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Parenthood

Readers Write 2021

B y Michelle Cour tne y B er r y When he was still a baby, The fists clutching air, the limbs useless, the mouth squealing We fooled ourselves into thinking that “successful parenting” Was consulting books and learning “the stages” Of what to expect when we weren’t really expecting much Except perhaps relief from the complete monotony Of waking and barely sleeping and barely waking and rarely sleeping. The rinse and repeat of changing diapers, Singing lullabies, cajoling, feeding, burping and otherwise contorting. We carried him on bellies and backs, our minds and arms aching. Slept when he did, or rather tried, Consumed as we were in his world of – Turtle dreams, excrement, and crying. We felt, as all new parents must: That at some point it all would ease up. So we ignored the doleful eyes of other parents Who looked like they’d been robbed in the bright daylight Or like they’d come home to find the furniture rearranged Or some favorite item missing. When they said our lives were basically over, we smiled politely But later (behind their backs) we called them dramatic, overwrought,

and wrong. Surely this thing called parenting, like any good book, Would have a beginning, middle and end. Once the crying abated, we recalled our former lives. Somewhere, ghosts that must have once been us, Made love, read the paper, slept in. It doesn’t ever end—even when they’re grown, we’re never done, My spouse announced plainly, like a bored God, Sitting the middle of the half-painted living room, In the middle of a day like any other His unclipped beard haggard, Our stained shirts clinging to our skin. My back aching, the nipples blistered, my brow furrowed. We sat staring into the child’s luminous, all-knowing hazel eyes, Sat holding the one thing that brought so much havoc and bursting joy, The bonds of breast, bottle, and babble between us. We leaned in, the three of us, yawning toward tomorrow. Not yet knowing how much, one day, we’d wish him tiny once more Not yet part of this uncertain and often cruel world, Still reliant, compliant, cocooned, swaddled, protected.

The Inheritance

ON T HE WE B Visit our website at www.ithaca.com for more news, arts, sports and photos. Call us at 607-277-7000

B y Michelle Cour tne y B er r y One day in the garden, I suddenly took notice of my father: The faltering gait, the silky gray hair streaked with sun, the drawn mouth. With his long arms slung over the fence, he feigned indifference, Pointing toward the rhubarb, that blushed with a wild pride – The stalks a flush of scarlet beneath their billowing green. He motions with calloused hands, pausing between bites of his ham sandwich, “This, all this – that garden, there?” “It’s all yours, do what you will.” He hands me his gloves, walks tiffly to the cabin (he built) And opens the creaking door. I can still hear the faint whistle of that day, The wind keening, the sounds of ice cubes clinking, His sigh but a whisper, as he bent to untie his shoes, as he bent to rest. Today, I admire this inheritance The yard’s great expanse, the clean markings and careful fencing, The soil turned over, and the earth black as midnight, The cauliflower clouds circling overhead.

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In my father’s hat, gloves, and overalls I watch the ants circling bits of crust on the ground, A black pool of bodies, the bread consumed. The garden hose heavy in my hand, I resist the urge to drown. Already the beans and peas lope the trellis, an urgency, a kind of wanting. The rows of leafy collards and bright blue cornflowers run east to west, Just as the Farmers’ Almanac instructs. I must wait for the green to die before digging for potatoes, Now is too soon. Gazing from under the big hat— Its straw canopy a blessing, My mouth open and drooling, I return to the creaking house, light a fire. Soon, the fresh zucchini is buttered bread A dish of creamed spinach shines beneath the bright lamp. Tonight is but a snap of sugar peas, forest sounds, and shooting stars. What am I to do, Father, with these great gifts? This pile of vegetables? This thrust of twilight? This wild and feverish heart?

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This week’s Ithaca Times is dedicated to you, readers, as we fill the pages with your poems, stories, and mussing in our annual Readers Write issue. Our theme was “What I thought I knew but didn’t” Any submissions that were sent in and didn’t make it into the print issue will be posted online at ithaca.com

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T a n n e r H a r d i n g , M a n a g i n g E d i t o r , x 1224 E d i t o r @ I t h a c aTi m e s . c o m J a i m e C o n e , E d i t o r , x 1232 SouthReporter@flcn.org C a s e y M a r t i n , S ta f f P h o t o g r a p h e r P h o t o g r a p h e r @ I t h a c aTi m e s . c o m C h r i s I b e r t , C a l e n d a r E d i t o r , x 1217 A r t s @ I t h a c aTi m e s . c o m A n d r e w S u l l i v a n , S p o r t s E d i t o r , x 1227 Sports@flcn.org Steve L awrence, Spo rts Co lumnist St e v e S p o r t sD u d e @ g m a i l .co m M a r s h a l l H o p k i n s , P r o d u c t i o n D i r ec t o r / D es i g n e r , x 1216 P r o d u c t i o n @ I t h a c aTi m e s . c o m Sharon Davis, Distribution F r o n t @ I t h a c a T i mes . c o m J i m B i l i n s k i , P u b l i s h e r , x 1210 j b i l i n s k i @ I t h a c aTi m e s . c o m L a r r y H o ch b e r g e r , A ss o c i a t e P u b l i s h e r , x 1214 l a r r y@ I t h a c aTi m e s . c o m F r e e l a n c e r s : Barbara Adams, Rick Blaisell, Steve Burke, Deirdre Cunningham, Jane Dieckmann, Amber Donofrio, Karen Gadiel, Charley Githler, Linda B. Glaser, Warren Greenwood, Ross Haarstad, Peggy Haine, Gay Huddle, Austin Lamb, Steve Lawrence, Marjorie Olds, Lori Sonken, Henry Stark, Dave Sit, Bryan VanCampen, and Arthur Whitman

All rights reserved. Events are listed free of charge in TimesTable. All copy must be received by Friday at noon. The Ithaca Times is available free of charge from various locations around Ithaca. Additional copies may be purchased from the Ithaca Times offices for $1. SUBSCRIPTIONS: $89 one year. Include check or money order and mail to the Ithaca Times, PO Box 27, Ithaca, NY 14851. ADVERTISING: Deadlines are Monday 5 p.m. for display, Tuesday at noon for classified. Advertisers should check their ad on publication. The Ithaca Times will not be liable for failure to publish an ad, for typographical error, or errors in publication except to the extent of the cost of the space in which the actual error appeared in the first insertion. The publisher reserves the right to refuse advertising for any reason and to alter advertising copy or graphics deemed unacceptable for publication. The Ithaca Times is published weekly Wednesday mornings. Offices are located at 109 N. Cayuga Street, Ithaca, NY 14850 607-277-7000, FAX 607-277-1012, MAILING ADDRESS is PO Box 27, Ithaca, NY 14851. The Ithaca Times was preceded by the Ithaca New Times (1972-1978) and The Good Times Gazette (1973-1978), combined in 1978. F o u n d e r G o o d T i m e s G a z e tt e : Tom Newton

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Response to an E-mail Selling Mindfulness Training

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The Wallet

What I Thought I Knew But Didn’t

B y Emily Rhoad s Johnson

B y B eth A nn Waltman

thought I had locked the car. I knew I had locked the car. I thought I knew I had locked the car. On the floor of the driver’s side of the car was my wallet. My favorite wallet that opened like the palms of prayer hands opening. My daughter gave me the wallet for my birthday, and there were pictures of cats on both sides. I had dumped everything out of my ratty old wallet and carefully slipped my credit cards and driver’s license and AAA and library cards into the slots of the new one. Then I tucked some bills into the money pocket. It worked so beautifully — better than any wallet I’d ever owned. The little gold snap made it easy to open, and the cat-covered case felt smooth in my hands. I loved it. Yesterday I went for a walk over the newly opened bridge that spans Meadow Street between Buttermilk Falls and Home Depot. A bridge that’s been mysteriously closed to pedestrian traffic for years. To lighten the weight of my purse while I walked, I took the wallet out and laid it on the floor of the car where I thought it would be out of sight. Then I got out and locked the car. What a thrill it was to walk across that once-useless bridge and watch the traffic humming along beneath me! Thrilling, too, to follow the trail to a hidden pond on the Home Depot side. The feeling of exhilaration from the walk stayed with me all the way home and up the many stairs to my apartment. When I put my purse away, however, I noted how light it was and knew I had forgotten to replace the wallet, which must still be on the floor of the car. But I was tired. I knew it was in a place where no one would see it. Besides, I’d locked the car. The next morning I went down to the parking lot, took out my key, pressed the “unlock” button and heard it click. I opened the car door and

saw with sickening clarity that the wallet was gone. My heart sank. How could this be? The car showed no signs of being broken into. Several dollar bills still sat in the niche where I kept my sunglasses. Why would a burglar take the wallet and leave the cash? Had he—they— been surprised by someone walking by? Why hadn’t the car door been left ajar? The glove compartment opened? Why did my car look exactly as I had left it —except for the missing wallet? Heartsick, I clomped back up the stairs to my apartment. I called the police. I opened my computer, logged in to my VISA account, locked it, and ordered a new card. I called the bank and learned that no new withdrawals had been made. A kind policeman came to my door and filled out a form for me to take to the DMV office so they could issue me a new driver’s license. Eventually I would have to apply for a new health insurance card, library card, vaccine confirmation card, Shoppers Club card, and other cards I couldn’t remember. I thought about the burglar. Was it only cash he was after? My measly forty-some dollars? Had he spent it on drugs? Had he tried to use the VISA card, discovered the account was locked, and discarded it in disgust? Had he given the wallet with its silky cat cover to his girlfriend, who would leaf through its contents and laugh to see that the patsy was 85 years old and carried a card saying she had a pacemaker? Would I ever see my wallet again? Would I even want to? How had the burglar gotten into my car? The question still lingers in my mind. I locked the car after my walk. I know I locked it. Or did I only think I knew I locked it? It’s a question to which I’ll never know the answer. (Editor’s note: We’ve learned from Emily that she has found her wallet! Phew!)

hen I fell in love with Andy, I knew that someday he would probably die before me since there was a fifteen year age difference, but I knew that we would have years and years together, so I didn’t worry about it much. Time flowed on as it will and then the pandemic began and it was April 14th, 2020, the unknown day that I had thought about from time to time but pushed away by saying to myself “we still have lots of time.” That was the day that God, the fates, the universe or whoever decides these things chose to take him. I drove home from the hospital and put every pill bottle I found on the counter and poured the contents into my hands. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t face and didn’t want a life without him. The only thing that stopped me was thinking of our grandson who would have no one to count on if I left too, so I didn’t. I flushed the pills and went to bed. I slept in his clothes, holding on to the last things he wore and cried myself to sleep every night for what seemed like forever. I worked every day during the pandemic so that I had a reason to get up in the morning and to keep busy so I didn’t have time to think all day long. Nights were bad. I learned just how precious time is and that no matter how much you refuse to think about the death of someone you love, it will come for him and take your love on a random Tuesday two days after Easter and nothing will ever be the same. I learned a lot about regret for the things I wish I had done differently during a relationship

that lasted thirty seven years, and how useless it is because you can’t change the past no matter how badly you wish you could. I learned how grateful I am for every photograph I took and every memory we made during our lifetime together. When all is said and done, this is what really matters and what we have when someone dies. Today I sit here writing this because I want people to know that what I thought I knew but didn’t was this: I thought I knew that someday I would be without Andy but I never knew that it would be so hard. That there would be times I could barely keep going and sleep and oblivion were my only sources of peace. That I would have dreams of him that were so real I never wanted to wake up. That I would discover over time how you will survive even if you don’t necessarily want to and that if you are lucky you will learn to find peace, a purpose, and even happiness again. Each day is an opportunity, a chance to do something worthwhile and that is where I am today. I still visit Andy at his spot because I miss him with every fiber of my being and always will, but I participate in life again. It is bittersweet when I celebrate holidays and birthdays and spend time with our grandson. Andy should be here too...but I do feel like he is with us in some way and that helps a little. What I know now is that grief is indeed the price we pay for love. And I would pay that price every single time, because love is always worth it

What I Thought I Knew But Didn’t B y Dan Kiely

Singing

I thought I knew happy With a giggle and a grin Til old Devil whiskey Kept wetting my chin.

I thought I knew want Was desire for more When I actually knew nothing About being poor.

B y T ish Pearlman

I thought I knew anger With a clench of my fist Til I drew the blood From them that I wished.

I thought I knew truth To be words that were spoken And lies were just promises All tarnished and broken.

I thought I knew sadness When she broke my heart Til tears proved the seeds To sow that grow art.

I thought I knew respect Was owed, not earned. Til neither was given And a lesson was learned

I thought I knew patience While I stared at a wall And waited for each New rain drop to fall.

Yes, I thought I knew many things When in fact I know not But knowing all this Sure helps a lot.

I will go quietly when I retreat. As all drift from my Last words, I will Not make a sound. Everything has been Spoken. Now it must Be reconfigured, as memory.

When did I last Swim the Pacific? I will go back… I will go back… There is such a Beautiful song along The shores of my dying Body.

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I Didn’t Know Then What I Know Now

Winter Morning: Ithaca, New York

B y L ee Rogers

B y Jud y Jens vold

Danger Noodle is a fun

On the dark hill across the lake The morning commute begins. Like drops of mercury Headlights glide down the slope.

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knew where I lived was where I wanted to stay. Always. I was a big city dweller, always would be: an opening night celebrator, a street pizza eater, a subway rider, a fast talker, a Central Park walker. New York City was the juicy apple, the award winner, the piñata at the party full of surprises. Then we all fell down. The virus hit us early on and hung on. After over a year with no jobs, enclosed in 900 square feet we needed to get out. We packed our bags and left the sickly city, heading to Ithaca we’d heard it was “Gorges.” First light of day, our first morning no screech of grinding garbage truck bins but bird song. We gulped in the piney air like drowning men. I left piles of unpacked boxes and headed out. Open roads, not a soul in sight, subway maps and cell phone apps would not help choose a destination. Just keep walking; this might just prove an adventure. So into the woods I go. My mind picks at grim fairy tales. Foul play happens here. Nothing good comes of walking alone in the woods. The path opens onto a vast hillside crammed with headstones. I wandered around reading the cold facts recorded in granite: name, date of birth, date of death. I’m drawn to a flat bronze marker, here lies (my hero) Carl Edward Sagan, November 9, 1934 December 20 1996. Scattered about the marker: a Boy Scout merit badge, a yellow star, a little inspirational stone reminding me to ”Look Up.” I do. I’m standing feet on the ground eyes on the sky and up there “so many suns so many worlds.” I thought I belonged among the 8 million plus, crammed into a space of high rises and concrete. But I was wrong; I guess this must be the place.

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Who Knew? B y Michael Gilmar tin When she kissed you off, You lit a cigarette Then told her not to let the door Hit her in the ass when she left. That felt good for a couple of minutes, As long as it takes to drink a bottle of ale. But, let me put you wise, The vocabulary of sinew Snaps like a tendon and sleep, That son of a bitch, jabs at you, But won’t deliver the knockout punch. So you sit up in the dark To sort it out, the thousand, thousand Poker hands which love deals And the patterns you see Is that poker is a heartbreaking game, Is that only percentage players scoop up the cash Is that you’re not suited for love. Then, like a kis, Sleep, like the loveliest woman you’ve ever known, Comes like the promise of better things.

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Climate Catastrophe

The Art of Parenting

B y Jesse Bates (age 9)

B y Barbara D. Kat z-Brown

ne day I was getting ready for bed, like I always do, reading Spy School, maybe some Shadow and Bone. My dad was on the bed, with his phone, reading the news, and then he said, “Did you know that Jeff Bezos (or, as I like to say, Bozo,) spent a lifetime of carbon emissions on a rocket joyride?” “No,” I said, because of course I didn’t know, my parents wouldn’t have let me read the news. At that point I began to feel like I should do something about it (not the news part, the climate change part). I had thought about this before, but never had actually tried to get my voice heard. I told my parents this, and my mom said, “Hey, maybe you should try writing an article about it!” I was confused, as I knew nobody would publish an article that a kid wrote. And then, I had an idea. Tell the Ithaca Times! They would surely do it, and my grandpa, Don Barber, had done this before. So I got on my computer the next morning and started typing. (That’s what I’m doing right now.) Here are 5 ways you and your family can help if you want.

1. Don’t leave electrical appliances plugged in when not in use. They will still use energy, and unless you use solar panels or other renewables for your house electricity, they will burn fossil fuels because you need fossil fuels to make electricity. 2. Don’t take short (0.5 miles or shorter) car rides. Cars still use a lot of gas even on short car rides! Bike or walk (or scooter like I do) as an alternative. 3. Shop local and support Black- or brown-owned businesses. Remember when I said that Jeff Bezos spent a lifetime of carbon on a rocket joyride? Well, if you shop on Amazon, you’re technically giving him money to do that sorta stuff. Shop on the Commons or another local or Black or Brown owned business. 4. Vote for climate-friendly politicians or run yourself to change laws. Vote for climate friendly politicians such as the Green Team in local or national elections. Or, you could run yourself! 5. Share your newfound knowledge with family and friends. Share this great stuff! The more people we have cleaning up and doing their part, the faster we can turn this climate catastrophe around and get back on track.

he little bundle of joy was so sweetly wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and ensconced in a cradle next to our bed. We were finally home with our baby after 5 nights in the hospital. That little bundle cried all night long. Tiny cries, tiny squeals, tiny grunts and full-fledged high pitched infant cries every hour. My husband sat up in bed at one point after a full day’s work and said, “I didn’t know it was going to be like this.” I replied with tears in my eyes, “I didn’t know either.” We managed to get through the night sleeping very little. Hubby dragged himself into work. My mother drove 4 hours from New Jersey and knocked at our door at 9:00 am the next morning. I had a lot to learn about being a new parent. I thought I was well prepared to be a mother. I babysat for many children when I was in high school and college, I had studied speech and language development as an undergraduate and in graduate school. I read every book our local library had about being a new mother and purchased some books to keep as a references. Yet, nothing had prepared me for sleepless nights, sore body parts, baby cries or eventually, the changes in a child, sometimes overnight. Having children has made me a better teacher, therapist, school administrator and a whole lot of other things. It’s trial by fire learning. It’s making mistakes like sitting in your car during lacrosse games while it is

snowing and twenty years later hearing your daughter complain about not being on the sidelines. “It was Snowing!” Not good enough. I thought I knew how to take care of children, how to groom them to become successful adults, raise them from the depths suffered by their immigrant great-grandparents, maintain the levels of success of grandparents and parents. Along the way, I found that parenting is often a test each minute of the day, each hour of the day, and no one can predict what a parent might face. There is no guide out there that covers everything. “You left your Minnie Mouse at the hotel? We will turn around and drive an hour back to get it.” Experience is the best teacher “they” say. Yup. Yes. Affirmative. Correct. La verdad. Aye. I am still learning how to parent adult children and now, how to be a grandmother, a Nana. I hold my tongue now with my adult children more than I used to do. I am content knowing I did my best even though I often didn’t know what I was doing. Instinct kicked in for some things I guess. Animals in other species become mothers without videos, books and podcasts and human mothers have survived so far. Now, when we visit our children and hear their crying babies, we roll over in bed and say, “I DID know it was going to be like this. Now it’s their turn.”

Winter Times PUBLICATION DATE 1/19/22 AD DEADLINE 1/6/22

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Stone Wall B y Su san Reddington

In spring, we would sit on the wall watching just born, long-legged lambs, standing near to their mothers, grazing in a neighbor’s field. On Easter day, we would inspect every nook and cranny for colored eggs, pale purple, pink, and yellow, hidden by Mom and Dad; some placed in the wall between the stones; the ones found, we nestled in our woven baskets, lined with brightly colored straw.

In winter, wrapped warm by Mom, in blue snowsuits, wool hats and gloves, we sat on the wall

Over a hundred thousand miles of wall now crisscross throughout New England.

Finally, when the months would warm to almost summer, I would sit in the shade on the roundest, smoothest Client: stone, a book in hand, reading tales about the Bobbsey Twins or Nancy Drew, all kids without stone walls on which to play, but who I thought had more thrilling lives than I.

Kendal at Ithaca

Vital for Life

by Betsy Schermerhorn

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In summer, with school finally closed, Sister and I would sit astride, atop the wall, which was just right for children playing make-believe. She rode a pinto, black and white; I rode a golden palomino. We raced over Western plains on immobile stones, cowboys and Indians, taking turns being pursued, buffalos watching from afar.

Ithaca Times/Fingerlakes News

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with a can of Vermont-made syrup, pouring maple treacle onto newly fallen snow, using a spoon to scoop the golden ice off of the stone, sweet to the taste, but sharply cold.

In fall, we helped our dad rake crimson and orange leaves, piled them waist high; sister and I would tie a bath towel Georgia@ithacatimes.com 607-277-7000 x220 around our necks, each Superman. Our stone wall, a tall building Newspaper: from which we’d jump into the dry, brittle leaves, rolling, laughing, covering ourselves with the musty scent of autumn.

the land to grow apple trees, corn, grain, and hay.

Stones dumped onto earth by ancient Ice Age glaciers, stacked into thigh high walls by 19th century frustrated farmers, who found the buried stones in fertile soil, and then cleared

The stone wall, which bordered our Connecticut childhood home, like all the others, had no mortar to hold the various rocks together, just splotchy lichen and moist green moss.

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Solid in our stances around a dinner table of confidence four siblings, two parents we knew everything Raised to express certainty, proficiency Outspoken with assuredness of place Acuminous, conversant, sensible To nod and know To fix and not fear All problems (in my white middle class world) had solutions just find them

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I believed I could make my own way and know, fix, care for, and direct everyone else’s. (a chivalrous hero perhaps) that my whiteness would protect my black sons from police, doctors, teachers that my advocacy skills would get the right answers for my partner’s cancer that my support would stall others’ mental illness or addiction that my passion and robust self would direct any relationship that my wish and demand my efficacy and intellect my power and privilege would take care of all I love. I wanted it to. I was so wrong.

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This isn’t me this Can’t be happening to me my mirror speaks truth

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MON-WED. 9-6 THUR. FRI. 9-8 SAT. 9-6 SUN. 10-5 The

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Haiku Journey B y Michael Manc u so In reality everything you think you knowledge is not definite.

for the true seeker for to be truly smarter you need be meeker.

Opinions will change, as people live their lives of experiences.

Prognosticators tread on a slippery slope their hope is their dope.

Life in many way is the ultimate teacher: Perfectly astute.

Not what they foretell but rather what is dispelled is real food for thought.

Experience will show you things you never knew were true, while study

But observation with thoughtful analysis is most potent brew!

which complements sight lead you oh so much deeper than you ever thoughts

One thing I forgot is that without honesty all I said-in vain.

possible to one who seeks the soul of knowledge. Which now will unfold

Knowledge is fine thing: digging for truth of nature, or nature of truth!

Tho, truth will never obligingly tell you what your lust wants to hear!

Do I see it true? Or is that province of you? Let us make haste to

For this to happen ambition must dissipate while soul needs to wait.

go to marketplace. Sell your wares, and try others so to not smother

Good things will still come to those who calmly wait and not prevaricate.

the sigh of us all for we all seek to stand tall to drink in the sky.

The search for Divine will take some serious time as will the best wine!

To sort wheat from chaff in pursuit of what be real and dispose of fake.

The mystery shall reveal itself to you/me be ready to see.

In suffering we all crave our own relief not others raw grief

So many argue that their perspective is best time will provide test.

Escape misery and find the way to be free and share it with me!

But perspective is that which only you can see I myself see too!

Simple happiness to be found in ending quest so we all can rest!

Prizes all night Midnight toast Photo booth Dance ﬂoor photo display Cash bar

Tickets avaible at: LakeWatch Inn or Cayuga Radio Group

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Celebrate Spring with Us O

Thanks for choosing New Delhi Diamond’s Enjoy Indian Cuisine With Us! n pe

Diamond’s

No dine in. Order takeout by phone. Dinner menu 7 days Delivery through Doordash and IthacaToGo. Mon-Sun: 11:30-3:00 p.m. Dinner: 4:30-9:00 p.m.

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for Best Indian Food & Best Buffet for 2010!! Order online: NewDelhiDiamonds.com 5-10pm

Beer & Wine • Catering • 106 W. Green St. • 272-4508 • o

Call for takeout: 607-272-1003 • 106 W. Green St. • 607-272-4508 • Open every day

B y Kathar yn Howd Machan You get to go a little faster where what’s called the city ends. You see fences, few-windowed houses, a winery where you once danced for a marriage that didn’t last. Traffic thins. Stoplights cease. Look! There’s the yard where you jauntily buried your one baby girl’s placenta! A cemetery too close to the road rushes past with white stones leering. You push the button for the radio but the station fades to fuzz. Are those cows? Is that a horse? Surely the church didn’t disappear — don’t you remember a church? You’ve traveled this far for thirty years; you’re certain you know the way. What does it matter that you’re alone? Soon the sun will be out of your eyes. You’ll pass the lane that leads to the lake where you once had something to do, to say.

Good Will B y Rob Sullivan good will win out was one i clung to no matter what friends and history said to the contrary, after all it just wasn’t fair men behaving badly always getting their way because of money, lawyers and guns here was short versus long view relative justice or karma absolute when all was said and done no more time or room for lies to save face and place so we wait sometimes in patience sometimes in anger for the final ledger to be written and all our wishing still doesn’t make it so

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An Unexpected Letter

Sonnet + Thoughts

B y Frank Kelly

B y Dan Schwar z

I DISCOVER ITHACA DVD, $15

LES JINKS

Resident Les Jinks, a photojournalist who also specializes in audio and video production, was born in England but fell in Ithaca and “decided to tell the whole world about it.” This 30-minute DVD shows you all the things that makes this area a special place to live, from the waterfalls and gorges and rolling hills, to the local wine trails, festivals and the Commons. It makes a lovely gift for anyone who has called Ithaca home. You can buy it directly from Les at 607-272-9175, or lesjinks@gmail.com.

t’s not uncommon to learn surprising things about a loved one after they’ve died. Think “The Bridges of Madison County,” a story in which two grown children discover their late mother had a brief affair with a famous photojournalist when the two met by chance during an assignment he’d been given to photograph historic local bridges. This brother and sister thought they knew their mother, but were ignorant of this important part of her past and what it revealed about their parents’ relationship. My parents separated when I was very young. Growing up, I saw my father infrequently, a pattern that continued to his death. Having little contact, I was left to piece together an image of my Dad by adding stories from friends and family to my own experience. A number of those stories revolved around his Irish good looks, devil-may-care personality and penchant for alcohol and womanizing. At his funeral, two of his younger cousins characterized my father as smart but not prone to introspection or reflecting on the world’s problems. Both women were nuns. Both remembered Dad fondly. Nothing in my experience with him was contrary to their impressions. The piece seemed to fit the puzzle. The item that caused me to question that impression surfaced after my brother David’s recent death rather than Dad’s. It came in the form of a letter Dad had written to his older brother during World War II … a letter my younger halfbrother, Keith, shared with me during one of our talks about our memories of the two of them. The letter is dated December 22, 1943. At the time, my Dad was serving as an M.P. in the Army Air Corps. A Staff Sergeant, he’d been called upon to supervise a detail of men charged with responding to a plane crash just outside the airfield where he was stationed. The letter describes the scene in detail: the bomber’s fractured fuselage, the cloying smell of burning flesh mixed with gasoline, the roar of the fire and screams of the dying. It describes a young non-com’s shock and confused feelings: revulsion mixed with helplessness, a sense of responsibility and rage. It reflects on the ugliness of war and its futility … the loss of comrades and impact on families. It is the words of a traumatized young man, reaching out to an older sibling for support. It is not the work of a shallow mind. And it changes the picture I have of my father … my sense of what I thought I knew of him. It’s a piece that must be added to the puzzle but one that draws attention to all the pieces that are still missing. That aspect of the letter makes me feel proud of my father. But there is something else about it that I must admit is troubling. My father wrote that letter a month after I was born. And yet, for all the references to war’s devastating impact on families, it makes no mention of his newborn son or becoming a Dad, which brings me to another thing I thought I knew — about myself — but maybe didn’t. I thought, because my father had abandoned my mother and me, I’d come to terms with not knowing what role my birth played in my parents breaking up or his feelings about me at the time. Apparently, that’s not the case.

Sonnet at 80: Who I Am Reflections: Getting older, I respect admire, enjoy, respond to people who care about personal relationships, and behave with human decency. I find myself indifferent to extended debate on microcosmic matters. I take joy in accomplishments of my students, past, present. I am grateful for life I have led: wife, sons, health, travels, students, mind’s rich life, pleasures of sharing knowledge. As I approach my final semester of college teaching, I do fear what is happening to democracy and truth, both under assault in the Age of Trump. Winter Thoughts: December 21, 2021 A three-hundred-year-old white oak tree survives the elements: casting shadows, its statuesque bare branches puts senses at their mercy, stimulates memory’s shorter, cooler days. As the year winds down, I walk in damp, darkening woods, buffeted by chilling wind, alive to different shapes of leafless trees, roaring sounds of full brooks foraging squirrels, chipmunks. I behold a brilliant Turner skyscape: dollops of passion’s bright red, gentle touches of pale blue, incipient threatening black punctuate orange. Hasn’t it has always been like this, my seeking narrative patterns amidst the marshes of my mind? Battered veteran of interior autumns, branches and leaves stripped bare, external decay that will not repair, I too prepare for another spring.

DRIFTWOOD

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 31 AT 8:00PM

Center for the Arts of Homer, 72 S. Main St., Homer | This Americana/folk rock band is based out of Binghamton, but seems to like playing NYE in the Finger Lakes area. They are back again this year to ring in 2022 in Homer! (Photo: Provided)

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whimsical and serious. Challenge your senses and your mind with this fascinating vision of mythology and modern times. Museum Book Club: “Songbirds, Truffles, and Wolves: An American Naturalist in Italy” | 4 p.m., 1/5 Wednesday | Johnson Museum of Art, 114 Central Avenue | Join us for our discussion of Songbirds, Truffles, and Wolves: An American Naturalist in Italy (1994), in which author Gary Paul Nabhan reflects on plants, animals, people, and life as he hikes The More You Look, The More You See | 12 p.m., 1/6 Thursday | State of the Art Gallery, 120 West State Street | New Art ExhibitGallery Night Ithaca at Downtown Ithaca | 1/7 Friday | Virtual | First Friday Gallery Night is a monthly community celebration of the latest art showings taking place in and around Downtown Ithaca.

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Film Music Bars/Bands/Clubs

Concerts/Recitals

12/31 Friday

12/30 Thursday

Driftwood New Years Eve Concert!

Richie Stearns, Rosie Newton, Ben Gould, Steve Selin (The Rongo Band) with Paul Martin | 4 p.m. | South Hill Cider, 550 Sand Bank Rd

72 S Main St

Stage

1/7 Friday Maddy Walsh | 8 p.m. | Center for the

| 8 p.m. | Center for the Arts of Homer, Arts of Homer, 72 S Main St | $20.00

1/6 Thursday Songwriter’s Night hosted by Dan Forsyth. | 6 p.m. | Hopshire Brewery, 1771 Dryden Road

1/7 Friday

Art

1/8 Saturday Live Music feat. Shawn Halloran | 1 p.m. | Treleaven Wines, 658 Lake Road

New Year’s Eve Comedy Night | 8 p.m., 12/31 Friday | Treleaven Wines, 658 Lake Road | Ring in the New Year with us by laughing the night away! We are excited to welcome Homebrewed Comedy to Treleaven Wines on Dec. 31. Mike Brindisi Standup | 7 p.m. , 1/8, Saturday | Snidely’s, 120 Vestal Ave, Endicott Nutcracker Noir: Going for Baroque | 8 p.m., 12/11 Saturday | Center for the Arts of Homer, 72 S Main St | A holiday burlesque show! (Rescheduled from 12/11)

“THE RONGO BAND” (RICHIE & ROSIE & FRIENDS) THURSDAY, DECEMBER 30, 4:00PM

South Hill Cider, 550 Sand Bank Rd., Ithaca | Enjoy live music from some of your favorite mainstays of the local music scene: Rosie Newton, Richie Stearns, Ben Gould, Steve Selin, and Paul Martin. (Photo: Facebook)

The 21st Mini Print International and Holiday Print Sale at Ink Shop Studio Gallery | 5 p.m., 12/29 Wednesday | The 21st Mini Print International is a juried exhibition of prints no larger than 4”x4”. North Star Art Gallery: Mythology - by Brian Keeler | 12 p.m., 12/31 Friday | North Star Art Gallery, 743 Snyder Hill Road | Brian Keeler brings his love of classical mythology and weaves it through contemporary images to consider themes both

C’mon C’mon | 12/29 Wednesday | Cinemapolis, 120 E. Green Street. | Johnny (Joaquin Phoenix) and his young nephew forge a tenuous but transformational relationship when they are unexpectedly thrown together in this delicate and deeply moving story about the connections between adults and children, the past and the future, from writer-director Mike Mills. Shows daily until 1/6. The French Dispatch | 12/29 Wednesday | Cinemapolis, 120 E. Green Street. | The latest film from Wes Anderson. Shows daily thru 1/6. Nightmare Alley | 12/29 Wednesday | Cinemapolis, 120 E. Green Street. | An ambitious carny with a talent for manipulating people with a few well-chosen words hooks up with a female psychiatrist who is even more dangerous than he is. Directed by Guillermo del Toro. With Toni Collette, Rooney Mara, Cate Blanchett, Bradley Cooper. Thru 1/6. Licorice Pizza| 12/29 Wednesday | Cinemapolis, 120 E. Green Street. | The latest film from Paul Thomas Anderson. Shows daily thru 1/13. Red Rocket | 12/29 Wednesday | Cinemapolis, 120 E. Green Street. | The audacious new film from writer-director Sean Baker (The Florida Project, Tangerine), starring Simon Rex in a magnetic, live-wire performance, Red Rocket is a darkly funny and humane

NEW YEAR’S EVE COMEDY NIGHT

portrait of a uniquely American hustler and a hometown that barely tolerates him.Shows daily thru 1/6. The Tragedy of MacBeth | 1/1 Saturday | Cinemapolis, 120 E. Green Street. | A Scottish lord becomes convinced by a trio of witches that he will become the next King of Scotland, and his ambitious wife supports him in his plans of seizing power. Directed by Joel Coen and starring Frances McDormand and Denzel Washington. Drive My Car| Opens 1/7 Friday | Cinemapolis, 120 E. Green Street. | Adapted from Haruki Murakami’s short story, Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s film is a haunting road movie traveling a path of love, loss, acceptance, and peace.Winner of three prizes at the 2021 Cannes Film Festival, including Best Screenplay.

Special Events RESONANCE NYE | 5 p.m., 12/31 Friday | Foundation of Light, 391 Turkey Hill Rd | Wisdom Teachings, Live Music, Ecstatic Dance, Sound Journey, Nutritious Food, Live Painters, BlackLight Body Paint, Cacao Ceremony, and more! An immersive art environment brought to you be BEYOND. Familyfriendly and alcohol-free . There will be a staffed kid zone with classes and crafts. | $35.00 - $111.00

Kids Holiday Junior Paleontology Activities | 10 a.m., 12/29 Wednesday | Museum of the Earth, 1259 Trumansburg Road (Route 96) | These are daily activities in the Museum, coordinated with the Women in Paleontology exhibit theme, between Christmas and New Years for families. Tween Book Club | 3 p.m., 12/30 Thursday | Watkins Glen Library, 610 S. Decatur Street | Pay-What-You-Wish Weekend at Museum of the Earth | 10 a.m., 1/1 Saturday | Paleontological Research Institution and its Museum of the Earth, 1259 Trumansburg Road (Route 96) | Join Museum of the Earth for Pay-What-You-Wish weekends, sponsored by BorgWarner,on the first weekend of each month.

7TH ANNUAL ITHACA CHILL CHALLENGE - DIP OR DODGE

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 31 AT 8:00PM

SATURDAY, JANUARY 1 AT 1:00PM

Treleaven Wines, 658 Lake Road, King Ferry | Homebrewed Comedy is ready to help you laugh in 2022, and who can’t use a few good laughs right now? (Photo:Facebook)

Ithaca Yacht Club, 1090 Glenwood Road, Ithaca | It’s not too late to support a very worthwhile cause, Ithaca Community Recovery, through this annual event. It’s a polar plunge with a twist! (Photo: Provided)

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277-7000 Phone: Mon.-Fri. 9am-5pm Fax: 277-1012 (24 Hrs Daily)

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New orders only. Does not include material costs. Cannot be combined with any other offer. Minimum purchase required. Other restrictions may apply. This is an advertisement placed on behalf of Erie Construction Mid-West, Inc (“Erie”). Offer terms and conditions may apply and the offer may not be available in your area. Offer expires December 31st 2021. If you call the number provided, you consent to being contacted by telephone, SMS text message, email, pre-recorded messages by Erie or its affiliates and service providers using automated technologies notwithstanding if you are on a DO NOT CALL list or register. Please review our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use on homeservicescompliance.com. All rights reserved.

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REQUEST A FREE QUOTE!

877-516-1160

FREE

7-Year Extended Warranty* A $695 Value! Limited Time Offer - Call for Details

Special Financing Available Subject to Credit Approval

*To qualify, consumers must request a quote, purchase, install and activate the generator with a participating dealer. Call for a full list of terms and conditions.

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For rates and information contact Toni Crouch at

Diane’s Downtown Automotive

Men’s and Women’s Alterations

435 W. State Street

for over 20 years

toni@ithactimes.com

277-7000 p h o n e 277-1012 f a x

(607) 272-AUTO (2886) FREE Trip Check $20 Off Mounting/Balancing 4 Tires

LAND & SEA

ALL ABOUT MACS

FingerLakesAnimalRights.org

Macintosh Consulting

Same Day Service Available

10% Off Any Repairs over $100

John’s Tailor Shop

SEE COUPONS IN 10/20/21 Issue

John Serferlis - Tailor

VOTED BEST OF ITHACA 2021

102 The Commons

ANIMALS

AAM

Fur & Leather repair, zipper repair.

273-3192

http://www.allaboutmacs.com

FAMOUS BRANDS

CLEANING SERVICES

(607) 280-4729

FAMOUSBRANDSOUTLET.COM

RESIDENTIAL & COMMERCIAL

*Acupuncture Works*

JANITORIAL* FLOOR * CARPET

Peaceful Spirit Acupuncture

INDEPENDENCE CLEANERS CORP

412 N. Franklin Street Watkins Glen, NY 14891 888-535-4952

607-227-3025 / 607-697-3294

607-272-0114

Since 1983

COME WORK WITH US!

AGWAY TRUE VALUE Hiring All Positions

2309 N. Triphammer Rd

*Work at our residence or in the field

(607) 272-1848

*Competitive benefits package

(607) 882-9590

*Rewarding work

$1.00 off $10.00

*Be a part of a team

$2.00 off $20.00

*Sign-on bonus!

$5.00 off $50.00

Soups and Salads

Convenient-Clean-Connected

Coupon in 10/20/2021 issue

Times Mobile App Available in Appstore & Google Play

SHORTSTOP DELI 200 W. Seneca Street Ithaca, NY 14850

ITHACA NEWS Delivered to your inbox every day Ithaca Times Daily

Hospicare.org

coupon in 10/20/2021 issue

(607) 319-4022

FLYITHACA.COM

Get The New Ithaca

Apply today!

STOP IN or CALL

Corner of Aurora and Seneca Street

Breakfast Any Time, Hot and Cold Subs, Paninis,

Hospicare is

213 S. Fulton Street

10% OFF Order

Family Owned & Operated

Anthony R. Fazio, L.Ac., D.A.O.M.(c) www.peacefulspiritacupuncture.com

OOY’s Cafe & Deli

Text ITHACA to 22828 to Sign up

DRIVE WITH US! Open Interviews Monday-Friday 10 a.m.- 2 p.m.Call for Appointment: 607-274-2128

$1.00 Off any Fresh Made Deli Sub or any size Hot Truck Pizza Sub Coupon in 10/20/2021 issue

150 Bostwick Road

Negotiated Wage and Health Benefits | NYS Retirement Pension Program | CDL/Paid Training | Equal Opportunity Employer | ICSD is committed to equity,inclusion, and building a diverse staff. We strongly encourage applications from candidates of color. Sponsored by: I C S D Tr a n s p o r t a t i o n S e r v i c e s Diversity Enriches our workplace 16 T

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