Thoughts on Birthdays and Time


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I was born two months premature, on the eve of Passover. At that time incubators were not common. The only one in the area was at Coney Island and that mostly for curiosity seekers to look at. So, to keep me warm, my parents had to make do with two soda cases and hot water bottles between them. They told me that they fed me with a doll’s bottle and nipple. They wrapped me in cotton batting and many blankets. I survived and expect to again celebrate my April birthday here at the “Y”.

Rose Smeenk

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My birthday represents the passing of another year. Hopefully the day will be flecked with joy and warmth, infused with smiles and serious words from those I love. Beyond those important and fundamental reflective ponds, the numeric count feels as insignificant as dandelion fluff in a hurricane. Surely I’m not fifty-five. My insides feel like a carefully concocted amalgam of six, twenty-seven and ninety-four. I am all of these ages singing together in a harmonious chorus of love and exploration.

Ira Stulbaum


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I grew up in a fun-filled house full of people and also absolutely filled with love. There were seven of us -- three girls, two boys and our parents -- and the commotion was endless. We ran up and down the stairs, we called for my mother at every turn. I don’t know how she kept her sanity. But, she was expected to be the savior of us all, to never lose her temper, to answer every question, to feed us delicious meals and to never, not ever, get sick. If mother got sick the house would fall apart. My dad was the main breadwinner and, we thought he ruled the house but looking back, my mother did the ruling, but quietly. My dad’s voice was enough to shake the earth. Our dog bowed his head and slunk away when he saw my dad coming. Other than my dad, the dog paid attention to no one. As kids we laughed, we joked, we fought, and we borrowed each other’s clothes (sisters that is). We complained about each other to my mother, always hoping she’d take sides. Frequently she ignored us, knowing that soon the fight would be over and we would be back playing with each other. At the dinner table when my dad was present we were angels, when only my mom was there all hell broke loose -- so to speak.

We made up games when we were tired of playing the ones we had. Secretly, we fed the neighborhood cats; at night they would claw at our door. Our parents wondered why they were always hanging around. During the summer we did not attend camp. We did not even know camp existed. I suspect my parents didn’t either.

When our parents were at work we had strict instructions to never open the door to anyone and to stay inside till they returned. We were also not allowed to watch TV while they were not at home. We agreed and vowed to do their bidding. As soon as they left, the TV would go on and the door would open and we were out with whoever was beckoning us to come and play. I remember once while we were outside we saw the meter-man approaching. We ran inside and locked the door to pretend no one was home. Our friends called out to us “The meter-man is here! The meter-man is here open the door!” Of course we did not open the door but after he left we scolded our friends for letting the meter-man know we were home.

As the years went by, one by one we left our cozy little home-nest. We ended up long distances away from each other, too busy to look back. We only knew about each other’s lives by calling home. Home was headquarters; if we wanted to find out about each other we called home. Years hurried by, our parents became grand parents and then our kids grew up. Looking back I wonder did we have no time or did we just not take the time to say hello. Now, we wonder where the time went. I feel as though I simply turned a page in a book and we are older. Now we appreciate each other more, especially since our parents--whom we thought were immortal--are gone. We realize that time on earth is short.

Jennifer Egyes

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FAREWELL PRECIOUS STONES AND LEGACY

As people get older, they begin to distribute items that are important to them. Such was the case when my mother was about 81 years old. I did not realize she was giving things to each of my siblings. When I went to visit her in Connecticut one weekend, she presented me with a beautiful 6-stone 18 carat ring. Each stone represented the birthstone of my siblings. Although, it was slightly big for my finger, I was so proud I wanted to wear it immediately. I planned to have the ring cut to my finger size the following week when I had some free time to go to the jeweler.
One afternoon at work I went to the ladies room. The metal stopper was missing from the sink. I was afraid that with soap on my hands, the ring might slip off my finger and down the drain, so I took the ring off and placed it on the side. I forgot the ring in the ladies room. When I opened the door to my office, I realized I did not have the ring on. I rushed back. It was GONE.
I put a notice in the ladies room asking for the return of the ring, for it was of sentimental value and a reward would be given. The ring was never returned. I never told my mother I lost her ring and a part of our family legacy. It saddened me deeply for it meant a great deal to my mother and me.

Alicia Villafane

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Adios My Loss

Some things that are meaningful to us our family may not consider important. Such was my Farberware coffee pot, which was left at the doorstep with the trash at a rented cottage when we were vacationing in upstate New York. I did not realize it was missing until I was unpacking at home. This coffee pot was given to me for my 40th birthday by my in-laws, along with a cake with 40 candles (that would not blow out). It was such a wonderful surprise when they arrived with the cake, and they knew I needed a coffee pot for my other one had recently broken.
Each decade is a milestone, and my 40th birthday was certainly that for me. The small private party meant a great deal to me; I had never had a surprise birthday party. For that same birthday, my mother and sister sent me 2 dozen long stem roses which were so beautiful and elegant. Later in the day came the cake and the coffee pot.

My husband did not understand my feelings about the pot. “I’m sorry I left the pot at the cottage,” he apologized. “I’ll get you another one. It’s no big deal.”
He missed the point. Every time I make coffee I think of that wonderful magical moment of the candles that would not blow out and I smile, and the coffee pot that reminded me of a milestone in my life -- turning forty.

Alicia Villafane