Brooklyn Back When - Open Thread

yes ys she does sound like amy weinhouse and i love amy

GOOD NIGHT, JOEBROXX00

TALK TO U TOMORROW

good nite all

MEGAN, CAN GO & BE A MODEL. SHE HAS THE LOOKS!!!

good night everyone sweet dreams going up and watch the rest of criminal minds
love ya all

Goodnight Joe

See you tomorrow

OK, SAYING GOOD NIGHT. I AM GOING TO READ AND GO TO BED EARLY...


LOVE YOU GUYS, XXOO

C U ALL TOMORROW

GOOD NIGHT, FRIENDS...

i should care they all will get contracts anyway lol
good night Patsy, Jeanette and Joe
I hope jim puts the cat out and in and shuts the lights.

GOODNIGHT TO ALL, HOPE TOMMOROW WHEATHER IS BETTER, WHEN IS SPRING COMING????

WHY I LEFT BERMUDA EARLY TODAY

SEE I REALLY AM A GRAYBEARD

IT COMES OFF TOMORROW-OCT TILL MAR(I'M A DAY LATE)

SO ALL YOU "LIFE ON MARS" FANS DID YOU SAY WHAT I SAID AT THE END

'I NEVER SAW THAT COMING'

COOL ENDING-DIFFERENT

I'M STILL LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING THE BRITISH VERSION WHEN THEY DECIDE TO LET IT OUT ON DVD

glitter-graphics.com


Goodnight Everyone & Jim

WELL I SEE EVERYONE IS GOING TO BED SO

I'M LOCKING UP-THE CATS OUT-THE MILK BOTTLES ARE BY THE DOOR

GOOD NITE-SLEEP TITE

good morning everyone yes its me the early bird

testing (power outage here?)

Hi Friends

A note from your absentee-buddy.

Much going on these few days, sorry I haven't been there/here for you.

Good News

Met my new oncologist today and all seems well. I can even go off
the 'cancer' drug after June 2009.

Updated News

We're going on Tuesday to meet Frank's new cardiologist, to discuss
his results and moving forward with surgery.

Very Bad News

I am going to have to say goodbye to my furry baby, Faith. She has
kidney failure and I will have to put her to sleep today, Thursday, or
maybe if I am selfish, I will try to keep her for another day.

She's
been back and forth these past few days getting IV fluids, she was
dehydrated and lost 3 lbs, which is alot for a 12 lb baby. As you
know she is special to me. I'm up all night because I want to spend
every minute I can with her. This is breaking my heart.

Please keep us in your prayers today and send your angels to be
with us.

You know how we talk about our dreams here... Well, two weeks ago
I had a dream about my mom, who I unfortunately don't get to dream
about. And she was taking care of a sick little girl. Imagine? Well
I know my Faith will be safe in heaven with my mom.

Love you... See you sometime... God Bless and My Prayers are always
with you and for you!

xxxx

This is for Franny.

Good Morning People. I feel so sad for little Faith and her Mommy Franny. They are the 4 F club, Frank, Franny, Faith & Frasier. It is very rough to lose your baby. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers. You are the best Mommy they could ever have Franny and you gave Faith the best of the best. Wish I was there so we could cry together.

We do love our babies !!!

Now, I may take up a lot of space with my sister Marilyn's first published story. It is true by the way, with very little changed. So please forgive me !!

8 Million Stories: Reversing the Curse
MARILYN HORAN rides the subway and lives to bowl another day
By Marilyn Horan
My family has a particular vulnerability, a fatal relationship really, with public transportation. Aunt Aneila,
running to catch a bus, was hit and killed by a postoffice truck on Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn long before
I was born. Uncle Donald had a heart attack and died on the subway on the way home from his job
as a limo driver in Manhattan. My father’s father drowned at 31 when he fell off a ship in New York
Harbor.When I went to a small town in Ireland a few years ago, I met the Nolans, neighbors of my
grandmother’s family, who told me that it was too bad I hadn’t been there a year earlier: My Uncle
Patsy, the last member of the Horan family, had been run down by a bus in Dublin just the year
before.

Other close calls, while not causing death, suggested that the curse was real: My mother was sent to the
hospital for three weeks as a result of a smash up with a livery cab; my Uncle Alphie lost three fingers
of his right hand when he slammed them in the door of his huge truck; my dog Augie was killed by a
sanitation truck. Doom lingered in my subconscious as a cumulative result.These accidents confirmed
my belief in the dangers of my family getting around the city. I was fearful of traffic, always crossing
at the light, trusting no driver and saying a small prayer every time I made it alive to the other side
of the street.

The most memorable incident, however, was what happened to my Uncle Johnny.The day he was run
over by the RR train returning home from his weekly bowling league, I was in the hospital having my
tonsils removed. I came home, but Uncle Johnny never made it out of the hospital.The train had
amputated his legs.That was a new word to be added to my 8-year-old lexicon, “amputated,” and
I still cannot hear it without picturing my uncle as a torso in a hospital bed, blood seeping through
his heavily gauzed stumps.

We children—my older sister, brother and I—were not permitted to visit him in the hospital.We got
our information by eavesdropping on adult conversations: “Stop the bleeding;” “Never walk again;”
“No life insurance;” “His poor mother;” "My God! My God!"

Feeling left out and overwhelmed by the tragic atmosphere, my sister Janie and I devised our own
gruesome recreation of the accident, coming up with imagined bizarre and horrifying details.
“What do you think hap pened to his legs?” Janie started. “Did one cop have to tell another one:
“Go get the legs?”

“You’re sick! You’re disgusting!” Hysterical giggles rose in my throat, still raw and loose from the
tonsillectomy. “Do you think his feet still had shoes on?”

We laughed hard enough to make our stomachs and my still-raw throat hurt, and giggled loudly
enough that my mother stomped up the stairs to ask us if we had gone crazy—laughing at a time
like this.

When our mother finally talked to us, she revealed that she had never seen my grandmother, a
tough and unsentimental 65-yearold widow, cry until she was at Johnny’s bedside. He was now
conscious but delirious, and he was complaining that his legs hurt, or were burning, or itchy.
Grandma, who slept on a cot in his room the whole eight days he survived, pretended to rub,
salve or scratch them, soothing him in comforting tones she had never used before, even with
her grandchildren.
Besides a terrible fear of hospitals and the habit of standing well back from the edge of the subway
platform, Uncle Johnny left us another legacy. Janie and I were given, why I do not know, his
bowling bag, his ball with “JH” on it, tan bowling shoes, a leather glove and a book called Bowling
for Beginners. These things had been with Uncle Johnny on the night of his misfortune, causing
much speculation and squeamishness on my sister’s and my part as to whether the bag and its
contents fell onto the tracks with him.

Being enormously thrifty, Mom couldn’t stand to see anything go to waste, even sports equipment.
She viewed this bequest as a sign from God that her children should bowl. Every Sunday afternoon
for two years, Daddy took us bowling at Maple Lanes. He sat at the bar drinking whiskey and soda
and smoking Pall Malls down to the end, sometimes until they burned his fingers and lips.

At the beginning of our weekly bowling trips, Janie and I had to share Uncle Johnny’s bowling shoes,
money being tight. As soon as Janie finished one frame, she quickly slid the shoes off and I put them
on, complaining that she either had not untied them or that they were hot from her feet. She did the
same when I took them off to give to her.

Uncle Johnny’s shoes and glove remained in the bag in the closet even though we no longer used them.
I read and reread Bowling for Beginners. I decided to adopt the straight arm, straight down the alley,
“shaking hands” approach, rather than risk the curve delivery.

It’s been years since anyone in my family has fallen victim to any moving vehicle, so I am reasonably
confident that the curse has dissipated.Though still cautious, like every other native New Yorker, I cross
the street in the middle of the block, lean over the subway platform to see if the train is coming and
view driving in Midtown as competition. Still, when I get to my destination, be it home or just the other
side of the street, I know disaster has yet again been avoided. At least this time.

Marilyn Horan recently retired after 36 years as an English teacher and assistant principal in NYC.
She lives in Brooklyn with her husband.

I did use the bowling ball for many years even though it was very heavy. It was a man's size ball and had my initials on it !! So, I dealt with the weight.

My uncle Johnny & Aunt Audree lived on 18th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues. They had a daughter Maureen. Audree's maiden name was Parker and some of her family also lived on 18th Street. Actually, Ralph Marsella married Mauren's cousin. I think her name was Pat.

WOW SHOULD I SAY GOOD MORNING???
FRANNY I AM CRYING RIGHT NOW. I AM SO GLAD I GOT TO SEE FAITH AND SPEND TIME WITH HER. MY HEART IS BRAKING FOR U RIGHT NOW. SANTA WILL TAKE CARE OF FAITH. U ARE IN MY PRAYERS. I WILL NOT CALL U BECAUSE WE WILL NOT BE ABLE TO TALK. U KNOW US WE WILL CRY, SO KNOW U ARE IN MY THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS. I LOVE U TETE

MARILYN AND JANET,
WOW WOW WOW WHAT A STORY.

Morning Terry. Thanks. Marilyn was so excited last night when she called me. It is the first story she ever sent in and they published it !! Wow.

GOOD MORNING FROM BEAUTIFUL STATEN ISLAND


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