This past week has been draining for everyone in New Jersey, the United States, and the World and we unite to battle Coronavirus.
Each day as more liberties are taken away from us, I thought about the Holocaust. No, I do not expect people to be put to death from this (other than from the virus), but growing up I wondered how and why Jews accepted their world changing.
Taken from https://www.bl.uk/learning/histcitizen/voices/info/decrees/decrees.html
1934: Jewish students excluded from exams in medicine, dentistry, pharmacy, and law
2020: SATs and ACTs cancelled
1935-36: Jews banned from parks, restaurants, and swimming pools; passports for Jews to travel abroad restricted; many Jewish students removed from German schools and universities.
2020: Parks, restaurants, and swimming pools closed. Borders closed not allowing any international travel; all students removed from schools to do distance learning instead.
1938: Special identity card issued to Jews; Jews excluded from cinema, theater, concerts, exhibitions, beaches, and holiday resorts.
2020: Letters given to essential employees to be allowed to travel after curfew; all cinema, theater, concerts, etc. are banned.
1939: Jewish curfew established
2020: Everyone under curfew
1941: Jews forbidden to leave the country
2020: Everyone forbidden to leave the country
Again I repeat, I am not expecting mass exterminations.
Losing our rights this past week has made me see these parallels.
First the schools closed. Then the libraries. Then the non-essential businesses. Then the parks and beaches.
Only ten days ago I had to convince my boss to postpone the gala, even though the governor was allowing events of under 250 to take place (since lowered to 50, then 10, now it might be just immediate family).
The first sign a business would be closing is the employees wore gloves. Within 48 hours that business would be closed for the indefinite future.
These are scary times. There is no sign that life will return to normal in our lifetime. Once borders reopen the anticipation is there will be a second, third, fourth, etc. wave before this disease disappears, only to be replaced by a new one. Covid-19 (as it is called now) has already mutated once. It will mutate again. The cures being worked on now might not work by the time they are ready for the general population.
Hang in there everyone.
Monday, March 23, 2020
Saturday, March 21, 2020
Virtual Hugs Just Don't Cut It
I had another post in mind for today then I received a phone call Don's 90+ year old Aunt Ruth died. Followed by a FaceBook message a friend lost his 7-year battle with cancer. Followed by another post, a friend's mother died. Followed by a friend saying a mutual friend had to lay-off her staff. Followed by another friend saying she had lay-off her staff of 40.
Friends, we are only a week into social distancing. The governor is likely to announce mass quarantines today for all but healthcare workers and grocery store employees (but who can get to the grocery stores other than healthcare workers?).
I am following the rules (I will always be a rule follower), but I question the toll this is taking on all of us. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. Financially. Will we emerge stronger? Can we emerge stronger? How long will it take to emerge stronger?
The prediction for this disease is we'll return to "normal" for a bit, then wave two will hit. Followed by waves three and four. Might take 18 months until a vaccine is approved. Meanwhile the disease keeps mutating, has already mutated twice in the past few months. Can a cure be found? Can scientists keep on top of it?
Only time will tell.
Friends, we are only a week into social distancing. The governor is likely to announce mass quarantines today for all but healthcare workers and grocery store employees (but who can get to the grocery stores other than healthcare workers?).
I am following the rules (I will always be a rule follower), but I question the toll this is taking on all of us. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. Financially. Will we emerge stronger? Can we emerge stronger? How long will it take to emerge stronger?
The prediction for this disease is we'll return to "normal" for a bit, then wave two will hit. Followed by waves three and four. Might take 18 months until a vaccine is approved. Meanwhile the disease keeps mutating, has already mutated twice in the past few months. Can a cure be found? Can scientists keep on top of it?
Only time will tell.
Friday, March 20, 2020
Social Shaming
Day 5 of our forced curbing of what we have all felt to be rights no one would ever take away from us in this country -- the right to eat in restaurants, the right to be out in public, the right to full shelves at the grocery store, the right to hug each other, the right to congregate, the right to worship together, the right to go to school, etc. Rights so basic, we never thought about them until the Coronovirus took them away.
Life is a lot different in only a few days. The latest right taken away was the right to get a hair cut or manicure. I was able to have my hair treated on Tuesday, my appointment was changed from the Thursday before when I was busy postponing the gala. The salon was empty. People were canceling their appointments. Meanwhile the staff wondered if they would be able to reopen once the dust settles. When Hurricane Sandy shut them down for a week due to the loss of power they nearly did not reopen. No one knows how long the shut down will be.
As I typed this I learned the governor of Pennsylvania (the state next to us) is planning to announce a Shelter in Place. That means no crossing the state line, or having a friend alter Ashley's prom dress (which she may never wear) because the friend is in Pennsylvania.
A friend suggested I keep a diary. My insights during this time might help historians. I'd rather keep up the blog so others realize they are not alone in this.
Today's topic: Social Shaming
Social shaming goes something like this:
Person A: I just did take out from a local restaurant
Person B: How dare you leave the house when we are supposed to ALL be staying inside! (The law is against eating in restaurants, we can still do take out and support local restaurants.)
Or this:
Person A: Let's put our Christmas displays back out so we can brighten up our lives in a way that does not involve interacting with each other!
Person B: My mother is on a ventilator. I wouldn't take electricity she might need for something as frivolous as Christmas lights. (Mind you, there is no indication we are draining the power grid by all working from home.)
Or this:
Person A: Kids are outside playing basketball in public! How dare they! (groups under 50 are still allowed, and this group was well under 50)
Or this:
Person A: My neighbors are having a party. They had at least 6-7 pizzas delivered.
Person B: Maybe they were having a funeral, don't cast judgment on them.
Person A: I would never do that. (May no one in your family die so you don't have to decide between respecting the dead and isolating yourself.)
Or this:
Person A: Kids should not get together during this time. (Again, small groups of healthy people are still allowed together.)
Person B: 30 kids playing basketball together is wrong (only to find out she had a sleepover with her kids' best friends).
These are truly trying times. I would like to think everyone would be okay with a solid we hunker down for two weeks then life will return to fun and reality and we will have all done our best for society. However, the predictions range from two weeks (which no one believes at this point) to four weeks to two months to four months to eighteen months to we try again in two weeks and when wave two hits, we hunker down for another two more months.
Eighteen months? Who will still be in business besides Amazon and Walmart? At what point will the government deem it is okay for us to return to life? Are we really making a difference?
When life opens up again, how long will it take for us to trust it? For us to make plans for the future? For us to dream for our children and for ourselves?
Yes, everyone is losing something during this time. For us it is Ashley's senior year and her ability to do college visits. For my school our building campaign is on hold. I wonder about my job because my paycheck comes out of what I raise. I was suppose to bring in over $50,000 this week at the gala. I won't be able to do that. If it is only a two-week pause we'll recover, if it is 18 months, I'll lose my job. Try finding a new one in this economy!
It still doesn't make it easy. The social shaming also goes along the lines of:
Person A: I didn't get to do XYZ during my life because of some situation and I survived.
Gee, thanks, I don't want my daughter to survive this, I want her to enjoy this time of life.
Or
Person A: Everyone is suffering, so your pain is really not that big a deal in the grand scheme of life.
Gee, thanks, I didn't realize there were levels of pain and graded on a scale of frivolous to serious. Usually serious is reserved for what the person grading the scale is personally going through.
We mourn our own losses -- maybe a business, maybe a school year, maybe not being able to go on that trip of a lifetime, maybe not being able to see your family as you isolate. Family members will still die, but we won't be able to mourn with them.
The governor of Pennsylvania is scheduled to announce a Shelter in Place, which would take away the right to go for a walk in your neighborhood, too. We'll find out later today what the newest set or rules will be.
As stricter and stricter measures are put into place, I am still left wondering are we making a difference? What are we losing by killing the virus through social isolation? How high will the suicide rate climb? How how will unemployment soar? How many businesses will fold? Again, is it worth it?
Life is a lot different in only a few days. The latest right taken away was the right to get a hair cut or manicure. I was able to have my hair treated on Tuesday, my appointment was changed from the Thursday before when I was busy postponing the gala. The salon was empty. People were canceling their appointments. Meanwhile the staff wondered if they would be able to reopen once the dust settles. When Hurricane Sandy shut them down for a week due to the loss of power they nearly did not reopen. No one knows how long the shut down will be.
As I typed this I learned the governor of Pennsylvania (the state next to us) is planning to announce a Shelter in Place. That means no crossing the state line, or having a friend alter Ashley's prom dress (which she may never wear) because the friend is in Pennsylvania.
A friend suggested I keep a diary. My insights during this time might help historians. I'd rather keep up the blog so others realize they are not alone in this.
Today's topic: Social Shaming
Social shaming goes something like this:
Person A: I just did take out from a local restaurant
Person B: How dare you leave the house when we are supposed to ALL be staying inside! (The law is against eating in restaurants, we can still do take out and support local restaurants.)
Or this:
Person A: Let's put our Christmas displays back out so we can brighten up our lives in a way that does not involve interacting with each other!
Person B: My mother is on a ventilator. I wouldn't take electricity she might need for something as frivolous as Christmas lights. (Mind you, there is no indication we are draining the power grid by all working from home.)
Or this:
Person A: Kids are outside playing basketball in public! How dare they! (groups under 50 are still allowed, and this group was well under 50)
Or this:
Person A: My neighbors are having a party. They had at least 6-7 pizzas delivered.
Person B: Maybe they were having a funeral, don't cast judgment on them.
Person A: I would never do that. (May no one in your family die so you don't have to decide between respecting the dead and isolating yourself.)
Or this:
Person A: Kids should not get together during this time. (Again, small groups of healthy people are still allowed together.)
Person B: 30 kids playing basketball together is wrong (only to find out she had a sleepover with her kids' best friends).
These are truly trying times. I would like to think everyone would be okay with a solid we hunker down for two weeks then life will return to fun and reality and we will have all done our best for society. However, the predictions range from two weeks (which no one believes at this point) to four weeks to two months to four months to eighteen months to we try again in two weeks and when wave two hits, we hunker down for another two more months.
Eighteen months? Who will still be in business besides Amazon and Walmart? At what point will the government deem it is okay for us to return to life? Are we really making a difference?
When life opens up again, how long will it take for us to trust it? For us to make plans for the future? For us to dream for our children and for ourselves?
Yes, everyone is losing something during this time. For us it is Ashley's senior year and her ability to do college visits. For my school our building campaign is on hold. I wonder about my job because my paycheck comes out of what I raise. I was suppose to bring in over $50,000 this week at the gala. I won't be able to do that. If it is only a two-week pause we'll recover, if it is 18 months, I'll lose my job. Try finding a new one in this economy!
It still doesn't make it easy. The social shaming also goes along the lines of:
Person A: I didn't get to do XYZ during my life because of some situation and I survived.
Gee, thanks, I don't want my daughter to survive this, I want her to enjoy this time of life.
Or
Person A: Everyone is suffering, so your pain is really not that big a deal in the grand scheme of life.
Gee, thanks, I didn't realize there were levels of pain and graded on a scale of frivolous to serious. Usually serious is reserved for what the person grading the scale is personally going through.
We mourn our own losses -- maybe a business, maybe a school year, maybe not being able to go on that trip of a lifetime, maybe not being able to see your family as you isolate. Family members will still die, but we won't be able to mourn with them.
The governor of Pennsylvania is scheduled to announce a Shelter in Place, which would take away the right to go for a walk in your neighborhood, too. We'll find out later today what the newest set or rules will be.
As stricter and stricter measures are put into place, I am still left wondering are we making a difference? What are we losing by killing the virus through social isolation? How high will the suicide rate climb? How how will unemployment soar? How many businesses will fold? Again, is it worth it?
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Doomsday Predictions
A few days ago I posted my feelings about Ashley's senior year being disrupted (at best) or cancelled (at medium prediction). Many were supportive of allowing me to vent my feelings, but at least a few reminded me but isn't this better than many people dying from the disease?
Of course I don't wish mass deaths on the world, but like everyone else I am adjusting. I am still doing what I am supposed to -- staying away from others, only shopping for necessities, not leaving the house except for walks. Meanwhile I don't have to be happy about it.
The most optimistic predictions are we will be social distancing for two weeks. As we are at day 4, that does not seem likely.
The doomsday predictions call for 18 months until a vaccine exists, then time to distribute that vaccination before we can get on with our lives. Meanwhile this disease is mutating, which will take longer for a cure.
I want to distance myself from social media because of the judgments -- I saw kids playing in the park, don't their parents know they should stay inside? Someone had a party with six pizza boxes, don't they know they should stay away from others? I saw someone hoarding food at the grocery store, don't they know that is wrong?
But then I don't want to distance myself because there is some good out there and I want to be connected to people.
If this drags on for months, years, what businesses besides Amazon and Walmart will survive?
This week all non-essential businesses have closed, or will close before the end of the week. The dentist office (at some point won't we need cleanings?), the hair salon, restaurants, the library, schools (distance learning will not work for all), and so much more are closed until further notice.
I could simply keep my feelings to myself (which tends to eat me alive, but, heh, it is for the greater good) or share them and risk being told I am wrong for having feelings (did we dive that deeply into communism where we are not allowed to have feelings?).
For now I'll share because I suspect I am not alone in my feelings, even if others are unwilling to share, and because I often feel better after I write -- at least until someone casts judgment on me for having feelings and I spiral in a nosedive again.
May I look back on this time soon and say why was I worried? That wasn't so bad. Maybe I'll even have guilt for wasting this time feeling sorry for myself and the world. Maybe businesses will thrive and new jobs will be created out of this mess. Maybe the disease will simply disappear in a poof of air (as was predicted by a psychic a number of years ago).
For now I continue to ache and I am adult enough to admit it rather than pretending life is wonderful. If I pretend I'll never be able to move past the feelings to the next stage.
When I firmly return to feeling optimistic about the future, I'll blog about it and encourage others to feel optimistic again, too. In the meantime, there will be good moments and bad ones. That is life.
Monday, March 16, 2020
Fast Forward from September 11, 2001
It all started on September 11, 2001, or rather on September 12th. Because I didn't want the news to connected to that horrific day. Yet, somehow 18+ years later it feels like it is.
I took a pregnancy test.
It was positive.
On May 17, 2002 we welcomed Ashley into the world.
The beginning of a story. The beginning of dreams for our little person.
This week I (and everyone else reading this) am dealing with the loss of dreams. I dreamed about her last high school production. I dreamed about her walking down the Senior Fashion Show aisle. I dreamed about her receiving college acceptances (which should still come) and touring the schools (which won't likely happen).
Today the governor put in restrictions I never thought possible. We have a mandatory curfew from 8 pm to 5 am. Shops and restaurants are forced to close. Schools are closed until he deems it okay to open them. Already international airline travel has been curtailed. Events under 250 (now 50, maybe even less) have been cancelled, including my gala. Grocery store shelves (toilet paper and meat most noticeably) are empty.
As I mentally adjust to the new restrictions, more rules are being enacted.
Our beloved library is closing tonight at 7. On Saturday it was business as usual. On Sunday they started wearing gloves. On Monday they announced closing their doors for the foreseeable future.
The foreseeable future.
Social distancing.
Remote learning.
Flattening the curve.
When will it end?
I wonder if it really matters. What if we just let it naturally spike the numbers and all take our chances? Those worry stay home. The rest of us live our lives and make our memories.
If this was only a two week pause, I could handle it.
If I saw some sign of hope, like snow melting after a blizzard, I could handle it.
Instead we are all left with uncertainty at a time we should be celebrating. We are left wondering if the Disney trip, proms, graduation, and senior celebrations are next. On a greater scale, left wondering what businesses will fold. Left wondering how long before we recover as a world.
It is not fair.
Yet, as I read social media, I am not allowed to feel it is unfair. It is for the greater good, not just for me and our daughter.
We will never reclaim this time. We will never reclaim these milestones. It is a loss. I am allowed to grieve. I am allowed to wish we would redo this in May and June instead of in March and April. I am willing to send her to school through mid-August if it meant she could give her senior speech at the cast party that was cancelled last weekend. If it meant taking pictures at her prom. If it meant cheering for her and her friends at graduation. If it meant the Disney trip would still happen. If it meant we still had that last parent-teacher conference where I could thank your teachers for everything.
Instead uncertainty.
Instead fear.
Instead extra stress.
Instead hopelessness.
Any other two months and I would embrace the chance to slow down and embrace life with my family. Why now?
Instead I am mourning.
Instead I want to cry, but the tears are not coming.
Instead I want to hug someone until the tears flow, but social distancing prevents contact.
I am reminded of that pregnancy test and being happy for our future when the world was mourning and I was not able to fully be happy because others lost so much. Now I'm going through those same feelings again -- not allowed to be upset because it is for the "greater good."
So far I am taking this harder than Ashley, and definitely harder than Don. I recognize that, but I am still hurt. It will take me a while to recover.
I'd love some optimism that schools will reopen. That the Disney-theme parks will reopen. That the numbers decline. I'm just not feeling it right now.
I took a pregnancy test.
It was positive.
On May 17, 2002 we welcomed Ashley into the world.
The beginning of a story. The beginning of dreams for our little person.
This week I (and everyone else reading this) am dealing with the loss of dreams. I dreamed about her last high school production. I dreamed about her walking down the Senior Fashion Show aisle. I dreamed about her receiving college acceptances (which should still come) and touring the schools (which won't likely happen).
Today the governor put in restrictions I never thought possible. We have a mandatory curfew from 8 pm to 5 am. Shops and restaurants are forced to close. Schools are closed until he deems it okay to open them. Already international airline travel has been curtailed. Events under 250 (now 50, maybe even less) have been cancelled, including my gala. Grocery store shelves (toilet paper and meat most noticeably) are empty.
As I mentally adjust to the new restrictions, more rules are being enacted.
Our beloved library is closing tonight at 7. On Saturday it was business as usual. On Sunday they started wearing gloves. On Monday they announced closing their doors for the foreseeable future.
The foreseeable future.
Social distancing.
Remote learning.
Flattening the curve.
When will it end?
I wonder if it really matters. What if we just let it naturally spike the numbers and all take our chances? Those worry stay home. The rest of us live our lives and make our memories.
If this was only a two week pause, I could handle it.
If I saw some sign of hope, like snow melting after a blizzard, I could handle it.
Instead we are all left with uncertainty at a time we should be celebrating. We are left wondering if the Disney trip, proms, graduation, and senior celebrations are next. On a greater scale, left wondering what businesses will fold. Left wondering how long before we recover as a world.
It is not fair.
Yet, as I read social media, I am not allowed to feel it is unfair. It is for the greater good, not just for me and our daughter.
We will never reclaim this time. We will never reclaim these milestones. It is a loss. I am allowed to grieve. I am allowed to wish we would redo this in May and June instead of in March and April. I am willing to send her to school through mid-August if it meant she could give her senior speech at the cast party that was cancelled last weekend. If it meant taking pictures at her prom. If it meant cheering for her and her friends at graduation. If it meant the Disney trip would still happen. If it meant we still had that last parent-teacher conference where I could thank your teachers for everything.
Instead uncertainty.
Instead fear.
Instead extra stress.
Instead hopelessness.
Any other two months and I would embrace the chance to slow down and embrace life with my family. Why now?
Instead I am mourning.
Instead I want to cry, but the tears are not coming.
Instead I want to hug someone until the tears flow, but social distancing prevents contact.
I am reminded of that pregnancy test and being happy for our future when the world was mourning and I was not able to fully be happy because others lost so much. Now I'm going through those same feelings again -- not allowed to be upset because it is for the "greater good."
So far I am taking this harder than Ashley, and definitely harder than Don. I recognize that, but I am still hurt. It will take me a while to recover.
I'd love some optimism that schools will reopen. That the Disney-theme parks will reopen. That the numbers decline. I'm just not feeling it right now.
Sunday, March 1, 2020
Year Five for the Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese 4-Miler
Being a legacy runner for a race means you feel compelled to do it even when you shouldn't. That was the case today.
Having run the Bucks County Runners Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese 4-Miler for the past four years, I was determined to make this year five. It didn't matter that the scratchy throat I've been dealing with since Tuesday made me wake up without a voice. It didn't matter that I ran on Friday and Saturday at less than full steam because of a challenge I made to myself to run at least ten 5ks (or greater distance) every month. It didn't matter that it was 31 degrees but felt much closer to 20. At least the sun was shining and I was determined to do it.
The course is the same. We start with the spiral of death to help us spread out. At the 1.1 mile mark we hop on the towpath at Washington Crossing State Park in Pennsylvania and run a little over 2.6 miles before we turn around. The fast people passed me at 1.6 miles this year. Don reached the turn around about .05 miles before me. I really slowed down on the last 1.4 miles.
On the plus for this year, it was not muddy.
The line for the tomato soup at the end was long, but the soup was plentiful and delicious. As were the grilled cheese sandwiches, or so I heard.
I enjoyed catching up with Gabrielle.
It was still cold at the finish line, so we headed home to warm up.
Of note this year, the early registrants each got a toasty warm hat. I put mine on after the race so I didn't have any bad race mojo. I needed all the help I could get.
According to my watch, I finished just under a 12-minute mile pace. Certainly not a PR, but respectable given how I was feeling. Fortunately the rest of the day called for spending time under the blanket with the fireplace on blogging about adventures.
Having run the Bucks County Runners Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese 4-Miler for the past four years, I was determined to make this year five. It didn't matter that the scratchy throat I've been dealing with since Tuesday made me wake up without a voice. It didn't matter that I ran on Friday and Saturday at less than full steam because of a challenge I made to myself to run at least ten 5ks (or greater distance) every month. It didn't matter that it was 31 degrees but felt much closer to 20. At least the sun was shining and I was determined to do it.
The course is the same. We start with the spiral of death to help us spread out. At the 1.1 mile mark we hop on the towpath at Washington Crossing State Park in Pennsylvania and run a little over 2.6 miles before we turn around. The fast people passed me at 1.6 miles this year. Don reached the turn around about .05 miles before me. I really slowed down on the last 1.4 miles.
On the plus for this year, it was not muddy.
The line for the tomato soup at the end was long, but the soup was plentiful and delicious. As were the grilled cheese sandwiches, or so I heard.
I enjoyed catching up with Gabrielle.
It was still cold at the finish line, so we headed home to warm up.
Of note this year, the early registrants each got a toasty warm hat. I put mine on after the race so I didn't have any bad race mojo. I needed all the help I could get.
According to my watch, I finished just under a 12-minute mile pace. Certainly not a PR, but respectable given how I was feeling. Fortunately the rest of the day called for spending time under the blanket with the fireplace on blogging about adventures.
Katie's Run
Katie was hooked.
Katie decided when she turned 40 she would do the same. Between her running group and other parts of her life, she has a lot of running friends. At one point she had enough friends each person would have to run 2.67 miles.
That's when Don and I chimed in we would do it, too.
As the day drew nearer, and the forecast turned colder, we were afraid some people would bail. Though we didn't want to run a half-marathon that day, we were prepared to do so for Katie if we were the only ones who showed up.
The plan was to meet at the Grandparents Park near the Marina at Mercer County Park at 9 am on February 29. Though we have had some warm days, this was not one of them. Fortunately it was not raining or sleeting. Just cold. About 30 degrees, but feels like the low 20s cold.We showed up in time for the count off. There were 28 people, mostly women.
1.42 miles each.
We headed out like a flock of flamingos (the goal was to dress in pink) and turned left past the memorial. Ran for .7 miles and turned around. That easy.
Having a cold, and having run a 5k the day before with a 4 mile race planned for the next day, I was much slower than usual. Either that, or I was aiming to keep Katie's pace. Yeah, that's my story and I am sticking with it.
As I passed a couple walking, I encouraged them to shout Happy Birthday to Katie. They did.
We did have fun. The sunshine helped. It always does.
Afterwards there were flamingo cupcakes and other celebratory activities. Don and I went home. Some skipped the running and arrived in time for the party. Others skipped the party and only went to the run. I suspect in the end it worked out as it was supposed to -- just right.
Cornelius Low House
The back story is not long after cleaning out Honey Bunny and Pop-Pop's house I saw a call on H-Net (a list serv dedicated to all things historic in New Jersey) for items relating to mid-century life. The Cornelius Low House was planning an 18-month exhibit and wanted items to display. My heart fell into my stomach. I had a house-full of items they could have had.Still I made a note I wanted to see the exhibit after it opened.
Time flies. Unless something is put on the calendar, it often does not happen. Something like this that does not have a real date is very easy to not have happen.The museum is free. The exhibit was well-done with lots of eye catching displays explaining the post-WWII era and how life changed for average people.
It felt like a time capsule. I saw dishes I used growing up, and even a Pillsbury cookbook (good chance I recycled a similar one a couple of years ago).
When I could distance myself emotionally from cleaning out their house, I enjoyed the exhibit. When I couldn't I felt I needed out of there immediately. That's no fault to the museum, only how emotions can pop up when you don't expect them to.
The first floor had a complete, and rather pristine, living room set. The description said it was from the donor's parents' house and left untouched since (if my memory is right) the 1970s. At least Don's parents upgraded their living room set in 50 years and used the place. The living room was a new concept in the 1950s.
The upstairs was much sparser. There was a room talking about the popularity of drive-ins. More fully decorated 1950s rooms would have added to the exhibit. I talked to the person at the museum. She said they had lots of donations to choose from. Next up, though, they are returning to the Colonial Era of Cornelius Low. The exhibit runs through June 28, 2020. There is a little bit of parking (about 4 spaces), likely enough for their needs.
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| Our washing machine is old, but not THIS old. Fortunately Honey Bunny's was not this old, either. |
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| We had these dishes growing up, as did Don's family. |
"Behind Enemy Lines" by Marthe Cohn
Three years ago I heard Marthe Cohn, author of Behind Enemy Lines, was going to give a talk in New Jersey. The rest of the title is: the true story of a French Jewish Spy in Nazi Germany.
A quick google search I was hooked on what I read about her. I borrowed her book from the library and was mesmerized.
Unfortunately the day of her talk it was snowing and the drive was at least an hour away. I made the decision to not hear her speak, knowing it was likely the last opportunity I would have. She was 96-years old and living in California. It was only by chance I heard about her presentation.
Fast forward to 2020 and I heard through the magic of Facebook that she was returning to New Jersey to give a talk at Princeton University. No snow in the forecast. No other plans that day. The only decision I had left was do I buy her autographed book, or simply attend her lecture.
I splurged. I do not buy a lot of books, instead I support our local library, or friends why write books.
The timing of her talk coincided with the 75th anniversary of Auschwitz being liberated. The student who introduced her said his grandparent (or maybe it was great-grandparent survived the Holocaust). I later overheard events such as this one are only open to Princeton University students, faculty, and staff. I was fortunate that it was opened to the public, and that I heard about it.
Marthe Cohn is a 99-year old French woman who grew up in an Orthodox Jewish family just over the border with Germany. She was able to slip behind enemy lines as a spy as an ordinary woman in extraordinary experience. She became the hero that was needed.
In 2004 someone interviewed her for five hours and created a video about her life. After watching the 10-minute video she spent the next 20-minutes (or so) clearing up the misconceptions in the video. I wondered why she didn't have a new video made, but maybe she realizes the impact of explaining her story through the mistakes.
The first mistake is she grew up near Metz, not Alsace-Loraine. The difference being in Metz they learned true Germany. In Alsace-Loraine the locals speak a dialect.
The other is that her sister Stephanie was taken by SOPI, not the Gestapo. SOPI was formed in March 1942. Stephanie was arrested on June 17, 1942. There was a farmer with a farm on both sides of the border who helped people cross from Occupied France into Unoccupied France. He saved allied pilots who were shot down, and saved many Jews. Stephanie made a fatal mistake when she returned some cigarettes someone left behind and signed her name to the letter. Her real name.
Back to her history. She was born in Metz, France in 1920 and kept her past a secret for 50 years. She was one of seven children. The Prussian Army of Kaiser Wilhelm I occupied Paris from 1870-November 11, 1918. During that time it was illegal to speak French. Though she was born two years after the occupation, she spoke German at home and learn it from her parents.
In September 1939 the family moved to Poitiers, a safer part of France. It was not safe for long. In the meantime, they went about their daily business, she became engaged, they hid Jews without papers, her fiance was with the Resistance and was arrested. Her sister was arrested. Then her father was arrested as a way to make her sister talk. Her father was released. Though they had plans to help her sister escape, they were never carried out. The sister knew she was being useful in prison as she took care of the medical needs of the children. More importantly she knew if she escaped, they would come after her family and friends. Her family was allowed to visit her (something that seems so unbelievable, though I have read about this in other books about the same time period). On September 21, 1942 (Yom Kippur) she was deported to an unknown destination, later they learned it was Auschwitz, and they lost contact with her.
An interesting fact I learned recently was that 75% of the Jews in France survived because French citizens risked their lives to take care of them. More than in almost any other European country at the time. Only Denmark had a higher percentage. Many families hid at least one Jew.
Marthe was a nursing student in Marsielles. She traveled with false papers. Her fiance was arrested with his brother and friends. They were tried and executed. She moved to Paris and lived with one of her sisters. With her false papers she could go into public spaces, including the train station and food store. Jews with the Jewish stamp could only shop in the last hour. In those days there were no super markets, you had to go from store to store to store to buy everything, and presumably stand in lines at each one, a task that would take more than an hour. Some shop keepers would bundle up the groceries in advance to speed them along. They did this at great personal risk.
Marthe went to nursing school. At her school her friends hid her whenever the Gestapo came, risking their lives. She started her studies in Montpelier, but the director wouldn't let her work. She went to Marseilles where she heard that director was very sympathetic. After a bit of back and forth between the director and someone else, she was accepted. She graduated in 1943 and returned to Paris to live with her older sister. She used her forged ID card to get a job with an agency.
By this point France was liberated, but the war was still happening. She tried to get a job with the government, but was told since the city where she was born was not liberated, she could not work for them. She tried to use her forged papers to get a job, but the hiring person recognized them as a forgery and turned her down.
Marthe reconnected with the mother of her fiance. When she realized she was all alone, Marthe and her sister invited her to live with them in Paris. They took care of her. They visited the cemetery at Ivry to see where her sons were buried.
Her fiance's mother met and befriended General Charles DeGaulle who asked what he could do for her. She asked for a role for her not-quite daughter-in-law. Marthe ended up in the 151st Regiment in Alsace. During a debriefing she was asked what she did during the war. She explained she tried to join the Resistance, but at 4'11, very thin with blond hair and blue eyes, she was rejected. No one trusted she was strong enough for the army.
She was told they didn't need any nurses, they need social workers. Not knowing what a social worker did, she accepted the challenge. The first uniform they gave her was much too big. No one gave her any directions, she she went to the front and asked the soldiers what they needed. They asked for blankets, food, and reading materials. She went back into town to get these items and returned with them.
Once an officer, Pierre Fabien, the first person to kill a German in 1943, realized she spoke both French and Germany, they hired this tiny, blond lady to interrogate prisoners. She underwent intensive training and was assigned to Africa.
Marthe became a spy. After 13 tries, she was able to get into Germany. She passed intelligence information to the Allies under the cover of being a German nurse looking for information about her Nazi officer. As she walked with people, including a German officer, she learned valuable information.
In February 1945 everything was frozen when Marthe landed in a canal. Turns out even military guides make mistakes, one gave her the wrong information. This guide failed to say there was a canal in her path. She was drenched from head to toe. It took a while to get out of the canal. She walked all night. Turned out she walked in a circle all night. She later learned if you walk without a compass at night, you will walk in a circle.
Marthe decided to go into Germany through neutral Switzerland. She was taken to the Swiss border. She went through the forest then through a field (many of her stories involve forests and fields) to where two heavily-armed German sentries were keeping guard 24-hours a day. She was with a middle aged man who made a strong pass at her, which she rejected. She was dressed as a German nurse without any French identification, all the labels torn out of her clothes, vouchers for everything she would need -- but no lesson on how or where to use the vouchers.
Marthe said the transportation was only at night, no military transport during the day, so Germans walked everywhere in groups. She found a group to join. The one high ranking German said to her (a Jew), "I can smell a Jew a mile away." As they walked, he told her about atrocities on the eastern front, which she had to smile through or else risk blowing her cover. She took care of him after he fainted, for which he was grateful and gave her his phone number. This came in handy later.
Three weeks later Marthe went to the Zigfried line and learned it was evacuated. She knew this was important information, but that it needed to be confirmed by three people before she could take it to her supervisor. She got the confirmations needed. The next challenge was to prove she was a friend since she had no documentation on her. She raised her right arm and made a V for victory as Winston Churchill had done recently. She recognizes she was extremely lucky they did not kill her on sight. They were skeptical, but eventually treated her as a VIP. When asked what they could do for her, she asked for a bicycle because she was tired of walking! She carried a letter in French past the Germans in the Black Forest. There was no time to get it coded. She put the letter in her left pocket with her hand on top of it to protect it. Following Col. Reinhard's advice, she got herself into Switzerland, told them she was a Swiss agent, and asked for help. She was safe.
In 1956 she came to the United States. She met her husband, Major, in Switzerland in 1953. The couple lives in California.
After the talk, Marthe answered questions while Major proudly showed off his wife's medals.
Time passed. She didn't talk about it. She figured no one would really believe her. In the mid-1990s she was back in France and asked for a copy of her military records from the French government.
Marthe Cohn was accompanied by her husband. Word has it he is a few years younger than her -- which still makes him in his upper-90s. He kept her on task during the talk. When she forgot a word or the story meandered, he brought her back. She speaks three language well.
A quick google search I was hooked on what I read about her. I borrowed her book from the library and was mesmerized.
Unfortunately the day of her talk it was snowing and the drive was at least an hour away. I made the decision to not hear her speak, knowing it was likely the last opportunity I would have. She was 96-years old and living in California. It was only by chance I heard about her presentation.
Fast forward to 2020 and I heard through the magic of Facebook that she was returning to New Jersey to give a talk at Princeton University. No snow in the forecast. No other plans that day. The only decision I had left was do I buy her autographed book, or simply attend her lecture. I splurged. I do not buy a lot of books, instead I support our local library, or friends why write books.
The timing of her talk coincided with the 75th anniversary of Auschwitz being liberated. The student who introduced her said his grandparent (or maybe it was great-grandparent survived the Holocaust). I later overheard events such as this one are only open to Princeton University students, faculty, and staff. I was fortunate that it was opened to the public, and that I heard about it.
 |
| The room was everything you dream an ivy school lecture hall being -- wooden desks with built in arm rest. The room across the hall had floor to ceiling blackboards. |
Marthe Cohn is a 99-year old French woman who grew up in an Orthodox Jewish family just over the border with Germany. She was able to slip behind enemy lines as a spy as an ordinary woman in extraordinary experience. She became the hero that was needed.
In 2004 someone interviewed her for five hours and created a video about her life. After watching the 10-minute video she spent the next 20-minutes (or so) clearing up the misconceptions in the video. I wondered why she didn't have a new video made, but maybe she realizes the impact of explaining her story through the mistakes.
The first mistake is she grew up near Metz, not Alsace-Loraine. The difference being in Metz they learned true Germany. In Alsace-Loraine the locals speak a dialect.
The other is that her sister Stephanie was taken by SOPI, not the Gestapo. SOPI was formed in March 1942. Stephanie was arrested on June 17, 1942. There was a farmer with a farm on both sides of the border who helped people cross from Occupied France into Unoccupied France. He saved allied pilots who were shot down, and saved many Jews. Stephanie made a fatal mistake when she returned some cigarettes someone left behind and signed her name to the letter. Her real name.
Back to her history. She was born in Metz, France in 1920 and kept her past a secret for 50 years. She was one of seven children. The Prussian Army of Kaiser Wilhelm I occupied Paris from 1870-November 11, 1918. During that time it was illegal to speak French. Though she was born two years after the occupation, she spoke German at home and learn it from her parents.
In September 1939 the family moved to Poitiers, a safer part of France. It was not safe for long. In the meantime, they went about their daily business, she became engaged, they hid Jews without papers, her fiance was with the Resistance and was arrested. Her sister was arrested. Then her father was arrested as a way to make her sister talk. Her father was released. Though they had plans to help her sister escape, they were never carried out. The sister knew she was being useful in prison as she took care of the medical needs of the children. More importantly she knew if she escaped, they would come after her family and friends. Her family was allowed to visit her (something that seems so unbelievable, though I have read about this in other books about the same time period). On September 21, 1942 (Yom Kippur) she was deported to an unknown destination, later they learned it was Auschwitz, and they lost contact with her.
An interesting fact I learned recently was that 75% of the Jews in France survived because French citizens risked their lives to take care of them. More than in almost any other European country at the time. Only Denmark had a higher percentage. Many families hid at least one Jew.
Marthe was a nursing student in Marsielles. She traveled with false papers. Her fiance was arrested with his brother and friends. They were tried and executed. She moved to Paris and lived with one of her sisters. With her false papers she could go into public spaces, including the train station and food store. Jews with the Jewish stamp could only shop in the last hour. In those days there were no super markets, you had to go from store to store to store to buy everything, and presumably stand in lines at each one, a task that would take more than an hour. Some shop keepers would bundle up the groceries in advance to speed them along. They did this at great personal risk.
Marthe went to nursing school. At her school her friends hid her whenever the Gestapo came, risking their lives. She started her studies in Montpelier, but the director wouldn't let her work. She went to Marseilles where she heard that director was very sympathetic. After a bit of back and forth between the director and someone else, she was accepted. She graduated in 1943 and returned to Paris to live with her older sister. She used her forged ID card to get a job with an agency.
By this point France was liberated, but the war was still happening. She tried to get a job with the government, but was told since the city where she was born was not liberated, she could not work for them. She tried to use her forged papers to get a job, but the hiring person recognized them as a forgery and turned her down.
Marthe reconnected with the mother of her fiance. When she realized she was all alone, Marthe and her sister invited her to live with them in Paris. They took care of her. They visited the cemetery at Ivry to see where her sons were buried.
Her fiance's mother met and befriended General Charles DeGaulle who asked what he could do for her. She asked for a role for her not-quite daughter-in-law. Marthe ended up in the 151st Regiment in Alsace. During a debriefing she was asked what she did during the war. She explained she tried to join the Resistance, but at 4'11, very thin with blond hair and blue eyes, she was rejected. No one trusted she was strong enough for the army.
She was told they didn't need any nurses, they need social workers. Not knowing what a social worker did, she accepted the challenge. The first uniform they gave her was much too big. No one gave her any directions, she she went to the front and asked the soldiers what they needed. They asked for blankets, food, and reading materials. She went back into town to get these items and returned with them.
Once an officer, Pierre Fabien, the first person to kill a German in 1943, realized she spoke both French and Germany, they hired this tiny, blond lady to interrogate prisoners. She underwent intensive training and was assigned to Africa.
Marthe became a spy. After 13 tries, she was able to get into Germany. She passed intelligence information to the Allies under the cover of being a German nurse looking for information about her Nazi officer. As she walked with people, including a German officer, she learned valuable information.
In February 1945 everything was frozen when Marthe landed in a canal. Turns out even military guides make mistakes, one gave her the wrong information. This guide failed to say there was a canal in her path. She was drenched from head to toe. It took a while to get out of the canal. She walked all night. Turned out she walked in a circle all night. She later learned if you walk without a compass at night, you will walk in a circle.
Marthe decided to go into Germany through neutral Switzerland. She was taken to the Swiss border. She went through the forest then through a field (many of her stories involve forests and fields) to where two heavily-armed German sentries were keeping guard 24-hours a day. She was with a middle aged man who made a strong pass at her, which she rejected. She was dressed as a German nurse without any French identification, all the labels torn out of her clothes, vouchers for everything she would need -- but no lesson on how or where to use the vouchers.
Marthe said the transportation was only at night, no military transport during the day, so Germans walked everywhere in groups. She found a group to join. The one high ranking German said to her (a Jew), "I can smell a Jew a mile away." As they walked, he told her about atrocities on the eastern front, which she had to smile through or else risk blowing her cover. She took care of him after he fainted, for which he was grateful and gave her his phone number. This came in handy later.
Three weeks later Marthe went to the Zigfried line and learned it was evacuated. She knew this was important information, but that it needed to be confirmed by three people before she could take it to her supervisor. She got the confirmations needed. The next challenge was to prove she was a friend since she had no documentation on her. She raised her right arm and made a V for victory as Winston Churchill had done recently. She recognizes she was extremely lucky they did not kill her on sight. They were skeptical, but eventually treated her as a VIP. When asked what they could do for her, she asked for a bicycle because she was tired of walking! She carried a letter in French past the Germans in the Black Forest. There was no time to get it coded. She put the letter in her left pocket with her hand on top of it to protect it. Following Col. Reinhard's advice, she got herself into Switzerland, told them she was a Swiss agent, and asked for help. She was safe.
In 1956 she came to the United States. She met her husband, Major, in Switzerland in 1953. The couple lives in California.
After the talk, Marthe answered questions while Major proudly showed off his wife's medals.
Time passed. She didn't talk about it. She figured no one would really believe her. In the mid-1990s she was back in France and asked for a copy of her military records from the French government.
Marthe Cohn was accompanied by her husband. Word has it he is a few years younger than her -- which still makes him in his upper-90s. He kept her on task during the talk. When she forgot a word or the story meandered, he brought her back. She speaks three language well.
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