Roberta Horowitz
On Wednesday, June 30, my husband, my 24-year-old son, Yair, and I started a four-mile hike in Palisades Park in New Jersey. Ten feet into the hike, as I admired the beauty of the trees, I tripped over a tree root, and went down hard. I couldn’t breathe. After what seemed like a long time, I slowly drew in some welcome air. Then the pain hit, intensely. My head was killing me; my brain felt as if it was sloshing around inside my skull. My teeth felt not securely attached. I ran my tongue over the edges of my teeth, once, then again; they were all there. Then more pain hit: on my chin and under it, my stomach, my hands, arms, knees, nose, forehead.
“What hurts?” My son asked.
I gestured towards my head.
He advised me of the damage. “You’re scratched up. You have a small rock embedded in your forehead and you’re covered with dirt.” After checking my knees, my arms and hands, he went to get ice.
When he returned I put the soothing ice pack on my forehead, then on my chin, and back and forth. Everything was aching. Suddenly my head was spinning. I fainted. The State Police arrived and strongly recommended a trip to an ER. I resisted, and then changed my mind when they informed me that I could be bleeding inside my head. Four EMTs appeared, encased my neck in a brace and put me on an immobilizing board. We arrived at Englewood Hospital’s newly renovated ER, where every patient has a large private room staffed with exceptional caring, patient, professionals. After an exam, removal of the rock in my forehead, and a CAT scan; I was discharged with instructions for care. I had a concussion but no internal bleeding and no broken bones.
My advice – if you ever, God forbid, need an ER – even if you are in California, tell the ambulance driver to head for Englewood Hospital in New Jersey!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
What Happened
by Jeanette Hoff
If someone had approached me and asked “what’s wrong?” I would not have been able to answer. It seemed that I was just out of it. I mean, I could not remember what had happened. I found myself totally and completely without a clue.
“Why was I on the floor?”
It seems as though I might have been pushed. Memory or the lack of it can really be upsetting. Not even to remember what I was doing on the floor.
Anyway, perhaps I should at least try to pick myself up. Cautiously, I did just that – and made sure I could stand upright.
But what an experience. “Why did I fall?”
One always feels, ‘perhaps I fainted’. I guess old age is always a suspect.
If someone had approached me and asked “what’s wrong?” I would not have been able to answer. It seemed that I was just out of it. I mean, I could not remember what had happened. I found myself totally and completely without a clue.
“Why was I on the floor?”
It seems as though I might have been pushed. Memory or the lack of it can really be upsetting. Not even to remember what I was doing on the floor.
Anyway, perhaps I should at least try to pick myself up. Cautiously, I did just that – and made sure I could stand upright.
But what an experience. “Why did I fall?”
One always feels, ‘perhaps I fainted’. I guess old age is always a suspect.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
I Had A Dream
by Norma Crown
Some dream of mountains
Others of space.
In Morpheus' arms,
I too dream, of race.
I envision a painting
Portrayed by Seurat.
Dabs of bright raindrops
Stipple the flat.
Kaleidoscope colors
Swirl in one place.
Move six steps back
What appears is a face.
Long torsos, short,
Afros and curls,
Blue eyes, brown,
Mix in a whirl.
Black dots, white,
And various hues,
Delineate figures.
It is I. It is you.
All colors joined
Each to the other
Draw us together.
We're sister and brother.
Some dream of mountains
Others of space.
In Morpheus' arms,
I too dream, of race.
I envision a painting
Portrayed by Seurat.
Dabs of bright raindrops
Stipple the flat.
Kaleidoscope colors
Swirl in one place.
Move six steps back
What appears is a face.
Long torsos, short,
Afros and curls,
Blue eyes, brown,
Mix in a whirl.
Black dots, white,
And various hues,
Delineate figures.
It is I. It is you.
All colors joined
Each to the other
Draw us together.
We're sister and brother.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Snowfall of December 31, 2009
Rose Smeenk
The day before New Year's and here I am trapped in the house because of a heavy snowfall. In the morning I began as usual, coming downstairs after the phone call from Pedro from the van to take me to the Y. However we didn't get far because Pedro did not think it was safe on the road. The van's new tires were slipping and sliding and so was the van. Pedro drove everyone back home. So I was feeling blue and lonely, missing my writing and sketching classes. My memory drifted back to the winter of 1946. The snow blocked all the streets. Our milk delivery truck was stuck on 201st St. for three days. Snow was shoveled into 2 foot piles at curbs. In front of our house we had built up a 5 foot high pyramid. Children from all over the neighborhood were sliding on it or playing king of the mountain. Some kids made a fort and passersby had to be alert to avoid being hit by stray snowball ammunition.
Then I recalled the winter weekend at our trailer in Harrisville, New Hampshire. This was our summer retreat place but on this weekend our friends who lived there year-round called to say that their refrigerator had conked out; so we brought up our old one, which we had just replaced. The lake in front of their house was a huge white prairie surrounded by frost covered trees, a fairyland of fluffy white forest. Our friend, whom we called 'Pop' because he was older than us, had drilled a hole in the icy lake and caught several pickerel which we enjoyed for lunch. Pulling our son on a sled, we hiked along snow-covered paths through the woods bordering the lake.
In my youth, I used to ski in the Berkshires and at Jiminy Peak in upstate New York. Speeding down the snow covered slopes was thrilling. To breathe the pristine air and to enjoy the easy comradeship after skiing was also wonderful. However these are just memories; and the present is only a view from my window of snow-decked buildings, slippery sidewalks and a distant glimpse of the Palisades. Tomorrow is the beginning of 2010, pristine in a fresh mantle of snow. Happy new year!
Have you realized your potential?
Florence Glucksman
Perhaps I look at this question with a jaundiced eye. Let us explore my thinking. There is a Hebrew word 'halacha' which is taken to mean 'law'. But actually it comes from the word 'holech' or 'walk'. While one lives there is always a walking, a going, or a striving. This striving makes daily life livable -- each day we strive towards our future. We change with different experiences; our personalities expand or lessen in meaningful ways as we react to multitudes of perceived knowledge. I maintain that the striving itself makes life interesting, fascinating and challenging. This is my thinking as I face each day.
Or
Living up to my potential
Ira Stulbaum
As both my insight and foresight are limited, I must confess that I truly do not know if I am living up to my potential. However, I will venture an educated guess and say that I am not. Although deeply ensconced in my sixth decade of life, I feel as new as the first bloom on a willow in spring. I bound about with the joy and enthusiasm of a Cocker Spaniel puppy, home from the pet shop for the first time. I have embarked on two new exciting and frightening endeavors. I soon hope to be a working writer and actor.
I know, deep within my soul, that these crafts require meticulous work and dedication. Many talented people are pursuing these dreams. Fate, timing and luck play important and unpredictable roles.
I consider myself truly blessed however, because although I have goals to aspire to, I am immensely enjoying the embryonic paths and processes ensconced therein. I am learning all the time and my life is exponentially richer for the pursuit. I have not reached whatever potential the Almighty has given me in terms of the kind of person I want and aspire to be. What a great incalculable joy it would be to say in all sincerity that I treat myself and others with as much honesty, clarity, kindness, consideration and love, as the good Lord has seen fit to bestow on me. That my good friends would be cause to celebrate indeed!
Realizing a potential
Jennifer Egyes
I was never sure I had the potential to be a voice teacher. I was surprised when some of my classmates at The Manhattan school of music began giving voice lessons. How curious I was to know how they went about teaching this art when they themselves were hardly experienced singers. Not being able to see the vocal cords, a teacher must rely completely on the ear and imagery. I too wanted to teach voice and was eager to unlock the secret before venturing out to teach this intangible art. First I had to understand how the breath connects to the vocal cords to produce sound without air escaping. I had to understand what an open throat meant and how to convey that idea to a student. These are important secrets I had to unlock before I could even dare to call myself a voice teacher.
After studying for many years and working with the best coaches in the world, I took on my first voice student at the Brooklyn Conservatory of Music, where I was hired to teach 22 years ago.
As a student I bumped into the opera star Beverly Sills at the Ansonia Hotel in New York City. I was with some fellow students when I heard voices saying "There's Beverly Sills." Dressed in a sensational fur coat, she turned her head to acknowledge us. She looked like a diva and you knew instantly she was a star. For a moment I got a glimpse of her vivacious smile, the smile that made her mother nickname her 'Bubbles'. Her vocal cords were like the strings of a violin. Standing there in awe of her presence -- and what a presence she had -- I wondered how she produced such beautiful sounds.
Another superstar encounter occurred in the Metropolitan Opera House where I was going upstairs to hear Aida. Grace Bumbry was singing the role of Amneris and that's why I was attending this performance. Suddenly walking through the door was none other than the diva herself. As always when I saw one of my favorite opera singers I was awestruck. I scurried up the stairs not wanting to miss a beat of her singing. The curtain rose and out walked Grace Bumbry. It had taken her only minutes to change into her costume and there she was on stage sending out her luscious tones to the Met audience. I listened with big ears and also with my binoculars glared down her throat hoping to unlock the secrets to becoming the best singer I could be and hopefully the best voice teacher I could become.
While teaching I was also learning, from my students, from my performances and by watching and listening to other people. My quest included attending master classes at Juilliard -- taught by Marilyn Horne -- hoping to find something I did not already know.
After leaving the Brooklyn Conservatory I began teaching privately at my home studio in Nyack, New York. Later I moved to Westchester and was hired to teach at the JCC in Tarrytown and at the Rockland country Day School. This was not enough to satisfy my appetite for teaching, so I applied for and was hired to be music director for the Northern Westchester Center for the Arts. I was challenged as I had many voice students and was able to showcase their talents and the result of my teaching twice a year. Increasingly I was becoming adept at this art form. The great thing about music is that no matter how many times you perform it is never the same and so it is in teaching, there is always another road to go down.
Rose Smeenk
The day before New Year's and here I am trapped in the house because of a heavy snowfall. In the morning I began as usual, coming downstairs after the phone call from Pedro from the van to take me to the Y. However we didn't get far because Pedro did not think it was safe on the road. The van's new tires were slipping and sliding and so was the van. Pedro drove everyone back home. So I was feeling blue and lonely, missing my writing and sketching classes. My memory drifted back to the winter of 1946. The snow blocked all the streets. Our milk delivery truck was stuck on 201st St. for three days. Snow was shoveled into 2 foot piles at curbs. In front of our house we had built up a 5 foot high pyramid. Children from all over the neighborhood were sliding on it or playing king of the mountain. Some kids made a fort and passersby had to be alert to avoid being hit by stray snowball ammunition.
Then I recalled the winter weekend at our trailer in Harrisville, New Hampshire. This was our summer retreat place but on this weekend our friends who lived there year-round called to say that their refrigerator had conked out; so we brought up our old one, which we had just replaced. The lake in front of their house was a huge white prairie surrounded by frost covered trees, a fairyland of fluffy white forest. Our friend, whom we called 'Pop' because he was older than us, had drilled a hole in the icy lake and caught several pickerel which we enjoyed for lunch. Pulling our son on a sled, we hiked along snow-covered paths through the woods bordering the lake.
In my youth, I used to ski in the Berkshires and at Jiminy Peak in upstate New York. Speeding down the snow covered slopes was thrilling. To breathe the pristine air and to enjoy the easy comradeship after skiing was also wonderful. However these are just memories; and the present is only a view from my window of snow-decked buildings, slippery sidewalks and a distant glimpse of the Palisades. Tomorrow is the beginning of 2010, pristine in a fresh mantle of snow. Happy new year!
Have you realized your potential?
Florence Glucksman
Perhaps I look at this question with a jaundiced eye. Let us explore my thinking. There is a Hebrew word 'halacha' which is taken to mean 'law'. But actually it comes from the word 'holech' or 'walk'. While one lives there is always a walking, a going, or a striving. This striving makes daily life livable -- each day we strive towards our future. We change with different experiences; our personalities expand or lessen in meaningful ways as we react to multitudes of perceived knowledge. I maintain that the striving itself makes life interesting, fascinating and challenging. This is my thinking as I face each day.
Or
Living up to my potential
Ira Stulbaum
As both my insight and foresight are limited, I must confess that I truly do not know if I am living up to my potential. However, I will venture an educated guess and say that I am not. Although deeply ensconced in my sixth decade of life, I feel as new as the first bloom on a willow in spring. I bound about with the joy and enthusiasm of a Cocker Spaniel puppy, home from the pet shop for the first time. I have embarked on two new exciting and frightening endeavors. I soon hope to be a working writer and actor.
I know, deep within my soul, that these crafts require meticulous work and dedication. Many talented people are pursuing these dreams. Fate, timing and luck play important and unpredictable roles.
I consider myself truly blessed however, because although I have goals to aspire to, I am immensely enjoying the embryonic paths and processes ensconced therein. I am learning all the time and my life is exponentially richer for the pursuit. I have not reached whatever potential the Almighty has given me in terms of the kind of person I want and aspire to be. What a great incalculable joy it would be to say in all sincerity that I treat myself and others with as much honesty, clarity, kindness, consideration and love, as the good Lord has seen fit to bestow on me. That my good friends would be cause to celebrate indeed!
Realizing a potential
Jennifer Egyes
I was never sure I had the potential to be a voice teacher. I was surprised when some of my classmates at The Manhattan school of music began giving voice lessons. How curious I was to know how they went about teaching this art when they themselves were hardly experienced singers. Not being able to see the vocal cords, a teacher must rely completely on the ear and imagery. I too wanted to teach voice and was eager to unlock the secret before venturing out to teach this intangible art. First I had to understand how the breath connects to the vocal cords to produce sound without air escaping. I had to understand what an open throat meant and how to convey that idea to a student. These are important secrets I had to unlock before I could even dare to call myself a voice teacher.
After studying for many years and working with the best coaches in the world, I took on my first voice student at the Brooklyn Conservatory of Music, where I was hired to teach 22 years ago.
As a student I bumped into the opera star Beverly Sills at the Ansonia Hotel in New York City. I was with some fellow students when I heard voices saying "There's Beverly Sills." Dressed in a sensational fur coat, she turned her head to acknowledge us. She looked like a diva and you knew instantly she was a star. For a moment I got a glimpse of her vivacious smile, the smile that made her mother nickname her 'Bubbles'. Her vocal cords were like the strings of a violin. Standing there in awe of her presence -- and what a presence she had -- I wondered how she produced such beautiful sounds.
Another superstar encounter occurred in the Metropolitan Opera House where I was going upstairs to hear Aida. Grace Bumbry was singing the role of Amneris and that's why I was attending this performance. Suddenly walking through the door was none other than the diva herself. As always when I saw one of my favorite opera singers I was awestruck. I scurried up the stairs not wanting to miss a beat of her singing. The curtain rose and out walked Grace Bumbry. It had taken her only minutes to change into her costume and there she was on stage sending out her luscious tones to the Met audience. I listened with big ears and also with my binoculars glared down her throat hoping to unlock the secrets to becoming the best singer I could be and hopefully the best voice teacher I could become.
While teaching I was also learning, from my students, from my performances and by watching and listening to other people. My quest included attending master classes at Juilliard -- taught by Marilyn Horne -- hoping to find something I did not already know.
After leaving the Brooklyn Conservatory I began teaching privately at my home studio in Nyack, New York. Later I moved to Westchester and was hired to teach at the JCC in Tarrytown and at the Rockland country Day School. This was not enough to satisfy my appetite for teaching, so I applied for and was hired to be music director for the Northern Westchester Center for the Arts. I was challenged as I had many voice students and was able to showcase their talents and the result of my teaching twice a year. Increasingly I was becoming adept at this art form. The great thing about music is that no matter how many times you perform it is never the same and so it is in teaching, there is always another road to go down.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
I did it!
by G. V. Umadevi
I lived in Columbia University buildings for four years. Students from all over the world who were attending Teachers' College and Columbia University lived in the same building. A friend of one of the Spanish students from Teachers' College took me to a place near a Spanish church to play Christmas songs for Spanish people who spoke no English. My friend spoke in English to me and translated into Spanish for them.
My friend left me alone with these non-English speaking people. So without knowing exactly what to do, I started playing Christmas songs on my harmonica and on my Indian instrument which I had brought with me. At once the whole group began singing the same songs in Spanish!!! I asked them some questions in English and received no answer. I began feeling nervous and a bit queasy. But because of the music I was able to cope. They asked me some questions in Spanish. I answered "si, si," and I managed, somehow, with great difficulty to say a few Spanish words. Then we all laughed and I left the place happy and proud. I did it! I made it happen!
I also went to a Seventh Day Adventist Church and played songs to the churchgoers there. They were very polite and respected me. Everybody spoke English. So no problem for me. Before I went to that church everyone at Teachers' College warned me "Do not wear your Indian dress. You'll get killed if you go there dressed like that." But I went wearing my sari. Again, I did it!
I lived in Columbia University buildings for four years. Students from all over the world who were attending Teachers' College and Columbia University lived in the same building. A friend of one of the Spanish students from Teachers' College took me to a place near a Spanish church to play Christmas songs for Spanish people who spoke no English. My friend spoke in English to me and translated into Spanish for them.
My friend left me alone with these non-English speaking people. So without knowing exactly what to do, I started playing Christmas songs on my harmonica and on my Indian instrument which I had brought with me. At once the whole group began singing the same songs in Spanish!!! I asked them some questions in English and received no answer. I began feeling nervous and a bit queasy. But because of the music I was able to cope. They asked me some questions in Spanish. I answered "si, si," and I managed, somehow, with great difficulty to say a few Spanish words. Then we all laughed and I left the place happy and proud. I did it! I made it happen!
I also went to a Seventh Day Adventist Church and played songs to the churchgoers there. They were very polite and respected me. Everybody spoke English. So no problem for me. Before I went to that church everyone at Teachers' College warned me "Do not wear your Indian dress. You'll get killed if you go there dressed like that." But I went wearing my sari. Again, I did it!
I did it!
By Roberta Horowitz
Before reaching the age of 12, I had almost drowned three times. The last episode required CPR to revive me. My father told my mother "we better give her swimming lessons or we'll lose her." So that summer I took lessons. I had a great time; I lived by the pool, socializing and of course, swimming. I certainly wasn't a good swimmer nor a strong swimmer, but I set a goal for myself -- eventually I wanted to swim one mile continuously -- that's 72 laps in an Olympic-sized pool.
I began with two laps, gasping for air I had to stop. Each day I tried to swim at least the same number of laps as I had the previous day and then add a lap or two. Day after day my stamina increased. My form improved as I changed my crawl stroke. I watched children taking lessons and made changes to make my arm movements more efficient. As I approached 22 laps I had to fight boredom. I would make lists in my mind. I worked hard to keep alert. Keeping track of which lap I was up to was difficult. Was that 22 or 24? My feet kicked automatically and my arms moved to their own rhythm. It was so relaxing I had to fight sleep. Periodically I felt like a fish, as if I could breathe in the water; it was scary. Stay focused, Roberta. Each lap added up until I reached 36, a half mile. I couldn't get past that point. Day after day I swam 36 laps but not more. I couldn't get beyond it. My neck was killing me. Turning my head with each arm stroke caused great pain but I had to do that in order to breathe.
Years passed. In Israel, I was swimming in a pool at Kibbutz Ramat Rachel in Jerusalem. The sun was shining, the water sparkled as I swam lap after lap. I felt as if I were on top up the water, just skimming across the surface. it was effortless. I reached 36 laps, then 37 and 38. Lap after lap came and went. I felt as if I could swim for ever. But I stopped at, yes, you guessed it 72 laps. I did it!
Before reaching the age of 12, I had almost drowned three times. The last episode required CPR to revive me. My father told my mother "we better give her swimming lessons or we'll lose her." So that summer I took lessons. I had a great time; I lived by the pool, socializing and of course, swimming. I certainly wasn't a good swimmer nor a strong swimmer, but I set a goal for myself -- eventually I wanted to swim one mile continuously -- that's 72 laps in an Olympic-sized pool.
I began with two laps, gasping for air I had to stop. Each day I tried to swim at least the same number of laps as I had the previous day and then add a lap or two. Day after day my stamina increased. My form improved as I changed my crawl stroke. I watched children taking lessons and made changes to make my arm movements more efficient. As I approached 22 laps I had to fight boredom. I would make lists in my mind. I worked hard to keep alert. Keeping track of which lap I was up to was difficult. Was that 22 or 24? My feet kicked automatically and my arms moved to their own rhythm. It was so relaxing I had to fight sleep. Periodically I felt like a fish, as if I could breathe in the water; it was scary. Stay focused, Roberta. Each lap added up until I reached 36, a half mile. I couldn't get past that point. Day after day I swam 36 laps but not more. I couldn't get beyond it. My neck was killing me. Turning my head with each arm stroke caused great pain but I had to do that in order to breathe.
Years passed. In Israel, I was swimming in a pool at Kibbutz Ramat Rachel in Jerusalem. The sun was shining, the water sparkled as I swam lap after lap. I felt as if I were on top up the water, just skimming across the surface. it was effortless. I reached 36 laps, then 37 and 38. Lap after lap came and went. I felt as if I could swim for ever. But I stopped at, yes, you guessed it 72 laps. I did it!
My Trip to Atlantic City
By G. V. Umadevi
On June 4 I went to Atlantic City with the Y. The journey was very pleasant. We left the Y. at 8 AM to the Washington Heights YM-YWHA. From there we changed to another bus and left at 9 AM. On the way I was unable to see the scenery due to foggy conditions. I was very chilly too. It took exactly 2 hours and 10 minutes to reach Atlantic City.
As soon as I arrived I was issued a Resorts Bus Bonus card to use in the casino. I won $91 using my Bus Bonus card. Afterward, I went outside the casino to eat something. To my amazed surprise I found thousands of seagulls very beautiful with red lips and black eyes flying all over the place and even on my head. They were demanding food with their awful voices and grabbing things from people's hands. They were constantly talking to each other and to us!! I loved those birds very much.
I enjoyed the beautiful scenery of the Atlantic Ocean from each and every floor of the big shopping mall. I also saw a huge carved elephant covered with colorful precious gems. It was very beautiful. It was in an Asian store. I also saw a lot of people driving others to assorted destinations. I enjoyed the boardwalk even though it was very cold and cloudy. I walked miles to see the different casinos. At 5:30 PM we left Atlantic City and reached the Nagle Ave. Y. at 7:30 PM. After dropping off the members there were reached our own Y safe and sound.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Painting Ability
by Rose Smeenk
My neighbor suggested that I join her to go to the Bronx Y for swimming in the pool. Of course this appealed to me and I found myself exploring the other activities offered there. The club president approached me to ask if I would be interested in going to the painting class. As I had never even lifted a paint brush before, I hesitantly decided to try it. In the class I was given all the materials necessary to get started. I learned about color combinations and how to applying the shades to create flowers, etc. Before long I discovered that I had an aptitude for painting and I was hooked. Since then I've been a steady student in the painting and drawing classes. I've many canvases stacked away as proof of my painting ability and can proudly claim that I have sold some of my creations. That was a lucky day when my neighbor brought me to the Bronx Y.
Color Influences
by Rose Smeenk
I was always attracted to bright colors. Drab shades depressed me and I particularly dreaded black. Black was funereal or associated by me with monsters like Dracula. When I owned my own house I had a garden in which I planted flowers that bloomed from early spring to late autumn. Just after the frost disappeared there were white snowdrops and crocuses of hues from pink to dark purple. There were tulips from bulbs that were sent to me from Holland that started early; short ones and later blooming tall Darwin; colors ranging from white and yellow, to vivid reds. There were rosebushes, marigolds, portulacas, snapdragons and zinnias. In autumn I planted asters, chrysanthemums, and a blue hydrangea. Neighbors in the apartment houses overlooking my yard would complement me on my lovely garden. I often go to the Botanical Gardens to enjoy their arrangements from colorful ground covering like creeping phlox to the blossoming trees. At the Bronx Y where I started painting, I indulged myself in applying bright colors to my canvases. It cheers me greatly that I have access to all the colors I desire for my pallet and enjoyment.
by Rose Smeenk
My neighbor suggested that I join her to go to the Bronx Y for swimming in the pool. Of course this appealed to me and I found myself exploring the other activities offered there. The club president approached me to ask if I would be interested in going to the painting class. As I had never even lifted a paint brush before, I hesitantly decided to try it. In the class I was given all the materials necessary to get started. I learned about color combinations and how to applying the shades to create flowers, etc. Before long I discovered that I had an aptitude for painting and I was hooked. Since then I've been a steady student in the painting and drawing classes. I've many canvases stacked away as proof of my painting ability and can proudly claim that I have sold some of my creations. That was a lucky day when my neighbor brought me to the Bronx Y.
Color Influences
by Rose Smeenk
I was always attracted to bright colors. Drab shades depressed me and I particularly dreaded black. Black was funereal or associated by me with monsters like Dracula. When I owned my own house I had a garden in which I planted flowers that bloomed from early spring to late autumn. Just after the frost disappeared there were white snowdrops and crocuses of hues from pink to dark purple. There were tulips from bulbs that were sent to me from Holland that started early; short ones and later blooming tall Darwin; colors ranging from white and yellow, to vivid reds. There were rosebushes, marigolds, portulacas, snapdragons and zinnias. In autumn I planted asters, chrysanthemums, and a blue hydrangea. Neighbors in the apartment houses overlooking my yard would complement me on my lovely garden. I often go to the Botanical Gardens to enjoy their arrangements from colorful ground covering like creeping phlox to the blossoming trees. At the Bronx Y where I started painting, I indulged myself in applying bright colors to my canvases. It cheers me greatly that I have access to all the colors I desire for my pallet and enjoyment.
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