There was no such thing as lactose intolerance in the ‘50s, but now I eat ice cream advisedly and sparingly, always aware that there might be a price to pay if I eat too much of it.
I find comfort in the wistfulness you so beautifully describe. It’s like taking a cherished memory out of the vault with all dimensions - sight, sound, tactile, taste - even the ice cream bell - and dusting it off to recall a pleasant time. And grandchildren talking about stuff we don’t have the words for? Thank goodness they do! It’s the world they’ll navigate.
My father always said he didn't mind getting old, but he minded having middle aged children. He always claimed I was 31. Teenage grandchildren – especially those close to 20 as one of mine is and already at university – is part of the same feeling.
And by the way, we had a real Good Humour truck over on East 86th street. Mint chocolate chip ice cream remains my sovereign remedy for many of life's ills. Much better than alcohol.
Every time you mention Schrafft's it take me back to sitting there with my aunt after school--she lived on 86th st and taught nearby--when I was visiting. I think I also had a hot fudge sundae. There was also a bakery around the corner--can't remember the name--where we'd get Charlotte Russes, eclairs and 7-layer cake--the best. Love the nostalgia for the UWS.
I seem to be obsessed with Schrafft's. For my 70th birthday (so long ago!) my son gave me an original menu from some ephemera shop. When you say the bakery was around the corner, do you mean not on Broadway? There was one called Eclair that I think was on 72nd.
Not on broadway. They had pink boxes tied with string and I think Babka. I'd know it if I hear it. May have been a chain, too. I think you mentioned it in one of your essays.
Beautiful and poignant, Susie. I am also absolutely compelled by the passage of time, and in a sense, I'm grateful for that. It helps me cherish the present EVEN more deeply.
Oh, Susie - the wistfulness brings tears. I too selfishly don't want the grandchildren to grow up, but they already have. The best I can hope for now is that we share THEIR memories of "cooking stone pancakes on the big rock in the front yard," "racing alone down the driveway and looking up so I can call her 'the winner'", "listening to him chanting his bar mitzvah prayers in the car as I drive him to Hebrew School," "playing cards with them, and wondering if I should 'let' them win, but then I don't and they don't even mind losing to their granny;" and finally "reading to them all because they can't yet read, but their eyes are bright with the excitement of the story, though we've already read it dozens of times"... Oh, Susie, there is nothing so sweetly sad" - is that what wistful means? - than being a grandmother! Thank you for melting the sweet sticky stuff that fills my heart.
So appreciate share this with you, Rachael. It seems to be in the nature of wistful that it's hard to say what it means. I always feel like the deepest experiences are beyond word.
Mary....Do you mean that people are uncomfortable talking about missing people who are sitting across from them in an ice cream parlor? It's such a strange feeling.
You brought up the feelings that we experience at the end of our living. We won't be around to see the continued lives of those we love. Hard fact. Mortality is that fact. And I think that is the stuff with which I grapple now.
It's such a relief to speak about mortality out loud. I may be wrong, but I don't think that was considered to be in good taste in our parents' generation.
For some not in good taste; for others fear that speaking of it would confirm the reality. Much of that exists (still) today. I am with you on this. It is a relief to speak of it out loud. And you did that.
Well said! As our youngest (twins) look forward to their second year in university--both studying some aspect of business and finance, we look back fondly on the photos OneDrive sends daily. Today's included a visit to the zoo (Portland OR) when they were five.
We have a different version of the photo service with pictures of the Minnesota and California families. It started in the Berkshires when everyone was far away. The trick seems to be cultivating an appreciation for them that you don't feel compelled to clutch tightly.
I find comfort in the wistfulness you so beautifully describe. It’s like taking a cherished memory out of the vault with all dimensions - sight, sound, tactile, taste - even the ice cream bell - and dusting it off to recall a pleasant time. And grandchildren talking about stuff we don’t have the words for? Thank goodness they do! It’s the world they’ll navigate.
Beautiful, this touched me deeply.
It's a new feeling for me. Worth exploring, I think.
This is gorgeous and yummy too!! I am grateful to my friend Jeri for sending it my way!
Glad you've joined us, Gloria. We all benefit from stories.
Dear Susie,
You left me speechless with this essay. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts; they hit home with me.
Warmly,
Jeri Greenberg
Thank you, Jeri. I was taken by surprise by wistfulness. It was as if my entire organism was being called to confront impermanence.
Really beautiful, poignant writing. Thank you.
Thank you so much. This piece seems to have touched a nerve.
Beautifully written.
My father always said he didn't mind getting old, but he minded having middle aged children. He always claimed I was 31. Teenage grandchildren – especially those close to 20 as one of mine is and already at university – is part of the same feeling.
And by the way, we had a real Good Humour truck over on East 86th street. Mint chocolate chip ice cream remains my sovereign remedy for many of life's ills. Much better than alcohol.
It's not that I mind, strictly speaking. It's just I miss the other people they were when they were little boys.
I know what you mean, but older kids are fun too. You might enjoy this - about how my 15 year old grandson introduced the views of Attila the Hun into our discussions of American politics https://arichardson.substack.com/p/my-household-smerconish-and-attila-557
Every time you mention Schrafft's it take me back to sitting there with my aunt after school--she lived on 86th st and taught nearby--when I was visiting. I think I also had a hot fudge sundae. There was also a bakery around the corner--can't remember the name--where we'd get Charlotte Russes, eclairs and 7-layer cake--the best. Love the nostalgia for the UWS.
I seem to be obsessed with Schrafft's. For my 70th birthday (so long ago!) my son gave me an original menu from some ephemera shop. When you say the bakery was around the corner, do you mean not on Broadway? There was one called Eclair that I think was on 72nd.
Not on broadway. They had pink boxes tied with string and I think Babka. I'd know it if I hear it. May have been a chain, too. I think you mentioned it in one of your essays.
There actually was a bakery called Babka.
Maybe...
This writing is lovely. I could feel your "wistfullness" in the way you expressed yourself through your memories and wishes. Thanks for sharing.
Much appreciated, Isabella. Thanks for taking the time to read my work.
This was a beautiful essay. Sad, wistful, but filled with wonderful,happy memories
Thank you, Janet. The older I get the more the sad and the joyous get mixed together.
Beautiful and poignant, Susie. I am also absolutely compelled by the passage of time, and in a sense, I'm grateful for that. It helps me cherish the present EVEN more deeply.
There's such a richness in that, isn't there? Really being aware of the present and watching it fly by.
Oh, Susie - the wistfulness brings tears. I too selfishly don't want the grandchildren to grow up, but they already have. The best I can hope for now is that we share THEIR memories of "cooking stone pancakes on the big rock in the front yard," "racing alone down the driveway and looking up so I can call her 'the winner'", "listening to him chanting his bar mitzvah prayers in the car as I drive him to Hebrew School," "playing cards with them, and wondering if I should 'let' them win, but then I don't and they don't even mind losing to their granny;" and finally "reading to them all because they can't yet read, but their eyes are bright with the excitement of the story, though we've already read it dozens of times"... Oh, Susie, there is nothing so sweetly sad" - is that what wistful means? - than being a grandmother! Thank you for melting the sweet sticky stuff that fills my heart.
So appreciate share this with you, Rachael. It seems to be in the nature of wistful that it's hard to say what it means. I always feel like the deepest experiences are beyond word.
Wistfulness… i finally have the word for those feelings that seem to appear more often these days, as if from nowhere.
‘A contemplative state that remains fuzzy at the margins’
- as the shortening of time here on earth becomes more palpable.
Another great piece Susie. Thank you.
It's good to write about and share this place but it also seems to be important to recognize its slipperiness. You can't pin it down.
Well said --about a subject that can often feel like the elephant in the room, at least in my 89+ age group.
Mary....Do you mean that people are uncomfortable talking about missing people who are sitting across from them in an ice cream parlor? It's such a strange feeling.
You brought up the feelings that we experience at the end of our living. We won't be around to see the continued lives of those we love. Hard fact. Mortality is that fact. And I think that is the stuff with which I grapple now.
It's such a relief to speak about mortality out loud. I may be wrong, but I don't think that was considered to be in good taste in our parents' generation.
For some not in good taste; for others fear that speaking of it would confirm the reality. Much of that exists (still) today. I am with you on this. It is a relief to speak of it out loud. And you did that.
I see what you mean. If you don't speak of death, death won't come.
Well said! As our youngest (twins) look forward to their second year in university--both studying some aspect of business and finance, we look back fondly on the photos OneDrive sends daily. Today's included a visit to the zoo (Portland OR) when they were five.
We have a different version of the photo service with pictures of the Minnesota and California families. It started in the Berkshires when everyone was far away. The trick seems to be cultivating an appreciation for them that you don't feel compelled to clutch tightly.
Gorgeous. Just gorgeous.
Very kind of you.