Do Ghosts Exist?

Do you believe in ghosts? We see them on TV shows, read about them in books, and read stories from people in the newspapers.  I believe ghosts exist but have yet to see one, and it’s not for lack of trying.  Sometimes I go out of my way to try to see if one is hanging around…

For example, when I am at the cemetery visiting my grandparents in the Bronx, I focus really hard to see if any of them want to come out and visit me.  If not, I look around at their ‘neighbors’ to see if they are out and about. To date, nothing has happened, but then again, I really don’t visit that often because it is too far away.

I have a friend who has a beach house in a nearby state.  On her property is a second abandoned house, which is really old.  When she went into the basement of the abandoned house, she saw some orbs moving around.  When I went to visit her last year, I asked nicely if she would take me to the basement of that house.  She was reticent, but I was more insistent.  I sat on the basement steps, shining her flashlight around the dark, damp cellar.  I called to the ghosts and tried to entice them to come out, but nothing appeared. 

I even tried to see a ghost while in Europe.  One day, our student group was visiting the catacombs in Rome.  The catacombs are a long, intricate maze of underground burial places.  They go down several levels, or ‘floors’, taking you deeper below the ground.  As you walk the passages, tombs containing one or more bodies, are stacked vertically along the dirt walls.  As we followed our guide in single fashion around corners of the passages, I brought up the rear of our student group, making sure everyone stayed together so no one got lost in this underground maze.  A number of times, I lingered behind and let space get between the last student and me.  I wanted to see if any ghosts appeared who were out watching us ‘tourists’.  I had to be careful not to linger too long though because if I lost the group, chances are I would see lots of ghosts that night… 

As a child I was afraid of ghosts, but now I am not.  I attribute this to a combination of maturity and knowledge about them.  I do not believe that they can physically do anything to us. 

So am I really obsessed with ghosts?  Hardly.  But if I find myself in a situation where I might be able to see one, I am open for the possibility.  I think it would be an amazing experience to see a ghost.

Does anyone have any experience seeing a ghost?

The Barbary Apes in Gibraltar

Gibraltar is an interesting place to visit.  Its main claim to fame is the Rock of Gibraltar.  You may recognize this rock as the logo that Prudential Insurance Company uses in some of its advertisements.  But did you also know that at the top of the rock, monkeys roam wild?

The Rock of Gibraltar as seen from across the border in La Linea, Spain.

I was in Europe on a student trip that I was running during the summer of 2008. We were nearing the end of our 17-day trip, which started in London, and also included Paris, many cities in Spain, Portugal, and a day in Morocco. We had a free day in Costa del Sol. Some students decided to relax and go to the beach for the day while the other half ventured with me for a day trip to Gibraltar.  We took a public bus a few hours southwest to the Spanish town of La Línea.   

Even though Gibraltar is physically located on the southern tip of Spain, it is a British territory. For driving, traffic drives on the right because the territory shares a border with Spain.  We did have to show our passports when crossing into Gibraltar and then back into Spain however, because Gibraltar is not part of the Schengen Zone.  This is the zone with no border crossings because of disputes with Spain, but Gibraltar is part of the European Union. The official currency is Gibraltar pounds, which have different designs than British pounds but are freely interchangeable.  Most places accepted Euros too.

We hired a local taxi van to drive us up to the upper section of the rock.  At the top, about 300 Barbary Apes roam wild.  Although they are called apes, they are really monkeys.  There are signs warning visitors to stay away from the apes, although the apes don’t seem to pay attention to them.  Some of them are aggressive and jump on people and try to take things from them.  This is probably because tourists feed them.

I first saw a large female ape nursing her baby.  I was very conscious of her need to be left alone.  Females with babies are extremely protective of their young and as such, could be very dangerous.  It was awesome watching her stroke the baby’s head and cuddle with it much like we do with our babies.  I had a zoom lens and was NOT this close to the mother.

A nursing baby

The apes amused us as they jumped and climbed over cars, walked on rails, and did what they pleased.  Some of our students were hoping the apes would come close; others wanted no part of that.  To our son Kevin’s delight, one of the apes jumped on his shoulder. That son-of-a-gun ape was trying to take his hat.  Luckily Kevin was quick to grab it away, since he had just bought it in London for 40 Euros (about $60) a week earlier.

The apes were definitely the highlight of this excursion.   It was a day trip worth every minute of the ride.

Even after Kevin took his hat back, the ape was still trying to get it.

Just watching the humans...

Enjoying the view of the Strait of Gibraltar

Hey Ma, look at me!

Walking along the rails...

Visiting a Navajo School

In August of 1995, we took one of the best vacations of all time.  We started our two week circle in Albuquerque, New Mexico and traveled north to Santa Fe and Taos.  Next we continued north to Mesa Verde in Colorado, southwest to the Navajo Nation at Four Corners, Monument Valley, and Canyon de Chelley, then back to Albuquerque.  We stopped at other little towns and sights along the way, but these were our main destinations.

During this vacation, we spent a good amount of time exploring the Navajo Nation, which has the largest land area of any other Native American group in the U. S.  It covers all of northeastern Arizona, northwestern New Mexico, and the southeastern portion of Utah, which is roughly the size of West Virginia.  The 260,000 people living there today are thriving, keeping their native language alive, and passing down their religious beliefs to their children.  As with any nation however, they also have their challenges and struggles.

The  Navajo Nation

Although the Navajo Nation is often referred to as the “Rez” by many of its people since it implies ‘home’, others find the term offensive because it reminds them of the time when they were not allowed off the reservation.  After President Coolidge signed the Indian Citizenship Act of 1924, all of America’s indigenous peoples, called “Indians” were granted full citizenship.  With this privilege came the freedom to travel off their reservation to other places in the United States.  So today, Navajo Nation or Navajo Land is more politically correct than the Navajo Reservation.

The Hopi Tribe's land lies within the Navajo Nation, and to make this even more interesting, there is a small piece of Navajo land that lies within the Hopi land.  There are about 7,000 Hopi living there today with about 7,000 more living in other places around the world.  The Hopi have 12 villages located in three main areas, which are First Mesa, Second Mesa, and Third Mesa.  Most of the traditions among the 12 villages are similar, but there are some differences in their ceremonies. The Hopi people are known for their artistry making kachina dolls, pottery, and baskets.  I have a small collection of some of their kachina dolls and pottery.  Exploring their land is very special, but you have to respect their request to take no photos for their religious beliefs.

  

I have held a keen interest in the Navajo and Hopi people since my first visit there in 1986.  I became fascinated with them, their land, and their history.   Within their border lies Monument Valley, Canyon de Chelly National Monument, Rainbow Bridge National Monument, the Shiprock landmark, and miles of the gorgeous Painted Desert region.   There are several theories as to who their ancestors were and this history is fascinating to read about.

When looking for pen pals for my fifth grade class in Yorktown Heights, NY, I discovered the Jeddito School. Its location is in this unique piece of Navajo inside the Hopi land mentioned above.  I contacted the fifth grade teacher asking if she was interested in or students writing to each other  In addition, I mentioned that I would be out there in August and asked if I could spend the day visiting and meeting the students. I was graciously welcomed so we timed this vacation when we were still on summer break in August, but their school had already started for the year. 

Notice the Jeddito School in the Navajo land which is inside the Hopi land which is inside the Navajo land.

One of the many highlights of this vacation was spending a day at this school.  Built in the 1990s, this K-8 school was primarily funded by a government grant. Like any new structure, the school was beautiful.  It was similar to many U.S. schools with a classrooms, a library, playground, cafeteria, and computer lab. As a result of its location, the students who attend are both Navajo and Hopi.  Our boys were 3 and 6 at the time, so they spent the day with their pre-school and first grade peer groups. Although I toured the whole school, I spent a good deal of time with the fifth grade class, meeting the students that my students would soon be corresponding with.

Most students qualified for free breakfast and lunch, so our boys began their day eating alongside their new Navajo and Hopi friends. They dressed alike and spoke about little things like what they were eating.  They participated in the lessons and the crafts.  After lunch, they enjoyed recess on the playground, which included swings and a slide.  The afternoon brought computer lab time and more reading.  They enjoyed their day so much.  Perhaps being in a stimulating environment among children their age was a nice break from traveling with their parents. 

At the end of the day it was sad saying goodbye to their new friends. My pen pal relationship continued for a few years until the young teacher left the school.  It was a wonderful experience for all and a day I will never forget.

The front entrance to the Jeddito School

The first grade teacher showing her class something on the computer.

My Kevin and Adam playing in the pre-school room.

Jonathan (3rd from left) enjoying lunch with the first grade class.

Recess

Our grade 5-6 pen pals

The first grade class (Jonathan front row center)

The pre-school class with Kevin in front at the far right, sitting on my lap.

 

How Many Colleges Should You Apply To?

Applying to colleges has become a stressful chapter in many students’ lives.  In the town where I live it I believe it has gotten a little out of control.  I hear from students that they have applied to an outrageous number of schools to see which ones they would get in.  To them it’s almost like a game of ‘let’s just see if I would make it into this or that school’.  They have no interest or financial means to attend many of them, but just want to see if they are ‘good enough’ to be accepted.

When colleges accept students, they always ‘over accept’, knowing that many students will not end up choosing that school.  However, what students may or may not realize is that when they are accepted to a school, they are taking up a place on that school’s potential list of enrollees.  For other students who really want to go to that school, they might be either wait-listed or rejected because of other students’ acceptances.  It is a numbers game.

Here is a good example.  A few years ago, I spoke to one of my son’s friends who I will call “Bob”.  He told me he applied to 20 schools.  Twenty!  I never followed up to see how many he got into because of how ridiculous it was in the first place.  I am sure his acceptances ultimately made a wonderful list, but who would ever ask him that question in life?  It will never appear on a job application form nor will an interview question be, "What were the other colleges you were accepted to before choosing ___?"  In the end, it was a bad move to apply to that many schools for a number of reasons.

First of all, Bob spent the money on 20 applications, or more accurately, his parents spend the money.  Knowing his family, the application fees were not a hardship, but if you do the math and average $100 per application, that totals $2,000 for fees alone.   For students who do have to consider the expense of the application fee, it is even more ridiculous to apply to too many schools.

Secondly, although some colleges use a ‘common’ application, many don’t.  Let’s assume Bob wrote about 20-30 essays, recycling them through and making them fit the application questions.  Was this a good way to spend the fall of his senior year, writing all those extra essays?  I hear all the time how stressed high school students are, trying to balance academics, sports, jobs, and a social life.  What is the point of adding that extra work and stress filling out an exorbitant amount of college applications?

Probably the worst part of all is that when Bob got accepted to some of the schools that he had no intention of ever going to, he took up a space on their quota for how many incoming freshman they could accept, keeping into account that not all students will end up choosing that school.  For Bob, this school was a mere feather in his cap, but for another student who really wanted to go to that college, this other student may have been wait-listed or rejected even if his or her qualifications were equal to Bob’s. 

It is a vicious cycle.  I hear from high school students frequently that they didn’t get into a school that they were more than qualified to attend.   Yes, of course this happens, but you have to wonder how many spots on that college’s list were taken up by students like Bob?

When our older son applied to college, he knew he wanted to go to a music school in Canada.  Although we looked at some schools in the U.S., he ended up applying to 2 ½ schools.  Once he was accepted to the first two, he didn’t finish his application to the third, because he got into his top choice.  Our younger son ended up applying to 4 ½ schools, the half being for the same reason as mentioned above. 

I remember one experience where Kevin, our younger son, was auditioning at the Hartt School of Music for jazz drumming.  The department has about 8-10 jazz drummers in total, meaning that they accept about 2 incoming jazz drummers.  We were told that generally about 40 students audition for those two spots.  While waiting to audition, he spoke to another boy who said that Hartt was the only school he was applying to because it was the only one he wanted to go to.  When Kevin ultimately got accepted with a nice scholarship, I made sure he quickly wrote a letter to the school thanking them but also letting them know that he chose another school.  This boy in particular was on my mind when he wrote that letter.  We didn’t want Kevin’s acceptance to take up another student’s spot, especially when that other student was really hoping for an acceptance letter.

When I was growing up, I don’t remember all this hoop-la about college admissions.  I applied to a few state schools in New York using the common application, graduated with a $2,000 college loan to pay off, and that was it.  I am an educated and productive member of society, and it isn’t because of the name of the college I went to, because heaven knows it is not a big name school.  We have to keep it all in perspective.  

So how many should you apply to?  In my opinion, pick about 6 that you would attend if accepted.  If you wouldn't pick it, why bother to apply?  Make sure some of the ones you pick are "safety" schools, ones where you meet their qualifications.  

The values we instill in our children carry over to other aspects of their lives.  We need to remember that the college application process is a very teachable moment and take advantage of it.  Although there will always be stressful anticipation waiting to hear from a college, it would be great if we could try to make it a fun, celebratory experience for our children as well.  

-->

Driving in Rural Italy

Making the decision to drive in a foreign country should not be taken lightly.  There are many things to take into account including your confidence as a driver, knowing the language of the road signs, and your familiarity with the area.  In the summer of 2010, Chris and I celebrated our 25^th anniversary with a 2-week trip to Italy.  One week would be visiting my relatives and the other week exploring Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast more in-depth.

We decided to rent a car this time.  The Amalfi Coast is best explored on your own in a car, getting into the nooks and crannies of the area.  We both obtained our international driving permits from AAA, which are valid for one year.  I prepared by mastering all the vocabulary necessary for being in a car.  A flat tire.  Una gomma terra. Where is the nearest gas station?  Dov'è il distributore di benzina più vicino?  Turn right…Voltare a destra.  Not only that, but I printed out a copy of all the road signs, in color of course, which we kept in the glove compartment of our Fiat 500.

Driving along the Amalfi Coast is not for the faint of heart; nor is riding shotgun.  The roads are windy and narrow, with tour buses turning tight corners and motorcyclists zooming in between the cars and buses.  But Chris was a champion driver and not fazed by the driving habits of the locals. 

When we left the Amalfi area and ventured inland, the autostrada (country roads) was not bad at all.  The superstrada is what they call the highways and they, too, were easy to drive.  There were posted speeds and for the most part, people followed them. To tell you the truth, driving on the Los Angeles freeway system is far scarier than any superstradas in Italy. 

There was one experience that was hair-raising though.  We were staying in the little village of Santa Croce del Sannio in the province of Benevento, a few hours south of Rome.  This is where my grandfather was born and where some cousins still live.  Chris and I decided to take a drive one late morning between breakfast and the big dinner meal of the day that was going to be served about 2:00.  We set out to the nearby town of Marcone and took the Via Strada Bocca della Selvo that was a wonderful drive up in the mountains.   There were no other cars on the road, so I decided this was a good time to get behind the wheel and officially drive in Italy.  Up until this point, I was serving better as the Italian speaking co-pilot who could read the signs.  The beauty of the area reminded us of driving in the Rockies with the majestic mountains, although they were not nearly as high as the Rockies.  We came across cows, goats, hay fields, and gorgeous wildflowers.

The drive back was not as peaceful though.  The sky clouded up informing us that a storm was imminent.  We got to the autostrada and came to a sign that pointed us to the right back to Santa Croce del Sannio, but to the left we saw the town of Santa Croce del Sannio and the church spire which we had visited the day before.  We decided to follow the signs but after about 5 miles or so, we found ourselves climbing a mountain getting further from the spire.  So we decided to turn around and follow our nose back to the spire of our village. 

Shortly thereafter, the rain began to fall and by the time we reached the village it was pounding down, making visibility nearly nonexistent.  We didn’t recognize the turn to our cousin's house, but thought we should try it anyway.  The road started off very narrow, but kept getting narrower and narrower.  Soon we found ourselves at a dead end with an apartment door staring us down.  We were not on a road after all, but rather on an alleyway.  So Chris had to back up in the blinding downpour through the narrow alley.  He was a master; I was a mess. 

At some point we also hit a curb and our hubcap popped off.  We couldn’t just leave it there cause heaven knows how much the rental car agency would charge us for a new one, so Chris went out to retrieve it, getting christened in the Italian rain. 

Tough times call for tough measures.  Chris had an iPhone and though we were not going to use it because of the roaming charges, we quickly opened the Google Map and inserted my cousin’s address.  Lo and behold, we discovered we were NOT in our hilltop village but rather in the hilltop village of Sassinoro, which also has a church in the center.  Duh!  That just about describes every little village we passed.

So no more following our noses when driving in a new area.  We kept an eye on the iPhone and made it home about 20 minutes later, albeit late for dinner. 

Driving in the mountains along the Via Bocca della Strada.  Our Fiat 500 can be seen on the right.

The mountains here reminded us of the American west, but on a smaller scale.

Lots of cows and...

...goats along the mountain road.

See, I DID drive in Italy too!  Notice the impending storm clouds starting to roll in...

Driving along the Amalfi Coast road.

The Amalfi Coast road (ocean to the right)

The Amalfi Coast road

Looking up at the Amalfi Coast road from a boat.

Looking up at the Amalfi Coast road from a boat, winding its way into another tunnel.

One more shot of the Amalfi Coast road from the boat.  This blog focused on the driving experiences in Italy, so that is why the focus of the photos is on the roads.

.  

Would we drive again in Italy?  Absolutely!  However, we will be sure to have a local map in the car and be ready to put on the iPhone map.  Don't be afraid to drive in Italy, just be prepared.  

Does anyone have a driving story to share?

Recurring Dreams

Have you ever had a recurring dream?  Is it a good or bad one? Do you have any idea why you keep dreaming it?  One of my recurring dreams puts me back in my high school hallway, unable to remember my locker combination.  When I finally figure it out and get what I need, my legs don't work.  I try to run to my next class and get there on time, but my legs only move in slow motion through the halls and up the stairs.  Invariably, I am late for class again...

I think one reason I have this dream is because of my need to be punctual.   I also want and expect others to be on time.    It bothers me when I have to wait for people beyond the normal few minutes ‘flex courtesy time’.  We all have busy lives and busy days.  I guess I just don't like when people doesn't value my time as much as theirs.  

Bells run my schedule, Monday through Friday.  It is definitely one of those professions where you always have to look at the clock.  How many minutes do I have left?  How many do I need?  How can I adjust?  I may have to end my lesson in 4 minutes, even if some kids need more time.  I may have 2 minutes to use the ladies room, even though I may need more time.  I have 23 minutes to eat lunch and call a few parents, even if my lunch takes 5 minutes to heat up.  There is not much room for error.  I can't be late for work or who would run my homeroom class?  I think the fact that this dream takes place in a school setting is no coincidence. 

I don't remember worrying about being on time for classes in high school or about forgetting my locker combination.  These were never a problem.  In my adult life however, I have been known to book too much in a day.  What might look do-able on paper, doesn't end up that way when the reality of other people running late, running into traffic, or other unanticipated problems throw a monkey wrench into even the best planned day.

Another recurring dream places me back in college.  Somehow the semester is almost over with finals looming the following week.  The problem is I didn't do any work yet.  I have books to read and papers to write and there is no way that it will all get done.  I wonder how the semester flew by so quickly.  Perhaps the theme is similar here: time management.  But anyone who knows me knows that I am probably a model example of someone with amazing time management skills.  I manage to fit a tremendous amount into my days.

A slight variation to that college dream has to do with driving to school and back.  In the dream, the college is 7 hours form my house and I have to keep driving back and forth.  I can’t really tell you why, but it has to be done.  Again, is my sub-conscious trying to bring to my attention that I may be cramming too much into my schedule?  My life?  I want to live life to the fullest and experience as much as I can.  I guess I thrive a little bit on being busy, but are my dreams a way of telling me to slow down a little?

 Do you have any recurring dreams you would like to share?

Oh Give Me a Home, Where the Buffalo Roam

Picture a majestic herd of buffalo roaming quietly on the Blackfeet Indian Reservation in Montana.  Enter Linda and her camera.  What happened next was not something I am proud of, but was it really wrong to set them free? 

After filling up our rental car at a little gas station on the reservation, we continued north towards Glacier National Park, our next destination on a 2-week trip through Montana.  On the left side of the road, we saw the herd of buffalo mentioned above.  We stopped the car, as we do every time we see wildlife, because heaven forbid we miss a shot.  Chris stayed in the car with the kids on the opposite side of the road as I walked down a slight embankment and met a barb wire fence.  Chris reminded me not to get too close because I used to need reminding of this.  I told him about the fence and said I would not be long; all I wanted was a few good photos.

Back in 1998 when we took this trip, I was still shooting slide film using manual settings.  It took a minute or two to meter and make sure I had the settings I wanted.  As I started clicking away, I noticed the bull of the herd looking at me.  Not surprisingly, he did not seem to appreciate my presence.  I guess he either heard the clicks or saw me up against the fence on 'his' embankment.  He started walking towards where I was standing.  When the pace of his walk picked up, I looked down to reassure myself that there was indeed a barb wire fence separating me from an angry wild bull.  I scanned left and right and to my horror there was a huge section of the fence missing to my right.

I looked back at the bull and now he was really moving his hooves.  To make matters worse, the rest of the herd was following him.  As I hauled my rear-end up the embankment, 10-year old Jonathan snapped a photo of me from the car with his little instamatic camera.  I retreated to the safety of our vehicle and we helplessly watched the herd walk through the gaping hole, one by one, snapping more photos. Yes indeed, I single-handedly caused a herd of buffalo to leave their grassy plain and enter the road.   

Being the upstanding citizen I am, we went back to the gas station to report that there were buffalo on the road and asked if they knew whom to tell so they didn't get hurt.  I might have failed to mention how the buffalo got there, but they didn't need to know all the details, right?

I wish I could find that photo Jonathan took; it was the best of the bunch, capturing the moment I knew I had to run for it.  You'll have to settle for these shots though, converted from the slides.

Here is my bull friend, exiting through the missing section of barb wire fence.

A few friends follow. 

Uh oh....

Once free, my friend's interest in me waned.

Nice meeting you sir

Our Family Photo Wall

The big project I worked on last summer was creating a family photo wall.  My mother has one in her house which is a wall dedicated to photos of our family's ancestors.  Her wall is a mishmash of original photos in a variety of sizes in all sorts of frames.  It does not include everyone but instead it is a collection of photos that she had which she hung on a dedicated wall in the family room.

I have wanted to do the same thing in our house for about a year now.  I decided to bite the bullet and do it last summer before my cousins from Italy came to stay with us for 2 weeks.  I thought it would be a nice thing for them to see, which motivated me to get it done.

Just figuring out how to tackle the project took a few days.  Although I had some original photos, most were scanned images that I would resize and print from Photoshop.  This was good in that it gave me flexibility for size, but bad in that I had to make the photos a correct size to fit the frames while keeping the proper proportions.  Other things to consider were:  Would I use the same size frames?    Same color?  How would I deal with vertical vs. horizontal shots?  How large would the finished project be?  Would I include our children or just our ancestors?  How would I balance Chris' family shots with my family's?  There were so many factors to consider.

Our family room sports a 6-foot pool table, which was the perfect size to organize the layout of the photos.  I decided to use all black wooden frames but with a combination of sizes including 4 x 6, 5 x 7, and 8 x 10.  I also bought 3 collage frames that were made up of 4 frames-in-one. 

I decided that in the center of the wall, I would put our wedding photo, which would be the most recent photo and the merging point for the ancestors of both families.  To the left would be my family and to the right would be Chris' family.  If I had gone to the next generation of our kids, the photos would be endless.  Besides, I have a million photos of the kids already organized into albums, so the need to have them on the wall was not why I was doing this.  The goal was to hang our ancestors to view, remember, and talk about.  As photos radiated out from our wedding photo, the relatives got older.  We were able to go as far as all Chris’ and my great-grandparents.

Day after day I worked on trying to select the best photo of this grandma or that uncle…trying not to forget a relative…working on balancing the vertical and horizontal shots.  I wanted the finished wall to look like a collage and not a boring pattern of a row of horizontals followed by a row of verticals.  I also made sure to thoroughly label all the photos before inserting them into their new home. 

There was a lot of re-printing of the shots, tweaking the size to better fit the frame or adjusting the color or contrast.  Soon the finished ‘rough draft’ was laid out on our pool table.  When all was said and done we had painstakingly narrowed it down to 54 photos.  The realization then set in that if we were accurate, we were going to have to create that many holes in the wall.  If we were not accurate, that number would climb.  It didn’t bother me so much though.  My rationalization was that when we go to sell our house in a zillion years, we would take our photos down and patch up the wall.  No biggie. 

So hanging day arrived and we took a photo of the perfect arrangement on the pool table and tried our best to replicate that as we painstakingly hung them one by one.  I added a spot of Velcro to the bottom of each frame securing them to the wall so they wouldn’t tip off center.  That would be a nightmare for anyone with OCD.

We reveled in our finished masterpiece.  When anyone came over, we greeted him or her with, “How are you?  What?  You haven’t seen our photo wall yet?  Well, come take a peek…” 

The one thing I hadn’t thought of though, was adding all those frames to my list of items to dust. 

No, this is not Little Bo Peep and her sister.  It is my grandmother Blanche and her sister Dolly.  Destination unknown.

My great Uncle Oreste from Italy who fought in WWI for American after moving here.

 My grandpa Sam who was a mounted policeman in New York City.

My dad and his sister Gloria.  Be honest, doesn't dad look a little like Alfalfa from the Little Racals?

My grandpa Sam as a baby with his brother William.

My mother's high school graduation photo

One set of great grandparents on their wedding day

My father on his confirmation day with my great Uncle Al.  Now, you can't deny Alfalfa here...

My dad as a baby with his mom, my grandma Blanche

Atlantic City Boardwalk in the 70s...me and my siblings

One Christmas in the 60s.  I am on the far left

My great grandma Concetta with her second husband (first husband died very young)

My communion day with one set of grandparents

Ok, this is a sampling of some of the photos on the wall.  Do you have any memories of old photos you want to share?