Blogging at Romance Junkies

I am now a contributor to the Romance Junkies Blog! You can see my post at:

http://www.romancejunkies.com/rjblog/?p=593

Check it out. You'll see my newest book cover, too. It's awesome. :^)

My Apple Cake

Everyone keeps asking for this recipe! So I decided to post it here. This is a terrific cake--rich and moist. Everyone loves it and it disappears quickly. :^)

First, peel and cut into medium chunks 4 large cooking apples (winesaps are great for this). Put the chunks into a bowl and mix them with 2 teaspoons of cinnamon and 5 tablespoons of sugar.

Next, in a large bowl mix and beat until smooth:
3 cups flour
2 1/2 cups sugar
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 cup of cooking oil (canola is good)
1/4 cup lemon juice
4 eggs, beaten
2 1/2 teaspoons vanilla

Using a large bundt pan, pour in one layer of batter, then a layer of apples. Add another layer of batter and finish with a layer of apples on the top.

Bake at 350 degrees for 1 3/4 hours or 105 minutes.

Enjoy!

The Basket Collection

My mother started accumulating Depression glass after my brother died at the age of twenty-five. She assuaged her grief by going to garage sales and buying the lovely colored glass for a dime—or less. It reminded her of youth, I suppose, and it was pretty.

She bought books about Depression glass to memorize the patterns and assess the value of the pieces. She progressed in her collection skills and added Roseville china, and even antique furniture—often refinishing the pieces herself.

When she went into the antique business, people often came to her store and sold her more antiques. When she closed the shop, her basement became a storage facility.

Last year, an auctioneer sold the valuable pieces in my mother’s collection. But there were odds and ends left over—tucked away in boxes or hidden beneath a table.

This past week, I found out that my mother had amassed a considerable quantity of baskets. When my father said he would gather the baskets together, I had no idea there would be so many of them, but I promised to transport them to the Goodwill store.

When I arrived at the house on Wednesday, baskets of every kind and size filed the kitchen and the dining room. I could hardly believe it. Dad and I proceeded to stuff the baskets into my Jeep. There were baskets of every conceivable size and shape: bushel baskets, covered baskets, Easter baskets, picnic baskets, and a massive wicker laundry basket.

Dad apologized though there was no need to do so. I headed to the Goodwill store on Route 18 in East Brunswick feeling conspicuous on the road. Everyone could see the baskets piled high inside my Jeep.

The people at the Goodwill store merely smiled and helped me unload the baskets—bless them.

I kept one blue basket. I don’t know why. I don’t need a basket. I have too many things as it is. Nothing in my house will actually go with a blue basket. Maybe I should spray paint it.

But for now, I’ll just look at it, put flowers in it, and think about Mom.

The Teeny Tiny Wedding Dress

My mother's parents were married in 1919. My grandmother met my grandfather when she was sixteen, but her mother refused to allow her to marry him at that point. He joined the service and came back three years later. Their wedding lasted three days. My grandmother always insisted that she had the most beautiful wedding dress. The large photograph of her in her wedding gown with my grandfather seated beside her always hung on the wall in her bedroom.

As each of her granddaughters grew up, she would tell them at a certain point when they were too big for the wedding dress. Eventually, even my skinny little twelve-year old cousin was too big for the dress.

My sisters and I begged my grandmother to show us the dress--even though we could not wear it. When my grandmother brought it out, we were all horrified. It was crumpled and brown and certainly did not look a thing like the one in the photograph.

When my grandmother died, my mother kept the wedding dress. The other day, my father handed the box with the gown in it to me. I took the dress out of the box and gently placed it on the dining room table. It is so incredibly small. It looks like a six-year old child might be able to squeeze into it.

I knew my grandmother as a short, but plump woman. How delicate she must have been when she was younger. Yet, she bore seven children and lived to the age of ninety. So she was actually rather sturdy.

But you would never guess it looking at the dress.

Our Staycation

This summer we spent the entire month of July at the hospital with Mom. And then we went to Florida to help out hubby's parents. We did not have a vacation.

But we salvaged a few days last week and this week as our staycation. Fortunately, since we live in New Jersey, there are plenty of things to do nearby. We went to Snug Harbor in Staten Island one day. They have beautiful gardens but they also have a fabulous collection of John A. Noble's work. You must go there and see it!

We also visited Morven, the home of Richard Stockton and five NJ governors. It is no longer the governor's mansion--but that's because the dining room is too small. :^)

That same day we checked out Rockingham. George Washington slept there.

We went on the paddle boats at Turkey Swamp park one day for some Vitamin D and exercise. I highly recommend a paddle boat ride to everyone.

We went to Burlington as well to see the birthplace of James Fenimore Cooper. Afterwards I downloaded Red Rover and The Pilot from www.gutenberg.org. I never read those two books.


We also visited the Edison Memorial in Menlo Park. That's a giant lightbulb at the top of the very art deco tower. Beside the memorial is a small, but very nice museum. It is worth a visit.

Hubby and I enjoyed our staycation. I'm glad there are so many things to do and see in New Jersey.

Love Letters

My father is emptying the house--slowly. Every time I stop in, he hands me a bunch of stuff. One of the bags he gave me this week was full of my brother's love letters. What a treasure!

My brother was one year older than me. He was tall and handsome--and there were plenty of young ladies in love with him. Some of them he met while driving an ice cream truck around the county during the summer. Some he met in college. The letters are from his high school and college days--long before he met the woman who became his wife. Married in 1970, he died in 1973 at the age of twenty-five.

Mixed in with the love letters from an assortment of young ladies are a few letters that my brother wrote. Perhaps he decided not to mail them, but to me they are the most precious.

In one letter he wrote, "I can still see your face surrounded by a mist floating above the air, larger than life. Your sparkling, beautiful blue eyes half-closed in a dreamy sort of look. Lips are sparkling in a cream smile of pleasure ad passion. I can't stand it anymore. I'm getting weak. No matter how much I try I can't forget you. Please come back."

In another he wrote, "Venus, my Greek goddess, I do not want to tie you down, or in our slang, pin you. I merely want to see you just to be near your perfection. For how can a mere mortal with his feet anchored to the ground, hold, much less catch, a beautiful goddess such as you who lives among the clouds?"

Yes, I suppose some would consider these letters corny. However, my daughters have gotten emails from young men that say, "U r hot."

It is a shame that letter writing has become a lost art. I am so glad I have my brother's letters.

You Will Get Old

Retiring 1100 miles away from your children is not a rational decision in my opinion. At some point, everyone gets old and debilitated.

My in-laws are 92 and 88. They moved to Florida more than twenty years ago when they could dance the polka all afternoon and then go home and still have enough energy to keep the inside and the outside of their two bedroom ranch spotless. My father-in-law is now legally blind, deaf, has some dementia and a hard time putting one foot in front of the other.

My mother-in-law, saddled with the care of her husband as well as the cooking, cleaning, laundering, shopping, and bill paying is overwhelmed. A call from New Jersey to the Adult Protective Services resulted in getting my in-laws some help. The Cares organization has people who will shop for Mom, help with cleaning, cooking and finances.

Getting my in-laws some assistance has been a blessing, but when Mom is at her wit’s end and doesn’t know what to do we feel helpless.

Our latest visit to Florida was distressing. We wound up taking Dad to the ER.

Yet, my mother-in-law insists she can handle things—she’s a small woman, my father-in-law weighs more than 170 pounds and towers over her. They refuse to move back north. They’ve paid for their funeral and have a mausoleum space reserved.

Hubby asked the APS caseworker for the names of some nearby assisted living places. We checked out several and found one we liked. A few days later, we took Mom and Dad there for lunch.

Dad ate every last crumb of the lunch. Mom ran into an old friend from the Polish club who now lives there. They chatted away in Polish and I breathed a great sigh of relief. So far, so good.

While the visit to the assisted living facility was favorable, there are still plenty of details to iron out.

We had to get back to life in NJ and will try to manage things by phone from 1100 miles away—which we know doesn’t always work.

I felt terrible when we left. Dad solemnly bid me to pass on his regards to our daughters and my father. I got choked up when I gave Mom a hug.

I wish they didn’t live so far away.

Trying

Made a huge effort to get back on track with my writing. Having rainy weather this week helped. I find gloomy days conducive to writing and did actually accomplish quite a bit. I had hopes of finishing the manuscript, but on further consideration there are some plot points that need more thought and there's always tightening to do. The synopsis needs work, too. (I hate working on the synopsis.)

Took Dad to the Surrogate's Office yesterday. The lawyer had sent in all the papers and Dad simply had to sign them and then pay the fee. But Dad still wants to get rid of everything and move into an apartment, so there will be tons of work to do to accomplish that goal. Dad is trying to keep busy but he does look so lost without Mom.

Hubby and I celebrated our thirty-third anniversary yesterday. Hubby bought a new pair of lopping shears--really good ones with gears and long handles--like the ones my sister has. :^) He also bought a 24" hedge clipper. I love it. I asked for these tools because they will make our lives easier. Practical gifts are the best, in my opinion.

I treated hubby to an evening at Allaire State Park. Under the stars, we sat on our lawn chairs and listened to Doo Wop music. The singing group was the Sounds of the Street--and they did quite a few songs a capella with gorgeous harmonies. It was dark so the video did not come out very good, but you can hear the group and they were great! Made us feel younger. :^)

The old songs are the best songs.

Loose Ends

This is a photo Daughter #2 took as two Marines began to fold the flag draped over my mother's casket. Another Marine played "Taps" on a bugle in the distance.

My mother's suffering is over and she is--at last--at peace. But there are plenty of tasks for the rest of us to do.

Yesterday, I helped my father by taking my mother's clothing out of the closet, putting it into bags, and donating it. I did not get rid of all the clothes. There were a few blouses and sweaters my mother never wore--the price tags were still attached.

My father intends to move out of his house as soon as possible. He says it's too big and empty for him. Everyone has advised him not to do anything for at least a year, but Dad is set on getting an apartment.

I know he is getting too old to take care of the house, but I grew up in it. It holds a lot of fond memories for me. I will hate to let it go.

Some of My Mom's Paintings

My mother passed away yesterday. The pneumonia exacerbated her Congestive Heart Failure. She spent her last few days in hospice care. This is a very sad time for my family. My mother was a very special woman. We will all miss her.

Negative Ions

We did not go to see the fireworks this year. My mother has pneumonia and has been in the hospital, so we’ve spent a lot of time going back and forth to the hospital. We watched some of the fireworks on television.

However, the day after the Fourth of July we took a brief walk at Keansburg Amusement Park. That’s me as the face of the Statue of Liberty. I’ve been going to Keansburg since I was a kid—and many of the rides have not changed in the passing years. We put our daughters on all the rides, too, as they were growing up. Hubby and I still like to watch the bumper cars go around. We always laugh and said that’s where our daughters learned to drive. :^)

We walked on Keansburg’s beach after we had seen all the sights on the boardwalk. From the beach there’s a magnificent view of Raritan Bay—a wide sweep that encompasses everything from the Outerbridge Crossing, to the Verranzo Narrows, to Coney Island as well as Sandy Hook.

On a clear day, of course.

But I like the view in the fog, too. Or in the dark.

My mother always said she was getting her negative ions when she went to the beach. Scientists are finding out more and more about negative ions. They are good for us!

For me, a walk on the beach is calming. I love the Jersey Shore.

The Power of a Parable

Last night, hubby and I attended a Tent Revival at St. Veronica's in Howell. St. Veronica's has run this event for 13 years, but it was the first time hubby and I had a chance to be there.

We had a great time! There was good music and the speakers were excellent. The first speaker was Catholic evangelist lay preacher Jim (Butch) Murphy, a master storyteller. He captured everyone's attention and held them spellbound with his story of the Polish pianist, Paderewski, and a little boy. Murphy used the story to illustrate a point, and I know that I will never forget that story--or the meaning behind it. Jim Murphy used a modern-day parable and succeeded in seizing everyone's imagination.

There were tables with Catholic books nearby--the usual devotional stuff, which is good. I have many of those books and have enjoyed them. But there was not one single book of Catholic fiction.

We need more Catholic storytellers like Jim Murphy. We need more parables for contemporary life.

I consider myself a Catholic storyteller. I've written four inspirational novels. My books were published by a small press. Right now there is only one Catholic publisher, that I know of, delving into fiction, Sophia Institute Press. There are plenty of publishers who put out Christian novels, but the Catholics have been lagging way behind for decades. It's very sad.

After Jim Murphy's inspiring talk, there was more music and then Father Halbing, pastor of St. Antoninus in Newark, stepped up to the podium. He is a comedian--a spiritual, verse-quoting, very funny speaker. He had everyone laughing and shouting "Amen."

The entire evening was a delight! I am so glad that hubby and I were able to be a part of it.

Curse or Fiend?

I've been working on book #10, the one I originally titled The Fiend of White Buck Hall. However, now I'm thinking of changing the name. How does The Curse of White Buck Hall sound to you? The Lord of White Buck Hall is out because the book is set in New Jersey in 1897 and at this point in the story I do not want to work up an entirely new biography for the hero. I thought The Master of White Buck Hall might work, but Daughter #1 said people might think it was a book about BSDM, which is most definitely is not.

Any comments or thoughts on the title will be appreciated. :^)

Thanks!

Mom and the Peonies

Years ago, my mother gave me a clump of the peonies from her mother's property. I don't have much of a green thumb and hubby doesn't know the difference between a flower and a weed, so it's a miracle that the peonies have survived. Last week, Mom wanted to see how the peonies were doing. I took this photo while she was admiring the flowers.

Mom and Dad are now getting Meals-on-Wheels, which helps a lot. They resisted the idea for a long time, but cooking was never one of my Dad's skills. Now he realizes that he has one less thing to worry about.

Mom is also getting physical therapy again. She really doesn't move unless she has someone encouraging her to do so. She complains that she worked hard all her life.

Sigh.

BQE Tour

We made another trip to Brooklyn this week. Daughter #2 had to water the plants in her apartment, pick up her mail, and pay her bills. As we traveled along the BQE, she pointed out some of Brooklyn's high points. Above is a photo I took of Manhattan from the BQE as we were moving very slowly in rush hour traffic beneath the Brooklyn Promenade. One of these days, I'd like to walk along the Promenade and view the skyline from there. But it seems I'm always underneath the Promenade in a moving vehicle.


At last we reached the Garden State Parkway. The photo above is Matawan Creek--taken from our car. I know it is not as impressive as a cluster of skyscrapers, but I like it.

Daughter #2 is doing well. She started to work from home this week by commandeering the living room as her office away from the office. :^)

Rules of Dating

Daughter #2 is still recuperating at home. She's improving everyday. :^) It's been nice to chat with her everyday. Daughter #1 went along with us to Connecticut this past weekend to attend our grandniece's First Holy Communion. It took over three hours to get to Connecticut and it took three hours to return, which was plenty of time to talk. One topic that keeps coming up is dating. My daughters are lovely and intelligent, but they are very discouraged by the dating scene. Yes, they've met plenty of men, but the dating rules have changed--and not for the better.

When I was young, men paid for the date. That was the accepted protocol. If a man wanted to enjoy a woman's company, it was understood that he forked out the cash.

Today, women often pay their share. While going "Dutch" is fair, it does nothing to prove whether or not a man is serious. Where's the commitment when a man never offers to pay for dinner, or the movies? If he wants a woman, he should make an investment.

Furthermore, there is a problem with what constitutes a date. One of my daughters met up with a guy who treated her to the Dollar Menu at the local fast food restaurant and then mentioned that he had a mattress under the cover of his pickup truck.

That is not a date.

My mother, who is now 87, always told me that men only want one thing. She has always been right on that score. Men will take what they can get. However, in the past, at least there were some very definitive rules for courtship. If a man was serious, he knew he had to pull out all the stops and woo the woman in the proper fashion.

I was lucky. I was courted by my hubby. He took me out and paid for the dates. He was old-fashioned and that was fine. He was really serious and looking for commitment. He made falling in love a wonderful experience.

But I'm sure there are plenty of women who have had terrible dates--worse than those my daughters have gone through.

What was your worst date?

In Print with a New Cover

The print edition of The Beast of Blackbirch Manor is now on sale at New Concepts Publishing. The retail price is $10.99, but if you order it at NCP, you pay a mere $8.79.

This Gothic tale has been my bestselling book at NCP. You can read an excerpt online by clicking here. You can also watch a video on my site at YouTube.

The book is a historical fantasy set in 1895. It's the first historical I've written and I spent many enjoyable hours researching that era. You can read a review here.

You've got to meet Victoria and Tadeusz! Buy a copy now. :^)

Stitches Out

Daughter #2 got her stitches out on Thursday. The doctor thought she was healing well. He gave her some exercises to do which should help eliminate the dizziness. She has another checkup in two months and another MRI in six months.

She stopped at her office to pick up her work computer in the hope that she can do some work from home. However, the trip to Manhattan wore her out. She spent much of yesterday napping.

But now she can scrub her own hair. I've been helping her to wash to hair since the operation because she wasn't supposed to get the stitches wet. Now that the stitches are gone it makes my life a bit easier.

Yesterday, we finally had high speed internet installed at our house. It is wonderful except for the fact that since I have a Mac, I cannot automatically transfer all my old email addresses.

It is going to take a long, long time for me to add each email address. :^(

Superwriter

I wore my New Jersey Romance Writers shirt today with the Put Your Heart in a Book logo on it. When I put on my NJRW T-shirt, I feel like Superwriter. I haven’t been able to go to a writers’ meeting in a few months, but I am going to go tomorrow. And then I am going to finish my work-in-progress!

I went back to work this week—after three weeks away. Two weeks were for spring break, and I did get some writing done that first week as well as put together the book video for The Beast of Blackbirch Manor—but during the second week Daughter #2 had her surgery and much of the third was spent going back and forth to the hospital.

So despite the time away from work, I really didn’t feel rested. However, I got back into the routine right away and was happy to see the kiddies again—though only one said she missed me. :^(

Surgery for Acoustic Neuroma

Please see the follow-up for this post at: http://www.ameliamarzec.com/rewired/
On Thursday, April 2nd, Daughter #2 had surgery for an acoustic neuroma, which is a non-malignant, slow-growing tumor in the ear canal. Due to the tumor, she lost hearing in her left ear and often suffered bouts of dizziness. The tumor was not small and it seemed the best option was to have it removed. :^(

Daughter #2 lives in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and works in Manhattan. The surgery was done at St. Vincent’s hospital in lower Manhattan. Hubby and I decided to camp out on the futon at Daughter #2’s apartment while she was in the hospital. We drove up the afternoon before the surgery and took Daughter #2 to a Thai restaurant for supper.

She worried about us using the subways—and getting lost. She worried we would break the toilet in her apartment—so she put a sign on the wall. She worried that we would not be able to get up at 4 a.m. to accompany her to the hospital.

I think she believes we are already senile. :^)

I did not sleep well that night fearing that I would not hear the alarm on my cellphone. But I did hear it—so did Daughter #2 even though she had her bedroom door closed.

It is very, very quiet in Greenpoint at 4 a.m. Hubby and I dressed quickly and ate raisin bran. Daughter #2, of course, had nothing.

Usually, it takes 45 minutes by subway to reach lower Manhattan. We had no idea how long it would take by car because it depends on the traffic, but we thought it would be easier on our daughter to ride in a car.

The limo arrived and by 5 a.m. we were whizzing through Brooklyn. There was no traffic. It took 15 minutes to get from Greenpoint, Brooklyn to St. Vincent’s hospital—a very smooth ride that cost $16 plus a tip.

At 5:30 a.m. Daughter #2 was ushered into the admitting room where she signed a bunch of papers. Then we all went upstairs to the fourth floor. By 6:30 she was ensconced in a big chair in a small curtained alcove. She had donned a hospital gown, had blood taken, had signed more papers, and met the anesthesiologists who explained their part in the surgery.

There were plenty of other people being processed at the same time—all very efficiently.

We talked with Amy’s surgeon and the ear doctor who explained what would be happening. The tumor would be taken out, bit by bit in order not to disturb the surrounding nerves. It would be long and delicate surgery.

Daughter #2 signed more papers. The surgeon wrote “Yes” behind her left ear and reminded her that a piece of fat would be taken from her abdomen when closing up the wound on her head.

She looked at her flat stomach and said, “Good luck in finding that fat.”

Finally, one of the anesthesiologists led her down the hall. She gave me her glasses at that point—reluctant to part with them since she is very nearsighted.

Hubby and I walked into the Spellman waiting room and started reading. Hubby had finally begun to read Sea Of Hope, which was published in 2001. He laughed out loud when he read the scene about the meatloaf. I think he knows where that idea came from. :^)

By nine, I was starving and in desperate need of caffeine. We went downstairs to the cafeteria to load up on eggs, sausage, hash browns, and coffee.

Afterwards, we took a walk outside toward Washington Square Park. Hubby was looking for his favorite sandwich restaurant—Subway. We didn’t find one—though we did see a McDonald’s and a Domino’s pizza restaurant. There were plenty of other restaurants but hubby insisted on his favorite.

At ten o’clock, we were back in the Spellman waiting room (named after Cardinal Spellman). Hubby proceeded to nap.

While he dozed, I read a book, talked to Daughter #3 on the cellphone, and typed up some of this blog.

At 1 p.m. the doctor called the waiting room to let us know that all was going well with the surgery—but it wasn’t finished yet.

I finished the book I was reading. Hubby finished Sea Of Hope. I started reading another book. Hubby read his latest issue of Smithsonian. I talked to my northern sister on the cellphone.

Around 4:30 we got word from a nurse that the tumor was out—all of it. We would be allowed to see Daughter #2 in two hours. We took another walk outside, found a Subway one block north of the hospital and ate.

Hurrying back to the hospital, we talked to the surgeon who said Daughter #2 had been given blood. He said her facial nerves looked good—they had been checked out electrically. However, due to the long surgery and resulting pain, he was going to keep her sedated overnight and wake her up tomorrow.

We were allowed to see her, but we couldn’t touch her. She had a breathing tube in her mouth, and IV drip, and lots of other tubes and wires monitoring her condition. It was difficult to see her like that. She was scheduled to have another CT scan and would be in ICU afterward.

We left to return to Greenpoint. The G train had signal problems so once we got off the L train we had to walk. It was a nice evening but it was a long walk considering the fact that we had gotten up at 4 a.m.

Once we reached the apartment, we called Babci, Mom and Dad, as well as Daughter #1 and Daughter #3.

It was a very, very long day.

Despite that, I spent the night tossing and turning. I finally gave up trying to sleep and called ICU to ask how Daughter #2 was doing. According to the nurse, all was well and the doctors were beginning to make their rounds. The breathing tube would be taken out and Daughter #2 would be able to wake up.

Meanwhile, hubby had to move the car to another spot due to the alternate side of the street parking rules. Twice a week the street sweeper comes by and everyone has to move their cars. Once the sweeper passes, everyone runs out and moves their car back. It is crazy. There are cars in Brooklyn that never go anywhere except from one side of the street to the other.

Hubby found a parking space several blocks away.

Afterwards, we had to do a little shopping for more coffee and milk. It was raining, so we didn’t go far—simply around the block to the little fruit store.

When we returned to the apartment, I saw the street sweeper go by. Hubby rushed out and managed to get the last parking space on the block.

Afterwards we got on the G train again to go to the hospital. It was raining hard. Daughter #2 was still in ICU, but she was awake, though drowsy. She claimed she didn’t sleep all night. I told her she was sedated all night—but she insisted that she was awake. She said she was writing notes to the nurses and crying. Her lip hurt where the tube pressed against it.

So maybe she wasn’t completely sedated.

At any rate, now that she was completely awake, her head hurt. Her throat felt raw. Her tummy hurt where a chunk of fat had been removed to patch the hole in her head. She said her derriere hurt as well. She hated the uncomfortable bandage on her head. It covered her left ear and she could not put on her eyeglasses.

She dozed off after a while. Hubby and I went to eat our lunch in the cafeteria. St. Vincent’s has good food—and since this was a Lenten Friday, they had plenty of fish. :^)

Afterwards, we went back upstairs to check on Daughter #2, but she could not keep her eyes open. We went to the waiting room so she could sleep.

After an hour we went back upstairs. The nurse removed the catheter and got Daughter #2 to sit up in a chair. But her head hurt worse and so the nurse gave her pain medicine.

Daughter #2 was supposed to eat some soft food for supper.

The rain ended and hubby and I headed back to Brooklyn. Daughter #2 told us to go to the Associated food store on Manhattan Avenue for our groceries but she warned us that it closes at eight.

The Associated food store is not Walmart, but while their prices aren’t rock bottom they do have a surprising variety in what they offer—and this being Greenpoint, there’s a lot of Polish food.

I called ICU and Daughter #2 was sitting up and eating. That made me happy. Hubby and I had take-out pizza for supper. I slept fairly well for the first time in three days.

Saturday was extremely windy. The wind made a lot of noise on the skylight in Daughter #2’s apartment.

When I called to see how she was doing that morning, the nurse told me she wanted her cellphone. I was ecstatic. I thought that was a sign of progress. However, when we got to the hospital, Daughter #2 did not feel well. She felt nauseous. She did not want any food.

The doctor said the bandage which she hates because it is very uncomfortable would not come off until Tuesday. She said that’s too far away!

The nurse said she would be going into a regular room Sunday. Another plus because while ICU is a good place for serious health situations, it is really depressing. The man in the bed on her left moaned and groaned most of the day. The man in the bed opposite hers was in terrible shape—barely alive.

Daughter #2 thought some Gatorade might be helpful for her tummy, so hubby and I found another Associated food store on 14th Street. There are too many flavors of Gatorade and I had no idea which to choose to tempt our daughter’s palate. As I was standing there, one fellow started loading his cart with the Gatorade because it was on sale.

I asked him which was the best flavor. He swore that the fruit punch was the best. He claimed it was even better with vodka. :^) So I bought it and offered it (minus the vodka)to Daughter #2 but she only took a few sips.

I hated to leave the hospital with her feeling so crummy, but we trudged back to hop on the subway to Brooklyn. Hubby asked if I felt like a real New Yorker yet.

Nope. I felt like a rat in a maze of tunnels. Every now and then the musicians in the subway cheer things up a bit—but only briefly. And sometimes I find even the musicians to be a bit depressing—like the one fellow who bangs out rhythms on plastic buckets. Poor guy needs a set of drums!

Besides, I like grass and trees and space. I feel claustrophobic in the city.

Hubby and I ate at his favorite Polish restaurant. Then we went back to the apartment to call all the relatives—Babci, Mom and Dad, Daughter #! and Daughter #3, Niece, and Nephew—and a few others.

Sunday morning—Palm Sunday—hubby and I went to Holy Family church. It is a small jewel—100 years old. The hymns were very old-fashioned, much like the church itself.

The day turned warm and sunny. We got on the subway again and headed to Manhattan. Daughter #2 looked far better than yesterday. We talked to the surgeon who suggested that we take off the left arm of her eyeglasses so she can use them. He said even after he removes the bandage she won’t be able to use the left arm of the eyeglasses because of the incision.

We dashed to the Duane Reed store and bought an eyeglass screwdriver. Hubby removed the left arm of her eyeglasses. At last, our daughter had a clearer view of things.

She was moved out of the ICU and into a regular hospital room. The move exhausted her and she was dizzy again, but now she had a window with a view and television. Hubby and I bought her a small cup of rainbow sherbet from Baskin Robbins and she ate half of it. She did not eat much else.

That evening when we got back to Brooklyn, we ate at a Mexican restaurant. The nice thing about Greenpoint is that everything is so close.

Finally, we went through the rounds of phone calls as usual. I send text messages to most of the relatives throughout the day informing them of Daughter #2’s progress, but everyone wants more details than they can get in two sentences. Daughter #2’s experience had become the Marzec soap opera.

Monday dawned in downpours. Hubby hoped to get a parking space right in front of the apartment. He succeeded in getting one right in front of the apartment next door.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, Daughter #2 was sitting up and looking alert and strong—relatively speaking. However, she still had the bandage on her head and it wasn’t going to be removed yet.

She complained about the nurse always taking blood. The doctor had given her somebody else’s blood, but the nurses kept taking it away. :^O

One of her high school friends popped in to visit, which was a nice surprise. After he left, hubby and I guided Daughter #2 around the corridors. She was still having an issue with dizziness. The doctor claims that should eventually go away.

She did not care for the turkey dinner served for lunch but she ate the entire apple pie served for dessert. We bought her some French fries and she ate half of those. One of her coworkers also came to visit later in the evening.

At one point, when she was taking a nap, hubby and I quietly sat and read. He read the first two chapters of Heaven’s Blue—and chuckled when he found the names of the guinea pigs in the story.

Hubby and I returned to the Polish restaurant for supper. Nothing like comfort food when times get tough. Still, we found the ordeal sapping our strength. We went to sleep early.

Next morning, hubby wanted to move the car again. Before he did we went to the food store again.

Daughter #2 sent a text message to tell us that the bandage was removed.


When we got to the hospital, I was surprised to see the incision. It was huge with big stitches. I know the scar will fade and will always be hidden by her hair—but it was a bit of a shock.

Seven of Daughter #2’s coworkers came to visit in the afternoon. They brought grilled cheese sandwiches knowing how much our daughter loves those.

Daughter #2 had more visitors around six. Some friends from high school, some friends from a place she used to work, and a new friend. It was like a party! She held court in the lounge.

Hubby and I left then and took the trek on the subway back to Brooklyn. I tried to read on the train because I wanted to be like a real New Yorker. I had seen people reading while standing in a subway car, holding on with one hand while the train went rocketing through the tunnel, shifting left and right and stopping suddenly—but they never lost their concentration.

However, hubby and I were lucky enough to get a seat before the train became crowded. So I started to read, but a little girl sat next to hubby with a box from PetSmart. She opened the box. Inside was her new hamster, Chelsea.

The girl kept picking Chelsea up while Chelsea kept looking for an avenue of escape. Hubby held out his hands just in case. But fortunately, the little girls’ mother warned her to keep Chelsea in the box.

We ate at the Polish restaurant again.

Hubby and I got up early the next morning. Daughter #2 was to be released from the hospital. I packed up her clothes and we headed to Manhattan again.

It took forever to get the discharge papers. Once our daughter was allowed to leave, I stood outside the hospital and hailed a cab. I felt so cool.

Hubby told the cabbie the quickest route to Brooklyn. The cabbie drove like a demon whenever he had the chance. Quite a thrilling ride—and for only $16.50 plus tip. Better than a roller coaster.

Once we reached our daughter’s apartment, hubby went to the Rite Aid pharmacy with Daughter #2’s prescription. The pharmacist would not fill the prescription—absolutely, positively, no way. He would not speak to the doctor at the hospital—he would not accept a fax.

Hubby went back to the hospital in Manhattan, got another prescription, and had it filled at a Duane Reed pharmacy near the hospital. That took hours. Meanwhile, I fed Daughter #2, packed up the car, and put all the garbage outside for pickup.

At last hubby returned with all the pills. We got into the car and headed back to NJ. Daughter #2 will be recuperating at home where I can feed her until she is nice and plump. :^)

I am so glad to be home.