It's Over, Bowl

Dear Bowl,

You were vintage and cool. I got you for a quarter at a yard sale in Olean, New York, in the 1980's and we had a very long thing together, travelling from place to place until we got here. But recently, seemingly out of nowhere, you developed a crack in your side. Or maybe it was always there, it just got more pronounced with time. And I didn't want to toss you out because you still held water, you were beautiful, and I am cheap. But tonight, after making roasted root vegetables with the produce I got at the Union Square Greenmarket, I washed you/dried you /stacked you between two dishes that you couldn't handle, and you crapped yourself for good, and a large piece of you fractured off and fell onto the floor. I'm sad, but I realize that you needed to break up with me. What's wrong with me, keeping a broken bowl around? For some reason, I just couldn't break up with you. I guess I loved you too much, damage and all. It's fine, just a part of life. No bigs. We'll be facebook friends! One day. Promise.

Goodbye, bowl! Enjoy the landfill. Make it nice!

Love,

Anne

What's Goin' on in Olean, New York Right Now?

Olean, New York. Right Now.

Dad and Glade Uptown

Pouring over Altman Family photos with my grandmother was one of my favorite past times. Gram had a few very old albums which were organized accurately by event or year, but the majority of the picture books had no rhyme or reason to them, and many snapshots were tossed into boxes with other ephemera. For example, a picture of her grandfather and perhaps her elementary school graduation program would be in the same box as a Polaroid of my cousins from the 1970's and a light bill from the 1980's. Frustrating as it was, the lack of organization made sense considering Grama had ten children and those children had children--like me--and we'd all been looking through and messing up the photographs for fifty years.

One time when I was visiting from college, I made a stab at putting the pictures in some kind of order. With Grama at my side, I'd pull a photo from the box, flip it over, and if it was blank and I couldn't identify the person, I'd ask, "Ok. Who's this?" and so on. I didn't recognize the two dudes in the photo below. Grama said, "Oh, that's Dad and Glade uptown."

"Dad" referring to her husband (my Grandfather), and Glade referring to his uncle Glade Merryman (so close in age, they were more like cousins). Suspicious, I looked at the picture again. Neither of these dudes is Grampa nor Uncle Glade. Not even close. Not on a good day, a bad day, a snowy day, there isn't a trace of a resemblance nor a chance in hell. Thus, I found her answer hilarious, and it quickly became a little family joke. Even though we don't know who the Dad and Glade doppelgangers are or where they're standing, it's still a great photo and always makes me laugh.

Without further ado, please enjoy "Dad and Glade Uptown" knowing that the only accurate part of the title most likely is the uptown part; I'd have to have an Olean native confirm that.

"Dad and Glade Uptown" ~ Olean, New York ~ Circa 1950's

Meet Dinky

Anne and Dinky ~ Swampscott, MA ~ 1970's

Dinky was my little red-headed short-haired guinea pig, and I was quite fond of him. Him? Maybe it wasn't even a him. Who knows. Anyhow, later I got another guinea pig, a companion for Dinky. He was a long-haired calico number whom I named Arthur. At some point, both Dinky and Arthur went to live with my little cousins who called them Dinky and "Arkur." I'm guessing they were shipped a few blocks away because

A) I wasn't a stellar caretaker

B) My Dad was fed up with the whole shit show (he's not quite an animal person)

C) A combination of A and B

After I returned from a summer visiting my Grama in Olean, I was told that Dinky died. Even though I hadn't seen him in months having lost custody and all, I was devastated. I remember hysterically crying in the front yard about it. I assumed he died naturally, peacefully; he just took a nap and went on up to adorable rodent heaven. I'm sure my Mom broke the news in the most gentle way a Mom can explain death to a little kid. Years and years later, she told me the truth: Arkur ate Dinky. Basically. Or Dinky died of "old age" and Arkur nibbled on his remains. Something like that.

So, I prefer to remember Dinky in his prime, as photographed above. I'd like to forget however the horrible clothes I'm wearing in the picture, no doubt some polyester hand-me-downs from my Aunt Kathie in Illinois. Powder blue poly bell bottoms? I probably found them hip and exotic and insisted on wearing them, to my mother's chagrin. She never would have dressed me in those.

Anyway, RIP Dinky and Arkur. We hardly knew ye.

The End.

Does Anyone Remember Carrol's?

From the "vintage Olean page" of www.gabrielamericanrealty.com

I do! I don't recall ever visiting this drive-in version in Olean, but I do remember the going often to the Carroll's in the East Rochester, NY area. They had prizes in their fries-ez. I think most Carolls' turned into Burger Kings. Here's a message board about Carroll's. Viva Central and Western New York! RIP 15 cent anything.

RIP, Chuck Daly; Viva Pennsyltucky

Kane, Pennsylvania's own, St. Bonaventure Bonnie, and Detroit Pistons' Chuck Daly dies at 78 .

Union Street in Olean, New York

Evans Residence, 1800's