LittleLove Stories

2

Memento by Ann Baker

Downtown, in the city of Rochester,

New York, there’s a bridge with a

view of the Genesee River. It is

named after former Rochester

residents, Frederick Douglass and

Susan B. Anthony. We call it the

Freddy Sue Bridge. I miss it.

_____

Chance or fate?

by Judy Toohey

My husband could have married my

sister. Was it chance or fate that he

didn’t?

The second weekend of our freshman

year, 1953, two Harvard boys drove

over from Cambridge looking to

meet some coeds. The two boys

chose to talk with my identical twin

and me. As one chatted with my

sister, the other really didn’t have a

choice. He got me!

And that was the beginning. Was it

chance? I was meeting my future

husband. Yes, we were married three

years later and together for fifty-eight

years.

_____

“…Real nice clambake” by S.W. Burkman

August, at the beach

Dinner for some guests on the

Boardwalk,

not the dining room.

The student, enjoying a second summer

working at the shore,

Clad in white clam diggers, with

sunkissed bare feet,

approached the young man sitting alone.

After work, they departed together,

Briefly visited a crowded bar,

Twin Lights, high above the sea, quiet,

dark . . .

just the place to talk for hours.

They talked every day

til Labor Day, when she left, for her

senior year. They pledged to continue

that

conversation . . . It lasted for the next 56

years!

_____

Love me, love my St. Bernard by Gini Smith

Come meet my pooch.

His name is Mooch.

He likes a single square of steak

With a double spot of hootch.

Beware! He'll lick your shiny boot.

And lap your hand, a swarmy smooch.

He leans for love. So, slide on down.

Give him some room. Well, just a

skootch!

Sit!! Mooch!!!

_____

3

True love by Judy Rubin

Norm and I met in high school in

10th grade. Before long we were

“going steady.” Unfortunately,

before I met him, I had committed to

a job in Connecticut. We parted

when I left in June with a big kiss

and the words “See you in

September.” During that summer, I

received 48 letters from Norm that I

still have. All ended with “P. S. I

love you.”

On my finger, I’ve always worn a

ring with a double heart that Norm

gave me sixty-five years ago.

Every year we still celebrate the

anniversary of our first date on

11/23/55. I sign any card I give

Norm with the words “Love to ∞.”

_____

Love in a small package by Jackie McClellan

Back in graduate school, we babysat

for our vacationing neighbor’s

newborn kittens. When they

returned, we kept the runt of the

litter. I loved him. James did not.

And Runt wasn’t very fond of him

either. Sneaking in after James was

asleep, he would spend every night

curled up under my arm. Two years

later, we went Paris for a year, leaving

Runt with a friend. On our return, he

snubbed me for a while, but then running

up, he wrapped all four legs around one

of mine, and refused to let go for the rest

of the day.

_____

Love story haiku by Deidre Crumbley

Juniors at Temple

Fifty years apart—alas

Seniors at Pennswood

_____

Our shared love of music by George Kurz

On a Friday afternoon, I sat alone in our

living room watching the Philadelphia

Orchestra play an all-Beethoven program

at Version Hall.

As has been my reaction to music several

times in recent months, I was deeply

moved, constantly thinking about

Elisabeth and the numerous concerts we

attended there, sitting in the balcony

facing the orchestra, holding hands and

drinking in the music together. I was

overwhelmed with emotion, wishing so

much that we could again enjoy such

concerts together. I cried and spoke out

loud of my love for her and how

intensely I miss her.

_____

4

Dante love by Nancy Vickers

2021 marks the 700th anniversary of

Dante’s death. He and I have been

together for over 50 years. We met

by chance. A friend decided to audit

a Dante class; I tagged along. Our

professor entered an overflowing

classroom, sat down, opened the

Divine Comedy, and began to speak.

He took our collective breath away.

Literature changed. This soaring,

encyclopedic poem encompassed the

universe; it spoke the people’s

language; its recitation in medieval

streets was manna to the illiterate.

Many of us never recovered. As I

reread it yet again, I am still

captivated . . . after all these years.

_____

Love by Doug Meaker

Robin and I married in 1958 and

remained married until her death in

2019. I marveled at our 60 years.

A thread running through this is that

our lives would affect but not govern

one another. A 1981 major spinal

operation left her crippled and fit

only for volunteer work. She drove a

standard car daily to accomplish her

activities.

My part was to provide support as

needed. After many years it sank in

that I loved this woman. I think she

loved me too, but that’s beside the point.

We quarreled, but that’s because we

cared.

_____

Chemistry class by Jim McClellan

I saw her at a distance a few days after I

first arrived, forlorn, as a junior at

Central Bucks. At the grand old age of

sixteen, I knew immediately and

instinctively that I loved her and wanted

her as my life partner. Perhaps it was her

profile or the curve of her hip. Something

compelled me toward her, my perfect

goddess. We first spoke at an after-

school study session for students

interested in chemistry. I sidled up to her

at a lab bench. It was chemistry and

much more from then on.

_____

The bright red jacket By Martha (Dusty) Mulder

(Quoting the late Harry (Bud) Mulder

from a Trenton Times article.)

“Martha played the glockenspiel in the

Trenton State Teachers College band. I

played first trumpet, a position far from

her. So I played badly to make the band

leader put me at third trumpet — in front

of Martha. She used to wear a bright red

jacket. It attracted me right from the

beginning. As soon as I was solid with

Martha, I really cut loose and was back at

first trumpet position in no time.”

5

P.S. by Dusty: Once married, we

taught many years and had three sons

— Richard, David, and Michael.

AND I STILL HAVE THE BRIGHT

RED JACKET.

_____

Winter’s Spoon by John Wood

Especially now, with handled

warming pans,

Down quilts and flannel sheets

passé One calls on body heat to blunt the

north wind’s bite,

For comfort to relax and sleep to

come.

In this a younger you excelled

And still are a delight.

Spooner without equal, and in

spooning,

Closing out the bitter winter’s night.

I am content, at peace,

As, side by side, warm bodies share

Cold noses, in rhythmic cadence,

Breathing winter’s air.

We lie and sleep there, cheek to jowl,

Your muzzle on the pillow next to

mine,

My close and selfless friend, my Lab,

Who likes to spoon and spoons so

well,

Now that it’s winter time.

_____

Special delivery by Nancy Miller

My long driveway seemed to grow

longer as I made my daily trek to get my

New York Times. Imagine my surprise

one morning when I found the paper

right next to my garage. It was a mystery

repeated daily, and I was very grateful.

When a Christmas card was enclosed

with the newspaper, I sent a card asking

why I was receiving this gift. This is the

answer I received: “I saw you getting

your mail and I noticed that you use a

cane so I thought that you could use a

hand.”

_____

Tiny seeds to giant

sunflowers by Lynne Waymon

A pot of corn chowder, some crusty

French bread, a roaring February fire.

I’m thinking, “This guy knows how to

create a beautiful evening.” We’re

thirty-somethings, dating only a few

months. “My Burpee Seed Catalogue

came today. Wanna look at it?” Todd

asks. Crimson Sweet Watermelon, Red

Beefsteak Tomatoes, Tiger Eye

Sunflowers. Then he says, very

nonchalantly, “Let’s decide what we

want to plant next summer.” Then he

looks over at me. He winks and we

snuggle closer with anticipation. We

know our love is growing.

6

Forty-three gardens later, Todd just

emailed in our Burpee seed order.

_____

Unconditional love by Kathy Hoff

Summer weekday afternoons, I’d put

Ben in the stroller, and we’d walk up

to the head of the street to meet six-

year-old Ted where his day-camp bus

dropped him off. One day, Ted got

off the bus grouchier than usual and

all along the way, as we walked

home, kicked at my ankle.

“Why are you doing that?” I asked

after he had succeeded in making

contact.

“Because I hate camp, and I know

you’ll love me anyway.”

_____

The big brown chair by Alice Warshaw

Springtime, he and a friend visited

me after our 60th high school

reunion. As we chatted before dinner,

he relaxed into my big brown comfy

chair—looking handsome and

confident. He flew home to Florida

the next day.

Our Vermont friend invited us both

to visit that fall. I planned to drive up

alone. She suggested he should fly

to Trenton instead of Burlington and

help me with the driving.

To this day, she denies setting us up. I

wonder.

We emailed all summer—kinda flirty. By

the time we met again those three months

later, fearful but happy, we knew.

_____

Long and sweet by Lydia Lewis

Our love story is long and sweet

As George School students we did meet

Paul noticed me in Bancroft study hall

He thought I was cute—Tall Paul, he was

“my all”

Paul drove his parents’ Mercury on our

first date

My parents said, “Do not be home late”

To Princeton movie theater we did go

Returning home driving very slow

Before finishing college married we were

The next several years were mostly a blur

We raised two boys then travelled a lot

The Florida Keys is our favorite spot

Now 61 years later and still holding

hands

On the same property we did land.

_____

Slippers by Elaine Ferrara

Every evening, shortly after getting into

bed, I felt an invisible cat exploring my

calves. When the space was wide

7

enough, shortly after I fell asleep, he

took up residence between my legs,

staying until I began to stir. “I’m

glad you enjoyed the warmth,

Slippers!” I yelled, accusing him of

theft.

He did this for fifteen years, until he

transitioned out of this world. At

that point, I learned that what he was

really doing was stealing my arthritis

pain so that I could sleep better.

And, what a thief he was! Slippers is

the love of my life!

_____

Lost love by David Cuff

A bright yellow scarf

Left hanging at my camp site

Her name was Anna

When I read this, I feel pain, a

yearning for love lost. But there was

no yellow scarf. No Anna. As in

many haiku, this image is imaginary.

I’ve had only one serious love. In

1961, on our honeymoon, we camped

near Farnborough, England. And I

did leave behind, on a tree, a nearly-

new pair of jeans.

Maybe that yellow scarf is my lost

blue jeans, bought in Calgary. And

maybe Anna is the lost love I married

there. Her name was Helen.

A few of my favorite things by Anne Baber

The curtain going up. Butter-dripping

lobster. Poems that make me cry. Cher

in Moonstruck. A new Sunday New York

Times crossword. Little-known bits of

history. Nora Jones singing “American

Anthem.” Memories of theater-going in

Nova Scotia. Ai chi in the Pennswood

pool. Getting lost in Bucks County. All

my Dear Ones. The Kansas City Chiefs.

Crimping the crust of a peach pie. The next book in a series—greeting the main

character as an old friend. Charleston

gardens. The peppermint-stick forest at

the Shady Brook light show. _____

How I got a cat by Todd Waymon

Our cats had died, so we went to Chester,

Nova Scotia, “sans felines.” We planned

to stay all summer and had “Get Cats” on

our to-do list. A neighbor suggested we

might try the vet uptown. We called, we

went, we saw kittens—lots of them,

frolicking in a tiny room. All so cute!

How to choose? I thought: I’ll go in and

sit down. Right away, a gray and white

kitten got in my lap, in my face, in my

heart! Our Chester. We got one of his

sisters, too. Petunia!

_____

8

The cat’s meow by Chester Waymon

Ten of us in a room no bigger than a

closet. Can’t even take a decent nap

or play. Nice of the vet to take us in,

but no life for an amazing kitten like

me. Hey! Someone’s coming in.

Who’s this, sitting down on the

floor? He’s looking us over. I take

things into my own paws. I climb

right up into his lap and get two

inches from his face. “Hey, you look

like a very kind human. Let’s get

outta here and go have some fun.

Okay? You got tuna? How about I go

home with you forever?”

_____

For Bill: 1942-2012 by Lisa Taylor

“What do you think,” Bill asked,

“about getting back together?”

My head was under the table;

I was reaching for my napkin.

It was 21 years since Bill drove

away, leaving me and our three-year-

old daughter. Bill was an active

alcoholic then.

“Yes,” I said, sitting up. “Yes.”

And so began the great adventure of

our lives.Together we drove away,

heading always West. We stopped to

rest in Taos, New Mexico, and never

left. There, awed by the beauty

around us, and unfolding within us, we

understood that we were touched by

grace.

_____

My only love by Yoma Ullman

No heating in the dormitory, ice outside

the windows, ice inside the windows, ice

on the slop pail, icy sheets. What is there

to love? My hot water bottle (wartle for

short). On my stomach, between my feet,

clutched in my arms, my only joy. I’ve

knitted jackets for it, forgiven it for

leaking, cherished it with all my heart.

My one and only love, my wartle.

_____

9

The big squeeze by Glenna Follmer

Kerry knew her story by heart,

having heard her dad, Kurt, tell it

many times.

How she was first named Jin Sul

Hee—“speaking hope”.

How the agency paid two

businessmen from Seoul to fly 6,000

miles with Kerry in a carrier on the

floor beside their polished shoes.

How a uniformed lady fed her soy

formula and changed her diapers.

How her carry-on had a fluffy dress

and Important Papers.

How when the plane landed at

Philadelphia International Airport on

April 24, 1998, Kerry was placed in

her parent’s arms.

Then—Kurt tells his favorite part—

she grabbed his thumb and would

NOT let go. Love at first squeeze.

_____

Cat love of my life by Ann Maley

Newly alone, went to animal shelter.

First one bit me. Picked up beautiful

Norwegian Forest cat. Hooked paws

over my shoulder and purred. Vet

later said, “He chose you.”

If I said, “Going to the studio,” he

followed. Loved to supervise when I

hung laundry out. Tolerated eight-hour

drives. Left artistically arranged bits of

mouse or rabbit on my bathmat, but

when he came in holding a wriggling

snake by its middle, I put them both back

outside.

He understood illness. Leaned on me

until I felt better. Eighteen years

together, gone nine years. Miss him

every day.

_____

The deep by Betty Aptaker

I love the ocean.

I was born at the seashore and spent my

childhood by the sea. My happiest

memories are of playing on the beach

and splashing through the surf. The

sound of crashing waves is music to my

ears. Sunlight sparkling on the water —

what a joy!

I thrilled to the anticipation of watching a

giant wave rush to hit me and body surf

me to the shore as much as I loved lying

back on the gentle “rollies” that waft me

over the surface.

Lakes, pools, and ponds do not call to

me. No salt water there.

_____

10

Cookie making by Marguerite Chandler

It’s our first Christmas as a blended

family: my new husband Richmond,

his daughter Laura, and my two sons,

Mark and Adam. I suggest we make

gingerbread men together. We mix

the dough, smelling the molasses,

ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and

nutmeg. We’re ready to cut the

cookies, but I can’t find my cookie

cutter. Disappointment all around.

Richmond finds his tin snips, takes a

large tin can from the trash bin, and

while we watch with great

anticipation, makes us a darling

cookie cutter for our spicy, delicious

gingerbread cookies. Amazing!

What a guy—he’s a keeper!

_____

Not a love story,

but a story I love by Steve Schnur

My wife Deidre had mentioned to a dear

relative by marriage, a White woman

named Rainey Ragan, that she would be

passing through Phoenix Airport on her

way to Los Angeles. Rainey lived in

Phoenix. Sadly, there would be no

opportunity for them to meet at all. That

didn’t stop Rainey. Rainey would be

there, on the other side of the glass, to

blow kisses to Deidre as she passed

through the Baggage Claim area. And

she was!

Maybe this is a love story after all.

_____

Lifesaving love by Carolyn Peters Michener

When I was working at Planned

Parenthood as a nurse practitioner, one

time I discovered a mass in a woman’s

breast. I wrote the appropriate referrals

and encouraged her to attend to it

immediately. The next time I saw her,

she pressed a small pink ribbon into my

hand, saying, “Thank you for saving my

life.” I cherish that ribbon.

_____

11

Three chapters by Tish Plum

Chapter 1: June 15, 1998

1 p.m. A beautiful day at an

outdoor wedding.

2 p.m. Seated by a dapper

gentleman, 2 years widowed, as was

I. Super conversation.

3 p.m. Decided I’d like to

marry him someday. (Much later, he

admitted to feeling the same.)

Chapter 2: September 1998

Walking along a beautiful

stream in Vermont in an area known

for its green marble. Leaves aflame.

Sun shining. Birds and butterflies.

“Wait here,” he said, and picked

something out of the brook— a

small, green marble, heart-shaped

stone. He pressed it into my palm

and tucked my fingers around it,

“Here is my heart. Please take good

care of it.”

Chapter 3: May 9, 2008. Married

him.

End of story.

_____

Unrequited By Richmond Shreve

“I’d like to live here,” I’ve often

mused when first visiting a new

place. Generosity, kindness, and the

welcome of strangers charm me.

Besides America, where can one

move so freely, following the whim of

the moment, and remain safe and secure?

No passport, no checkpoints, abundant

fuel and food, and, services, as needed.

From sea to shining sea, the blessings of

community and liberty are everywhere,

be it rural, urban, red state, or blue. But

not for all of us— Liberty’s bliss is still

the privilege of being born male, fair-

skinned, and well-off. Civic love remains

unrequited for many.

_____

Publication of

Pennswood Village Residents

Association

Founder and Editor Emerita: Paulina Brownie Wilker

Managing Editor: Anne Baber

Contributing Editors: Glenna Follmer, Kathy Hoff,

Jane Perkinson,

Typist: Sarah Pollock,

Proofreading: Sally Burkman

Distribution: Lisa Williams

Layout: Dick Piccolini

Contributors:

All Pennswood Residents

Email your contributions to

RJPICCOLINI@STARLINX.COM

or place typed hard copy in our open

mail box. Past copies of the

Village Voices are in the Pennswood

Library on shelf 21. You are welcome

to read them (and leave them) there.