4PSHvfR-OK7OoLuHIw2r54hX9LxARV4mzbLyj0Z5EyQBFO0jjfOKzNDCJoAm9OA86fsotHGigyXgG7UwAhw/s628/Joe+Ashkar+%2528002%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="597" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhShx701G132CgAmSCQmivu4bns4Bg21woyJT7NQ_pSA0Jxpvu-xAiGYa3M4PSHvfR-OK7OoLuHIw2r54hX9LxARV4mzbLyj0Z5EyQBFO0jjfOKzNDCJoAm9OA86fsotHGigyXgG7UwAhw/s320/Joe+Ashkar+%2528002%2529.jpg" /></a></div><br />Left to Right- " Greek" Matthews<p></p><p>Joe Ashkar, Jack Fallon. Maui 1944 </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">My Dad, Jack Fallon, was a private first class in the Marine
Corps in the Pacific Theatre during WWII.
He served while his unit was on Roi- Namur and Saipan- Tinian. After learning of his experiences, I’ve
lovingly nick- named my Dad- a very lucky man.
He came home. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">It is a very rainy Memorial Day weekend here in the north
east this year. The kind of day you want
to curl up under the comforter and close your eyes, listen to the rain pounding
on the roof top. While resting in that
in-between stage of consciousness, the name Joe Ashkar came into my mind. He was a recruit that my dad met at boot
camp. They were in training together at
Parris Island, Camp Lejeune and Camp Pendleton.
The two became good friends, in the short time that they spent together.
<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Dad and Joe had a few escapades together- one Christmas they
were invited to a southern family home for Christmas dinner. Dad was from Kingston New York and Joe was
from Watertown New York. There they
were, an Irish Catholic, tall, dark haired and fair skinned and Joe, short of
stature and dark of skin. Dad recalled
that he and Joe were worried at first, as they were in North Carolina in the
1940’s. However, their worries were for naught. Joe was accustomed to explaining that he was
dark skinned because he was of Syrian descent. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">While at Camp Pendleton, the two friends had many a drunken
escapade on leave in Los Angeles. They would hitch-hike into the city and
explore all that the exotic neighborhoods in the city of the Angels had to
offer. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">While at Camp Pendleton, Dad had an offer to join a
Transport Quartermaster unit- thus leaving his rifleman infantry unit. In June of 1944- Dad’s quartermaster unit
help combat load supplies on the Navy ship that was also transporting his friends
and his former unit to the island of Saipan. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">In his memoir- my dad wrote: <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“On my first trip around our secure area on Saipan I came
upon a Japanese bicycle in good working condition. I took it back to our area
near the dump site. Every now and then I would take a ride. When I heard that my old rifle company, I
company, had been pulled back for some rest from the fighting, I road over to
see some of my old friends. It was then
that I learned that my good friend, Joe Ashkar, had been killed. During some
heavy fighting, Joe took over the manning of a machine gun when the gunner was
killed. Joe was a rifle man, not a member of a machines gun crew, but he took
the machine gun over anyway, firing continuously until he was shot fatally. Speedway Tkacs told me that before we left
Maui that Ashkar had received a “Dear John” letter from his steady girlfriend
back in Watertown, N.Y. A “ Dear John”
letter was one in which a girlfriend or spouse sends a letter to a loved one
telling him that she had fallen in love with another man and therefore their
relationship was over”.<o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">In memory of Joe Ashkar. <o:p></o:p></p><p><br /></p>Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-41856043925332332702021-02-18T11:48:00.000-08:002021-02-18T11:48:23.567-08:00Exploring Woodstock History February 18, 2021
Our favorite spot is till our kitchen, filled with sunlight, which fills us with hope. We are planning our one year pandemic anniversary for March 2021. Yes, we will gather with our loved ones- who are in our “ bubble”, to celebrate all things IRISH and to give thanks that we have been spared the pain of death caused by Covid 19 complications.
I did a 170 day tour of duty as an essential worker, RN case manager, and then decided to retire. The decision was made partially due to the working conditions during the pandemic. However there was also an underlying dissatisfaction about the role that I had in case management. It was time to jump off the tread mill and see what else floated to the surface.
Eventually, the grocery stores regained their abundance of choices. Now, there is more hand sanitizer available than we will ever use. We opened our flea market in July. Amazingly, Woodstock NY had suddenly become a safe haven for people fleeing the pandemic in the metro area. House prices have gone up; home sales in the region are fantastic- a true sellers market. The sidewalks of Woodstock are busier than ever. All we can hope is that store owners are making the sales that they need to in order to cover their rents and other expenses.
Our Mid-Hudson region remains in Phase 4 retail. It’s been hard on restaurants, who haven’t been allowed to open to full capacity. We shake our heads when we pass by a restaurant with outside seating- in 30 degree weather- people are out, bundled up, “ enjoying” a meal with friends.
I have started a new endeavor. Exploring Woodstock History with Janine Fallon Mower. I have uncovered so many notes and bits and pieces of information not used in all the local history books I have been involved in. Slowly, I am creating sort videos on specific local history topic. The videos can by found on our fleamarket youTube page. Mowers Saturday Sunday fleamarket. Subscribe to the channel and like the video. I will post on the flea blog- woodstockflea.blogspot.com- additional information and photos that pertain to the episode. I have local history books for sale. Contact me at woodstockfleamarket@hvc.rr.com to make a purchase.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoIrs2Ci_qcxVegHRwEp-zGgDwZSCPLhJqtdys3V39Mrj6PnYLAyTo-erh2dQgvGWY2J7bGCNho7RITnn8x_-4mcv3e2_HqDU2Og_NVOCrDfK_JIDc-zPJKhDqwnRgqyoG94idkx1MN-A/s935/Janine%2527s+portfolio.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; clear: right; float: right;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="935" data-original-width="750" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoIrs2Ci_qcxVegHRwEp-zGgDwZSCPLhJqtdys3V39Mrj6PnYLAyTo-erh2dQgvGWY2J7bGCNho7RITnn8x_-4mcv3e2_HqDU2Og_NVOCrDfK_JIDc-zPJKhDqwnRgqyoG94idkx1MN-A/s320/Janine%2527s+portfolio.JPG"/></a></div>Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-9830093466807022752020-04-24T14:16:00.001-07:002020-04-25T06:28:14.096-07:00Observations during the Covid 19 Pandemic of 2020 April 22, 2020<br />
We had our pre St. Patrick’s Day meal together on Saturday March 14th, 2020. We weren’t sure, but we all had inkling that something dramatic was going to take place. Sure enough, Woodstock and NY State was put under lock down shortly thereafter. That’s the last time I hugged my daughter, son in law and my three grandchildren.<br />
My husband and I are considered essential workers. I am an RN, case manager, working at Health Alliance/ Westchester Medical Center in Kingston. My husband works as an Enrolled Agent, preparing taxes. That first day, driving to work after the shelter in place order, reminded me of driving in to work after hurricane Irene blew through Ulster County, NY. No traffic. Eerily quiet.<br />
My first trip into Hannaford in West Hurley was a shocker! I think I walked around and left without buying anything. The shelves were empty. When I ventured into Sunflower foods for some fresh veggies, everything was gone. Admittedly, it was a little disconcerting. However, knowing I was going to work in Kingston the next day I figured I would have more luck in ShopRite. Also, I realized that I had to put my prepper head back on and start stocking up on nonperishable items. Every store I went into, and I only went in two, there were shortages of everything. I just wandered around astounded at how grocery shelves could be cleared of all the essentials: like flour, yeast, cake mix and icing, canned vegetables, toilet
paper, hand sanitizer, Clorox cleaning products, sanitizing wipes,
hamburger, chicken and so much more so quickly. I can say for sure, that shoppers of Ulster County don’t like canned beets! When this is all over, I hope I will be able look back and laugh.<br />
The sidewalks in Woodstock are mostly empty. There is the predictable line in front of Bread Alone in the morning when we go to work. However, now people are standing four or five feet apart and wearing masks. All of the parking lots are empty. Someone is still depositing household garbage in the dumpster on Deanies Alley in the Yoga studio parking lot. The animals are having a fun time rummaging thru the garbage. The deer are ravaging our day lilies at the flea market field. It’s quite odd to see the Library parking lot empty. It took me a little while to figure out that the Village Apothecary must be only letting a few people in the shop at a time, while others wait outside.<br />
I can’t imagine how it must be to be a restaurant owner. To have lost two months of income is unimaginable.<br />
Our favorite spot is in our kitchen. We can look out our windows and bask in the sunshine, what little there has been of it. I bring out the project of the day and spread it out by my kitchen sink, my spirits bolstered by the warmth of the sun. The dog park continues to be busy. I see people who walk their pets up and down the drive way, back and forth for exercise. Every now and then a family pulls up to the playground, and after wiping down the playground equipment, the kids play for a little while. I watched a neighbor high schooler stand and look at the broken basketball hoop. He was hoping to shoot some hoops, but kind of pointless without the hoop. Every now and then, two or three people will show up at Rick Volz Ball Park, throw a Frisbee or play some catch. One day, my heart broke. I could see a young child- maybe ten or so, dressed in their little league outfit, playing catch and hitting base balls with an adult.<br />
The after effects of this shelter in place will be far and wide.
I don’t even dare let myself think that this was caused by a foreign country’s lack of concern for other members of the human race.<br />
What’s the point in thinking about what might have been?
All I can do now is plan for how my family and I will successfully survive this shelter in place quarantine. And, plan how we are going to manage and prepare for the fall uptick in Covid 19 cases.<br />
I can only hope that the government won’t be advised to require that we endure another complete shutdown of our communities. I don’t see how another shutdown is sustainable for our mental and economic health.<br />
Janine Fallon Mower BSN CCM
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-36552722235333718042020-03-29T11:18:00.001-07:002020-03-29T11:18:58.527-07:00 The Importance of Genealogy to Local History Research I decided that while I was under the pandemic of 2020 shelter in place, that I would put the time to good use. I've been going through my mountains of notes and photos with the goal to pare down and organize. I've started to utilize FB live to share my process with viewers. The photos in the previous post were examples of how family photos can be used to preserve local history documentation of changes in any size town or city. Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-79136275173350820402020-03-29T11:16:00.000-07:002020-03-29T11:16:11.061-07:00Images of Woodstock pictures from March 29 FB Live by author Janine Fallon Mower <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_bGI7qWTWmseLHcc0KJb6Wes2eWemoSsE-a7tMJWc8ucQhKU2nA9tpUKmaUHs-skghVzul-Dn14bUof4hUzL8WgLC5S_uweTH6szpenFmi4nJz4Lk9jF6MLVNeW2dY4Y8QVBI6_LXvI/s1600/Images+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_bGI7qWTWmseLHcc0KJb6Wes2eWemoSsE-a7tMJWc8ucQhKU2nA9tpUKmaUHs-skghVzul-Dn14bUof4hUzL8WgLC5S_uweTH6szpenFmi4nJz4Lk9jF6MLVNeW2dY4Y8QVBI6_LXvI/s200/Images+a.jpg" width="200" height="139" data-original-width="1230" data-original-height="854" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pdLz_Hmtyt8Dz7pHjdEhiyPeYBVeHeKvMTvu70K7PDDjJw8-GGhtg_wWw33LjvO39tBB3AvYThrcarFpj30WwnEqvIaZdo8lybxkhxXTy79GdRdg14GFKFyBuTogy0okf5Xoou33rq0/s1600/Images+b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pdLz_Hmtyt8Dz7pHjdEhiyPeYBVeHeKvMTvu70K7PDDjJw8-GGhtg_wWw33LjvO39tBB3AvYThrcarFpj30WwnEqvIaZdo8lybxkhxXTy79GdRdg14GFKFyBuTogy0okf5Xoou33rq0/s200/Images+b.jpg" width="200" height="169" data-original-width="1137" data-original-height="960" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7s55zOBCxJ0yoqc7qVSGxKRnpd0Q-NTw3neObomDZLhqWf9L88ZDqIgRlLU1hA4Jvqdju71yd-hlOo-OJN1rdXKk7MdIPacguOZRz_RFWJmiClq3fbpvYKJ5A8aucAKTqUOxtSy6-7c/s1600/Images+c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7s55zOBCxJ0yoqc7qVSGxKRnpd0Q-NTw3neObomDZLhqWf9L88ZDqIgRlLU1hA4Jvqdju71yd-hlOo-OJN1rdXKk7MdIPacguOZRz_RFWJmiClq3fbpvYKJ5A8aucAKTqUOxtSy6-7c/s200/Images+c.jpg" width="200" height="143" data-original-width="1208" data-original-height="862" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHvBOyTfV_9_-UmTTsa_IvItJyRoSf4PkzG_9cFsquxT7nuNF_qr5qmbrKRkYvAdPKU_y4zvGBtkM-ZogD3TbYMNQvpLp2s97c3BOAj6oyzO6s_x-VGoIQxMWIMtqVnp-uncrjUWQmq0/s1600/images+d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHvBOyTfV_9_-UmTTsa_IvItJyRoSf4PkzG_9cFsquxT7nuNF_qr5qmbrKRkYvAdPKU_y4zvGBtkM-ZogD3TbYMNQvpLp2s97c3BOAj6oyzO6s_x-VGoIQxMWIMtqVnp-uncrjUWQmq0/s200/images+d.jpg" width="200" height="153" data-original-width="1145" data-original-height="878" /></a></div>Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-50877835740455289422020-02-22T14:41:00.001-08:002020-02-22T14:41:58.457-08:00Off to a great start for 2020 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1EYR34Pj6IHMFrbndNBKB5PG_jhWLnLduqKaBdfiox9-ADfTztZHuVCsk0fKKlM9R9CSMPsqt_6dTJfP-9Wt0rRS3PQwOsbI_6mbWQ2qQaKBMNJbMbcbxNinhY6_jsgrLE3TtDQ2UAI/s1600/2020+janines+books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1EYR34Pj6IHMFrbndNBKB5PG_jhWLnLduqKaBdfiox9-ADfTztZHuVCsk0fKKlM9R9CSMPsqt_6dTJfP-9Wt0rRS3PQwOsbI_6mbWQ2qQaKBMNJbMbcbxNinhY6_jsgrLE3TtDQ2UAI/s320/2020+janines+books.jpg" width="257" height="320" data-original-width="750" data-original-height="935" /></a></div>
I was amazed that it had been almost a year since my last post. I was focused on finishing up my latest self published book " He didn't want to work on the railroad." A little local history story about my father and his family, growing up in Kingston NY. It's available thru Amazon. I love writing about people and their everyday lives. Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-40373611024184329212019-05-09T10:26:00.000-07:002019-05-09T10:26:17.430-07:00Happy Mothers Day 2019 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNS3SW0HiNv8_uOIg8DlRs7cmr2DbaoTEeCBOUHH-8l7LizeSe_rAMOwkIzQw7FHUKrtgtpF_OhyW17IiwNz18oGYb4kLs-Z9dXqlCpSViTdd2eU6XITznYSNf_j3t6LbHROer0EM7v-A/s1600/winnie+dispatch+70%2527s+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNS3SW0HiNv8_uOIg8DlRs7cmr2DbaoTEeCBOUHH-8l7LizeSe_rAMOwkIzQw7FHUKrtgtpF_OhyW17IiwNz18oGYb4kLs-Z9dXqlCpSViTdd2eU6XITznYSNf_j3t6LbHROer0EM7v-A/s320/winnie+dispatch+70%2527s+2.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="701" data-original-height="526" /></a></div>
Meet my earthly mother. Winnie Davis Fallon. After her divorce from my father, she supported herself in a couple of ways- one, she ran the Woodstock Answering Service out of her home. She also worked as a court clerk. The other job mom had was as a dispatcher for the Town of Woodstock Police, Fire and Ambulance department. Mom loved that dispatch job. And, she was good at it too! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEf17nGj9r4tgkyz21LuZed1CJq4abzSJjf-qlEZIIqezx1amqYsJOiST0xRBit-CuJxQ-pzqc-BU6hU3CoDfT7eT4wNdUqO6HhsNqv4gfE36KLhWyp7BKG7xgEbKDwiwQW60-KutijJs/s1600/Dispatch+mid+%252770%2527s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEf17nGj9r4tgkyz21LuZed1CJq4abzSJjf-qlEZIIqezx1amqYsJOiST0xRBit-CuJxQ-pzqc-BU6hU3CoDfT7eT4wNdUqO6HhsNqv4gfE36KLhWyp7BKG7xgEbKDwiwQW60-KutijJs/s320/Dispatch+mid+%252770%2527s.jpg" width="320" height="243" data-original-width="711" data-original-height="540" /></a></div>
Mom worked all shifts, but mostly evenings and nights. Like her co workers, she knew the town like the back of her hands. She was cool as a cucumber during an emergency. Mom especially liked to help people. Don't get me wrong, she wasn't perfect. Mom didn't take to well to people who were stupid or foolish. And yes, she did love to have a good time. Happy Mothers Day, dear earth mother. Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-8161238818951356022018-01-11T07:50:00.001-08:002018-01-11T07:50:58.454-08:00Congratulations or Condolences On what was one of the chilliest mornings in recent history, I made my way down to the meeting at the Woodstock town hall, which was advertised in the Woodstock Times a few weeks ago. The way I read the ad, I thought I was going to a brain storming session regarding the Woodstock Cemetery. I thought the meeting would be led by a group of concerned Woodstockers who wanted to have input about forming a new board of trustees for the Woodstock Cemetery.
Of course, I’m used to “Woodstock Time” and arrived about ten minutes late. There were about three dozen interested people seated in the chairs provided, with Supervisor Bill McKenna hosting the meeting.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJ6Ux2gw4AUPn2x3NxMAYRHO3pfB5y7Ydzz4Fqszq3HlCEJpLVobUw6p_yBjCV0vyVvuIzTLibXQxkg0P4CL6y_h4myViYM2Vou4KI0qWpPYebhZ0mV9CtDAwa_TJX9t8y75p858OBYY/s1600/Cemetery+meeting+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJ6Ux2gw4AUPn2x3NxMAYRHO3pfB5y7Ydzz4Fqszq3HlCEJpLVobUw6p_yBjCV0vyVvuIzTLibXQxkg0P4CL6y_h4myViYM2Vou4KI0qWpPYebhZ0mV9CtDAwa_TJX9t8y75p858OBYY/s320/Cemetery+meeting+1.jpg" width="320" height="180" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="900" /></a>
My friend, Terry Breitenstein, who has shepherded the care of the administrative part of the cemetery for almost two decades, was speaking about the dilemma the cemetery board of Trustees had faced when I arrived.
After about 45 minutes of questions and what seemed to me like confusion, Supervisor McKenna asked for a show of hands of who wanted to volunteer on the new cemetery board of trustees. I use the word confusion, because, as the multiple questions and comments were tossed about, there were times when the term “the board” was used, and if you weren’t really paying attention, a new comer would have trouble discerning between responsibilities of the cemetery board and the Woodstock town board.
Never the less, when the request for a show of hands was made, there were no volunteers for a new board of trustees. I think that everyone understood a comment by one attendee who said “it doesn’t really matter, old board of trustees or new board of trustees, there is still the problem of not having enough income to run the cemetery”. So, that’s really it in a nutshell. There hasn’t been, for a number of years, enough income from the sale of graves to support the maintenance and up keep of the Woodstock Cemetery. Now, the Woodstock Town board will administer the financial needs of the Woodstock Cemetery. If you want to know how this is going to take place, it sounds like supervisor McKenna is the point person at the moment. He will be consulting with the state association of cemeteries as to what to do next.
Truthfully, this is uncharted territory for a parties involved. Usually a town takes over a cemetery when there is no longer any land left for burials. Our cemetery is still an active cemetery, with plots available for sale. Also, along with the sites for burials, there is a house on the property that has been used for the past two decades as a home by Shay and his family. ( we are fond of the history of this little house, as it is reported to have been built by Walter Mower. Living on the property has been part of his compensation package. It remains undetermined what will come of this relationship, as Shay is no longer employed by the now defunct board of trustees. ( we are fond of the history of this little house, as it is reported to have been built by Walter Mower)
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-XDY70xz0Ijz4CiqmXTD2QmyUHHHMcbIRgM0nCquyYE8xQijBfswaDTgjaFl5mX-w4FqKaDiSTfmV472tP6JLoecii1DDYKexru5qD2GeTp3HpRQVvtXUIZMMWmAVQwWh4JDpTXejXU/s1600/Cemetery+meeting+2+.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-XDY70xz0Ijz4CiqmXTD2QmyUHHHMcbIRgM0nCquyYE8xQijBfswaDTgjaFl5mX-w4FqKaDiSTfmV472tP6JLoecii1DDYKexru5qD2GeTp3HpRQVvtXUIZMMWmAVQwWh4JDpTXejXU/s320/Cemetery+meeting+2+.jpg" width="320" height="180" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="900" /></a>
Lastly, there was a lot of enthusiasm from volunteers/ plot owners who wanted to help with whatever the cemetery property needs. (fundraising, historical, deeds, maps, clean-ups etc. If anyone interested, please contact the supervisor with your interest and in what manner. Bill McKenna - supervisor@woodstockny.org
At some point, I will try to put together volunteers who are interested in helping maintain some of the older graves in the old section of the cemetery. I will keep you posted.
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-60062995956310678122018-01-03T12:38:00.000-08:002018-01-03T17:45:22.227-08:00The Woodstock Cemetery- It NEEDS your HELP <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQJj-U_CbVNMkHdvH9cnoBG1ENfqbrideRwSLHXVrv5gC0kVcoVjzN_4NKoIVafy6NP6ZL7p4mH2KACaFXt-W9h_VGld2HcxIJM4oiHDcvICAQD_eN2cak1iBF_ws_53jWXUvNUaZbzaw/s1600/Cemetery+toward+rock+city+rd++.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQJj-U_CbVNMkHdvH9cnoBG1ENfqbrideRwSLHXVrv5gC0kVcoVjzN_4NKoIVafy6NP6ZL7p4mH2KACaFXt-W9h_VGld2HcxIJM4oiHDcvICAQD_eN2cak1iBF_ws_53jWXUvNUaZbzaw/s320/Cemetery+toward+rock+city+rd++.jpg" width="320" height="180" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="900" /></a></div>
When you have a genealogy hobby like I do, you spend an inordinate amount of time in cemeteries. I have poked around hundreds of headstones from Cutler Maine to Savannah Georgia. My hubby and I spent a number of hours in Roscommon Ireland searching for my relatives burial sites. We finally found “THE” Fallon cemetery one blustery afternoon, in stony Dysart, high up on a hill surrounding what the locals referred to as the Fallon Church. Most recently, we had an escorted tour thru the cemetery in Resuttao, Sicily. When I searched for this location on google maps, what I was looking at I referred to as condominiums. Yes, you guessed it, an acre or two of above ground crypts, decorated with photos and colorful flowers and offerings to the memories and souls of the deceased.
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I’ve had the pleasure of traipsing all over the Woodstock cemetery on Rock City road, visiting gravesites of local people I’ve known or read about. I have family buried in one of the newer sections, dating back to 1967. My hubby has family buried in one of the older sections dating back to the early 1900’s. We’ve purchased our own burial site half way down the lane lined with grand old Maple trees. We have taken up the responsibility for tending to the headstones of our loved ones, making sure the stones are clear of grass and debris. Other families do the same for the final resting places of their loved ones.
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On January 6th 2018 at 10am, at the Woodstock Town Hall, there will be a reorganizational meeting of the board of trustees of the Woodstock Cemetery. As you will see in the article By WILLIAM J. KEMBLE from December 2017, the board members at that time “relinquished control” (Kemble, 2017) of the day to day operations of the cemetery. The meeting on January 6th is, as I understand it, designed to appoint volunteers to the new board of trustees. The Woodstock Cemetery financial troubles are not new, as noted in the George Pattison articles of 2008 and 2009.
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I consider the Woodstock cemetery on Rock City road a hidden treasure in our town for the following reasons:
</p>1. By far, one of the best views of Meads and Overlook in the center of town.
</p>2. Even with the poor condition of the roads, still a lovely place to walk at least a mile without the hassles of traffic.
</p>3. Resting place for many of Woodstock’s original settlers and their families
</p>4. Resting place for many famous artists and musicians of the 20th and 21st century.
</p>If you are at all interested in the upkeep of this little hidden treasure in Woodstock, please consider stopping by on Saturday and listen to the proposals. If it seems like a good fit, by all means, join on!
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References :</p>
<a href="http://woodstock.ulsterpublishing.com/printer_friendly/11403939">2008 Times Article by George Pattison></a>
</p>
<a href="http://kingston.ulsterpublishing.com/printer_friendly/11432920">2009 Times Article by George Pattison></a>
</p>
<a href="http://www.dailyfreeman.com/article/DF/20171216/NEWS/171219758">2017 Daily Freeman Article by William Kemble></a>
</p>
<a href="http://rockandrollroadmap.com/places/burial-sites/north-east-u-s-burial-sites/woodstock-cemetery-buried-here-rick-danko-and-levon-helm/">Rock & Roll Roadmaps></a>
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-81839728058989738022018-01-01T16:02:00.002-08:002018-01-01T16:02:49.191-08:00Wow- a decade of blogging <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklgtjRhTVasTi8L6JdrnaNLPs9xodTGX80SyycQSws1buxb7w9EX-wlgb8_J-0m3MmToM7vN-YXVysZrZb1WvcpHold4cKdvHRnFzXC_YORfckO9GrrqNWyusLn-thSgutNjVX1OZ1Lo/s1600/let+your+faith+2++.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklgtjRhTVasTi8L6JdrnaNLPs9xodTGX80SyycQSws1buxb7w9EX-wlgb8_J-0m3MmToM7vN-YXVysZrZb1WvcpHold4cKdvHRnFzXC_YORfckO9GrrqNWyusLn-thSgutNjVX1OZ1Lo/s320/let+your+faith+2++.jpg" width="320" height="180" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="900" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqi76yhpXw0NURJQvxqJgQh6TpwTbebW_Ml1vHs23bEI2kWalVNVmudbXNDCJDfCFLQsZn4ExuYXBVu9vlDaHnsDSuuwWx0FkjO1vZjshGDgWtv_xWy55x2afYo4DFL77gaicJB-wO0TY/s1600/mary+and+faith++.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqi76yhpXw0NURJQvxqJgQh6TpwTbebW_Ml1vHs23bEI2kWalVNVmudbXNDCJDfCFLQsZn4ExuYXBVu9vlDaHnsDSuuwWx0FkjO1vZjshGDgWtv_xWy55x2afYo4DFL77gaicJB-wO0TY/s320/mary+and+faith++.jpg" width="320" height="180" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="900" /></a></div>
Amazingly, I’ve been posting to this blog for ten years. After reviewing my original posts, it looks like I started the blog when I was doing a TV show on the local access channel here in Woodstock. I had joined the AAUW local chapter in 2007 and became friends with Garnette. We did a show together working to encourage people to vote.
I’m trying to recall exactly why I titled my blog “View from my Kitchen Window”. With the benefit of a decade of time to finesse the answer, I think it was essentially due to the habit I have of deep thinking while I do my dishes. Yes, by hand.. Some days, more frequently than I’d like to admit. I’m blessed to be able to look out on a field- which has a wondrous life of its own. Each season, each time of day, the field morphs into a scene that is truly beautiful.
A lot has happened in the past decade- I’ve become a grandmother four times, achieved a bachelor’s degree in nursing, watched my dad move from his independent 80’s into being in his 90’s and with failing health, lost a job that I thought I would work at forever and re appear in a career that is more challenging than I could imagine. I ran for town board in Woodstock, twice, and lost to Jay Wenk both times.
Most importantly, my hubby and I are healthy, happy and each year find more and more amazing things to talk about and places on this great planet to explore. Our kids are happy, successful and healthy. Our fleamarket is starting its 41st year on the corner of Maple Lane and Deanies Alley in Woodstock. ( woodstockflea.blogspot.com)
The photos included in this post are the view included in my kitchen window. Mary is always nearby, ready to receive my prayers and deliver good counsel. I work each day to let my faith be bigger than any of my fears. I look forward to continuing to blog every now and again, especially when a topic floats into the forefront of my mind while mediating on the view from my kitchen window.
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-63542616499500870612017-12-31T16:47:00.000-08:002017-12-31T16:47:38.228-08:00Artichokes and Champagne <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhAxaOJ57UAiRnqxnjuf5eH8rrRxxSkYBOzlMWZuhHPF1g1dxhlj00XQP10dzNh69bjhlo7UYM9bfLpDMJX8etDuHK2N5b1RQNWDvqDm_OB2UjWbWEamaDmHsSgW1MEy1Xr8OeSfEqbA/s1600/artichoke+and+champaign++.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhAxaOJ57UAiRnqxnjuf5eH8rrRxxSkYBOzlMWZuhHPF1g1dxhlj00XQP10dzNh69bjhlo7UYM9bfLpDMJX8etDuHK2N5b1RQNWDvqDm_OB2UjWbWEamaDmHsSgW1MEy1Xr8OeSfEqbA/s320/artichoke+and+champaign++.jpg" width="320" height="320" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div>
Artichokes and Champagne
What could artichokes and champagne have in common? They remind me of a couple of experiences in life. Much of my work in family history and genealogy is comprised of collecting data about people I’ve never met. Then, I piece together a story about them that I can assimilate into the larger narrative of my family history.
I am fortunate to be able to have had my mother in law in my life, the woman who taught me how to make artichokes. I recently realized, after a trip to Sicily, how “ sicilian” she really was. The evidence was in the foods that I experienced while on our trip, the very same foods that my mother in law incorporated into her everyday living. There was something else that she dished out with every meal she shared with us, the desire to celebrate life. That’s where the champagne comes in.
For 2018, my wish for everyone is, celebrate every day and learn a little about the food culture that has been enfolded in to your life. Our traditional food tells a story of where we came from, what we are made of. My favorite way to stay connected to the past.
Happy New year!
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-10745305648043158192017-12-24T07:34:00.000-08:002018-01-03T17:06:40.491-08:00Remembering what is true for me. Wow, I can’t believe it has been almost a year since I posted on my blog. I had to ask myself, why is that? Part of the answer lies in all the misinformation that is being disseminated around in the social media and traditional media… who knows what to believe, what is real news, what is fake news. Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of opinions on many of the topics that face us today- however, I haven’t taken the time to research what may be all the factors that make up the situation or problem.
There is one aspect of my life, though, that has remained constant and true. That would be, my belief in GOD. The GOD, whose son, born of Mary, step son to Joseph, whose birth we celebrate this weekend.
<p/>This morning found myself yelling at the T.V. I had finally reached my limit with the commercials urging people to get out and shop and buy things to have ready for Christmas. I walked away from the T.V. mumbling that we’ve become a nation who worships the god of consumerism. I was enveloped in a moment of sadness, feeling that people are rushing around buying things that are supposed to represent the gifts that were brought by the three wise men to the baby Jesus. However, not just one gift, but dozens of gifts. Perhaps, in a judgmental state of mind, what I would consider an overabundance of gifts. There I sat, moving into a very dark mood.
What I did next, was troll the posts on my social media feed, hoping to soften the dark mood with pictures of other people’s Christmas trees, cookies, and smiling children. What I found was the post below.
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After reading through the message a few times, I realized that I had been blessed with the gift of knowledge through my friend’s social media post. The knowledge that even thought- what seems like excess to me might just be my friends and neighbors attempts to follow along with the Christmas Story.
The story is a simple one. Mary said yes and followed the Angel’s instructions in faith. God gave us his only son. The wise men came bearing gifts. I pray that we all work to become wise men and women of the 21st century.
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-2817792625809409302017-01-20T10:12:00.000-08:002017-01-20T10:12:18.538-08:00Inaguration day Inauguration day January 20, 2017
Home, under orders from my chiropractor to apply ice every hour or so to my low back, and avoid sitting as much as possible, seems to be an unplanned opportunity to watch the Inauguration of our 45th president, Donald J. Trump. Though each time I get up out of a chair, I have to maneuver myself so that the pain isn’t’ too bad, I do feel fortunate that I am home to be able to watch this important process, the peaceful transition of power from the Obama administration to the Trump administration.
Many topics are flowing through my mind as I watch the dignitaries file in: Former presidents Carter, Bush and Clinton and former candidates Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders are present. Also, I marvel at how graceful Michelle Obama and Melania Trump appear as they greet each other, and then leave the White House to head to the swearing in ceremony. The topics that emerge, are too numerous to enter into in this sitting.
My thoughts to drift over to the members of the House of Representatives and the Senate who have chosen to boycott the Inauguration- which is their right for whatever their reasons may be. Upon reflection, I’ve done the same thing myself on the occasion of local elections. However, what the ramifications were of my not attending local inaugurations will be left for future historians to uncover. What the fall out will be for those who gave the cold shoulder to the process of peaceful transfer of power in the greatest country on earth, will unfold during the next four years.
While listening to Cardinal Timothy Dolan pray to God, and quote from the book of Wisdom, I couldn’t agree with him more, as he asks God to send her to guide our governing leaders. In 1789 the first inauguration occurred and what an amazing journey our country has had in the centuries since then. Many people I know are fearful at this moment, and others are angry. I confess that, with regard to the incoming administration, I do have one foot in the “show me” column. I like the way Goldman Sachs CEO Lloyd Blankfein expressed his view of the next four years on CNBC interview. He was a Hilliary Clinton supporter. He took the tone of one who wants to stay engaged in the process and, if I understood him correctly, plans to look for ways to see if he can work to see some sort of success in the Trump experience. I would want to do the same, instead of drifting to the outside of the process and being associated with “haters” and negativism. I would encourage my friends to heed the words of Senator Mark Warner ( D) of Virginia this morning on CNBC “ when you break a lot of eggs, its gets messy” . A similar phrase has been used by others: democracy is messy. The next four years does have the potential to be " messy". We’ve adopted a philosophy in our household “ If you can’t embrace change, it’s going to be a hard ride “.
In closing, I appreciate some of the words spoken by Chuck Schumer, including his description of the inauguration process including the following:
"Today we celebrate one of democracy's core attributes: The peaceful transfer of power. And everyday, we stand up for core democratic principles enshrined in the constitution. The rule of law, equal protection for all under law, the freedom of speech, press, religion. The things that make America, America. He closed with a statement that he has faith in in the American people and Americas best days are yet to come. Lastly, Rabbi Heir of the Simon Wiesenthal center spoke from the Torah, and when speaking about America and the future he notes “ a nation is remembered by its values not its vaults” .
So, here we are, challenged to work together to engage in actions that tell the world what Americas values are. I’m ready to work to see our country continue to strive to successfully demonstrate those values and meet the needs of all Americans.
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-80419715376676171362016-12-07T03:33:00.001-08:002016-12-07T03:35:54.941-08:00Pearl Harbor Day recollection Excerpted from biography of John Fallon written with Janine Fallon - Mower
By December 1941, I knew that scholastically, I was doing poorly. My grades for most of my classes were C’s and D’s. The subjects themselves were a problem for me in their own right. I also believed that my scholastic performance was adversely affected by the disappointment I felt about my experience in freshman football. I entered into the football program with the high expectations of being a great triple threat halfback in college. The fact that I didn’t realize that dream had me wondering about being at Syracuse at all. I sometimes wondered if I might have been better off had I accepted a full tuition scholarship that I had been offered from Gettysburg College. As someone said, there I might have been a big fish from in a little pond, whereas at Syracuse I was a little fish in a big pond. It was a typical winter day in Syracuse New York. The cold air and overcast sky held promise of the usual snowfall later in the evening. In my home town, Kingston NY, we were used to winter weather. However, many of my fellow students who transferred to Syracuse from other regions of the country had to acclimate themselves to the regions primary color of winter, gray. My friend Shimmy (aka Maynard Schermerhorn) and I were walking along the sidewalk from our dorms. I had first met Shimmy, who was from south central New York near Endicott, when I enrolled at the University the previous fall, and he played guard on the Syracuse football team with me. You couldn’t help but notice that the green grass edging the concrete sidewalks we walked on was now faded brown and covered with a light dusting from the snow that fell the night before. Syracuse is synonymous with winter and snow. Moisture from Lake Ontario causes the surrounding countryside to frequently be blanked with the frozen white stuff. It was a setting in which one might find it easy to drift into a gloomy mood, even more so if you were like me and weren’t doing well in your freshman year at college. Many of my class mates who enjoyed the long central New York winter climate could occupy their free time with skiing or other winter sports. Unless one sought out something bright, something cheerful, you might find yourself in a rather down frame of mind most of the time in this lousy cold climate. I only had my kitchen duties, thoughts about my girlfriend Shirley, and the fresh memories of the miserable football season that just ended to occupy my mind. I was nineteen years old when I found myself in this pesky down mood. As part of our scholarship responsibilities, Shimmy and I worked serving meals and cleaning up after the “pay their own way” students in Sims Hall. When we were done working in the kitchen, washing and drying other student’s dishes and silverware, it was customary for Shimmy and I to sit together and eat our free meal. Well, we decided, maybe varying the Sunday routine would help chase away the grey frame of mind I was in. Classes were done for the weekend, so “Shimmy” and I decided take a brisk walk down off the hill and hop on the late afternoon bus and head downtown for dinner. No doubt, dinner in a real restaurant would make the day more pleasant. Our dining destination was a Schrafts restaurant on Salina Street, eight or ten blocks east of the Syracuse University complex. Schrafts, the candy company, ran a chain of popular restaurants throughout the United States. It wasn’t the fanciest place to dine, but it was warm, welcoming and we settled into an enjoyable meal and conversations about school and football. We admitted that we were glad that we had managed to grab a few hours away from our dining hall routine and also we gave ourselves a chance to get away from the tensions of studying. Adding to our pleasure was the enjoyable dinner music that was piped in over the restaurant’s sound system. Shimmy and I were relaxing at the table after completing our meal, waiting for the waitress to bring our coffee. An especially entertaining musical piece played by Freddie Martin and his orchestra was on. The melody was from a classical concerto called Piano Concerto in B Flat. As it turns out, it was one of my favorite pieces of music. I knew the song from its Americanized title, “Tonight We Love; and if asked, I could sing it in my Irish tenor voice. Abruptly, the music stopped. We both paused, wondering why the music suddenly went quiet, the song not yet at its conclusion. After some static, a man’s voice apologized for the interruption and the announcer stated that it was felt that the patrons should be told the news that Japan had attacked the United States fleet at Pearl Harbor on this day, at 7 55 am Hawaii time, December 7, 1941. Shimmy and I looked at each other in disbelief. We both had the same thoughts screaming through our minds. How could this happen? How was this event going to affect our futures? We had, up to this point, been disconnected from the war in Europe. Shimmy was already a cadet in the Reserve Officers Training Corps. (R. O. T. C.) He had let me borrow his uniform one time to dress up and clown around for a snapshot. Though it didn’t fit right the effect was fun and made everyone laugh. I wasn’t in R. O. T. C. but I was aware that very soon, I would be faced with making a decision about my status under the Selective Service Systems draft provisions. Ever so slowly, we walked back to the bus stop. In quiet conversation, we agreed it was a good meal but neither of us could say that we enjoyed the sour dessert served over the P.A. system. We hopped a bus back to campus with an uneasiness brewing in our hearts as to what impact this event was going to have on our lives. With all the difficulties facing me as a freshman college student, all I needed was for my country to be involved in a world war putting draft eligible males, like me, on the spot to determine a course of action. I had been a student at Syracuse for only a little over 3 months. And yet in that short time I had experiences that would influence any decision I would make, whether wisely or not, about my immediate future.
draft version to be published by Anam Cara Press 2015
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBiOsBc-ZroV8Qo8qO-z_RBeyJIAR3ktZe3Bg8AKVXrOxae_AD_VarGHCGg20ZH7KCNyVn5oQhKtDl4Gd3xZvVl5E3WNeWuTgweCI73qEvK94BeF7Pub0k_qRciTqiWfIZpJF0P1c7UY/s1600/1944+Jack+on+Maui.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBiOsBc-ZroV8Qo8qO-z_RBeyJIAR3ktZe3Bg8AKVXrOxae_AD_VarGHCGg20ZH7KCNyVn5oQhKtDl4Gd3xZvVl5E3WNeWuTgweCI73qEvK94BeF7Pub0k_qRciTqiWfIZpJF0P1c7UY/s320/1944+Jack+on+Maui.jpg" width="220" height="320" /></a></div>Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-63469547433475059112015-04-06T17:15:00.000-07:002015-04-06T17:15:20.011-07:00Paper Cuts and Cracked Fingers I was sure I was home free. My hands survived a cold long dreary winter without the usual visitation by dry cracked skin on my thumbs. I was battling a paper cut, you know, the kind of quick cut that happens when you are rifling thru papers and in an instant the sharp pain message screams up the neural pathways into your brain and blood starts to color the edges of whatever you are working on. I haven’t decided what location for these thin slices of pain is worse, on the knuckle or in the web of skin between the thumb and forefinger. Paper, not the home made crafty type of paper made from soaking and pressing wood chip pulp thru your blender and on to a screen to dry. No, this is letter size white 20 lb. copy paper that becomes the innocent enough weapon. Paper, which we were assured computers would do away with. A paperless society they promised us. Now, day in and day out, my hands handle more 20 lb. copy paper than ever. Each morning, a new set gets imprinted with information transferred from the electronic record. Copy, read, fax, paper clip. The cycle gets repeated till the whole pile lays to rest in the locked shredder bin. It’s spring. I can deal with a paper cut. I get past the nervous worry that the germs inhabiting my work space will somehow get past my immune system and cause an infection. We hit a cold snap, and it happens. The skin on my thumb cracks open. I am grateful that these cracks don’t bleed. But, they hurt like the dickens. The pain kind of reminds me of when I jab myself with a sewing needle. Only this pain doesn’t go away. A coworker suggests dousing the crack with vitamin e and wrapping the thumb a band aid secured with duct tape. We cleanse our hands so often that a humble band aid can’t stand up to the pressure. And then there is that worry about the germs and my over worked immune system. I opt for the vitamin e and non latex gloves when I am in patient areas. The paper cut is pretty much healed up. The crack, now that’s another story. It will be with me for a few weeks. I say prayers of thanksgiving to my immune system. I try to use some of that pile of paper over again, however as the information is of a confidential nature, my desire to reuse it is hampered by the content. And the pain? I am reminded that I am alive when I feel the pain in my thumb. Even though some days it really hurts, I know, pain is one aspect of having a human body that can’t be avoided. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqCoYBWDmZ9sNwaN6YOLx1ZxfyuyXhDvvwM3Q2exRAGFkvFGAMmDPNOi0lLfbSRBDjKDRZc0Ht7bilOAAi-lzvROsX9ywBUrCxDcS_77fJsrm2_uazHfFqwVJqgOKJZ3MVtqb433uTHsM/s1600/cracked+finger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqCoYBWDmZ9sNwaN6YOLx1ZxfyuyXhDvvwM3Q2exRAGFkvFGAMmDPNOi0lLfbSRBDjKDRZc0Ht7bilOAAi-lzvROsX9ywBUrCxDcS_77fJsrm2_uazHfFqwVJqgOKJZ3MVtqb433uTHsM/s320/cracked+finger.jpg" /></a></div>Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-551416484350201452015-04-03T03:13:00.002-07:002015-04-03T03:13:26.873-07:00What would you do? What would you do?
What would you do if someone held a gun to your head and asked you to declare what religious group you’re identified with? If you knew, that if you answered Christian, within a moment a bullet would pierce your brain’s gray matter and life as you know it would end instantly, what would you do? Does a person, innocent and unlucky, even have time, in those milliseconds, to review the faces of loved ones, or process any type of fear reaction? Would you have time to consider lying? Would you have time to consider jumping up and cause a tussle, thus going down in a firestorm of bullets? Would you scream out, “it’s none of your feckin business?” I have to remind myself that this is an ancient behavior, this killing of people who are different. I have to calm my rage, work to remain in the big picture, the picture that is painted to remind me that many times, life is not pretty, orderly or peaceful. Just for today, I need to remind myself of the phrase “forgive them father, they know not what they do”
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-71807881291260734292015-04-02T03:43:00.000-07:002015-04-02T03:43:09.699-07:00I went in search of spring Many of my waking hours are spent in what I affectionately refer to as a bunker. Concrete block wall, piped in air ventilated from the floors above. The area around me is a bee hive of activity, lit by fluorescent light. Yearning for sunshine and flowers, I would find myself staring at images of flowers on web pages and lingering in front of displays of tulips and daffodils in the local grocery store.
Then, one mid-March evening, when visiting a friend who lives down in the valley of Zena, while walking back to my car, I took a deep breath and my senses were treated to the aroma of the earth. There it was, what I had been yearning for, that deep pungent fragrance of moist dirt. Dirt that was ready to explode with the small shoots of crocus, daffodils and tulips.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbb863Gib8AcJMfJnSdYnLn0bapjdDJfh4_9x4irIs_MNSPGAwrG8eiB2dktPiGeIskFNt2XaEw6bydG9_vGlRNzSjsozs_u4CDZoadzi_9lxZSI5Xn7pfGpH0akAqiLIgQNbzijh6T0U/s1600/back+yard+daffiodils+march+25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbb863Gib8AcJMfJnSdYnLn0bapjdDJfh4_9x4irIs_MNSPGAwrG8eiB2dktPiGeIskFNt2XaEw6bydG9_vGlRNzSjsozs_u4CDZoadzi_9lxZSI5Xn7pfGpH0akAqiLIgQNbzijh6T0U/s320/back+yard+daffiodils+march+25.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdD-DdC4kolUaymebmiYT93vnQf_ZHHrgilO47SAgrvnpARygzToFF6axHBbQ2GbTpOuHaGrUEa6z3U2m0xKhuu1MrMfP1gmn9rz5rzhNCmGd_fAQE9CJ5fm1hJVY8MnErs7nAE8m5RnE/s1600/back+yard+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdD-DdC4kolUaymebmiYT93vnQf_ZHHrgilO47SAgrvnpARygzToFF6axHBbQ2GbTpOuHaGrUEa6z3U2m0xKhuu1MrMfP1gmn9rz5rzhNCmGd_fAQE9CJ5fm1hJVY8MnErs7nAE8m5RnE/s320/back+yard+2.jpg" /></a></div> Early the next morning, with tea cup in hand, slippers on my feet, bathrobe tucked around me as protection from the early spring chill; I stepped into my back yard to explore what was under the dead leaves covering my flower beds. My efforts were rewarded. There, tender and vulnerable, were the shoots of daffodils, just beginning to emerge from the semi frozen earth. I was filled with hope for spring- visible now in these tiny little pre flowering plants, powerful in their own right as the precursor to the mature plant. Now, each morning as I head back into the fluorescent light filled work space, I carry the glimmer of hope, knowing the cycle of life continues, and I’m grateful to be part of it. Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-78853509511139027622015-03-24T09:43:00.000-07:002015-03-24T09:45:24.845-07:00Hummingbird in a Hurricaine
Shelli and I have known each other forever. We are cousins by birth, friends by choice. She was diagnosed with melanoma skin cancer c 2012 and began journaling about her experience with diagnosis treatment and remission on Facebook. As one of her FB followers, I began to see a transition in her spiritual writings emerge. With her permission, I began to put her posts into a book form. “Hummingbird in a Hurricane" was published on CreateSpace in November 2014. The reader can’t help but be engaged by Shelli’s raw and organic writing about her spiritual transformation during her cancer experience. Also, the reader will learn from Janine’s writing how she manages the role of the helpless observer of a loved one battling cancer. Shelli now manages a Facebook Page- “ Today I am thankful for” . The books are available on Amazon or from the author. We had our first book signing at the Woodstock Library. Thanks to Gilles Malkine for taking this great photo.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdASI0dQcoTlXCyOsHpQGjAZW_fkyH7pF0wZu3EPWiQa7KoKWFQgSYgFgyEoqF5tG5Hu6kMhD7GP9UQJ1hvd8utvtbs9iC5hsjt6DetPQNtXoYxdCEFEpK2IW_LlljlvvW0BdHfTJyeS8/s1600/Hummingbird+authors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdASI0dQcoTlXCyOsHpQGjAZW_fkyH7pF0wZu3EPWiQa7KoKWFQgSYgFgyEoqF5tG5Hu6kMhD7GP9UQJ1hvd8utvtbs9iC5hsjt6DetPQNtXoYxdCEFEpK2IW_LlljlvvW0BdHfTJyeS8/s320/Hummingbird+authors.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_wTyF_p3ZMZUX0cfM8gtrpXqIdSAh7qg-Fv3rvZuskx0tF7jCPxswjtGvp_535g7-FtfZYgnxipG5WAObUIWyFdwC1kKas8xiUKCqDW26ebHYfOXb2G6uiCSDzPSiOZ4SvU8k_T5u1U/s1600/book+cover+hummingbird-forum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_wTyF_p3ZMZUX0cfM8gtrpXqIdSAh7qg-Fv3rvZuskx0tF7jCPxswjtGvp_535g7-FtfZYgnxipG5WAObUIWyFdwC1kKas8xiUKCqDW26ebHYfOXb2G6uiCSDzPSiOZ4SvU8k_T5u1U/s320/book+cover+hummingbird-forum.jpg" /></a></div>Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-68508840139698110502014-12-07T17:15:00.001-08:002014-12-07T17:15:18.794-08:00Jack Fallon's recollections of Pearl Harbor day Excerpted from memoir of John Fallon written with Janine Fallon - Mower
By December 1941, I knew that scholastically, I was doing poorly. My grades for most of my classes were C’s and D’s. The subjects themselves were a problem for me in their own right. I also believed that my scholastic performance was adversely affected by the disappointment I felt about my experience in freshman football. I entered into the football program with the high expectations of being a great triple threat halfback in college. The fact that I didn’t realize that dream had me wondering about being at Syracuse at all. I sometimes wondered if I might have been better off had I accepted a full tuition scholarship that I had been offered from Gettysburg College. As someone said, there I might have been a big fish from in a little pond, whereas at Syracuse I was a little fish in a big pond. It was a typical winter day in Syracuse New York. The cold air and overcast sky held promise of the usual snowfall later in the evening. In my home town, Kingston NY, we were used to winter weather. However, many of my fellow students who transferred to Syracuse from other regions of the country had to acclimate themselves to the regions primary color of winter, gray. My friend Shimmy (aka Maynard Schermerhorn) and I were walking along the sidewalk from our dorms. I had first met Shimmy, who was from south central New York near Endicott, when I enrolled at the University the previous fall, and he played guard on the Syracuse football team with me. You couldn’t help but notice that the green grass edging the concrete sidewalks we walked on was now faded brown and covered with a light dusting from the snow that fell the night before. Syracuse is synonymous with winter and snow. Moisture from Lake Ontario causes the surrounding countryside to frequently be blanked with the frozen white stuff. It was a setting in which one might find it easy to drift into a gloomy mood, even more so if you were like me and weren’t doing well in your freshman year at college. Many of my class mates who enjoyed the long central New York winter climate could occupy their free time with skiing or other winter sports. Unless one sought out something bright, something cheerful, you might find yourself in a rather down frame of mind most of the time in this lousy cold climate. I only had my kitchen duties, thoughts about my girlfriend Shirley, and the fresh memories of the miserable football season that just ended to occupy my mind. I was nineteen years old when I found myself in this pesky down mood. As part of our scholarship responsibilities, Shimmy and I worked serving meals and cleaning up after the “pay their own way” students in Sims Hall. When we were done working in the kitchen, washing and drying other student’s dishes and silverware, it was customary for Shimmy and I to sit together and eat our free meal. Well, we decided, maybe varying the Sunday routine would help chase away the grey frame of mind I was in. Classes were done for the weekend, so “Shimmy” and I decided take a brisk walk down off the hill and hop on the late afternoon bus and head downtown for dinner. No doubt, dinner in a real restaurant would make the day more pleasant. Our dining destination was a Schrafts restaurant on Salina Street, eight or ten blocks east of the Syracuse University complex. Schrafts, the candy company, ran a chain of popular restaurants throughout the United States. It wasn’t the fanciest place to dine, but it was warm, welcoming and we settled into an enjoyable meal and conversations about school and football. We admitted that we were glad that we had managed to grab a few hours away from our dining hall routine and also we gave ourselves a chance to get away from the tensions of studying. Adding to our pleasure was the enjoyable dinner music that was piped in over the restaurant’s sound system. Shimmy and I were relaxing at the table after completing our meal, waiting for the waitress to bring our coffee. An especially entertaining musical piece played by Freddie Martin and his orchestra was on. The melody was from a classical concerto called Piano Concerto in B Flat. As it turns out, it was one of my favorite pieces of music. I knew the song from its Americanized title, “Tonight We Love; and if asked, I could sing it in my Irish tenor voice. Abruptly, the music stopped. We both paused, wondering why the music suddenly went quiet, the song not yet at its conclusion. After some static, a man’s voice apologized for the interruption and the announcer stated that it was felt that the patrons should be told the news that Japan had attacked the United States fleet at Pearl Harbor on this day, at 7 55 am Hawaii time, December 7, 1941. Shimmy and I looked at each other in disbelief. We both had the same thoughts screaming through our minds. How could this happen? How was this event going to affect our futures? We had, up to this point, been disconnected from the war in Europe. Shimmy was already a cadet in the Reserve Officers Training Corps. (R. O. T. C.) He had let me borrow his uniform one time to dress up and clown around for a snapshot. Though it didn’t fit right the effect was fun and made everyone laugh. I wasn’t in R. O. T. C. but I was aware that very soon, I would be faced with making a decision about my status under the Selective Service Systems draft provisions. Ever so slowly, we walked back to the bus stop. In quiet conversation, we agreed it was a good meal but neither of us could say that we enjoyed the sour dessert served over the P.A. system. We hopped a bus back to campus with an uneasiness brewing in our hearts as to what impact this event was going to have on our lives. With all the difficulties facing me as a freshman college student, all I needed was for my country to be involved in a world war putting draft eligible males, like me, on the spot to determine a course of action. I had been a student at Syracuse for only a little over 3 months. And yet in that short time I had experiences that would influence any decision I would make, whether wisely or not, about my immediate future.
draft version to be published by Anam Cara Press 2015
Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125829706699219540.post-41068461033357291842014-01-26T05:47:00.001-08:002014-01-26T05:47:47.917-08:00Morning time Morning time is a special time because that space when just waking and before the day takes off at full speed is where beauty can resides. The field outside my window wears many faces, often controlled by the season and the weather. This morning, as I wiped the remnants of sleep from my eyes, my first glance out the window revealed that the grasses are brown; the snow is whitish grey in its pre dawn splendor. There is a black cat sitting at attention, as still as can be, watching and waiting for an unsuspecting mouse to scurry along. As I fill the tea kettle, I get a sense that there is a reddish glow descending on my view. The sky to the west still holds the dark blue hue of dawn, the sky to the east resembles the color of a light baby blue blanket with pink clouds. The little pink orange glow of the rising sun begins to paint the field with a reddish orange tint. The essence of the field changes from winter white to this amazing warm hearty earth tone resembling the painted rocks of the Grand Canyon. Then, as suddenly as this glow appeared, everything switched into winter grey, and snow flakes began to fall. Time lapse- 3 minutes. Janinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06780427235505608621noreply@blogger.com0