The Bureau

I have my grandmother’s bureau, the last piece of her bedroom suite that occupied the upstairs south-facing corner room in their foursquare house on North Main Street. Once there was a chifforobe and a double bed frame and a vanity to match, all with  dark walnut finish, dating from the 1920s perhaps. 

Opening its drawers, I can still catch a whiff of the scent I remember when this grandmother - my mother’s diminutive mother – moved through my early life. 

This grandmother was called Danny, after my mother’s plan for my elder brother to call her Granny (the moniker she claimed to despise) came out of his toddler mouth as Danny. This grandmother is the one I remember in a cloud of cigarette smoke, l’Origan perfume and Beeman’s gum.

Danny worked part time in Rosenbloom’s Men’s & Boy’s Store, one of the clerks along with Mrs. Shaw and Mrs. Rosenbloom. They wore tape measures around their necks, at the ready to custom fit inseams and sleeve length.

At the time when going downtown included stops at the many shops along Main and Second Street, I carry vague memories of Danny moving between the large flat cases with shelves displaying the sweaters and shirts, and Lee jeans and Hanes underwear, The blazers and suits hung on racks suspended on the perimeter, along with slacks with zig zag bottoms, waiting for custom hemming. It seemed cavernous with its mysterious back room where the men went to the fitting room and the clerks went to the bathroom. 

My mother once told me Danny used the money she earned working at Rosenbloom’s to be able to buy beautiful things. Danny loved beautiful things, coveted beautiful things. After she died, I helped my mother sort through the clothing stored in the bureau and the chifforobe and the vanity. The silky undergarments and soft nightgowns, cashmere sweaters, pleated wool slack. And hanging in the closet, dresses for any occasion, including a stunning slip dress in a green and ivory paisley pattern with a floating overdress, its shoulder pads stiff with age. My mother claimed a spring coat from that closet, a buttery yellow color with the tags from Moren’s Dress Shoppe still attached.

Danny loved china and crystal and snowy white  table linens. We carried a tote full of Danny’s Ermine Blue Spode china to its new home with Danny’s great-granddaughter Kate on one of our cross-country road trips. Kate sets the table with it for special occasions as I remember family gatherings with Danny and Granddaddy at  the head and foot of the long dining room table..

The mirror on Danny’s bureau is getting hazy, the two wide drawers have been repaired repeatedly and lately have begun sticking again. It’s likely time to let it go, to let it all go.

Thunder and Lightning

I've been practicing writing - truly practicing - since the Covid 19 Pandemic. In that time, I've filled many notebooks with writing - most of it from writing prompts - simple idea starters - and some of those sessions have yielded essays I've put out in this blog.

I've been feeling lately like it's time to move to the next step - as one of my writing gurus Natalie Goldberg writes ..."turning our flashes of inspiration – the thunder and lightning of creation – into a polished piece of work."

And that's where this book comes in - Goldberg's Thunder and Lightning. It literally fell off my bookshelf when I was cleaning up my office last week, Tucked between its pages was a yellow sheet of paper torn from a notebook. I recognized my mother's familiar scrawl. She wrote:

Essay by Robert Pope: "Beginnings may be entrances to a time and place, a culture and a faith, a moment, and eternity. The struggle to find first words creates great anticipation, if not great anxiety, in the writer searching for the voice in which to speak, for each writer hopes to reach the voice inside which is immortal."

I think she's trying to tell me something! 

... and our flag was still there

I have a stack of books  - essays, poetry and the like – to read while I enjoy a soak in my hot tub. Yes, that hot tub is a great luxury, I admit.

I sometimes need  - no I often need some inspiration - especially in these times when I feel discouraged and frightened by the course being set by the individuals steering the ship of government.  From the local where folks are ready to get out the tar and feathers because a school board member shared a meme on facebook, to our state representatives voting against funding that benefits their constituents and then turning around and taking credit as they hand out the checks. Then there's the Congress and the President, none of it good. 

So with the steam rising from the bubbling water surrounding me, today's morning read was from Small Wonder* a book of essays written by Barbara Kingsolver. The book was born after the attacks of September 11, 2001. Tthink of it - 24 years ago. 

Under the heading of "And Our Flag Was Still There," I read these words:

" . . The great attraction to patriotism is, as Aldous Huxley wrote, that 'it fulfills our worst wishes. In the person of our nation, we are able, vicariously to bully and cheat. Bully and cheat, what's more with a feeling that we are profoundly virtuous.'"

She wrote later in the essay:

"... Only we the people have the power to demolish our own ideals. It is a fact of our culture that the loudest mouths get the most airplay, and the loudmouths are saying that in times of crisis it's treasonous to question our leaders. Nonsense. That kind of thinking allowed the seeds of a dangerous racism to grow into fascism during the international economic crisis of the 1930s. It is precisely in critical times that are leaders need most to be influenced by the moderating force of dissent. That is the basis of democracy, especially when national choices are difficult and carry grave consequences. The flag was never meant to be a stand-in for information and good judgment."

"... We're a much nobler country than our narrowest minds and loudest mouths suggest. I believe it is my patriotic  duty to recapture my flag from the men who wave it in the name of jingoism and censorship... I've been further alienated from my flag by people who waved it at me, declaring I should love it or leave it. I always wonder. What makes them think that's their flag and not mine? Why are they the good Americans, and not me?"

"... Americans who read and think are patriots of the first order – the kind who know enough to roll their eyes whenever anyone tries to claim sole custody of the flag and wield it as a blunt instrument. There are as many ways to love America as there are Americans and our country needs us all. The rights and liberties described in our Constitution are guaranteed not just to those citizens who have the most money and power, but also to those who have the least, and yet it has taken hard struggle through every year of our history to hold our nation to that promise..."

If you'd like to borrow my book to read the essay (and the others) in its entirety, let me know and I apologize in advance that it's a bit waterlogged!

*Small Wonder, a book of essays by Barbara Kingsolver, copyright 2002 by Barbara Kingsolver.

Rotary's Halloween Parade

When the fire siren blows and the high school band heads up Main Street tonight, how many know the Coudersport Rotary Club's annual Halloween Parade reaches back nearly 100 years?

from 2024

A piece written in 1969 by my grandfather, W.D. "Golly" Fish in The Potter Enterprise tells the story of Rotary's efforts ... and was confirmation of a story my mother told me of the night she was born 

Here are his words:

Hallowe'en pranks! Golly remembers Halloween of 1923 especially. That was the time our daughter Barbara, now Mrs. Joe Heimel, was born at the hospital on South East Street.

Retiring home to North Main Street was really like running an obstacle course. Everything that was loose was piled in the street. Doorsteps galore were in the jumbles along with pieces of porch furniture, bundles of shingles, rolls of barb wire and everything that was loose. What a mess greeted Sunday morning a few hours later. We believe it was that year Ed Stevens, small grocer, lost his wheeled popcorn or peanut cart from the front of his store. It fell off the East Second Street bridge. It never came back.

Then there was a change. Coudersport Rotary Club was established. The club took the matter in hand, organized a costumed parade for the youngsters, gave them a treat and sent them home. There was no hell-raising. All the years Rotary has performed this duty there has been no destruction.

The thanks of the whole town go to Rotary!

The October newspapers from 1924-1927 offer some insight on efforts  of local folks to stop the mayhem of All Hallows' Eve.

from 1925

from 1926

The first reference to an organized parade came in 1928 as far as I can tell from reading this in The Potter Enterprise on November 1.

 Below the headlines the following appeared in 14 pt. type.

Approximately Four Hundred Take Part In Holiday Festivities – Prizes Awarded for Best Costumes – Dr. R.H. Jones, Dr. C.H. Dudley and Mrs. Eugenia G. Benn Are Judges – Rotary Club Entitled to Credit – Next Year's Parade To Be Bigger With More Prizes – No Lawless Acts Reported.

The story goes on to tell us:

Hallowe'en was celebrated in Coudersport last evening in an orderly and fitting manner and some 400 children enjoyed taking part in the festivities, while probably a larger number of spectators stood on the sidelines and cheered the paraders. There was a great variety of costumes in the line of march – good bad and indifferent – and much originality shown.

... Kenneth Covey was first winner among the boys although his costume was that of a girl. He had to insist to the judges that he was a boy to get the five dollars.

... After the parade those taking part were treated to ice cream cones and crackerjack on the courthouse square. There has been no lawlessness reported, which proves the idea of an orderly parade is the correct one and already certain of the townspeople are planning for a bigger and better celebration next year.

The following year, Rotarians built on the foundation urging "Let's have a good time!"

I'll be standing on the sidelines this afternoon 'cheering the paraders' including the present-day Rotarians shepherding the costumed merry-makers. 

UPDATE:

Performing my annual fall move-the-furniture around ritual, this picture fell out of a photo album. Daughter Kate (the senorita) and Melanie Butler pulling their donkey (and very good sport) Denise Heimel in a long ago Rotary Halloween Parade. And in the background, good friends Arnie and Billie Haskins. 

Where The Winds Carry Prayers

Stark red rocks reflected changing light of early spring sunshine. I felt a pilgrim in this place, drawn to it – seeking, observing, absorbing, listening. Navigating the steep, rocky path from the dusty turnoff spot in a residential Sedona neighborhood, following the footprints of others who had gone ahead, I encountered a presence, a brief whisper of peace, the fleeting embrace of the sacred.

Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park

I was hurting that spring morning - grieving - numb from the loss of loved ones. I was hurting that spring morning, grieving, angry and sad, absorbing the fact that results - consequences - of the recent Presidential election - were going to be far worse than even the blueprint of Project 24 laid out, consequences that were leaving chaos in the lives of those I love.

And so, I sat, closed my eyes and listened - to the birds, and the soft sounds of distant wind chimes, and sometimes, the quiet, respectful voices around me.

The symbols in this place, this Stupa and Peace Park, seemed foreign to my faith tradition, but I was drawn to offer my prayers as I spun the prayer wheels and walked three times around the Stupa. And all the while, prayer flags, strung with intention everywhere in the peace park, were sending prayers heavenward on the breeze.

And so, I brought strings of flags home to Crandall Hill where they send our prayers, prayers for peace, compassion, strength and wisdom into the sky and beyond.

Prayer flags feature five colors:

1. Blue for sky and space, to bring wisdom and clarity

2. White for air and wind, to purify and bring harmony

3. Red for fire to inspire transformation and energy

4. Green for water to encourage balance and healing

5. Yellow for earth, encouraging stability

It is said this arrangement brings all the elements into harmony, blessing the space and everyone who passes by.

Dreaming

BFH in AZ
2019

I was dreaming last night of my mother, my mother in her last months, diminished, tired. But in my dream, I had a chance for a do-over, one where I would find the answer to save her, keep her here on this plane. It wouldn’t be codfish gravy. It wouldn’t be Grape Nut Bread, it wouldn’t be milk toast or tapioca pudding or ice cream. It would be just the thing to bring her back.

As often happens in dreams, I was heroic - pointing out anomalies to her trusted doctors, consulting with spiritual advisors like Dr. Todd, the imposing, impossibly old pastor of my youth, and finally looking for a plant that grew in the brackish water at the base of a huge water wheel.

It’s been a year - 12 months - since the calls from a Coudersport number I recognized as Cole Manor reached me in Arizona and this September, I was in Arizona again, half expecting that number to show up on the phone when it rings, while at the same time, knowing it wouldn't.

I woke up today, opening my eyes to a gray morning, just as I had reached the spot on a precipitous cliff under the waterwheel, ready to plunge to the depths to find the magic elixir.

Marketing

I spent the last third of my career in public relations - marketing - at our local hospital that bore the name of a local man whose generosity built the fine red brick edifice. As I navigated the changes that came fast and furious in those 18 years, I always took seriously my job to communicate - share -  information with the public. The bedrock was to always tell the truth.

Of course, it was my job to present information in the best possible light. But as I first began writing press releases, preparing advertisements and brochures, my boss cautioned me against using superlatives and to instead focus on presenting information patients and families could believe and trust as they made health care choices. 

That experience is why I was aghast at the way UPMC announced the pending closure of the unit in the Hospital formerly known as Long Term Care and/or Skilled Nursing and Rehabilitation and named "Cole Place" when UPMC assumed control of local health care.

UPMC and Sweden Valley Manor Announce Partnership To Enhance Long Term Care Services For Coudersport Residents

UPMC Cole and Sweden Valley Manor are pleased to announce a strengthened partnership that will elevate long-term care services for the Coudersport community. By early November, Cole Place, a skilled nursing facility located within UPMC Cole, will transfer its operations to Sweden Valley Manor, a skilled nursing facility located right across the street.

“This transition will offer Cole Place residents a truly beautiful, special place to live — one that feels just like home,” said Dan Glunk, M.D., interim president, UPMC Cole and UPMC Wellsboro. “Sweden Valley Manor is known for its personalized, compassionate care. This collaboration between UPMC Cole and Sweden Valley Manor builds on our longstanding partnership in caring for Potter County and beyond.”

I can't imagine that the team crafting these press releases - or even Dr. Glunk  – might possibly believe that any nursing home will feel "just like home." Home-like I might buy.

The latest press release was reminiscent of the way UPMC announced the end of labor and delivery at Potter County's only hospital, creating a seven-county area without hospital-based labor and delivery services. 

The announcement from UPMC on February 10, 2025: 

UPMC is taking steps to expand and enhance women’s health services throughout north central Pennsylvania. Our top priority is to provide every patient with high-quality care that is accessible and sustainable and ensure that every birthing parent receives the safest and most advanced care possible in a setting that offers enhanced resources and support.

The OB unit closed in April, despite the efforts of local government officials and a coordinated protest. 'Officials' would not budge and continued in promotion of the idea that the loss of services is an enhancement.

And in November, the lights will go off in Cole Place as they tell us it's an "elevation"

The marketing campaign engineered by UPMC is much like the marketing campaign launched by the MAGA movement, the kind of marketing foretold in Orwell's 1984.

“The party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.... And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed–if all records told the same tale–then the lie passed into history and became truth.” 

Heather Cox Richardson puts it this way: "They are engaged in a marketing campaign to establish Trump's false version of reality as truth. The White House has also brought into the press pool right wing influencers, who are asking questions that tee up opportunities for White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt to push administration talking points, which the influencers then amplify on social media."