An all class reunion is taking place at Bennington and someone started a page from the years we were there and this picture of our friend was posted on Facebook. I cried as soon as I saw it. It was a special time. I miss her so much.

A poem:                                      Grief Arrives
                                                In It's Own Time
                                   
                                         It doesn't announce itself or knock
                                         on the door of your heart..Suddenly
                                         it's right behind you,
                                         looking with great pity
                                         at the back of your neck
                                         and your shoulders on which
                                         it spends days placing a burden
                                         and lifting it..  Grief arrives
                                            
                                         in its own sweet time, sweet
                                         because it lets you know that
                                         
                                         you are alive,time because
                                         what you are holding becomes
                                         the only day there is:  the sun stops
                                         moving, the sky grows utterly quiet
                             
                                         and impossibly blue..Behind the blue
                                         are the stars we can't see and beyond
                                     
                                         the stars either dark or light,
                                         both of which are endless.


by Stuart Kestenbaum..      

PEACE AND LOVE TO YOU ALI     Suanne

                                                    

Living in a Philadelphia Row Home on a narrow street, life becomes incidental. If you open your door, your heart, you may feel a new warmth inside your home. I opened my door for Alice. (also known as “Alison” to me)

If you never lived in a small row home, you may wonder about privacy and space, where do the kids play, where are the closets, why do you sit on the front steps, how do you park a car…where is the peace and quiet? If you are looking for tranquility and freedom from disturbance, do not move into a row home.

Besides living on top of each other, we have our own slang. Pavement (pronounced-“payment“) is used instead of sidewalk. We don’t have a living room, we have a parlor (pronounced “pah-ler”). We have a cellar, not a basement. If you live two houses apart from another person--you live “two doors down” from that person.

“Alison” and I lived “two doors down” from each other for almost five years. Alice moved to our street prior to Liam’s arrival. Alice’s brilliant beauty caught my attention. I asked a neighbor who is that woman who just moved in? I thought they said her name was “Alison“. Yes, the name suits her, I told myself. And so I called her, Alison.

Alice never corrected me. Sometimes, I would apologizes for calling her by the wrong name. Alice did not take offense. Alice would not criticize me for calling her by the wrong name. I still think of her as “Alison”. At some point, Alice told me that her father’s name was Alison and he was a medical doctor. Alice was proud of her father’s reputation of not only being prominent and published physician but also the inventor of Maalox.

As Alice and I would sit on the front steps or on her glider rocker outside her home, she would tell me stories about her life--Mount Desert Island, Bar Harbor, New Jersey and Philadelphia.

Alice would captivate me with her anecdotes. Sometimes, Alice would start to give me an account of a tragedy, and, we would both end up with uncontrollable laughter. Alice’s quick-witted humor would come out of nowhere. Alice’s sharp wit could turn a misfortune into an accomplishment. Alice charmed you with her sense of humor.

I appreciated Alice spending her time with me, as we sat on the front steps, outside our humble row homes. Alice never had an offensive air of superiority as she lived in Fishtown. Not a snobby bone in her body. Alice’s natural personality was loving, generous and uncritical.

Every day, I walk by Alice’s former home. I look at the old marble steps and remember the Lady that lived in that house. And, sometimes, I cry.

(photo of Alice's Fishtown Home)