Writer. Educator. Artist.
Can it Be © arlene s bice
Along the roadsides dressed with hangings of wisteria
bunched together turning drab trees of sticks and bones
into scenes of beauty, heavy in the air is the musky scent,
it wafts in the window as I whizz by the fields, now green
never too busy am I, to ignore often passed over charm
can you possibly not feel or know the season revealed
Photo by Annie Spratt=unsplash
Stranger than . . . ©arlene s bice
I looked up to see him
across the crowded room
his eyes were set, baiting me
my aunt’s favorite tune
Some Enchanted Evening slid
into my mind, ran round and round
I slowly shook my head
to clear it, no help there at all
how could it be, I wondered aloud
as he crossed the room abuzz
low murmurs floating in the air
coming closer, eyes never leaving
mine until he was inches from me
glistening, burning into mine, all afire
What are you doing here, I whispered.
You are supposed to be 3,000 miles
away, I said. Not so, he huskily replied.
You are supposed to be 3,000 miles away.
And the years fell away. We were back at the beginning.
Photo by Samantha Gades on Unsplash
Photo mxx @unsplash
Off to France © arlene s bice
To the land of the Impressionists
to walk where they stood with easels
to create a new style of exquisite art
to enjoy plein air countryside beauty
to stroll in the gardens of Monet
to share a table, wine, talk of colors
to still feel the presence of Renoir
to sit with Cassatt and Morisot’s spirits
to see them linger as I would linger
to see Degas approach, bottle in hand
to be there, outside a Parisian café
where I once appeared in a former life.
Brother Bob & Me
Childhood Pictures ©arlene s bice
Dad, an amateur photographer
of curious mind to satisfy
equipment was plenty; quality
developed his own negatives
chose favorite spots
now remembered
cozy bookcase corner
backyard pale pink rosebush
front porch entry
dressed in holiday clothes
church steps next door
on ground donated by
great grandmother Rachel.
Are you old enough to remember American Bandstand? Talk about a memory! I was 14 when my girlfriend Asta Fruscione’s mother drove 4 of us down to Philadelphia from Trenton (NJ) where huge warehouses filled block after block. We walked into the dark TV studio of American Bandstand with no problem. We were surprised that the spotlighted area gave only a tiny area to dance. On TV it looked really large. Bob Horn was the host at the time before Dick Clark later took over.
My mom was thrilled to see me dancing on TV!
We thought we were so clever calling in sick at Kuser School Annex (jr. high). Hah! The school secretary pulled me aside the next day. She saw us dancing away on TV like we were regular participants. She was cool and wouldn’t rat us out though. It would be our secret.
If you still have CDs (the kind you listen to, not savings) or any music still hanging around from the good old days, bring it out and take a listen. Relive your life through memory. Remember to dance in between chapters while the music is carrying you. No one is watching! Let those feet jump into the air. Whoee! Jitterbug or Watusi! Whatever your teen dance was, remember?
If you don’t know where to begin writing your story, pull out the photos that you have hiding in your drawers, under the bed and behind the couch in an album collecting dust. Just start writing.
If you aren’t clear about a memory and you ask your sibling about it, keep in mind that you may have both been involved in an event, but you have your own emotions and thoughts. Which means that if you remember a moment in a different way, it is because you looked through eyes that interpreted what you saw otherwise than your sibling. You may have reacted or remembered differently because it was different for you. Often siblings disagree on a particular memory not realizing that you were all right, just experienced the same moment differently.
We all have family stories. Some funny. Some tragic. All worthy of telling. One of my grandmothers was born with a veil leading her to be an intuitive tarot card reader. The family story came to me that one day she was reading for a client, when all of a sudden, she yelped, “go home. Go home immediately! Your house is on fire and the baby is sleeping in his crib upstairs!”
The lady rushed home to find her mother dozing in the living room chair. She raced upstairs where her 4 year old, playing with a pack of matches, accidentally set the curtains on fire. The woman doused the fire easily and checked on the baby sleeping peacefully in the crib, unaware and unharmed. My grandmother prevented what could have been a terrible tragedy.
If you don’t have exact dates or certificates, it’s okay. It helps if you have general time periods. Imaging your story is easier if you do. Did you have a favorite aunt or uncle, maybe a grandparent story? How about someone in the family that brings a smile when you think of them. If so, write it down. Enjoy yourself as you write it. Your smiling shines through your words. It’s like being entertained by a movie you are writing. And the truth is, I’m seeking submissions for this year’s Ancestor Anthology. Send me a message or go to my website contact page.
Photo thanks to petr-sidorov @unsplash
Family Search and Roots Tech have been part of my life for many years. They are non-profit organizations that are free for you to use. Really free. Honest. They also help you get started and help you place names on your family tree. They believe that we are one, big family in this world (where have you heard that before? Love it!) and are anxious to help you find your family’s place in it. I’ve even, like so many others, volunteered to decipher the federal census. Why? Because they have been instrumental in helping me find ancestors that were lost to me. Maybe I should tell you about beginning the addictive, crazy search I started 50 years ago.
We were a mixed group in the neighborhood where I grew up outside of Trenton, New Jersey. There were many Italian families, some Scottish, Jewish, Polish, Mexican, German, Irish, a few Black families and even a Southern family. Since we all carried names that reflected our heritage, I wanted to know who I came from and where did they originally come from. Originally meaning the place they left to come to our country. Besides all that, it was a homework assignment from my third grade teacher.
Hmmm. I asked Mom because all the older family generations passed on before I arrived. “I don’t know” Mom replied. “They didn’t talk about those things back then.” Dad was in the hospital but did give me a few clues when I was five, before his illness took over. They came from New Hope in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. Dad even took me there. Fifteen miles north of Trenton. That wasn’t exactly what I wanted now. I managed to learn that my grandfather met my grandmother at the roller skating rink in Trenton. She was the daughter of German immigrants and he was an all-American son of a wealthy mother. That was the subject of my first written story.
Add a few school years to my age and girlfriends whose very names announced their ancestry, made me curious. Bice. Had there ever been a Von in front of it? Hmmm. That name told me nothing at all. Add a lot more years when school was in the past and I started digging. Many letters were written and dollar bills enclosed for copies of birth and marriage certificates. Those were pre-computer and internet days. My digging began in libraries. When I traveled, the local telephone books got a thorough thumbing through. Never did I find another Bice.
Computers and the internet grew from babyhood to expensive Ancestry.com and finally free Family Search and Roots Tech.
Have I got stories to tell you!
Photo by Eilis Garvey on Unsplash
Finally, I’m back! It’s been over a year since I’ve been able to write a blog regularly. Golly, I have missed y’all. The last 18 months has seen me move 3 times! It’s been hectic, first selling my house (Removing the weight of heavy responsibility from my shoulders. Whew.) Next to a temporary apartment while I waited for my senior apartment. Reducing my load of moveable treasures each time. Gone are hundreds of books lining my home office. I’ve parted with many favorites that I thought wouldn’t be missed but are. How does that happen? It’s like needing the very thing I gave away, the very day after I gave it. Murphy’s Law or something like that.
Now that I am truly settled in, I’m missing some of the things I’ve left behind and would have had room for, after all. Oh, well. All the chaos was worth it, as I love where I live, apartment living (very different from home ownership) and even my neighbors. The team that manages the complex is super and there is a lot of good to be said about that. So, I arrive to this last chapter of life, looking forward to more time to do what I want to do, without outside responsibilities. Aging does have its benefits!
My website is also freshened up. Please check it out. Comments are always welcome. Expect to hear from me once a week about books, writing and whatever life pops up in front of me. I’m happy to hear from you.
! A Podcast of THE MAKEOVER in Chicken Soup for the Soul Step Outside Your Comfort Zone is scheduled for Nov. 29. Wed. and will continue on your app.
The photo shows Grandmother Elizabeth Urbanski Daniels (my mother’s mother) holding me approximately one year before she passed away. No stories have come to me about anyone before her in her birth line being psychically developed. She certainly was. My mother didn’t tell me about this until I was nearly 30 years old. I’d had some out of body experiences of my own, but Mom didn’t know that. She never knew it because I never told her. Mom had a habit of belittling me, so I wasn’t about to confide anything at all to her.
Grandmother Elizabeth (as she was referred to, never Grandma) read tarot cards. She was good at it. My mother was developed as far as my two brothers and I was concerned. She always knew before I did, when I was pregnant. I’m talking about within days. With my brother Bob, it was instant. In her later years, she lived in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida but knew instantly when Bob’s car was in an accident in New Jersey. She called on the phone within minutes after it happened. The car was empty. Bob was in the house with me at the time.