Tag feline urban rescue and rehab

Two weeks in the life of Angel

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I wish I had some exciting reason that it’s been two weeks without a post. The reality is that I’ve been ghostwriting a novel and that every free moment I have has been dedicated to that client who is currently paying my mortgage. Luckily, I love the client, I love the story and I love the whole experience of being a part of the project so it’s not a hardship by any means.

The book publishing entity– Parisian Phoenix Publishing— has been paying the other costs of life. If you follow the blog there and/or read the Substack newsletter, you will see we are always doing something to keep the company and its authors growing. And if you need another reminder of why and where to buy books, check out the shop we’ve curated at Bookshop.org, where you can shop online and designate your favorite independent bookseller to receive the profits from the sale.

So, rather than try to catch you up with every bit of crazy while I’ve been away, let me provide this fine list:

The Initial Joys of Summer

  1. The Teenager only has a few more days of Teenagerdom and she has spent much of the last month renovating our garage into an indoor/outdoor living space. She is hosting her birthday party out there and I can’t wait to show you the final result.

2. I have started using the outdoor patio more as the Internet extends that far and there’s really no excuse.

3. We decided to try the Papa Johns Cheeseburger Pizza and their new Spicy Lemon Pepper Wing Sauce. The boneless wings are terrible, but the sauce is out of this world. And the burger pizza– especially with the $10 promotional price point–might be our new favorite food. The Teenager has proclaimed that all pizza should have pickles.

4. I spent some more time with my cat, Fog. We normally use a “crate and rotate”-style system for all the animals. For the last year, my boy Fog, our old tripod Opie and the cat the rescue gave up on, Canyon, have been in my room. We decided to let them free roam and this meant I got to spend some time during my long work days with my man, Fog.

5. Speaking of cats, our houseguest, Paulie, still loves to bite me, but he has gotten quite forward about being in my business.

6. We pre-gamed the Teenager’s birthday by going to Dave & Buster’s for some arcade time and then visited this strange convenience store with the old style poker video machines, alcohol, vaping supplies, penny candy, ice cream, strange snacks and all the household goods one would expect from a convenience store.

7. I made some new recipes including rhubarb quick bread (think banana bread but with rhubarb) and my own twist on fried pickles. I smeared/shredded cheese on a kosher dill pickle sandwich slice and then pinched it into a piece of Italian meat before breading and frying. Both were amazing.

8. My 2015 Jetta turned over to 71,000 miles. The Teenager has been driving it for work, so it only had 55,000 on it when I got laid off from Stitch Fix in September. But in other exciting news, before the end of the month, the Teenager should pay off her 2012 Nissan Rogue which we’ve had two years when we only planned to keep it for six months. It’s pretty much ready for a demolition derby now, but it was The Teenager’s first car loan and she paid it off six months early.

And lucky number nine….

(The Celts believed 9 was a holy number, because nine was a collection of three sacred threes.)

9. Today, I got to have a lavender matcha latte with my book-making, mixed media, painting artist friend Maryann Riker of Justarip Press. We stopped at Spectacular Coffee at Easton’s Silk Mill after indulging in a green sale (yes there is such a thing!) at Vasari Oil Paint.

Stray Cat Strut Easter Edition

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

A few days ago– Friday to be exact– I took Little Dog’s Mom to the grocery store as she is still in the “no driving” phase of cataract surgery recovery. I drove the car to the street to wait for her and when she got into the car she noticed some pawprints on the windshield.

Later in the day, The Teenager commented about pawprints on the hood.

The next morning, (yesterday) I went into our garage and smelled cat urine. I immediately texted The Teenager, “I think we have a cat in the garage.”

It took her about twenty minutes to find it, hiding behind a rocking horse from The Teenager’s toddler days.

So she texted her boss about borrowing a cat trap. We set up food, water, a bed and a litter box in the mean time.

Yesterday afternoon The Teenager set up the trap (with sardines) and this morning, we had a stray cat shaking and looking at us.

The cat is not reacting to us at us. It appears to be a “she” but we’re not poking around too much at her genitalia to be sure. We set up a crate in our mud room and soon she will need a bath (she is filthy), some fled meds and dewormer and hopefully after Easter passes we can have her scanned for a microchip.

In the meantime, if anyone in my neighborhood recognizes this cat and can send the owners my way that would be great. Because based on its behavior, this is someone’s lost house cat.

Haunted

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

The holiday season is never easy for me. I don’t get it. I don’t like it. Thanksgiving is a holiday that celebrates killing the indigenous population and stealing their land (which land rights causes fights still going on throughout the world today, so we’re not the only ones.) As if gluttony and genocide don’t have enough of a greedy flair, we slide right from Thanksgiving into Black Friday, which in my generation has gotten extreme and then scaled back again.

Christmas is a joke here in the United States. I don’t think the average person really stops to reflect upon what their own Christian values mean, if they are Christian. Santa bringing children the latest commercial toys is just another way to fuel our consumer-mindset and make those who have less feel like less. If you want to celebrate the birth of Christ, in a festival stolen from the pagans, maybe we could focus on Christ instead of the fat man in the red suit.

And then we make hopeful resolutions and head into the new year– which happens to be a cold, dark time.

On Monday, I was on my way to the gym. And I noticed a squirrel rustling in the bushes from the corner of my eye. And something looked wrong. I got closer, which terrified the squirrel, but I stood still so he stood still. And we looked at each other.

At first I thought he was covered in paint, but then I saw puffiness to the whole mess. It looked like he had gotten into some sort of wet spray foam. I wanted to help him, but I had no idea what to do. And even now, my soul hurts for this squirrel as I wonder: Did he end up in the wrong place at the wrong time and his squirrel curiosity did him in? Or did some person do this to him? Did some person get mad, toss him in a bucket, and spray it with foam?

I don’t know.

I don’t know what happened to that squirrel, but I’ve done a lot of thinking during the last two-plus months since I lost my job and found myself in one of the strangest job markets I ever landed in… I might even be a little scared. I’m nervous about aging. I’m nervous about the college student’s bills (now her car won’t start). I’m nervous about the cost to heat my house and what happens if I don’t find a job or more clients soon.

And yet I keep thinking about that squirrel.

A friend of mine broke his leg on Sunday and ended up in surgery and spending his Thanksgiving in the hospital. Yet, he still sounds strong and brave and contemplative. And maybe that’s the only way we get through this days– staying strong, and brave, and contemplative.

I’ve done a lot of eating my feelings lately, and gained back the almost ten pounds I’d lost. But I keep gaining strength at the gym, so that’s a plus. This week, The Teenager who will be twenty in a few months will have a second attempt at dental surgery, and I hope this time it’s a success.

I signed up to do NaNoWriMo this year, and the goal is to write 50,000 words in a month. I’ve written almost 31,000 with five days left in the month. But I’ve gotten to chapter 17 of my fifth novel, Absolution, so regardless of the word count I call that success. And I might just make that deadline. But if not, it’s okay.

As most of you know, I foster cats. As my health and financial issues mount, and my “political” disagreements with the group fester, I have pulled away from taking new cats. I just can’t do it. I have one foster left– one I was tricked into taking– and that little guy is easygoing but so nervous he acts like I’m going to kill him.

There were 29 cats we helped in the last three years. Compared to some in the group, that’s a low number, but as a single mom in a small home in town, that was a lot. Especially when the rescue’s own financial issues couldn’t allow them consistency in certain aspects of foster. But they do their damn best to do best by the cats.

So we are happy to announce that the rescue has offered to let The Teenager adopt Touch of Grey, the most challenging rescue we had, and the Teenager accepted. This makes me happy because Touch has truly become a member of the family and has started acting like a happy house cat.

I may not have been able to help the squirrel, but I helped those 29 cats. And not a day goes by that I don’t wonder how some of them are doing… like Georgie, my Khloe princess, three-legged Louise, lunatic kitten Eminem, cuddly Slim Shady, shy Minerva, I could list all of them… The adoption is the easy part. The hard part is when the adoption updates fall away, and you don’t get any more texts about how they are doing.

Almost two weeks later…

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Please do not expect this blog entry to tell a smooth story or to make sense. I don’t even know what will flow out of my fingers as I type this now. I did not plan anything special for this post, nor did I intend to miss nearly two weeks of writing.

After mere days of tracking my sodium and “eating normally” as the dietician suggested, my constant lightheadedness and episodes of low blood pressure significantly decreased. My physiatrist (who is also a neurologist, you may recall) saw me last Thursday afternoon for my post incident follow-up. She’s excited about my approval for the service dog, sorry that I’m losing my job, has promised to buy Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money, and she and her nurse both appreciate the way I advocate for myself and try to do as much as I can to improve my body and my health.

Speaking of which, tracking food had led me to discover that when “eating normally” I was only getting 1500-1800 mg of sodium AND drinking 100 ounces of water in the humid, hot warehouse. I can only imagine how little sodium I was eating while sticking to “heart-healthy,” “low sodium” choices. And it might explain why I really love me a bag of salty potato chips.

The physiatrist and I had a lovely conversation about B-vitamins, apparently she’s low and had to start getting B12 shots so I mentioned that I sprinkled nutritional yeast on everything. She googled it and she plans on buying a jar.

The teenager also asked me to organize her bookshelf, a calming activity that brings me much satisfaction.

In a future blog, I hope to write The Saga of the Quail, now that the birds have gone home and I can no longer get in trouble for illegally housing game birds in a residential area.

Somewhere in the last two weeks I deadlifted 120 lbs– which is three-quarters of my current body weight.

And the “tube” to the outdoor kennel the teenager built for the cats has been popular.

She even put a cat door leading from the porch to the kitchen so the cats have access 24/7. Touch of Grey, our foster with a hysterical and sometimes volatile personality, has made the back porch/mud room her new domain.

I had a mental health therapy appointment and will have a job coaching session next week. Speaking of which, we are having a Women’s Outbound meeting at work on Monday and everyone is having their break after regardless of whether we normally break at this time. I’m guessing Stitch Fix has either decided our official end dates or they will be announcing more information regarding when and how we will receive this information.

We had a massive pot luck yesterday at work for our team and another roster, and I ate so much food I didn’t eat again for 24 hours.

I think my foster cat has gotten closer to living my career dreams than I have

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

As many of you who read this know, I have had one helluva week. I took my car in for body work on Tuesday, only to arrive at work late to find out that Stitch Fix had made the decision to close our warehouse in October when our lease expires.

Then the Canadian wildfires transformed our daily landscape into an apocalyptic sepia-toned photograph.

My colleagues that drove me to and from work during those days commiserated with me about our hopes and fears about what our future holds.

Every book I’ve tried to finish for Parisian Phoenix Publishing this week has encountered bizarre complications that I am still sorting.

But last night my car came home early, nice and clean.

But then FURR Louise got adopted today so I took these photos to chronicle her last moments with me today.

I met her adopter at our local Petsmart and it turns out she’s a talented and super animal-adoring journalist who recently earned a prestigious metro fellowship at The New York Times. By happenstance, I happened to subscribe to the Times last weekend, so perhaps I will see her work.

Louise is on her way to Hoboken, N.J., to live with an investigative reporter who works in Manhattan. She and her boyfriend are “cat people” who have every intention of spoiling her.

I hope Louise learns to love this young reporter, Erin Nolan of the New York Times.

Meanwhile Opie is adjusting to the loss.

Let’s get the holiday weekend started

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Last night, after the representative from Susquehanna Service Dogs left, The Teenager and I went to Taco Bell because it was late and I was famished. Despite eating my meal and half of the teenagers– somehow I woke this morning extremely lightheaded and with a blood pressure of 110/60. The issue did not resolve until 5 hours later.

When we settled into the house last night, I noticed a wrapper on the floor.

“Hey, when did you get Nutter Butters?” I asked the Teenager.

Apparently, the dog had stolen them and eaten most of the pack. The dog just looked at us guiltily and wagged her tail.

And we had bought her a cheesy roll at Taco Bell.

I told some leads and supervisors about my service dog approval at work today and then when those closest to me had heard the news from me, I sent an official email.

It’s not my most eloquent work, because I’m utterly exhausted. It says, “I have been placed on the list for a service dog. It’s about a three year wait because they raise a puppy with my input for me. I don’t know what the next three years will bring— but regardless of whether I still work here or move on, I would like to initiate a conversation about whether a service dog would be considered a reasonable accommodation. Legally, it is considered reasonable if it helps me with my disability while at work, does not put any person or company interest in danger, and if the dog would be safe and not exposed to danger for its own welfare. The dog could help prevent falls and help me get clothes and other items out of the cart and off the floor.

We have a couple years to pursue this conversation and I have 2-3 years to raise the $5,000 to pay for the dog. So to have that investment pay off, I want to bring the dog to work.Also I am working with Susquehanna Service Dogs which is a very reputable and supportive program.”

One of the other people at work asked me what I would name the dog. I pointed out that I think financial donors get to name the puppies and so once I met my puppy and learned its name I would probably develop a nickname for it. He wants to know the potential nicknames.

I haven’t named a dog since the late 1970s. Preschooler me named our Old English sheep dog mutt “Cheezie” because she liked cheese.

And a local professional offered me a discount on his services so that I could use the extra funds to put aside for my service dog. That was super kind, and just goes to show that when you walk in the world with kindness and try to support those who support your community, that the karma comes back.

I came home from work and The Teenager had planted my flower from Southern Candy, exactly as I envisioned it.

I did some work for the publishing company, drank a cup of coffee and headed to the gym since I missed Wednesday having fallen asleep at 6 p.m. Andrew promised to go easy on me, because lately my blood pressure is high, my heart rate is low, and my blood oxygen keeps dipping to 94%.

I had a great workout, and even made it home without a fall or incident.

I shared my basic granola formula with Andrew, made salmon and couscous for dinner, and finished the gummy bears with The Teenager.

Being that it’s Friday night, I’m up a little late as The Teenager and I were talking about service dog gear, Gunnar kennels, and ADA service dog rule cards.

Then I came up to take my shower and Opie shot out of my room and Louise followed him. Louise is the tripod foster from Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab scheduled for adoption June 10. She hasn’t voluntarily left my room since I worked second shift. When the house was quiet at 1 a.m. she would normally follow me to the bathroom.

Birthday, day three: The breakfast gravy with no biscuits

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Today I slept in until nearly 6 a.m., waking only when I heard The Teenager rise and leave the house for her dog walk client. I laid in bed until almost 6:20. To me, that is the ultimate laziness as I usually begin work at 6:30 a.m.

It’s been another delightful birthday day of celebration. I started the morning with breakfast with some of my Stitch Fix crew, with Southern Candy arriving at Big Papa’s early to bestow the table with some decorations.

There were cards and laughter and Southern Candy ordered her regular biscuits and gravy only to discover the biscuits were not biscuits but English muffins. So much commotion ensued of the giggling and carrying on sort, making jokes about what to call biscuits and gravy that does not contain biscuits, because English muffins with gravy sounds gross.

We had a discussion about making our own biscuits and bringing them and comparing making biscuits with shortening versus lard.

I ordered a spinach, green pepper and feta omelet hoping that the vegetables would help heal the damage done by my weekend of caffeine, sugar, fat and grease.

That might be too much to hope for as my blood pressure was 116/96.

The next item on the agenda was to take FURR foster tripod Louise to a meet-and-greet event at the Phillipsburg Petco, where she behaved like a trooper (even if she did spill her litter box so she could hide under it).

I was able to finish the last set of changes to Coffee in the Morning by Larry Sceurman on the laptop while chatting with another FURR volunteer to happens to be the only person I know eagerly and reliably waiting for my next novel.

I came home, cleaned up my room and finished Netflix’s Queen Charlotte, which, as all the Bridgerton tales do, has quite the sentimentality regarding love and relationships.

I also ate a rather large “elephant ear” with The Teenager that Little Dog’s mom had procured.

I’m off to check my blood pressure, take my evening meds, pack a lunch, and decide on dinner. But I just may allow myself a birthday beverage– as my birthday weekend officially launched with a gin gimlet with photography Joan and her other half, Randy.

The many moods of Minerva

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Minerva is the last foster cat from the second litter of kittens we fostered for Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab. Her brother, Mars, is The Teen’s foster fail. I can only assume their siblings Jupiter and Vesta lived happily ever after. Our Roman Pride of kittens.

Every month or two, I take Minerva and usually someone else to keep her company to the Meet the Cats event at the Phillipsburg Petco, because it’s a quieter and smaller event than the organization’s usual pre-adoption mixers at the Petsmart in Lower Nazareth Township. It’s a different state and a different crowd.

Mars and Minerva spent almost six months in various habitats — Petco, where one volunteer couldn’t read directions and got bit by Mars; then Petsmart, and then the other Petco in Phillipsburg because everyone thought they would do well with the coordinator there. And they did. And we did. But they spent too long in pet stores which made Mars unflappable and social, while Minerva became shy and nervous.

So they came home. They are both soft, cuddly tuxedo cats.

And when the same person who cared so well for them two years ago asked if Minerva could return, I said yes.

I was told a family wanted to meet her today, so I went to Petco to warm her up before they arrived.

It became apparent very quickly she was happy to see me.

And after a lickable treat, she became downright flirtatious with the young man/teenager feeding her. He had never had a cat before and the two of them seemed to have quiet souls. He pet Minerva for 45 minutes, and then she made eyes at the mother and soon came out for proper greetings.

It was a friendly, charming side of Minerva I’ve never seen around strangers before.

And when we started to leave, she followed us to the end of her enclosure, hollering, as if to say, “Hey! You can’t leave without the cat!”

Minerva is the perfect first cat. They sent a text saying they are heavily leaning toward adopting her.

And they go to the same vet who already treats Minerva. My fosters will always have a home with me, but I have long believed that Minerva needs more quiet predictability in her life to blossom. A teen who enjoys video games in his room is the perfect companion for Minerva, and she’s a low maintenance cat with no baggage.

The mom asked me why she had been in foster so long– as if she had to have some secret flaw. But she really doesn’t. Her flaw is she hides, and she hates loud places so she doesn’t “show” well. She’s merely been overlooked.

Maybe this is her time.

If it is, we’d be down to three fosters.

I don’t know if Big Papa’s was ready for us

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

My body seems to have finally adjusted to my beta blockers. My blood pressure has stabilized around 110/70 for about a week now. If I have coffee it goes up to 120/80. I lived on caffeine and sugar yesterday to keep my energy up at The Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group The Write Stuff Conference, which you can read about here.

Today, I have to deliver cats to a Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab “Meet the Cats” event at the Phllipsburg Petco. One of the organizers has a soft spot for my sweet Minerva and all of my fosters are long-termers at this point and need homes. But this means I need to sneak up on Minerva and Louise which is practically impossible.

But Sassy, my friend who recently left Stitch Fix to return to the medical field, texted me yesterday on her birthday to invite me to breakfast this morning. And she said she would call Southern Candy to join us. I was charged with selected a place.

Well, I said, if you don’t mind coming out my way, there’s a place I’ve wanted to try, Big Papa’s Restaurant and Catering in Easton. And so we did.

I ordered the State Theatre breakfast– scrambled eggs, cherry tomatoes, these adoarble square breakfast potatoes, and spinach. They didn’t have avocado. It was listed as also having avocado, but they offered me extra spinach. Sassy ordered The Big Papa Feast with a side of toast. Southern Candy had biscuits and gravy.

Sassy’s breakfast came with French toast and it was a full order of French Toast. She ordered bacon for her meat and it was a massive pile.

And the amount of food they served Southern Candy looked like two breakfasts to me.

The staff was delightful. The decor lovely. The colors and the music a little quirky and upbeat.

And the biscuits and gravy… their effort in making them homemade showed, but Candy said while delicious, their spices in the gravy wasn’t southern. So we’re going back in a few weeks so the chef can make them her way.

And we ended up being silly and doing a fashion show.

Inspiring tour of the Phillipsburg area… cats, dinosaurs and Edison’s concrete houses

Angel Ackerman 3 Comments

I loved being a newspaper reporter and I adored working for weeklies the best. Weekly newspaper reporters typically had a geographic beat, whereas daily reporters had a topic-oriented beat. I worked in Phillipsburg (N.J.) School District (Phillipsburg, Lopatcong, Pohatcong, Greenwich, and Alpha) for several papers and Bethlehem (Pa.) Area School District for another.

I covered Phillipsburg from early 2000 to late 2005.

I know so many things about the region, its neighborhoods and its nooks and crannies. It’s how Maryann Ignatz of Steve’s Café on South Main Street in Phillipsburg ended up in the Parisian Phoenix anthology, Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money. (Which Amazon has a ridiculous deal on right now. $2.60 each, limit four. I don’t think I can order them from the printer for that low of a price. So I ordered some. This also allows me to see if they really do have as many of my books in stock as they say they do. But I may do a Parisian Phoenix blog to explore this more. I ordered some books from Bookshop and Amazon, the kind I did not publish.)

But I digress.

Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab at Phillipsburg Petco

The cat rescue for which I foster originated in the Phillipsburg area “back in those days.” Mars, The Teenager’s foster fail, and his sister, the shy Minerva I mention occasionally, spent time in the Phillipsburg Petco to improve their socialization with a certain cat volunteer who I believe is the only person who has purchased, read & reviewed all of my novels. I call her my only true fan. She even bought some as Christmas presents for family. (I swear to this individual, I am writing the next installment. I am.)

So, when they have a “Meet the Kitties” event, someone from that crew usually invites Minerva.

Yesterday I received such a text.

I was in my bedroom plotting my catch-and-crate technique for the shy girls. I had two potential crates at the Petco, so if I could nab Minerva and tripod Louise, then they could share the crate on site, and eight month old kitten Jennifer Grey could have the other. Except Louise knew something was up and hid.

That’s when my friend and Parisian Phoenix photographer Joan Zachary texted.

“You going to be around later? I have some stuff I forgot to give you.”

I told her: The only place I had to go was to the cat event.

“I haven’t picked up my camera enough.”

Joan said she’d like to come photograph cats, as she hadn’t picked up her camera enough and could use the inspiration.

I don’t know what made me say it, but I asked her: “Have you ever seen the dinosaurs in Alpha?”

I warned her that they weren’t that exciting, unless you had a thing for dinosaurs or were five.

“I’m five at heart,” she replied.

So I told The Teenager that Joan would be coming over and we would go spend some time at Meet the Kitties and I might take Joan to see the dinosaurs.

“Can I come?!?!?!” she exclaimed as if she were five.

I have taken her to see the dinosaurs probably every three years since she was not-even-two-years-old. And she still acts likes the random metal dinosaurs are exciting.

G.J. Oliver’s Dinosaurs

We drove Joan to the Phillipsburg Petco where she took some kitty cat photos (“you need them for the new cat book,” she said). Then, with two cats and The Teenager in the car we headed to Alpha to the Industrial Park to see the dinosaurs. I heard the story about the dinosaurs at an Alpha council meeting, when someone was talking about how confused the MedEvac helicopter pilot was when a dispatcher told him to look for the dinosaurs to find the small municipality.

The story goes that industrialist G.J. Oliver built the life-sized metal dinosaurs, complete with a rather blocky, Minecraft-style caveman, for his grandson. Online research reports that the Oliver operation is a steel fabrication company, which makes a lot of sense. We did a photo tour of small town Alpha for the newspaper “in my day” and included another Alpha icon, the now defunct Charlie’s Pool Room which was primarily a hot dog joint run by two brothers with some blue plates, a crock pot, a skillet and their grandmother’s secret sauce.

The dinosaurs have been standing now for decades. The main display of dinosaurs in the field are now white. The Teenager insisted that they had to have been primed as the white was too even and perfect. The dinosaur by the gate is still deep green, which makes me wonder if sun damage may have bleached the others. (As of this writing, Joan has only shared her iPhone photos. She has not played with the real camera shots yet. And both the Teenager and I, having seen the dinosaurs a dozen times before, did not snap token photographs.)

photo by Joan Zachary via iPhone

Ingersoll’s Valley View Neighborhood of Edison’s Concrete Houses

photo by Joan Zachary, via iPhone

As we departed Alpha, some random information about my newspaper days started tumbling from my mouth.

“Did you ever hear about Thomas Edison’s patented, single-pour concrete houses?”

The Teenager, who has a fascination with all things built, leaned closer. Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic. But suddenly she looked up from her phone where she was probably engulfed in TikTok.

Phillipsburg has changed a lot over the years. The Ingersoll Rand tract has finally been developed into warehouses. When I still attended Phillipburg council meetings (before The Teenager was born), the town council constantly discussed the land’s redevelopment and finally took the parcel by eminent domain. Or maybe they just talked about it. But I’m pretty sure they did. I also remember one property on the site I may have visited in the first attempt to revive the site, but that might be my imagination.

So, it’s no surprise I lost my bearings among the warehouses and had to google Gino’s Market, the landmark of the Valley View neighborhood where the concrete homes (one neighborhood of only three in New Jersey featuring the experimental quick-to-erect, low-cost homes by early 20th century standards) stand. I don’t know why I didn’t google Green Street School.

I had overshot the neighborhood by a street and that’s how I confused myself. I had the Early Childhood Center in view the entire time but I was on the opposite side of the building where I thought I was.

Now, honestly, I don’t know if Joan really needs all my quirky adventures. I’d like to think she does. And The Teenager laments that she never knew me as a reporter and that she would love to experience all these strange tidbits I have floating in my head. I don’t know what made me think of the concrete houses today, but The Teenager loved them. I suppose it’s no surprise that I write fiction because sometimes my paranormal stories are less strange than my real life.

For more information:

Dinosaurs

Concrete Houses & another