An Ordinary Life

The apartment is quiet now. The sheets and towels churn in the basement laundromat. I pulled the privacy curtain from the arched hall entrance, deflated an air bed, and the sofa bed is folded away. Suitcases sit waiting to roll out the door and onto a train. The freezer holds enough leftovers to feed Laurence and me for a while. No one is waiting for our one bathroom! The noise of the past week is silenced. I hear a mourning dove.

Tyson and Kari Boehs with 10-year-old Jacob came a week ago for a coffee fest. They also came because a part of their hearts stayed in the city when they left here after being houseparents. They drove away and my niece Erin came with her coteachers from Faunsdale – nice girls!

Jacob and I rode the Seaglass Carousel. Jacob climbed in the biggest fish but when they told him the big fish doesn’t go very high, he chose a small fish. (Choose small fish!). The two of us sat on a park bench and ate mango and talked. We joined his parents at the top of One World just as a full moon rose over NYC, an awesome sight!

Our Liberian Brother Benn brought the girls to the city. 9/11 truly is behind us but there are still so many reminders when I get to lower Manhattan. I pointed out where I’d worked, the Burger King that became police headquarters, where I’d go for coffee, and finally, the Winter Garden to the girls as we toured down there. We walked many steps with going to Frances Tavern, Federal Hall, Trinity Church, Manhattan Library, Grand Central, Bryant Park, and then a train back here from Times Square.

The girls also went to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty yesterday. Today, they are at the 9/11 Memorial Museum. We have not been there nor will we go.

Did I write that 9/11 is behind us? Some things change our lives forever. The Pandemic did. This week two young men from the Mifflinburg congregation passed on to a much more beautiful place than this earthly realm. The family and friends left behind will never look at life the same. All week while touring and entertaining guests, I remembered these deaths. (And I prayed for you who have so often prayed for me. You know who you are.)

Three years ago in March, Laurence stood in the foyer one day after work, and told me he has COVID. Today, he says, “I am getting better.”

Let’s pray for each other. Thanks for reading.

Berniece

Summer, winter, fall, and spring evenings are meant for walking. These places of our city wanderings do not stand out on the tourist map. Often, we take a bus to walk the wooded trails of Forest Park, or around the perimeter of Juniper Valley, or through the gardens and by the bay of the Jamaica Wildlife Refuge. We leave the chaotic city behind to stand on a deck at sunset and watch an osprey pair feed its young. In the distance, a ferry docks at Rockaway. Peace washes over us, and we feel humbled and blessed to live here.

Last evening, we walked past the old buildings and alongside the Civil War fortress at Fort Totten. Sometimes we’ve stopped at the top of a hill there to watch the sun set behind the Whitestone Bridge. I know of no prettier sight then when the sky above the bay is awash in oranges, the bridge lights come on, a lighthouse blinks, and the “lower lights are burning.”

Without a doubt, the walk we’ve taken more than any other is to a strip of lawn with cherry trees across from the runways of LaGuardia Airport. During certain weather patterns, it feels like you could reach up and touch the planes coming in for a landing. We take a bus back to Roosevelt and 82nd Street instead of walking the two miles back.

It isn’t Brooklyn Bridge or Central Park where we might take you for a walk, but rather, South Hunter’s Point, a beautiful park along the East River in Queens. We like to climb to the top of the hill to sit on a bench that overlooks the river, bridges, and the Manhattan skyline. (We don’t enjoy hanging out in Manhattan, but we are awed by the memorable view of its skyline.) My nephew Jonathan fell in love with the view from that park. I remember Greg and Trish’s girls tumbling on the grass there with Bee, and eating street food while perched there with Lee and Michelle and their lively kids. It’s the one place we took the women of the writing group and their spouses when they passed through on their way to a writing retreat. But mostly, Laurence and I go there alone.

So many walks stream through my mind. They can wait. Keep walking. Berniece

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Sunshine and shadows form shapes on brown roof tiles and the red of the fire escape outside our bedroom window. Plants flourish on the windowsill and the Valentine’s Day azalea blooms beautifully on the nightstand. Laurence and I often hang out in this room with its small armchair, rocker, and desk.

This is the room where my sisters – Sundaymar, Leanna, Anne, Samantha, Jamie, etc. – came and sat with me (like Job’s friends only they weren’t quiet and they didn’t lecture me) when I broke my leg. Precious memories!

Little Berniece and I have spent many happy hours together in this room. I am reminded of this by the mementos that adorn a dresser. Bee moved to Pennsylvania. I miss her pulling out the colored pencils, taking a sheet of paper from the printer, and skillfully drawing a picture while sprawled on the floor of this room. Surely, she’ll be back.

Today, I plan to clean this room and the rest of the 755 square feet of this apartment. Usually, I’d pack a lunch and get ready for work at market tomorrow, but Israel asked if I’d want to take off since it’s supposed to be cold, and it likely won’t be busy.

I’m looking forward to a Saturday with Laurence. We talk of taking the train somewhere and hiking. Laurence asked at breakfast if it will be too cold to go to the ocean. Above the bookshelf in our room is a wooden sign that reads, “THE VOICE OF THE SEA SPEAKS TO THE SOUL.” Also, on this shelf sits a lunchbox from Grant, Nebraska, schooldays, a mallet from Penner heirs in Littlefield, Texas, and a dairy bottle from Triangle Dairy in Grandview, Idaho, where Laurence worked when we were first married.

A dove landed briefly just now on the fire escape. I’ve never forgotten the pair that perched there on a 9/11, reminding me of the peace of God in turbulent times. May God bless you with peace today. 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