Barbara Rockow
How do you put over 80 years of memories into a few sentences? The memories are many.
Playing on the block,
climbing 6 flights of stairs to see the family and eat,
Sadie lowering a shopping bag on a rope from the window so Bob could put the groceries in,
knock hockey in Claremont Park,
summers at our bungalows at Weiner’s farm in Spring Valley,
Bob trying to teach me how to fish, and the only thing I ever caught was the back of my shorts,
endless games of ping-pong, cards, and Monopoly,
me singing show tunes on the swings in the morning and Bob claiming that I woke him up.
All my friends (and my sister’s) in love with teenage Bob and vying to be noticed.
Spending hours in the “club” that my super set up for us in the basement, and the girls teaching the boys to dance.
Six couples of our friends all getting married in the same year.
The 6 course meals at Luigi’s in Yonkers (and we actually finished them),
going to the Neville for weekends,
getting thrown out of our rooms because Lyndon Johnson came campaigning,
weekend days at Woodland Lake where Bob and Ruby fished and we all picnicked happily.
A running game of hearts whose total scores Bob kept forever (guess who won by a mile), leading to Stan creating the set of “Get Bob” sweatshirts,
pepperless lasagnas by the dozen because someone didn’t like peppers, weddings, bar- and bat-mitzvahs:
special occasions to share and cherish,
the boys’ games of whiffle ball and chess (where the score was 8-5??),
agonizing over, and occasionally celebrating, the Mets,
lounging, swimming, and floating, in lazy days at the pool.
Bob and Stan putting the new BBQ together, and disregarding the parts left over, but the food was always good.
Dancing at Bob’s retirement party,
Father’s Days, at which Michael and I were always welcomed guests.
No matter the place or the occasion, time spent with Bob was always precious. Those memories will always be with me.
