Author Archives: Berniece

The smell of home-baked bread and of Red Velvet Crinkle Cookies fills our apartment. The bread is for Sunday dinner at the mission, and the cookies for lunch at sewing on Monday at the Poughkeepsie Mission.

Laurence will be home from his job at Elmhurst Hospital for lunch at 1 p.m. We’ll eat at the small table in the kitchen. There have been times when we ate at the table by those windows that I told you about in the last blog. There’s more light and more of a view (the houses across the street) from the living area, but it’s more convenient to eat in the kitchen where we can stay seated and still reach the cabinet, the microwave, and the utensil drawer – “Honey, will you get me a fork?”

Former unit boys called it a submarine kitchen because the room is so tiny. I remember how Martha (Renno) Bousiquot’s dad – a big man – stood in the kitchen door and laughed at its smallness when they came to visit before Maxeau and Martha married. I’m sure it didn’t make Martha anymore desirous of living in the city to see how she’d be cooking in a kitchen with one little countertop.

Laurence gets the coffeemaker ready, so it automatically starts in the morning. It sits on a stand that has a shelf for mugs and another with a basket where I have recipes. I found the stand waiting to be picked up by the garbage truck, and a former unit boy carried it home for me. It is made with wooden pegs instead of nails, so I know it is very old. I wish I knew its story.

Most evenings, Laurence makes tea in the kitchen to serve to us from a small English teapot. It may have been a gift from Aunt Irene when I taught school at Grant over 40 years ago.

That reminds me of how a lady asked if she could squish beside me on the bus ride home from Trader Joe’s. I said she could though I felt a little grumpy about it. I told her, “We used to sit like this all the time before the pandemic.”

She replied, “I’m afraid. We don’t go to the movies anymore. Now we enjoy the little things. In the evening, I have hot tea and a snack with my family.”

Enjoy the little things! Berniece

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Every morning, as Laurence leaves for work, I wave from our living room window. We’ve lived in this six-story building for over 25 years, so the neighbors have observed this little habit of ours as they wait with schoolchildren on the sidewalk or maybe for a ride to the airport, or when they’re going out to walk the dog, or have a smoke. . .

Once when Coca visited, she stood by that window and said with a wistful voice, “Here’s where you stand to wave your husband. “

Coca lived by herself in apartment 1E. Jose, another neighbor, told me that her ashes are in her apartment. He’ll spread them in Central Park as she requested. She lived alone. She died alone. So sad.

I cleaned the apartment today – such an ordinary thing. I like to sing while I vacuum. The neighbors can hear me, just like we hear them, but during the day many of them are at work.

We’re thankful we live in a quiet building. (Nevermind that the Chinese lady above us likes to move furniture at night.) The apartment across from us is for sale. I look from my kitchen window into that one and see prospective buyers checking it out. I would like to tell them that it’s a good building, and they won’t be sorry if they buy it.

Laurence is home from his job at Elmhurst Hospital. Soon we will eat supper in our tiny kitchen with a table for two. I have bread rising to bake and take to Benn and Sundaymar’s when we go after I work at market tomorrow.

Until next time. Berniece