In later life, learning about all the fights between religions, the killings and the politics, nature became my religion.

Eventually of course I reached the end of my 9 years of compulsory years of the Swiss school system, having to learn to deal with other children and teachers, good and bad. At the time, the teachers still had the right to beat a kid if he did not follow the discipline demanded. Finally after 9 years I left home and went to the French part of Switzerland to expand my knowledge of the French language, which at the time was more important than English in the business world.

My mother came along to Lausanne, to make sure I was living in a proper place she approved of. The establishment she chose was a small hotel in a beautiful spot on the shore of Lake Geneva. I was to read books, keep company and make little walks with the infirm mother of the hotel owner. Being assured that I was at the right place to study and improve my French knowledge, my mother went home and left me at the hotel, trusting I was well taken care of.

After two days I was to learn the real life of hotel work, this was to please the guests at the establishment, from the basement to kitchen to dining room service, room service and cleaning. I was being drilled by the Maitre d’. I hardly ever saw the old lady, but the experience was coming in useful when I needed it in later years.

I was at two other workplaces, which I chose by myself to finish the year in Lausanne. I returned to Zurich and enrolled at a business school (Handelsschule). As customary at the time, I was taught typing, stenography, bookkeeping etc., of course, there were no computers yet.

The years of growing up, being a teenager were the war years from 1939-1945. Switzerland was not directly involved in the horror of the killing years, but surrounded by it.

I was lucky to complete my education and experienced few negative effects of the war. Of course even in neutral Switzerland with all borders tightly closed by the military the citizens were affected. Every able bodied man was in the military to protect the neutrality.

We had coupons for food, clothing, textiles, and shoes. For example, 600 grams of flour, 500 grams of fat, or 5 deciliter of oil per month. You had to figure out how many slices of bread you could eat per day that the coupons would last to the end of the month.

At night, all windows had to be covered by black curtains that you could not see a light from the outside or you would get a fine from the police patrolling and checking. Most radiators were turned off, except the living room. You wore special soft knitted socks to sleep to keep your feet warm or use hot water bottles between the cold sheets to warm them.

A few errant American bombs came down on some houses in our neighborhood and killed the owners living there.

Of course, in 1945 when the killing and destruction of so many countries and millions and millions of people killed, everybody, every newspaper, radio station, everybody with a voice looking at the destruction was yelling “nie wieder Krieg”. No more wars!”

Short memory, look at the world today.

At the end of Business School, which was close to the end of the war, I had `proudly received my diploma and was ready to change the world, but the world was not waiting for me. Well, I realized I needed more knowledge and saw in the paper that many University courses would teach me, but lacking a number of things like money, I decided to get my life experiences myself instead of more schooling. What made me choose the side road instead of the highway? What was I searching for? In time, life swept me along and I found out, that it is not so much the diplomas that matter, it is individual people you admire and learn from to improve yourself. After years you realize the highest achievement for happiness is still love and understanding.

You begin to doubt some wisdoms of the world. Somebody else disputes your views. You spend nights discussing problems and how to solve them but their truth is not yours, and you ask yourself if truth is an illusion? You get older, life adds new stories, new experiences and you remember an old song:” No, je ne regrette rien”, not the bad, not the good, it made me what I am today. I hope to be a better mensch, with more understanding, but I’m also left with a lot of “why?”

I had a number of different jobs in different industries, I took different courses in the evenings, went dancing with boyfriends, took dancing lessons to improve my ice skating hobby which kept me busy on weekends, and I tried to learn different skills, but never quite found the right occupation until the war was finally over with the help of the Americans.

I started a new job and life at the United Press of America. It was shift work, with irregular hours, depending on what was happening, it was very interesting and I loved it. Every day was different. I had found what I was looking for! Work was never boring, but interesting and challenging. This was it!

My boss thought an American experience would be beneficial and got me a immigrant visa for the United States. At the time it was also the law to have a sponsor in order to receive a US Immigration Visa. The sponsor had to sign that he would pay for any damage, illness, criminality the new immigrant would cause. My sponsor was in Cleveland, a widower with two boys who expected me to take care of the house, cook and watch the children. My boss had not only provided for the visa but also organized the sponsor.

Now, with the most important papers taken care of, I was ready in no time, my treasures were packed, my train ticket booked to le Havre with a night in Paris and a boat ticket on the ‘Liberte’ to New York in hand, I was off on a very cold January day . The ‘Liberte’ was the former troop ship ‘Normandy’ and had been converted for passengers. I was in a cabin for 4 ladies; luckily I had a bottom bed. Also, I did not get seasick on a very rough crossing like many other passengers that could not leave their cabins for days.

After 6 stormy, rough days and nights on the boat, high up on a wave, then down again between them with a big shudder of the whole structure. The tables and chairs in the dining room were bolted to the floor so that they didn’t slide all over. Finally, we arrived in quieter waters and even sunshine (a good omen) in the New York harbor.

 

 

There she was, the Statue of Liberty, a gift of the French, an icon of freedom, a welcoming signal to immigrants from all over the world, dedicated in 1886. At the time, New York harbor was one of the busiest in the world.

And here I was, standing at the railing of the 'Liberte' being greeted like millions of immigrants before. There was an inscription on the statue: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to be free, the wretched refuse of your teaming shore. Send these, the homeless to me; I left my lamp beside the golden door.

Now, 60 some years later, one part of government wants to cut the budget, cancel health insurance for the poor, and reduce social security and other safety nets for citizens. Another trick is deporting immigrants that may have been in the States for 10-20 years but had no proper visa coming in. But we have double the billionaires now.

Of course I arrived in January 1951 and don’t know if that inscription was removed. Judging by today’s politics, some things have changed.

 

 

For my first night in New York I stayed at a small hotel on 43rd Street, near Times Square. I had not eaten since breakfast and ordered a sandwich and coffee, expecting a tray with cutlery and dishes. Surprise! It was a paper bag with a wrapped sandwich and a paper cup of coffee. My first American meal!

The second day I collected my trunk from the boat, had it loaded on a taxi and moved to a rooming house on West 95th Street, a stone throw away from Riverside Park, where the parents of my Zurich girlfriend stayed. They had fled the Nazis in Austria and lived in Switzerland during the war. Now they were temporarily in this rooming house, trying like thousands of others to start a new life, which turned out to be futile because they were very senior in years. Eventually, they moved back to Vienna

I got a room in this building on 95^th, on the main floor, sharing bathroom and kitchen with a bunch of other boarders on the same floor, all Jewish immigrant from Germany and had been helped by organizations to start a new life in the US. In a few days I had made friends with them, all of them being helpful and friendly with this new "greenhorn". I had planned to stay some days in New York to see the sights and adjust to a new and different life.

Of course I didn’t forget to look up United Press, my reason for coming to America. They told me they could not hire me because I was not a Union Member. I could not become a Union Member because I didn’t have a job. I didn’t take that seriously, I simply was going to try another City. I did, but wherever I went, it was the same story.

So, after a few days of touring the city by local transportation and on foot, taking in the sights, the wonders, wide eyed and intoxicated by all I saw but I knew I had to move on.

Cleveland, a very large spread out city along the shores of Lake Erie where my sponsor had the house he lived in with his two sons. I thought the most economical way and most scenic way to leave New York was by bus. I promised my new friends I would keep in touch and planned to see them again.

The bus left New York in the morning and got to Cleveland the next morning at 2 am, where my sponsor was waiting for me to take me to his house in the suburb by car. He told me to call him Bill, showed me to my room to take a nap and would wake me for breakfast to meet the kids. After a hurried meal, short instructions, he was off to work and the kids went to school and I was to see them again after five for dinner. Luckily, before leaving Zurich I had bought a little booklet called “Cooking In Five Minutes”.

Eventually, I figured out how the household worked. Nobody was home over lunch time and I was bored to tears. I asked Bill if I could work at the local Howard Johnson to make some extra money in tips over lunchtime. He agreed to my suggestion and I learned to handle the lunch crowd in the local restaurant. Howard Johnson was well known all over the country. Each one had the same décor, the same food and was especially known for its 29 different flavors of ice cream. I can vouch for the quality of the ice cream; I gained quite a few pounds testing them all.

I got to know Cleveland and learned to adapt to a completely different lifestyle. After a 5 or 6 months I left Bill’s family. I worked full time at Howard Johnson’s to save some money and move to another part of town. I rented a room in a very nice home, run by an elderly couple. They used the ground floor for themselves and rented out the two upper floors to have some extra income during retirement. They sort of adopted me as a member of the family and I spent many a nice evening with them, I even spent Thanksgiving with them and learned of the history of the Holiday.

On days off, I started to visit the local skating rink, to work off the extra ice cream. In the newspaper I saw an ad about Holiday on Ice Skating show visiting Cleveland. I called them and inquired about the possibility to join them as a skater. Yes, they said, I could audition if I could come to Toledo in two days at 2 pm in the afternoon and show them how I skated. I thought my beating heart would split my chest. I rushed to tell my new found family. They were as excited as I was and offered to drive me to Toledo on my important day. That evening, the lady of the house and I even finished a little skating skirt I had started to fashion till late at night. I’ll never forget all that excitement!

After a few hours’ drive, I was invited by the generous couple for lunch and then driven to the ice rink to do my little number. Shaking inside like a leaf in a storm I did what I had done so many times before but now with no music except in my head. One of the men in the little group who watched me asked me to change and come to his office later.

Yes, yes, yes, I was hired! Come to Toledo with your trunk of stuff and join the show next Sunday. What excitement! I went back to Cleveland with my wonderful helpers. I gave notice to the ice cream place, Howard Johnson’s.

I cleaned my room and moved again by bus to a new adventure and getting to know a new city every week. At the moment the show would move to Western and Central States.

Of course, the next couple of days were a mad rush, getting ready for a completely new routine. I bought a “new” used wardrobe trunk. One was allowed per person in the chorus, packed my belongings and off I was by Greyhound Bus us to Toledo. First I had to order new skating boots and skates, to match the other girls. Mine looked too old. Then I had to shave my legs. Then the important stuff, learning the steps of the first number I was going to be in. Repeat, repeat, repeat. I do not remember the city we went to after Toledo. The routine was the same.

After the last show in town on Sunday Night, the helpers packed up the stage, music, and everybody left town by Pullman Train to the next city. You went to the hotel, had lunch, then to the ice rink for the whole troop. That night was the first performance. It did not leave you too much time for sightseeing and learn about the history of the city you visited.

It was an America quite different from the East coast. After the show we went to eat dinner, or rather wanted to eat dinner, but most places were ready to close. For breakfast, I tried some stores for Yoghurt, but that was unheard of at any place in the Midwest. In the 1950’s different style breads were not known, each city store had the square soft loaves you now find all over Switzerland. When everybody in the Pullman car was asleep, I watched the landscape go by, miles after miles of farmland in the moonshine, it was unforgettable.

Week after week my excitement turned to routine, change costume, do your thing on the ice, watch to match your neighbors step, do the same, until one day, I happened to look up at the spectators in the first seats at the ice, I asked myself, what the heck am I doing here? This is not what I wanted to do with my life. I have to stop that. So I did, I went back to New York by train, bus to 95^th Street. My trunk was being shipped a few days later. It was a big hello and hugs to my friends still living there.

One of the worst things that can happen to you is that you get what you wished for. Your dreams did not fit reality. For me the limelight of Holiday on Ice had no staying power, how looks and dreams can deceive and diminish when they finally come true!

 

 
 

 

 

 

The task for the next day of course was to look at the jobs available in the paper! How would this be, Where would I have a chance? I did not have too much time to dilly-dally; my finances were not too plentiful.

It was not as easy as it sounds, but I was willing to try anything. For the time being, I tried a radio station. My job was Monday to Friday, 9-5. To supplement my income, I took a bus Friday night to the Catskills, an area north of New York City, with hotels and vacation cabins. You found mostly Jewish guests or renters. In the cabins were mothers with children on school vacation while the husbands worked during the week and visited on weekends. On Fridays and Saturdays the hotels put on shows with young unknown comics, singers and actors, trying out their acts before moving on to Hollywood. Sunday night usually got a ride back to New York with some students, doing the same as I, supplementing their income with the tips from the weekend guests.

Then, for a while after the radio station and the end of the season in the Catskills I worked as a receptionist in a hospital, keeping records of patients. One lady I befriended at the rooming house was an X-ray technician at the same hospital; she had referred me to the job. It was very convenient for both of us. We had a problem though: we debated the illnesses of the patients after coming home and that turned out to be too depressing.

Through all these trials and tribulations, I kept in touch with my parents. Knowing how anxious they were, I sent off a letter every week, describing the country, exactly where I was, that they could follow on a big US map. I didn’t think they realized how big the distances were that I traveled but I usually tried to describe the landscape and different cities, people I met and friends I made.

 

Next job was as a secretary in a Mail Order House way downtown. “I was Secretary to the buyer of men’s wear. That was very enlightening. Each buyer had a small cubicle as his office, enclosed in gray glass. In front of that office, a secretary at a desk responding to the phone, filing, writing etc. Most Secretaries around me had coffee from the ‘the wagon’ that came around each morning with goodies, tea and coffee. Then, they went to the ‘ladies room to put on their make-up and by 10 am would get to their desks.

I had no idea of this routine, having been trained the ‘Swiss’ way. But my boss liked my work and I received a salary increase each month. That was fine as long as it lasted. My boss was investigated for his lavish life style. The company found out that he accepted kick-backs from the manufacturers for his orders. That was his end and mine.

Coincidentally, I happened to see an ad in the paper for a job at the International Airlines Terminal at the East Side of New York. There airline passengers checked in for their flights, checked the baggage at the same time and were driven by bus to the airport. It was a huge terminal, with International and domestic Airline counters along the walls. The flight insurance desk was in the center of the great hall. Passengers could purchase insurance for a single flight or for a whole year. The insurance was quite cheap, since airline trips were safer than any other way to travel. I had some nice colleagues that I worked with. The boss very easy when he came down from his upper floor office to check if all was ok. Over all, it was a nice place to work and never boring. There was always something to watch and to speak to customers.

One night, after returning home to the rooming house I lived in, the receptionist stopped me to tell that I had missed some visitors looking for me. There were two very nice gentlemen, good looking and well dressed, and a young lady, I had no idea who it could have been, and they did not leave any address or phone number. But a few days later that young lady came to say hello at the insurance desk, it was Elisabeth from high school in Zurich.

She asked me if I would come with her to visit two friends of hers on Sunday for a game of cards. By coincidence, Sunday was my day off and I went with her to see the two guys Sunday afternoon to their apartment on the West Side of New York. The concierge at the rooming house had been right. It was two nice young men, originally from Switzerland. They had been in Buenos Aires for a few years but some month before they had moved North, they were not happy with the Peron government and Evita.

The card game was very short, since I did not know one card from the other, but the conversation took over the whole afternoon. The two had a couture business in Argentina with a third partner, who stayed there but Charlie and Harry came to New York, looking for a proper place to work. After a few weeks work in a factory, they found "their" place on Madison and 66th, one of the best addresses in town for fashion. Once in a while I saw them for a movie or glass of wine.

It was Harry I was interested in and it was Harry that kept calling me for movies (he claimed it was to learn how to speak English), for dinners and walks in Central Park, which was one block from Madison. It was he that made my heart make an extra beat when I saw him. He was good looking, elegant and friendly, I could go on and on. I was determined to find out more about him. I saw his charms. Now find out about his character, likes and dislikes.

Actually, it was about this time that Harry and Charlie started talking about separating the business. Some of Harry’s customers didn’t want to have Charlie do any fittings or sales. That left too much work for Harry, since they operated on a 50/50 basis. So one day Charlie moved across Madison and took a few customers with him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Actually, Charlie was a story in itself. I faintly remembered a time in Zurich when I had my teenage years and liked to go dancing, I knew him and we went dancing together a few times. I had to get the last tram to take me home and he had to reach the last train to the little country town where he still lived with his family. A very polite good night kiss and a very faint memory till New York, when I slowly thought I must have seen this guy before.

Some time had passed, after he had moved across Madison Avenue with a few customers. In the meantime I was with Harry but we still had a friendly drink or dinner with Charlie from time to time. He told us that he had moved to a gay group and we accepted his decision.

A few years down the road he developed lung cancer and we heard that he was in Bethesda Hospital in Washington. While he still had his apartment I visited him a couple of times during my lunch hour, but soon he was in a New York hospital again. I took an afternoon off from work to visit him there. He was in great pain and kept begging me to help him. I finally found the Head Nurse in charge of his care and was able to talk to her and tell her that he had no relatives in the USA and that I knew him from back home, the whole story. She was asking me a lot of questions and promised me to give him an extra pain injection and I should go and sit with him, she would be with us right away and she did. The medicine slowly took effect, he relaxed, we spoke a few moments, I kissed him good night and went home. A few hours later he died.

Harry and I went to his services and still keep him in good memory.

During all this time, work went on and while time went by, Harry and I got to know and love each other. It didn’t make sense anymore for me working on the East Side, stopping off at Harry’s and at night or day depending on the shift I was working, to keep my 9x12 foot room on the West Side of Central Park. I gave it up and moved in with Harry.

I was still working at the insurance counter when, one day, the boss came to ask if my colleague and I had valid passport. Yes, I said, I do. Then he wanted to know which one of us had a suit that looked like a uniform. Again, yes. He explained that a stewardess of Capital Airlines had called in sick and they needed somebody to jump in for a flight tomorrow. That's great, I said, I can do that. The manager told me when and where I had to show up, what time, etc. etc. Now here was some other excitement right up my alley.

It turned out that the airline was under contract to the United States Coast Guard to fly families of United States soldiers overseas. I had to get an ID of the Coast Guard because we were landing at military facilities in the US and Overseas. I had a talk with one of the staff, got my card and was given all kinds of instructions for service, boarding, etc. Turned out my services at the Terminal were terminated. I was off to different destinations. After a few months, the airline was in Chapter 11 and the Coast guard was in contract with another carrier. Guess I went along with the inventory, not very well organized, but I had some wonderful adventures due to the lines negligence.

We had an unadvised layover in Naples at the US Base for immunizations which gave us time to visit Capri and other places of interest before picking up passengers for Australia. It was wonderfully informative for me. We had stopovers in Bahrain, Damascus, Athens, Karachi, Bombay, Colombo, Singapore, Darwin, Wagga Wagga, Sydney and back: not necessarily in that order nor all on the same trip. One day, we landed in Bombay, I opened the cabin door and could smell the hot humid air, with the heavy scent of all the flowers around, I thought I used to live here, I was at home! Up to today I have never forgotten that moment and can still smell those scents.

It was wonderful, getting to know and seeing some parts of the world that under normal circumstances I never would have had the possibility to experience. The planes were not the newest models, DC 4, with some mileage to their credit. We had a pilot, copilot and mechanic and stewardess on board to take care of 80 some passengers. We had mostly irregular schedules. That did not bother me. I thought the crew wanted to get home too. One of the last flights we picked up passengers in Frankfurt to New York. After two refueling stops the pilot announced we had to make an emergency landing in Greenland to de-ice the plane, which was too heavy to keep the altitude needed.

The view from the plane, flying low, was breathtaking. You could see snow and icy fjords, a pristine, beautiful landscape. Absolutely divine. The landing on a small airstrip was smooth and the pilot announced we would find shelter at the Red Cross Station. There was no Airport building.

After hot showers and the Red Cross's ubiquitous doughnuts and coffee we boarded again to continue our trip. Or so we thought. The plane could not lift off. It was so cold that the wheels were frozen to the ground. We had to get off the plane, back to the shelter. After the mechanics were able to get the plane off the ice, we re-boarded once more and took off. Again, all passengers tried to take pictures through the windows of the unbelievably beautiful scenery.

(PS; some 50 years later, the scene was without snow and ice, the glaciers melted, due to global warming according to National Geographic)

We had another stop in Canada, in due time we landed at New York, then still Idlewild Airport, where all passengers could disembark. The crew then continued to Teterboro Airport, the base of the airline. Of course, for yours truly, that was another benefit flying low over Manhattan, skyscrapers and all. I'll never forget it!

I found out the next day, the flight over New York to New Jersey had been the last one for me and the air line. The planes were grounded. But not my memories of the world I saw, over all those months. I'll never forget the views of the mountains, deserts, jungles, oceans and monsoon clouds in the sky. The smells of flowers, hot, musty, heavy, my heart jumped just remembering it.

Now, back on the ground in New York, big hello and hugs to Harry and sleeping the last trip off, I went to greet the friends at the insurance counter. There was Veronica too, working for SAS on the upper level, hanging out when all was taken care of and the passengers on the way to the airport. Hugs all over and a coffee break.

Veronica told me that SAS needed an extra employee at their station. Oh, that would be great. She made some phone calls and I was off to see the Personnel Office at the head office in Queens. Fantastic: I start working next Monday and sign here at the dotted line.

I had a bunch of brochures and information to study about my employer over the weekend and I was very enthused. That turned out to be a great move. A few months later I got a call from the manager at the Fifth Avenue office to come and see him. He wanted me to move to that office after the Christmas/New Year Holiday. Quite a promotion and great personal improvement. No more shift work. It was now nine to five with one day off per week, in a great office on 51^st and Fifth, across the street from St. Patrick’s Cathedral

Well, the Holidays were approaching. The tree was up on Rockefeller Center. Which was good news for a happy New Year. Happy days to stroll down Fifth Avenue, with decorated shop windows and the annual huge tree lit by the skating rink on Rockefeller Plaza. We checked out the windows of Scandinavian Airlines on the corner of 51st and Fifth, right in the middle of what was called the Airline Mile, because a lot of European and other Carriers had offices on Fifth Avenue, including Al Italia, Air France, next block Swissair. SAS also had a street level entrance and counter with brochures and general information. For planning a trip and reservations there were an elevator and spiral stairway to the ticket office on the first floor. There were eight individual desks, all Danish Modern, for agents and customers. In the back, management, sales offices etc. faced the huge statue of Atlas, carrying the world on his shoulder. Little did I know that I would spend half of my life in this building, starting the beginning of January.

I had a lot to learn for my new job. SAS sent me to a tariffs and IATA (International Air Tariff Association) rules class in their main building in Queens. At the time, all international air lines had to follow the same rules on territories, currencies, prices etc. I enjoyed the new job immensely, liked the company and really loved the work.

On my way to work or after work, I was picking up materials or trimmings or delivered finished goods to customers on Park or Fifth Avenue. Harry’s customers were mostly high class or known personalities.

Harry also found out that I had a type writer and could write letters and bills.

Ha, by the way, could you please… would you mind… since you learned that…

A second job, without having applied for it! One great benefit for me was that Harry made some sample models in my size to show the customers. And one day the samples really paid off. He got a call from The New York Times, for us the best and biggest Newspaper in New York, they asked for an appointment and interview for an article in the Paper about his background and the clothes he made.

Of course there was a fantastic response of customers, high level and well known personalities. We worked on weekends, way into the night, until Summer, when the customers left the City for vacation.

Harry and I lived frugally. We lived on the East Side but shopped on the West Side, where you could purchase a pound of pork roast for .29 cents. So, with all the work we did, we could fulfill Harry’s dream. We bought a second hand car and on my days off we explored the beaches on Long Island, frolicked and got sunburned. Actually, we learned pretty fast to rent a parasol to have our coffee and Mayfair doughnuts in the luxury of the shade without the burns.

There was so much to see and do around New York, the beaches, Sterling Forest, Storm King Art Center. Through Veronica and her husband Irv, we visited and learned about Brooklyn, where they lived. Sometimes we had picnics at Bear Mountains together.

Through Veronica and Irv we met Gus from Minneapolis who was also in fashion. He came to New York for his store to purchase designs for the new seasons. Gus and Irv had met in the Korean War and became friends there. They got together every time Gus was in NYC. They started to include us in their parties.

As promised, through all this, I kept in touch with my parents and told them about the wonderful times we had. I wrote once a week, trying to keep them informed and happy. We made double eight movies (the thing to do at that time), my father had a projector to watch them. Photography was his hobby.

That article in the New York Times about Harry’s work really paid off with new customers. Now we could rent an apartment on the 19^th floor of a new building in the neighborhood and did not have to sleep in the backroom of the store anymore. Next Summer, with the customers out of town, we invited my parents to visit us. We let them have the apartment and once again slept in the backroom of the store for the two weeks they were with us. They were very happy and excited. It was a big event for them. They met all our friends and I hoped that now they knew and felt that we were doing fine. That visit to America had been a great experience for them, they never thought would be possible in their life time.

 Back in our apartment, we were delighted the way things were going. What is happiness you ask? You ask a hundred people and you get a hundred answers. For us of course it was love, but not only. It was happiness to be creative, to make a beautiful gown and have a delighted customer, to have a job and doing it well. Help an unfortunate person and both will be happier. Sometimes it is just a smile and helping hand and you get a smile back.                   .

Over a nice dinner and bottle of wine Harry opened up a bit and told me about the sad and hard youth he had, I told him about some of my problems. Living together, working together, we got to understand each other better and better.

He grew up in Zuercher Oberland, the youngest of 6 children, hardly knew the older ones, they were grown and had left the family. His mother died of cancer when he was 7 and his father killed himself when Harry was 8. The Swiss Government sent him and his sister to an older relative of his father in Adliswil, where the sister committed suicide too.

Harry was an introvert. After school, he had an apprenticeship as tailor, completed military service during the war, took a wonderful job in a fashion house in Lausanne, moved to Argentina and finally the USA, that is where we met, lucky me.

More luck came my way since I met Veronica in the Airline Terminal, the day after the planes were grounded and she got me the job at Scandinavian Airlines. I’ll forever be thankful. The days of hopping around from here to there were over.

Veronica and her two sisters emigrated from Sweden, originally Finland, to the USA. Veronica was married to Irv, he and his father had a pharmacy in Brooklyn. They sold the pharmacy after a holdup at gunpoint and Irv became a teacher and his father retired. Eventually we got to know the whole gang of sisters, in laws and kids.

This new job I took seriously and stuck to it. Scandinavian Airlines System, a really good company, one of the best Airlines the world had to offer and at the same time had a wonderful employee policy, with paid vacations, health insurance, sick leave, credit union and after one year you had travel privileges from the US to Scandinavia and in my case to Zurich, which included husbands.

That was a point to be settled yet between the two of us. He said, she said and repeat, and long discussions but finally we agreed to get a license for getting married for 21 December 1957. Veronica and Irv were to be the witnesses on that fateful Saturday morning in New York with cool temperature and beautiful sunshine.

Of course we first had to be registered at City Hall to get married. One afternoon we decided to go downtown to do that. Not quite knowing where it was, I almost got arrested and questioned by the police. They caught me as I was running up the steps of City Hall, thinking that was the place to go. Oops! That was the Mayor’s office. They pointed across the street at one of those huge office buildings. We had to repeat the visit another day, not knowing that a blood test from the doctor was needed to apply

Finally, the fateful day arrived, with Harry working through the night, me having clonked out sometime earlier. Before going downtown, he had to deliver a gown to a customer and then took a walk through the park. I guess he was thinking if he should really do something like getting married!

In the meantime, Veronica and Irv had come to pick us up to go downtown. I had to tone down my excitement, because Harry’s face was very stern. You could have thought he was being led to the guillotine. At City Hall, we had to wait in a room full of other couples to be called for the “Ceremony”. When the employee asked us toward the end of his speech, “please may I have the rings?”, we were dumbfounded! We never thought of wedding rings and had to borrow Veronica’s and Irv’s. After a year or two, on vacation in Zurich, we decided to get some wedding rings.

After Brunch at a nearby restaurant, we went home for a badly needed nap. Veronica had to go to work, and we met again for dinner at a nice French Restaurant in town. Monday we went back to work. Then came the Christmas Holidays and the honeymoon was postponed because the Holidays were high season for both of us.

We had plans for February when Washington’s Birthday was on a Monday plus four Vacation days and the two weekends would make a very nice holiday for a honeymoon. In spite of the talks of a revolution in Cuba, that was our destination. SAS came up with tickets, two on Eastern Airlines from New York to Miami and the second two on Pan Am from Florida to Havana.

Irv and Veronica promised to drive us to the Airport to save the taxi fare. On the chosen day of departure it poured. Traffic was slow and Irv got lost on the way and mixed up the airports. We decided to leave Irv and Veronica stuck in traffic. In our best suits and luggage we slid down the wet embankment, got a taxi and made it to the other airport just in time to check in for the flight. We had no problem to make the connection to Pan Am’s welcoming champagne and breakfast before arriving in Havana.

Harry, having lived in Argentina for a while tried to remember his Spanish and took care of check in at the hotel and dinner. Off we went to a casino, standing in a group of people Harry put a dollar on a number and saw it disappear before it hit the table. No, that was not to his liking. We went to a Voodoo show and got caught up in all the hollering and shouting and had a wonderful time.

Next morning we rented a car and drove off on a highway called Cuba Numero Uno. Off and on there were burnt out buses along the road, signs of vandalism and the coming revolution, but we enjoyed the beautiful blue sky and sun, glimpsing the sparkling ocean.

Lo and behold, history repeated itself. We had chosen the wrong fork in the road and landed on top of a little hill in the middle of a goat pasture. There was no way back but the right road was glimmering at the bottom of the little hill. Very slowly and carefully Harry drove between the rocks and the goats down the hill and made it with a big bump to where we were to be in the first place, on the road along the ocean on the way to Varadero.

A string of nice looking small hotels appeared on the strip between the ocean and the road. All of them looking a little too pricey for our purse. But the last one, a bit plain, without plantings around, suited us just fine. It turned out to be a Chinese hotel, but who could complain for the price of 5$ a night with a window and door right down to the ocean, the pounding of the waves lulled you to sleep in a big double bed with mosquito netting all around?

In the evening we found a small bar and restaurant with dancing and of course the absolutely wonderful rum drinks to send us right to cloud nine. There were not enough days left to swim and soak in the wonderful clear ocean, to breathe the fresh air and loll around the sand. Too soon it was time to pack up and drive to the airport where we bought a basket of 5 bottles of rum to bring back to our friends. On the bus back from Idlewild to New York we got a whiff of Rum. We wondered where it came from, looked under our seat and saw a little rivulet running down the aisle of the bus. That put us right back to reality, but we still had the wonderful memories.

One day, back at work, still a nasty cold New York Winter day I was walking up Lexington Avenue and passed a pet shop. It had a most adorable little Spaniel puppy in the window. I even thought it had my name on it someplace, but it certainly had my attention. While debating pro and con and trying to control my impulse, I went inside the store to ask about the price and of course, not in control of my emotions I wound up with that little critter, that bundle of joy in my arms for Harry’s Valentine Day present.

Surprise is the understatement of the year. My argument, that it would be good for our health to sometimes (at least twice a day, sun or snow) get out of the house and breathe some fresh air (in NYC?) blew in the wind. But eventually those big brown eyes melted all objections.

Of course, little young animals tend to become the center of attention, especially if the owner walks him on Park Avenue with a winter coat made of the same material as yours truly, and that little critter was leaning against a tree lifting the wrong leg! He even got the attention of the Police one day in Central Park, when Harry let him off the leash to frolic with other dogs in the grass. Harry had to go to court to pay the fine he received. He used some choice words I cannot print.

 

 

 

 

 

Things were moving along well with Harry’s business and SAS. We really enjoyed life, being creative, loving life in New York, the friendliness and openness of people. One day on an exploratory trip we discovered West Point, the military academy, a drive up along the Hudson River. There was Eisenhower Hall, as big a theater as Radio City Hall in New York and featuring Broadway shows at reasonable price for the cadets and public. It was a nice drive along the Hudson through lush woods and views. Arriving there after a golf course for officers, the cadets would show you to parking spaces, then a little walk to the theater with a huge balcony where you could look over the Hudson and see Hyde Park.

One of the first times visiting a show, we tried to drive home the same way we came, not knowing the area well. The cadets ruled the traffic. As we tried to go straight at a crossing, one of them directed us up a road in a different direction: ” this way Sir!”. Harry stuck his head out the car window and tried to explain, but there came a big bark loud and clear,” this way Sir”, and louder a second time when Harry finally shifted into first gear and the officer sent us in the wrong direction, both of us crossing our fingers and hoping that this road, whichever way it was going would have a gas station. A pitch black night, no signs, was this the way to Canada?

No turn around to South, just this one road North. Finally, a light in the night! It was a Fire Station. The men had just come from a alarm and listened to our plight. We were told to go a few miles further to a village where we turned around South, plus they gave us enough gas to get home! What a night! It was such an adventure that I even forgot what the show was!

When I was a teenager and foolish at heart, I was dreaming of having a family with five children. At that time I must have thought of my loneliness as a sheltered single child, not knowing anything about the family history. That I found out much later.

Now, that I was pregnant again after having had some miscarriages, I knew something was not right with the pain I was having. Harry was on the phone with the hospital and got a taxi while I was getting a few things together to take along. An hour later after the doctor’s examination he told me while shaking his head and declaring, no you are not pregnant. You have to have a D&C and you can go home tomorrow.

The next day Harry picked me up for lunch at home. He hugged and consoled me. We were eating lunch when the phone rang. The hospital called and said to come right back, not to eat anything, take a taxi, don’t move much we’re waiting for you.

This time it was different in the hospital, a bigger operation was involved and many days at the hospital. The end result would be the same: no son, no daughter to take home, no dream come true, no promises to keep. I would not have tied you to a post in the yard with a wash line that you could not go off to explore the world by yourself. Not to run away from a mother with too much love for you who thought you were a precious possession to keep locked up like an old heirloom. You would have grown up free. Free to learn, experience through trial and tribulation, problems big and small. Maybe you would have been smart enough to study, to find some cure for sickness or solve some worldly problems. But now I would never know if you would have had the bad luck to be afflicted with the family illness. And I would never know if my dreams would have turned to nightmares, sadness and tears. But maybe it was just a lucky stroke of nature to save a child from misery, I found out later in life. One never knows, do one?

No, one really does not. Back when I was still in Switzerland, in the doctor’s care for depression, fatigue, seeing black all the time, somebody dear to me said, stop thinking about suicide and stuff like that, be happy now. You can set yourself a date in 20 years, if life is not better by then, you can think about it then. And that is what I did. When I was happily married with Harry, I forgot all about it.

Coming home from work one day Harry had a grin from ear to ear. I asked, did we win the lottery or what? Oh no, he said, Wells (Gus) called today and invited us for a visit to Minneapolis for a long weekend. What happy news. Sure we would love to go there. SAS got the ticket and the Super of the building agreed to take Taffy, walk him and feed him for the days we were gone. What a happy occasion to look forward to.

On Thursday night of the long weekend, off we were to the airport, hoping to get on the chosen plane. We had stand-by tickets as usual. We could only board if there were empty seats. We made it, and Wells was waiting for us at the airport in Minneapolis. What a pleasure to meet Nel, his wife and the kids!

We had never met Well’s wife, nor the kids, which included two boys about six and seven. We were also anxious to see his business. We already knew one of his managers who came along on one of his New York trips. We also knew one of his New York buyers.

The drinks were ready and so was dinner. What a wonderful house! We took it all in till we almost dropped our eyeballs! The house was level with the entrance, street, grass and garden in front, covered walkway to the garage. Being on a hillside, a stairway led to the downstairs floor. The whole house had glass windows from floor to ceiling, looking towards the trees and on the bottom of the hill was the Mississippi River. The ceiling was all tongue and groove Cedar beams and a huge deck was along the whole house accessible from the dining/living area.

Nel was a really charming American hostess and a lot of fun. The kids were listening and goggling us and we heard them say that we talked ‘funny’. (Guess our Swiss accent). Nobody ever noticed that at my office, the passengers asked me some times where I was from. I said Switzerland and the response was always, oh, you are Swedish!

Saturday, we got a whole tour of his business. Wow, was all we could say. Wells, had seen Harry’s work and got along well with him, tried to convince us to leave New York, move to Minneapolis and work for him. We thanked him, but had to think it over.

Minneapolis, in the State of Minnesota is a truly beautiful city, it is actually a double city of Minneapolis & St. Paul, with the Mississippi River running between them. You could see it at the bottom of the hill from Wells house. When we were there, it was a nice, leisurely stream. On Sunday we also had City tour. But all good things come to an end, so Monday we said our thanks and good buys with promises to see each other soon again. Wells brought us to the airport. In Detroit the plane stopped and we were offloaded to the next connection and also the second flight, but made it on the last one to get home that day.

We arrived late in New York, a very tired couple and a very happy dog.

One day SAS decided to check who in the Fifth Avenue Office had taken care of more passengers and sold more tickets. Turned out that I sold more than double the amount of the next agent. With some other employees I was invited to a sales meeting in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. I had been in Miami with the Coast Guard, but never in Ft. Lauderdale. It was an Interesting meeting, with nice beaches and wonderful experience.

Weeks later they offered me a job in the Tour Department at the American head quarters in Queens. Harry and I discussed it, but I declined. I would have had to take the Subway every day. It would have been a time loss for helping Harry. Besides, I did not like the Subways. Nobody in his right mind does!

Something nice to look forward to was that I had a week off between Christmas and New Year. We got tickets to visit Harry’s foster family and my parents. What a chore for us, but what a pleasure for them. One day it was relatives of mother and the next day relatives of my father. We both agreed, from now on we would visit other European cities first on each visit and on the way home make the family visit. And so we did.

With the propeller flights at the time, it was a little hard on the persons system. We always landed at Idlewild at 6am in the morning, a taxi home, take a shower and show up at the office by 9am. That changed in the 60s, with the jets, when you arrived at night and at least got a few hours of sleep, before going to work.

Across the street from Harry’s business was a Gallery with some pictures that we fancied. We really liked some, and it would have been nice to have one of them in the apartment. But they had a pretty stiff price, each signed EOM. We inquired, Ernst Otto Mondorf. One day I had a passenger by that name at my desk, asking about a trip to Sweden for his wife and two children. I wrote down name and address, looked at him, yes with his beard he could be an artist, so I asked. It was he. I also inquired if he sold pictures from his house, or only the gallery. Yes, he said, come visit us. He gave me the directions how to get to Ringwood in North Jersey. It was a pristine area, with woodlands, ponds, and a reservoir. We loved the Nature. A new and unknown territory to explore.

Ernest and Kerstin, his Swedish wife, had built their house on one of the   hills. One of the area’s rocks protruded into the living area and with a copper hood made a beautiful fire place. The front of the house was all glass with a georgeousl view. There was an easle with a painting we admired, just waiting for us, and of course, we wound up buying it. In time, we became very good friends with Kerstin and Ernie and wound up with a nice collection of his work during the few years they were still in New Jersey.

One day on one of our visits they proposed that we buy the twenty seven acres, 9 hectares of land around their house together as an investment. Harry and I were considering the proposition. We looked around and inquired about the financial deal involved.

On our next visit the Mondorfs told us that they had bought the land by themselves, financed by Kerstin’s parents in Sweden.

We looked around the area, loved the nature around and one day wound up getting three acres across the street with a view from a German couple, also living in the neighborhood. The acreage was high up with a view, bordering on protected woodlands, about ¼ mile from the Mondorfs. Didn’t quite trust their friendship as much as before. But we were lucky, the place we thought to build a house someday, on their land, was swampland and the people that did eventually build there had their basement fillet with water when it rained.

All that happened, when the lease on our apartment would run out the   following year. Wells was on one of his trips to New York. He knew the Mondorf’s too and had some of his work, as did the Museum in Minneapolis. Wells said, he would give us his house plans if we would build. Did that little mushroom in our head grow! Talks commenced with the Borough Hall, local builders and banks. We found out that we would qualify for a mortgage for 20 years, pay it off in monthly installments, which you could do in the USA but not in Switzerland. This way, the property belonged to you free and clear after twenty years.

Our idea and dream got bigger and bigger. Our desire to fulfill our dream had no borders.

The borough however did not accept Well’s plans, because the architect was from out of state. I made new ones, since our place on the rocks up on the hill could not have a space between the house and the garage. But being on the hill we could have the garage on a little lower level and still have a workroom, full basement and second floor with a wrap around deck. Problem solved!

We still kept seeing Kerstin and Ernie from time to time. She was pregnant and had a son, unfortunately something went wrong with a delayed birth and the baby was slightly handicapped. A few years later, they sold house and all property, had a boat built in the Carolinas and lived on it to save the US taxes. They sailed on it, family with the 3 small children to Sweden back and forth and finally settled in the Caribbean. One day Anika, the oldest came to visit us, having grown to a beautiful young lady. Back in Florida, she had a car accident and was killed.

Pamela, the second child, became a children’s doctor, married a doctor and the two built a house in Wyoming. Eventually Kerstin and Ernie followed them, wanting to be close as they got older. Ernie, being his unpleasant self, took his name out of artist registry that nobody could make any money on selling his work. He later had Alzheimers Demention and died. I could not contact Kerstin anymore, but we still have all his works, beautiful as ever.  

One chapter in our life was coming to its end, but the plans for a new one were sealed. We had settled with the builder, Bank and Borough to start with building our house in Spring of 1964.

We did not think it possible that on November 22, 1963 our President, John F. Kennedy would be killed. That was a big shock, the President of our chosen country! We just could not believe it, and everybody involved with solving the crime died mysteriously too, which left a lot of unanswered question in some peoples mind. But in time we settled our questions and decided to go ahead with our plans. Yes, it was to be the killing 1960’s. John F. Kennedy in 1963, Malcolm X in 1965, Martin Luther King in 1968 and Robert Kennedy in 1968.            

After all the disasters happening the last ten years, the Winter felt very long, but finally Spring came and eventually the workers started to cut some trees and the bulldozer arrived. Weekends of course we were at the building sight, checking everything done, as if we knew what was right and what was wrong. When our working season was in full swing, we had to make our inspections at 6am and then get back to the city to our jobs. Almost daily we talked to the builder on the phone. One day he questioned us if we had contacted the well digger already? No, we said, we thought that was part of the builders’ domain. Are you kidding? Ignoramuses! Do you know a dowser? What’s that? Greenhorns!

Surprise, we quickly learned about well diggers, pipes, pumps and dowsers. No, we said, we don’t believe in witchcraft. In a few days, a huge truck with drills and pipes stood in front of what was going to be our garage. The price quoted was per foot of drilling through solid rock, the estimate being about one hundred feet. Every morning at 6am we left Manhattan and drove to New Jersey to find out how much deeper they had drilled and if there was water. After 300 feet and only enough water to take one shower a day, we stopped and got a dowser. He promptly pointed to about 70 feet away by the bend in the driveway. There the drillers went a 100 feet down and hit a spring that supplied us with water for 40 years, even if the neighbors ran out in the dry spells. Eventually the first hole filled with water and we fitted it with an antique hand pump which supplied us with water whenever the electricity went out due to a storm.

This episode in our life really taught us to appreciate natures supply of that precious value and to use it wisely. To this day we will not let water run useless in the sink, but close the faucet to safe this priceless (not quite!) commodity.

We never knew anybody building a house, neither in Switzerland nor anywhere else, but we learned to check everything. A contract with dates didn’t mean the same thing to the builder as it did to us. We knew we had an apartment to the 1^st of September and the way it was going we started to worry. We wondered why all of a sudden nothing was done. The builders answer: I did not get the wood for the roof yet. I asked why? Answer: I don’t know.

I wanted to know where it was supposed to come from. The State of Washington on the Pacific. I finally got name and address of the company. I took a day off from my work and sat on the phone the whole day with the Railroad companies. Finally our tongue and groove Cedar beams for ceiling and roof were found on a side track on a railroad car in the state of Kentucky without further directions. Well, did I give them directions!

A week later, our roof started to go up. It was the same system as in Wells’ house, the ceiling throughout the house was to be stained by us, once it was up. On top of the beams was a layer of insulation and then the customary shingles.

On the first of September we could not move in yet, had to extend our apartment lease to the 15^th. We had rented a moving truck. On the 14^th we loaded it. Luckily we could take our Danish furniture apart to load. The small things like glassware, pictures and mementos with our dog Taffy squeezed in fit in our car to move out the next day.

Slowly and carefully we drove with the truck to Ringwood. Oh my, what now! Our driveway, from the bend up, was torn up. We had no smart phone yet, it was 1964! It meant to run along the road to the Mondorfs, the artist. He called the volunteer fire company, hurray; they came and pulled the truck up the hill.

The driveway had been torn up the day before to put the water pipes from the well to the garage, to bring it up to the kitchen and bath would be another week, and then another week to get the kitchen sink. The builder blamed me because I had ordered the deep end of the sink on the other end, not like everybody else (normal) had!

Mid September was of course our busy season. Not much could be cleaned up by the two of us around the house, which had to wait for any spare time on weekends. Eventually the driveway was covered with black top, the attendant at our garage on Park Avenue did not have to shake his head anymore and ask, “Where in the world do you live, that you have such a dirty car?”

 

 

 

 

And then of course, the time came to pay the piper. We had a date set with the builder. Some day before, he came to see us to ask for a favor. He had taken in a dog for shelter from an acquaintance that was not allowed to have an animal in the building where he rented a new apartment. The owner had just arrived from England and our builder thought it would be just a few days. The builder’s wife had just had a baby and did not want any dog in the house, he had to go. Could we take him in? Well, we already had Taffy. The builder laughed. He is not a guard dog, but you need one here in the woods! We never thought of that. Short story, we were to look at this animal when he came for the payment.

He didn’t just bring the dog, a very god looking German Shepherd, also a bag of dry food, some left over and his food bowl. We paid the bill and kept Sabby, an English champion.

Our spaniel Taffy didn’t say much, he probably thought this guy is too big for me to fight, let’s see what happens. We thought we would leave Sabby in the unfinished downstairs to sleep on a carpet. Taffy had the habit to sometimes jump on our bed, which we did not allow, but he must have figured maybe I can get away with it. A few days later, as we entered the bedroom to retire, the two dogs were stretched out on our bed, sleeping. Taffy jumped down right away, but Sabby grabbed Harry’s arm, growling and shaking it, ending up licking his hand. `From then on he had the run of the house but stayed off the bed.

The downstairs of our house had not been finished yet, still a cement floor, no wood parquet yet. Once in a while there were puddles by the door. I assumed it was Sabby’s markings and gave him some stern talking with fake beatings of my hand, which did not seem to impress him. One day though, I caught Taffy in the act of creating a puddle and watching Sabby’s talking to with a smirk. After catching the guilty one, the puddles stopped.

Many months later, his former owner came to visit and asked a stiff prize for “his” dog. We just said, yes, we have a bill for room and board, how many days was he here? The man got up and walked out while Sabby demonstrated he wanted to stay by leaning on Harry during his former owners visit and let him go without trying to follow him.

 

 

 

 

That was just the beginning of the Jansen Zoo. In time a very small black and white cat came by. Famous last words: Give her some milk and she’ll go away. Sure she did for a few hours. Next day cat food was added and when the weather turned cold, she simply walked in the door, Sabby grabbed her and threw her down the stairs, but she just came back. A few weeks later we caught her, sleeping between Sabby’s legs.

We fed the birds, had humming birds that were attracted by the flowers on the deck. When a nest full of little Blue Jays fell off the tree branch, we put it in a breadbasket, tried to feed them with chopped meat, but they refused to eat it. Next morning the rightful parents came back.

Then of course the squirrels came too. One little pipistrelle (bat) kept our bedroom free of bugs coming in the open window in Summer, making her turns along the wall and out she was again. Eventually the deer took shelter, slept in the garden and brought the new born twins to be admired. They also ate all the new plants we put in the ground. Possums and raccoons came around too, even brought their five young ones on the deck, while the mother went for food. On the back entrance I fed a chipmunk that punctually came every morning, waiting for breakfast.

There was a tributary, a little brook, flowing into the Wanaque Reservoir, where beavers were building their habitat. Many years later we wound up with some black bears, a mother with four young ones.

The sad story is, that eventually, even with 80 acres of nature reserve behind us, with all of the new roads and housing, about 10 kinds of birds died out. Some deer were killed by cars and hunters. Cats and dogs died with age, as sad as it was, we could not change it.

We worked hard though, to change the house into a home. Built out the unfinished floor, we made a work room for Harry, so that he and I could continue working after dinner without staying late in the city.

 

 

 

 

 

My parents were getting on in years and we wanted them to come for a holiday to enjoy our place surrounded by nature paradise. That year was a very hot August and my father had some heart trouble from time to time, so he wanted just to take it easy and relax.

The following year we knew better and asked them to come for Christmas Holiday. Because Tom Jones, our cat enjoyed to knock down tree ornaments, we started to get our huge trees to put on the deck in front of the floor to ceiling cathedral windows with just lots of lights as decoration. It became a Jansen tradition and in later years, when some neighbors started to build on our country road, they enjoyed it too. We introduced my parents to some old Germans in the neighborhood that mother could sometime have a tea for them, while we were working in the city.

It was a white Christmas, with beautiful snow all around. For New Years Eve we were invited to celebrate with friends. The car ride through the fresh, white countryside with decorations all over was an unbelievable experience for them. Harry also showed them the tree at Rockefeller Plaza in the city and it was wonderful how happy they were and how much they enjoyed themselves. Father was supposed to retire next year and planned to make us a beautiful garden. Unfortunately that was not to be. He died a few weeks before he was 65 of a heart attack. I got the news while working at the office by a call from Harry to the manager. SAS arranged for a ticket to Zurich so that I could go to help mother with all the necessary duties and arrangements.

The following two years mother still made the trip to visit us, going for walks up and down the little road, with Sabby along for protection.

From then on it was up to me and sometimes Harry and I to visit her, whenever we had a Holiday or long weekend. Somehow we managed to squeeze in some visits to New England or visit friends or some sights we had not seen yet, including California.

We knew, on and off either Harry or I would have to visit mother to keep her happy and to see how she felt. Once in a while we combined a trip to Zurich with seeing friends, who had formerly lived in the USA and now in Switzerland. Agnes was a school friend of mine for many years, I also knew her husband Emil. They both had lived in the US, Emil being associated with a US company, same as Agnes’ father had been. When their two boys reached a high-school-age, they moved back to Switzerland.

Emil was the Director for Eastern Europe, including Russia, India and the Middle East. They lived a few miles from Zurich in a lovely country village, built a house there about the same time as we did ours.

They also had a house in Palamos, Spain for vacations and we had the good fortune to be invited there. Harry and I combined it with visiting Madrid before meeting them in Barcelona to drive to Palamos. I remember how depressed I got visiting the Prado in Madrid, so somber and dark my impression was of the Goya pictures.

From the vacation place in Palamos there were excursions to Pals with houses from the Middle Ages, one of them theirs, all very interesting and informative,.

One day, going shopping in a supermarket by van in another town, Emil thought the lock on the car had been tampered with. But the pocket book of Agnes was still on the seat in the car. We didn’t think anything was amiss till we got back to the house and Agnes did not have the keys to the house anymore. I faintly remembered having seen a little white car following us. Sure enough, a few days later the house was burglarized.

Some artifacts, and paintings of our hosts were gone, so were Harry’s and my money, credit cards, pocket book, passports and ID cards. No results with the police. We were lucky that customs at the border to Switzerland did not ask for our passports or ID.

My friend Marguerite had a double of Harry’s and my house key that we could get back to the apartment. Next day of course, visit the consulate, Bank, Airlines. Back in America, we still had monthly calls verifying that we were back, because our cards were used all over.

A few years later a moving truck was parked in front of the house. The neighbors thought Agnes and Emil were moving and did not call the police. It was a bunch of thieves that took all the antiques, paintings and artifact in the house. Emil was so distraught that he never went back to Spain and sold the property.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No bad luck at all on our visit with Agnes’ and Emil’s vacation villa in southern France, Cap Ferrat near Nice. I cannot begin to describe the splendor of that place above the Mediterranean. Here too, we were blessed with beautiful weather to make excursions to Nice, Monaco, the Matisse Museum, flower markets, lavender fields, day by day an absolute dream. On our last day there, I bought a huge bouquet of carnations to bring home to mother, which pleased her immensely. Those days were an absolute dream, truly a highlight of life to think back on a cold, rainy November day in Zurich.

 

 

 

 

 

One super experience living in New Jersey was nature. While driving around to get to know the neighborhood, we found some wonderful parks. One day we wound up on the shore of Lake Wayawanda, which had a nice beach, not crowded, to share with ducks, fishermen on a further shore, a hot dog and soda counter at the bathhouse. Ha, that was just great. Next day off we were there early in the morning, after a swim, having our doughnuts and thermos of coffee and enjoyed our luck to have found this wonderful spot to enjoy. When the general public arrived, we were headed home.

Toward the Fall Season, with the beach closing, Harry was badly bitten by the golf bug. A visiting friend introduced him to the game. He found a Golf Park not far away and developed a real love for the game. On the other hand, or just to get even, ha-ha, I found a Skating Rink, I could visit on a day off during the week when there was no public session, just a bit of light and music for practice. Fantastic! Just wonderful for Spring and Fall when the work rush had not started yet and I had a day off during the week instead of Saturday. The drive there was through a beautiful area, with small lakes off and on either side of the road. The Woodland had Mountain Laurel blooming in Spring. Usually, I turned on the radio in the car for music, no traffic, being the only car on the road. One day, I heard a faint siren in the distance, but paid no attention to it. Louder and louder, I finally looked in the rear view mirror and saw a police car rushing by me and stopping right in front of me. I had to stop pretty fast, not to hit it. The officer got out of his vehicle, I rolled down the window and looked at him with a big question mark on my face. He just barked at me: your license please! Don’t you know the speed limit?

Well, I wound up with a speeding ticket and instructions to show up some evening in the courthouse of a town I never had heard of.

I went to the rink to calm down, doing my patch work which always helped me to relax, then danced up a storm to get rid of the extra energy.

At home again, I wrote a check with an apology and explanation that it was impossible for me to show up personally, since I was working in NYC and mailed it to the given address. They cashed the check and I never heard from them. Lucky me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eventually, the rent on Madison went sky high, with all the big names in Fashion renting stores there. Harry talked to his better customers and asked them if they would like it if he would visit them for sales and fittings at their address instead of the other way around. They thought it was a wonderful idea. So, we gave up Madison Avenue, the rent being triple of what it was and going higher.

That of course changed our routine. Harry brought me to the bus to New York in the morning and when he had sales or fitting appointments he could leave at a later hour to be in the city. Sometimes he would wait for me at Park Avenue and we could go home together. It was less pressure and an improvement of our daily life.

Another change was in our neighborhood. More housing was being built along the road. We could only see the new constructions in Winter, when the leaves were down. There was a zoning law, each new house needed at least three acres (one hectare) but mostly more, because of the territory with rocks and curvy road. Eventually a school bus was added and a plow in Winter. You met all the new people and some became good friends to share help, dinner and festivities. A Volunteer Fire Company and an Ambulance Service, which took you to the hospital at 2AM if needed. Generally, it was a very nice and friendly system. If Harry and I went for a weekend to see Mother, a neighbor would feed our zoo.

If our friends across the street went for vacation, we did the same for them. Wendy and Woody were good friends, we spent many a nice evening talking and solving the world’s problems. When Wendy had a terrible stomach ache and Woody was in Brazil on business, we brought her to the hospital. We waited the whole day for results of tests. The doctor came to tell us that all was well, she could go home. I didn’t believe it and suggested it could be the gall bladder, since I had the same problem as Wendy a few weeks ago and had the organ removed at another facility. Of course, the doctor just looked at me with the expression in his face saying: What do you know, I’m the doctor!! But he added, we can do another test and you come back to pick up your friend in the morning.

We contacted her husband in Brazil and he took a night flight to New York. He went straight to see his wife and called us from the hospital. Wendy was all right, they had removed her gall bladder over night and in another day she could go home.

Sometimes your own experience can help somebody else.

Another wonderful experience we had was at the Storm King Arts Center. A real revelation out in nature. You could walk through the park for miles. After every few paces, around another bend, another tree or bush or out in the distance you had a new discovery, a statue, a monument: Alexander Calder, Andy Goldworthy, Henry Moore, Louise Nevelson, Noguchi, to name a few out of hundreds, inside the museum and out in nature. We would go in the morning, take a picnic lunch, and began to admire all the beauty. From April to October you could enjoy the works, the nature, even the ride there. In Summer on the way home. You could get some fresh tomatoes and vegetables at one of the farm stands along the road.

 

 

 

One November day, I was running from my work place at Rockefeller Center, to the Bus Terminal on 7^th and 42^nd Street, having missed the Cross Town Bus from 50^th and 5^th to take me to the Terminal. I knew from experience that waiting for the next one I would miss the connection to Ringwood. Entering the Terminal, I saw a fist in the air, too late, it hit me straight in the face. I woke up, with a circle of people staring down at me while I lay on the ground. Two policemen pulled me up and led me to the police counter inside the Terminal for questioning. A lady standing there handed me my handbag. I kept repeating “I want to go home, I miss my bus, I want to go home.” After a while they found out where home was, my name and phone number, and called Harry.

They took me to Roosevelt Hospital, a nurse gave me a pill, cleaned my face and put an ice pack on it. Harry came to pick me up. A Doctor told me to get a local physician to fix my nose and put it in its place again and to take it easy because I probably had a concussion. A neighbor took me to a doctor the next morning, Harry could not, he had a delivery to make last minute.

Boy, did that hurt to put my nose back in the right spot! It took me a few days to get back to normal and loose the blue color and swelling in my face. The New York Department of something, don’t remember the name of the court, asked me to come as a witness. I did, a few days later a secretary to a judge called me and asked my opinion what I thought the punishment should be for the guy that hit me. I had no idea that in New York they would ask a victims opinion. Mine was that the man should be helped in a clinic, not out on the street hurting people. After all, I was helped in the terminal, the hospital. SAS insurance covered the cost, my wiggly teeth grew in again. I only have one question:

Why do people pay money to go to a stadium to see two men fighting, punching each other until one of them is on his back on the ground, hurting, with diminished capability to think? I just don’t understand, please explain the purpose of it. Why? Money? Stupidity? Hatred or Anger?

What is life anyway? Nobody asked you where you wanted to be born. If you were lucky it was in a place less corrupt than others with good parents if possible, and enough food to grow. But in every life must… Must what? Be sadness, sorrow, loss. Who made those rules anyway?

As a youngster, you think of having all the time in the world, old age is so far away. How old is old anyway? Old is always ten years away as long as you are still building your future and enjoy what you are doing.

All of a sudden, you have a big party, celebrating your fiftieth Birthday. You take a step back and think, 50? Where did those years go? The dreams you had, did you reach any? Met any goals? Or did you forget all of that while going through the daily struggles? How much time do you have left? When you sober up and your headache is gone, you realize that it’s all about decisions and choices and the impossibility of having it all.

Slowly, your grass patch in the garden is getting bigger, reduce the flower beds, so that you don’t have to weed and water. You ask somebody else to cut a tree in front of the house; it’s too big a job for you. And then all of a sudden, you wonder, how much time is left?

My mother got on in years. She had moved to a smaller apartment, it had one and a half rooms, with kitchen, bath, balcony, 7^th floor in the new building with a beautiful view of Zurich, the building replacing the former house she had lived in. I continued to write to her and called her every Sunday morning to see if she was all right. She had her 90^th birthday coming up in September. We planned a family affair in a country place according to her wishes.

One Sunday evening in August we had a call, that she had a stroke and was in the hospital. Could I come? The next day I was on the plane. She could not leave the hospital any more. I visited her every month, each trip getting harder to see her suffering, paralyzed, nourished by tube. Expressing her wishes with her eyes to me, not being able to help, neither doctors or nurses either, just telling me that death takes it’s time. She had six months of suffering. Another talk at the hospital before a flight back home, I told the doctors, the last two days she changed, should I stay?

You go on your way, the nurse said. I got the call on the way to the airport to go back, she had died during the night. Yes, I was right, I should have stayed to help her, hold her hands, stroke her cheeks. and thank her for my life.

Harry came over the next day, and we stayed for the funeral. Tons of relatives joined the service. We decided to go home after all the formalities were done and decided to return to Zurich in Spring to take care of the apartment. We felt that somehow our life had changed.

We realized age was knocking at our door. Slowly, at home for a while, we talked of what to do with the apartment. Of course I was burdened with memories and eventually thought we could use it as a vacation place. We returned in June, moved some stuff, got rid of some and decided to return in Fall. By that time Harry had been accepted as a member in a Golf Course and that settled the matter for Spring and Fall vacations in Switzerland. After all, it was known for wonderful vacations, said so in every magazine.

Late Summer in 1983, all the Old Timers at SAS, meaning employees over 50 years old, got a formal letter in the mail from management that we had the right to take early retirement. I don’t quite remember the conditions and benefits that letter stated. I was with the company over 25 years and was 57 years old, not having given this option any thought before. There was a date by which you had to decide and retirement would begin in September.

The rumor had it that the company would also move out of New York to New Jersey with a smaller staff. That certainly gave us lots to figure out and think about.

Harry was very happy about it and thought it was wonderful. I had my doubts. What in the world would I do the whole day in Ringwood with no more New York commute? Well, I would not have to go to bed with the chickens and get up at 4.30 AM anymore to catch the 6.00 AM bus. Not a bad idea with snow days coming up. I had tons of books to read, projects at the house always pushed aside to one day when I have the time… Now I would have the time, how about it?

Can we really face our future squarely, not to work anymore at age 57, just retire with, no income? Taxes on the house were going up every year, pork no longer was 29 cents a pound and some of Harry’s customers had died. If push comes to shove, I could always pick up another job. For the moment I would take a vacation over Winter and see how life would continue with this “new chapter” offer. Somehow I had some questions and was not ready to retire.

Night after night we talked about it. Some people don’t have a choice, they are just told you are 65 years old or whatever, now you retire. Guess we were lucky, we talked about it enough. Health, finances, etc. The end of August arrived and I signed on the dotted line. Of course I was invited to the retirement party and soaked my shrimp cocktail in tears. I guess, I always thought of my coworkers as my extended family I never had

Harry picked me up from the party to go home, he was happy, I was devastated. He tried to console me. Starting the next day, I tried to be the best housewife in Ringwood, cleaning windows, not a dog hair on the floors, the vacuum an extension of my body. The holidays came and went with some parties. No panic attacks when it snowed. We simply shoveled the driveway the next day with a blue sky. It felt like a vacation in St. Moritz. Harry laconically, told you it would be nice. Sometimes he would grumble under his breath: Florida would be nice too.

It was a Winter wonderland, feeding the birds and the wild turkeys sliding down the hill, talons stretched out to stop. Deer sleeping in the tubs they made in the snow to sleep behind the house. I must say, it had its moments of utter enjoyment.

Next March arrived and snow drops pushed through the melting snow. The phone rang, disturbing the vacuum hour. It was the manager of Thai Airways, still sharing the office space with SAS.

How are you? What are you doing? Oh, fine, thank you. I wanted to ask you if you could do me a favor and watch my office while I go on vacation for three weeks? I thought you would be able to do that, if you are free? Would I ever!!!!! Can you come to the city and we talk about it?

Of course I went to the city and met with Kathy, the Thai manager. We had known each other for many years, having shared office space but not worked together, however it was basically the same for all carriers, just with different names and geography.

There was not much to do at her station, so I read whatever I could lay my hands on about the different territories.

The three weeks went very fast. Kathy was delighted to find everything in good order. She told me, Thai would expand and hire a ticket office employee, could I teach her? Of course I could. Now what do you think?

Thai expanded, moved a floor higher in the same building at Rockefeller Center, added more staff and got a Thai manager from Bangkok, a new one every two years. I cut my work week to four days a week and stayed with Thai Airways for 15 years. They had agreed that I could take off six weeks in Spring and Fall for our golfing vacations in Zurich. That arrangement kept both of us happy.

The subject of retirement though kept creeping into our conversation again and again. Harry kept repeating Florida and I always said Manhattan. I was willing to give a little, Jersey Shore, with a ferry in mind to visit New York once in a while.

Harry had his annual medical checkup, having some breathing trouble when he went for the mail at the box on the road and had to walk up the steep hill. Some medication would help that problem. Unfortunately, the doctor also discovered prostate cancer.

He had 36 radioactive treatments and then seed implants. The doctor advised him to enjoy his next five years of his life.

We decided to go for our annual Spring vacation in Zurich to digest the news. Well, there was another surprise in store for us. The building where we had the apartment was being modernized and we could not stay there in the month of June, but had to pack up everything in it. The architect of the building casually told us of a nice, larger apartment in the same house that was empty. I had had a big portion of the curiosity that killed the cat for lunch and went with him to look at it. A chance of a lifetime? I called the office to find out the details. Yes, we could have it if we decided in two days.

There were two days worth of conversation pro and con. Harry would have to bury his Florida plans and I would have to forget Manhattan. Well, we learned to never say: I’ll never do that. After so many years of discussions, we came up with the diplomatic solution and two days later signed on the dotted line.

There seems to be an unwritten law that someday you are going to do exactly what you swore you would never do.. Of course we had planned that Wendy and Woody would visit us, and we in turn would do the same. Unfortunately, Wendy’s cancer came back and she died, so did Boomer their/our dog. Woody sold the house, moved to the Carolinas and got married again.

As the Swiss would say, und erstens kommt es anders und zweitens als man denkt!

Did we get any smarter with each year we lived? Learn by experience? Or how many times do we make the same mistake? How do you choose between the options you have? A little late to ask this question, we had signed a contract for a fresh start.

Some of our friends had died, some had moved to other cities, other states. Some we told of our plans, all agreed that we must be crazy. They could not believe that we had plans at the young age of 80 to move from the USA to Zurich, they thought we had lost our minds. I tried to explain what the doctor had told us and that I didn’t want to be stuck in a big house out in the country by myself, besides in a emergency the nearest doctor was miles away, and the hospitals were 30 and 40 miles.

The apartment on the other hand had an elevator, a view, which had always been important for us, public transportation nearby, wheel chair access, neighborhood stores within walking distance, if one day you did not have a car anymore and the hospital was in the neighborhood.

I know, both of us had sworn, never to move back to Switzerland, so, because of circumstances we had to do exactly what we swore never to do and eat our words.

All of this happened in the beginning of June. The house we loved was sold in three weeks and we had to start to part with lots of treasures and memorabilia, two thirds or three fourth would have to go, one third or one fourth we could move. Oey vey, what would fit with our new Swiss life? What could be sold to an antiquarian and how many loads could go to the local Salvation Army by the closing day? Decisions, decisions, inspections of every nail and board, chimney, water, septic, roof, electricity, radon, it was mind boggling.

We had booked a flight for the evening of October the third. The last night we slept at the house on a mattress on the floor, which we delivered to a neighbor in the morning with the last flower pots. After 20 years of traveling around the USA and world and 40 years in our home, a neighbor brought us to the airport. After so many years, oh my God, what are we doing and promises of visiting every year, we were on the plane to Zurich.

The apartment promised for September was not ready for days after our arrival and we had to stay at a friend’s house. Our furniture arrived a month later. That was the easy part, but how to meet our Swiss neighbors?

My knees were shaking, as I approached the b-weekly kaffeeklatsch table of the Halvetias at the downstairs restaurant in our building to introduce myself.

When we were working night and day sometimes, muscles sore, eyes tired, we thought it must be nice to just stop and lay down. Not so. The satisfaction was when the job was finished, in good order and accomplished.

Now life would take a definite turn. Some people call it the golden years. What are they? On the way on the plane to the place where our childhoods were spent and we kept dreaming of leaving, was this place of milk and honey our parents had always asked us to come back to?

A place where every human being can live, eat and sleep when he is tired, where he knows his children and family are well taken care of? That place we did not find, we found one quite different from where we used to spend our vacation

Our golden years, what are they? A fraudulent assertion, that’s what they are. You think they are without stress. Not so. That’s when the stress begins.

But we both knew, nobody else but the two of us made the decision, and we swore to make the best of it and get over the shock of reality.

We still had our love and memories of joy and hardships, and had more understanding of each other. We both knew that the life we had lived was gone and we had started a new adventure, so let us enjoy it, whatever remained we tried to make the best of it, remembering the doctors’ prediction.

The only relative I had, Marguerite, was the friend that had taken us in, when the apartment was not ready on our arrival. She had been married to a cousin of mine. She was some years younger than the two of us and full of information to our hundreds of questions. This lady, Marguerite, now widowed, had an extra portion of patience and we were very thankful to know her.

Of course Harry was back on “his” golf course in no time. His smile from ear to ear was a good sign. We spent many happy dinners and evenings with his golfer friends at their or our house. All of them had travelled widely, knew America and had open doors: hello, nice to see you, come on in. No cold shoulders, yes, what is it?

To my great surprise, I discovered that Harry adjusted much easier to the new situation than I did. And so, we spent many a day walking the course together, I being his caddy. Besides the beauty of the course, the birds and wonderful vistas, the clubhouse and making friends, having a good time when the weather was willing, it was all enjoyed by both of us.

I remembered from our vacation time, that there was an American Club in Zurich. Sure there was, I looked it up, the American Women Club of Zurich, the AWCZ. My lucky day to join them, including FAWCO, Federation of American Women, I felt welcome and right at home.

In the neighborhood of the apartment was a park for kids to play, adjacent wood lands with lots of walkways, all sorts of hundreds of year old trees, tennis courts, even restaurants with a view over the city and in good weather, the mountains. Any season, any weather, you could see people walking, jogging or doing calisthenics on the available installations. Sundays were crowded with families, picnickers and ball players, weather permitting. Harry and I had many nice walks in all seasons.

Mostly we enjoyed meeting with friends, music and reading. Of course, there were the days of check-ups with doctors and slowly came little setbacks. I don’t feel like going there today, maybe tomorrow. Can we just make a short walk? I think I play just nine holes and come home early. Why don’t you go to the club today or the city and I just take it easy? And the pills, the pains.

You have visions of how it was years ago, when everything seemed to be better, but actually nothing was better, just different. And of course you were younger. Everybody slowly got bald or gray and everybody we called a friend in America was dead. Who will be next?

 

 

 

And then, the doctor said: from now on, I can’t help you or see you anymore, you have to go to the hospital every two weeks, I’ll forward your files. You should see Dr. Smith, I’ll talk to her.

You read about the thousands of cases, the higher percentage every year and you realize you are on the same treadmill. You think about the journey you took through all those years. What is life anyway? Nobody asked you whether you wanted to come to this world. If you were lucky, as we were, in a country with less wars than others, and with poor, but decent parents. You had enough food to grow, but in every life must be…

Must be what? As in every country, some disasters, be they by nature or manmade, how can you judge any of them, all having atrocities in their closets. In America the Indians, in Switzerland, being neutral, shipping weapons to both sides of the war and claiming the boat is full, to refugees? The Israelis treating the Palestinians like they were treated by the Nazis?

And finally you remember that it’s Winter, the Winter of your life and the fun part is over, but oh, did we enjoy the past with salt and pepper between. The frozen places with music and ice and edges gliding over it, dreaming of love and sex and Spring and golf balls flying in the air, jumping waves in the ocean. You tried to accomplish something in life, the spirit was there, but where did it leave you? With more knowledge and understanding, and with more pain, more pills, more hospital visits.

And so, we came to the end of little outings, the car had his own life, sitting in the garage. Harry’s cancer was sucking all the strength out of his body. We did not joke anymore about who was going to clean up. All the mementos and memories, things you thought you could not live without, now stand around, collecting dust. The cancer was spreading, time was getting short.

There were attempts with pills and injections, but no chemo, definitely not, Harry was too advanced in years. I tried whatever I thought would help, but every day took its toll. An Emergency Doctor came by one Friday evening to check why he had such terrible pain in his chest. His verdict: you have to be more active, you don’t do enough. Harry tried the next day to do some exercise, but had to stop, it was too painful.

There went another painkiller, more morphine. By Monday morning I called my friend Marguerite to bring us to the Emergency Hospital, which was close by. The examination lasted four hours, Doctors conference, and then the verdict. We have to keep your husband here, he must have had three or four heart attacks Friday and over the weekend. We have to put him on blood thinners and oxygen, etc. etc. Marguerite brought me home to pack up some things he needed at the hospital, but he did not want to stay there, he just wanted to be home.

The doctors agreed, but he needed an oxygen tank 24 hours a day.

I made the necessary arrangements, the machine thumping like an elephant foot stomping the ground. The cables were long enough that he could move around the apartment. If I held him under the arms to prevent him from falling he could sit on the balcony to see the sky and clouds, the glow of the snow covered mountains at sunset.

Then came the day he did not want to eat any more lunch or dinner. In the evening he just wanted to lie down. It was getting darker, he had been watching TV, but not really looking. I said wait, I help you and adjust the bed that you can half lay and half sit on the pillows. I fumbled with the oxygen cables on the bed frame with my left arm supporting his back. My chin and shoulder holding the phone, talking to 144 Emergency, begging to rush. With my right arm I tried to lift his leg onto the bed, but I could not. I’m looking at him, he is no longer with me.

The Emergency crew, a man and a lady, came in, because I had left the door open. They put Harry’s leg up and wanted to give him an electric shock. I stopped them and said, too late, Harry would not have wanted it. I just screamed, Marguerite holding me, stroking my back. We had to wait for a doctor to come to attest that Harry had died.

The Emergency couple left, the doctor came after a while to attest that half of me, Harry had died. I just kept screaming no, no, no, I want to go with him, while Marguerite held me.

Two men came with the wooden box, called a coffin and asked us to step out of the room, while they placed Harry’s body, his worldly cloth in the box, his arms that used to hold me and console me, his beautiful eyes never to see the sun again. One more look and they took the box away. My only desire to join him, but they screwed the top of the box on outside and carried my husband away. But no, I cannot join him, I have to take care of the closing up of his life.

Another doctor arrived at 3 AM and issued the death certificate, handing it to me. You will need the certificate to prove his demise at the bank, the town office, the tax office, the consulate et al.

I was lucky, I had Marguerite who knew the routine and showed me where to go and came with me for support. What happens, if you are all alone?

Why should you not be able to leave, when you had enough of this world. Why not leave together? You lived and loved, sinned and suffered through it all, the living, loving and dying? Who says no, who makes the rules? The religions, who kill each other by the thousands each century? The bureaucrats who want their dues? Their fees, their bills and taxes paid? And who does not feel people are capable to make that decision. I had figured it out so wonderfully; the leaving together. It would be a few moments of pain in a wonderful place, we were there, it was gorgeous.

But I stayed and lived the pain, and kept my promises. Yes I kept them, the promises I made, and the plans I had made were for naught. But the horror of having a twosome ripped apart, half of you gone, you can just scream. In time they say, it will fade.

Yes, what am I to do now that you have left me? That was my big question. It did take me a year to keep my promises, to take care of all the bureaucracy, the formalities. That seems to be a big industry in Switzerland, bureaucracy, but finally everything in the USA and Switzerland was taken care of. The consulate was a big help. But now all of a sudden, every penny accounted for, all the memories still intact, the loneliness was my companion, as happens to millions of people all over the world, I realized that fact. I now look at the dark sky alone, a sliver of moon, the rumble of cars going by, I say good night to my love.

  

 

So please tell me what is an old woman like me to do, to make this a better world? She walks slowly, her brain is a bit damaged by anesthetics and concussions and I tend to fall on my face literally and figuratively?

I do recycle the bottles, cans and salad leaves for the compost site. I get depressed when I read about poverty in this world and I have made a testament to support the poor, but my possessions will not make a big difference.

I have heard of another country with a vote scheduled to increase the minimum wage but a billionaire sold the citizens the idea it would cause job losses and the people believed it and voted for less taxes for the rich.

When I was in high school, the teacher preached of birth control because the world would soon not be able to support a bigger population and run out of food. So they started another war and killed millions. Now some people are going without meals because of disasters like flooding, fires and destruction of habitat, not to forget wars and hatred of one religion over the other.

Too many antibiotics are used to make more money in agriculture. Now we have more people dying of infections where antibiotics used to help. What about the increase in cancers, some caused by pesticides and chemicals in food, not to mention pollution. Remember Rachel Carson? What, you never heard of her? Hundreds of organizations abound to make this a better world, should I join one? But do you really think one would make a difference? For myself and the rest of the world, nothing has really changed since Kane and Abel.

From now on, I have to realize every day I will be a day older, loves will be platonic, all physical desires, hugs and kisses will be missing. A walk of 30 minutes will now take me 40! My shopping bag will be pulled with a cart behind me and I will need more sleep to restore my strength.

Oh, what time is it? How long did I sleep? Eight or nine o’clock? When I just wanted to go on sleeping forever, never to wake up again, I’m tired, so tired, I’ve seen it all, terror, slaughter of the innocent, suffering. I’ve seen the slums, desert of Australia, the woods of Finland, mountains, oceans, I’ve seen it, why get up again? Why? Why can’t we just leave this world, when we have enough?

I have promises to keep, promises before I sleep. And I have desires, yes plenty of desires. I want to hear Bethoven’s Ninth, Scarlati, Yehudi Menuhin records, playing the great Violin Concerti, Vivaldi, Albinoni and I have so many books to read again. Notes to be left in a cornerstone, will I see those stones again? I don’t think so, but I want to read the poem again. And Hurston, Alice Walker, Steiger and Russel. When, tell me please, when will I see Augusto Giacometti’s Fantasia Cromatica again?

I’ll never know unless I look at the blue sky with all the planes tic tack crosses. And I have to keep all the promises I made last night, and I have to check if the seeds I sowed by the road came up. The promises, will they be kept or will I sleep? Sleep? No time to sleep. Not yet.

I picked up a book, prepared to read, but left it closed, still thinking about a lifetime that seemed to have hurried by and how the years were now flying by without being able to stop them. I feel like yelling: stop, I need some more time, I have so much to do still.

What, did I miss something? I’ll never know, too late now. Just enjoy the rest of the day. I put on some music, lean back, enjoy every minute ticking by at the clock on the wall.

Now, having the good fortune to look forward to my 90^th birthday, what is my purpose in life, how do I continue? There must be more than going to bed to sleep and getting up to feed myself. What reason and responsibility do I have left in my remaining years?

I do not know how my life would have turned out, had I made different decisions. I only know, I tried my best and had a life full of experiences that not everybody has had. Now, I ask myself, what can I do to make this a better world? I realize that is not possible, as more learned people with higher standing have tried and failed. But in a smaller circle can I still make it better for somebody else or do I just take up space and food of somebody that would need it?

No, I want to be of help to another human being that at this time needs an extra hand. One has to have a goal or a purpose to live, or one sinks in despair and self pity, which is no life worth living. Where to find the answer?

To quote Paul Bunyon:

You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.

I miss him so

how can I share to go there?

how can I share,

go where?

 

I can’t take it any more.

In my arms he lay,

he did not say, just stared.

I closed his eyes,

how can I go and share,

tell me where?

 

How can I stay,

no way

to stand, just sink,

I want to know

there is no shore

 

Where to go, there is no more,

how do I dare to find him,

but where.

I just can’t take it anymore.

 

Another pill, no more,

he is on some other shore forevermore.

But I still have promises to keep

before I seek the other shore.

 

But I can’t take it anymore.