Not The Rockefellers

Please, Mom, Pleeeeeeeeeeaase?! Up until this point I had never wanted anything more in my little kid life. Pleeeaase!! And just then, a small miracle occurred, she said…yes. I stood there, in Genovese Drug Store, trembling with excitement because right there, pressed against my chest, was all that I had been longing for since the Sunday paper thwacked on the doorstep. My prayers had been answered, I was now the proud owner of The Road Runner Lunchbox. I cradled it in my arms, like a square metal infant, and couldn’t take my eyes off of it... and that yellow handle just made my heart sing. I would frequently practice walking up and down the hallway, checking the mirror to see if I was displaying it properly. I developed a fierce lunchbox walk. When the first day of school rolled around I played it cool around my peeps. Yeah. Road Runner, got the thermos filled with chocolate milk, PB and J, grapes, Oreos  y’know..that’s how we do it… but of course I was a lot less urban...

I've noticed that certain parts of my history are becoming history... My working history in particular. This is a bit of a time capsule, something to remember before the bulldozers have their little way. My very first job, at 16, was cleaning the public interiors of an old three story apartment building. I got paid $20 to mop hallways, vaccuum floors and scrub a 16 step marble staircase every Saturday morning. It was hard work, made harder by a woman who made it her duty to sit in the hallway outside of her apartment to supervise my mop skills. "Hold it straight!... Push, don't drag!" She never introduced herself, but I noticed that she wore green saddle shoes. So I called her Green Shoes. Green Shoes was always watching. She taught me that while a good job doesn't always receive praise, a bad job never goes un-noticed. I noticed that the apartment complex, my first job, is now for sale. Altamont Court Apartments, Morristown NJ...

We are spending the waning days of our summer vacation in the dubious luxury of a not quite ready for prime time guest room at my mother's house in NJ. So that means there's a whole lotta "suckin' it up" goin' on... Tragically for my eleven year old it means, gasp, no bedroom TV. "What am I going to dooooooooo?" "Well, you can read your summer book assignment!" I offered this suggestion hoping she'd take advantage of this splendid gift of time, but knowing I'd probably feel her forehead if she did. "Mom, what's wrong with the lights, I'm flicking the switch and they're not comin' on"... And since frantically flicking the switch and freaking out is always the answer, she begins to melt unsilently, "MOM... LIGHTS... NOT... COMING... ON!!!!!" I am informed by my brother that, temporarily , there is no lighting in our suite. No, lights, no television and a Nintendo DS in need of ch...

All images by Rene ~ 2010