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Created: 18 May 2012

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Letter from America

Sullivan County, New York,
May 16^th 2012.

Ellen NeumannAs a child I had few friends and fewer social experiences outside of my large Irish/American family. I grew up in a rural area of the Catskill Mountains in New York State in the 1950s. I attended St. Joseph’s Mountain School. St. Joseph’s was a private boarding school that opened its doors to all the local Catholic children free of charge. The Dominican Sisters were my teachers, bestowed upon me the gift of knowledge and the tools I needed to accept this gift. I learned not only to count, read and write from these remarkable women but to think and dream as well.  St. Joseph’s was a tiny school, classes so small that two “grades” shared a classroom. My first friends were the children I met in school and the Picarello brothers (they will get an article all their own in the future). We were little girls and a few boys who traveled to school each day and home again. No real social contact outside of school, Sunday Mass and the occasional birthday party. My sister, 18 months my junior, was my very best and most intimate friend for the first decade or so of my life. I was carefree, innocent and happy in my protected little world. When

I hit my teen years, we were moved to a large public school and my world changed drastically.

I was like a fish out of water in my new school; lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces and plunged into a strange environment. My little sister (Peggy) was no longer by my side.  I knew no one and had no idea how to navigate the huge buildings and long hallways.  I felt very lonely and frightened.  For the first few days in my new environment I fumbled my way from class to class by following the mass of other kids in the hallways.  I spoke to no one, my eyes as huge as moons in silent fear of making a mistake.  After a week or so, a very nice girl named Elaine S., who was about the same age as me, took pity and became my first real school friend. She was a very savvy person, knew all the “ins and outs” of junior high school life and taught me how to survive in Monticello Central School. I remain ever grateful to Elaine for her kindness. Although our lives took different directions and we drifted apart as kids do, I shall never forget what my first friend taught me. I have striven to be kind and caring in all my friendships throughout my life.

I became a teenager in 1963. I had been in public school for a year and still had not made many friends.  I was not a social outcast nor was I unfriendly.  I just did not seem to “fit” into any particular group of young people.  Those of you who know me today may find this difficult to believe but it is true.  I was not shy but instead gently aloof.  This allowed me to observe my peers in their natural habitat without participating in a social drama I did not understand and knew nothing about.  By the time I was 15 I had a BFF (Sue, a year older than I and a lovely person) as well as a steady boyfriend.  I was happy as a lark; thought I was “all that” and felt as if I owned the world. I learned that having a first best friend is a magnificent thing. The common sharing of our secrets, hopes, dreams and heartaches was a learning experience as well as memories made that have lasted throughout my lifetime.

When we graduated from high school, Sue and I went our separate ways. She married young and moved away. We lost touch and have not seen each other in many years. Yet I am sure, beyond the shadows of doubt, that if I see her tomorrow, we will fall right back into our friendship as if forty years had not separated us.  There is a bond between us; a shared moment in time that is steadfast and indelibly imprinted on our hearts.

The boyfriend I was so desperately in love with [or so I thought at the time] dumped me. I was not ready for a physical relationship at age 16-17 and he wanted someone who was.  When I found out about his indiscretion and confronted him, he told me if I would change my mind about “going all the way” he would dump the “other woman” and we could build a life together. With my head held high and my heart breaking in a million pieces, I told him to get lost, drop dead and go to Hades. I then cried nonstop for two weeks.

I later wished I had remained “just friends” with this guy because most of all I missed his friendship. We had spent a year doing everything together. We had lots of fun and laughed a lot; many shared experiences and good times. He taught me to drive.  I taught him to dance.  Well, if the truth be told, I tried to teach him to dance without much success.  As the song goes “We had joy, we had fun; we had seasons in the sun. But the wine and the song like the seasons have all gone”. ** The sun had set on the precious friendship that existed between my first love and me.

My future lay ahead of me with many new friendships to be discovered as I grew to maturity. Next week I will tell you all about that period in my life and the friends I made along the way. For now, know that I treasure each and every friendship that has ever touched my life.

Talk to me: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it." mce_' + path + '\'' + prefix + ':' + addy85867 + '\'>'+addy_text85867+'<\/a>'; //-->

by Ellen Neumann

** written by Jacques Brel in 1961. Brel's song was translated into English by poet Rod McKuen

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Created: 04 May 2012

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Letter from America

Sullivan County,

New York

May 3^rd, 2012.

ellen NeumannGrowing up in the Catskill Mountain area of New York State I was taught to respect the land, learn about and enrich it, in order to reap its rewards. My grandparents were third generation dairy farmers (well, my Pop was: Nana a transplanted New York City girl who became the farmer’s wife). They grew most of the hay needed to bed and feed their dairy cattle. They also kept a large vegetable garden. The Dillon Farm was basically self sufficient when it came to food products. A large vegetable garden provided a bounty of fresh and healthy food options which fed the entire family. All family members contributed in one way or another to the gardening effort. We small children worked hard and diligently alongside our Nana and Pop. There was fertilising and cultivating to be done; rows to hoe and seeds to plant. There were weeds to pull; pests and varmints to be exterminated. I remember wondering to myself on a hot summer day as I sweat my little bottom off while pulling weeds or hoeing between the rows “Oh my! Is all this work worthwhile?” Today I know the answer: “Oh yeah it was!”

Thomas Dillon my Great-grandfather 1910

“Those were the days my friend…” as the saying goes! I close my eyes and drift back to “that cherished place in my mind” often. Nothing compares still to the taste of a big juicy red tomato plucked ripe and warm off the vine although the smell of fresh cucumbers being prepared for pickling runs a close second. The knowledge that our hard work had contributed to the creation of these wonderful things made them all the sweeter. In early summer tiny wild strawberries grew in the cow pasture, naturally fertilised. Strawberries have a short season of maturity and had to be picked quickly when ripe. We watched and we waited for them to ripen. When they did, we entered a strawberry picking frenzy. Berry pails in hand, we would scurry off to the pasture, fling ourselves to the ground and wallow around excitedly. Soon our pails were full of the sweet little red berries; our knees stained crimson and our mouths showing telltale signs of the berries that never made it to the pails. Later in the summer it would be blueberries, basically the same routine except blueberries (huckleberries we called them) grow on bushes.

Sunshine, rain and a little bit of luck were the only ingredients added to our human labor. The very best part of my youthful gardening experience was the harvesting done in late summer. Corn on the cob, all sorts of potatoes, pumpkins and peas, cabbage and beans burst from the soil. We were rich in the currency of Mother Nature. The earth provided us with a wealth that could not be measured in dollars and cents.

That was a long time ago. The huge veggie garden exists now only in my memory. I grow a few tomatoes and herbs nestled into my many flower beds. I am passionate about my flower gardening. I enjoy every plant and bloom. The fragrance and color, the different shades, heights and shapes of the varied leaves on each plant are a wonder to me. My perennials are like old friends. I welcome them with a smile when they pop up and multiply each year. I live in a place on this earth that has a short growing season and harsh long winters. As the years go by it has become harder for me to prepare the ground for the new plants each spring. The weeds seem to cling to the soil tighter than they used to and fight me to let go when I pull them. I now hire someone each year in the spring to turn the soil as I prepare the gardens for planting. I have four very special little helpers (my granddaughters). Together we plant, weed and generally care for the gardens all summer.

I take great pride in the fruits of this labor just as I did when I was a child. My children and theirs, in different degrees, share with me a passion for gardening and a love for the land. I look ahead to a time when my little ones are the grandmothers, showing the next generation how to plant a garden and sharing the same joy we are now experiencing. I will smile on them from heaven (I hope so!) They will tell their little ones tales from their childhood as they pick the blueberries or eat tomatoes juicy and warm from the garden. The circle of life will complete itself for another generation.

“Inch by inch,

Row by row,

It’s time to make

The garden grow”

*I was inspired to tell this tale after reading the section on gardening published by the Irish Food Board on the Bord Bia website (www.bordbia.ie). This site offers free advice, locations, food sources and more, not only pertaining to gardening but many other topics as well. It is one of my favorite reference sites; so helpful and friendly if you need to enquire about a topic. It is a fountain of knowledge. Visit the site when you have a few moments to spare and enjoy all Bord Bia has to offer.

by Ellen Neumann

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Created: 27 April 2012

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Letter from America

by Ellen Neumann
Sullivan County, New York
26th April 2012.

Ellen NeumannI was born in the Catskill Mountain region of New York State; a beautiful baby girl I have been told. My starting weight was a healthy 6 pounds 7 ounces. As I grew it became obvious to all that I would be tall; very tall. I was a skinny kid, always head and shoulders above my peers. I was a bit awkward and clumsy; forever tripping over my super-long legs and big feet. I reached my adult height by the time I was a teenager and remained thin. I evolved into a fairly attractive person. I liked the way I looked, never gave my weight much thought actually. I married, had children and although I gained weight with pregnancy, I never felt gross or especially fat. I worked outside of my home for 25 years in a job that was physically challenging which in retrospect was a good thing. Working hard helped me to keep in shape. I have been retired from that job for 14 years now and Oh Baby! You should see me now!

I am now what I consider to be grossly overweight. I could blame it on the fact that I have quit smoking due to a life-threatening illness two years ago. I could blame it on the fact that I have been through a lot of extremely stressful situations over the past five years. The illness and subsequent death of several of my dearest loved ones, a critical illness that almost took my own life and a demon cancer that rocked my entire family [we beat that one, God is good]. I could use these things as excuses for my ever-spreading bottom and a tummy that has taken over my entire midsection. I could say that I am depressed and sad because of all these things that have touched my life. I am not. I have rolled with these punches and popped up on my feet. I am stronger for having survived them. I am basically a happy person. “Then why are you getting fat?” you ask.

The truth is that I am lazy. I have gone on diets several times over the past 10 years and each time lost a respectable amount of weight. My clothes fit me nicely; my step became lighter and my smile broader. I was able to stick to the diet rigidly for say 3-4 months. The numbers on the scale spiraled downward rapidly for that period of time then started to slow. I could no longer continue to lose weight without increasing my exercise. At that point Failure knocked at my door. Instead of bolting that door, getting up off this computer chair and getting some exercise, I opened the door just a bit and let Failure slip in. Soon the door was wide open. The weight loss stopped and I started eating improperly again. I gained back all the weight I had worked so hard to lose and then some more.

I would like to say that I have “seen the light”, started walking, exercising, shooting hoops or something that would help to whip this tired pudgy body of mine into shape. Oh yeah, I would love to say that! I wish I could say I curbed my appetite, thrown out all the fattening foods and turned over a new leaf (of lettuce?).  I could say those things, but they would be big fat lies. I am still sitting here at this computer many hours each day; sometimes doing worthwhile things (eds note here: worthwhile things like writing articles for DPNlive) and sometimes jerking around. I continue to make poor choices when eating. The most exercise I am getting is walking to my car and turning the key. I am not proud of these things, I am not bragging about my laziness and lethargy. I am merely stating the cold hard facts of my existence.

the original BFF's, 2012 Aida Piva Pazos & Ellen Kreiter NeumannI have now been diagnosed with pre-diabetes. This means if I do not lose weight, I will be shooting needles into my body in the not-to-far-away future. I don’t want that to happen. I can turn this around if I change my evil ways. I am not so far gone that I can’t exercise. I am just plain lazy. My doctor has told me this. I may have to consider the possibility that I can’t achieve this weight loss on my own and seek help. A gym or a support group of some sort might be the answer. I am not sure if that is the way to for me to go. I have always been extremely independent and shun the idea of needing others to do for me what I should be able to accomplish on my own.  I am struggling with that part of it. I am not sure what path is right for me.

One thing I can say with certainty: It’s not too late for me to change. I want to get it right this time and I want this to be the last time. I am indeed still breathing so all things are possible. Let the diet begin! OK! OK! The politically correct term is now “Lifestyle Change”, I know, I know! This time I am determined to get it right.

Copyright © 2012, DPNLIVE – All Rights Reserved

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Letter from America

Ellen Neumann
Sullivan County,
New York –
19th April 2012.

I write these Letters from America and often I go on and on about my family.  You may have discerned by now that my family is my favorite topic.  As I have stated in past articles, I grew up in a large family in the rural Catskill Mountain area of New York State.  I have told you of the common admiration and respect we share for our ancestors.  I have invited you to peek into our holiday rituals.  You have shared our cherished memories of growing up with loving grandparents on the farm.  We had a Mom who was always there to guide us.  We had a Dad who showed us how to create a grand work ethic which has taken us through life and enabled us to survive in what has become a difficult world.  To hear me chatter about my family one might perceive that we are flawless, peaceful and immaculate.  Oh how wrong you would be!

We are notorious for fighting amongst ourselves, oh yes we are!  We could be attending a picnic, wedding, communion, wake or any other social gathering together.  It would not matter what the affair or occasion might be or who might be present.  Inevitably, one of us will bring up some issue to embarrass a sister or brother.  At best the target of the remark will attempt to laugh it off. There is not a chance they will get off the hook that easily.  Oh hell no!  The architect of the ill humor will continue to jab and mock until the target finally has enough and either leaves or starts arguing back.  The unpleasant incident escalates until others have joined the discussion, generally in a loud and boisterous fashion.  Next comes the choosing of sides.  This can get really ugly!  Everyone remembers the same incident in a zillion different ways so there is no chance of agreement.  This sort of row generally comes to an end when the dinner bell rings.

It has been said by those who know us well that we travel in packs like wolves or lions.  Rarely will you see just one of us at a social event, a grocery store or the car races.  Although we bicker and argue constantly, we seem to prefer the company of our own as opposed to that of others.

We are also infamous for being incapable of keeping secrets amongst ourselves [as a general rule].  News and gossip spread throughout our family like a wildfire.  Secrets can become tornado’s spinning out of control.  Not one of us means for this to happen yet it does.  I personally have been guilty of all the above at one time or another.  When my family members read this, they will deny any wrongdoing on their part.  “How can you say such a thing?  You can’t be talking about me” they will say indignantly.  Uh, yeah I can!

The worst part of our inappropriate behavior is the fact that we have passed these miserable tendencies on to our offspring.  You can find them at any given affair joining into the ruckus we have created.  I know, I know, despicable.  Yup, you are right.  We should be ashamed of ourselves.  We should find a way to “just get along”.  We are adults.  We function in the big old world quite respectfully and civilly on all other levels.

We continue to spend each holiday, birthday, party and other social functions together in spite of the teasing, in spite of the embarrassment and bickering.  Why you must wonder?  Why do I put myself through this scenario over and over again?

You see, we are a family; a real life not-made-for-TV family.  I guess you could call us the original reality show.  We have but one life to live and we are living it together with all the imperfections and scars included.  We know everything there is to know about one another:  good, bad and in-between.  We stick together in spite of this and because of it.  Although one might find it hard to believe at times, we love each other deeply and forever.  We are the children of Alice [Dillon] and Jerry Kreiter.  That fact has a powerful meaning to all of us; the glue that holds us, the tie that binds us as well.

We are their living legacy.  The abiding love we share, crazy and warped as our actions show us occasionally, has survived the test of time and will continue to do so.  Our parents taught us “stick together, no matter what”.  We will.  We do.  We are family.

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