lewinters bungalow colony
The wall calendar stopped in 1936-so many years ago, so long before you were even born.

It was the minor stuff, the minutiae, that stands out from the cacophony of images and moments and places that fight for a resting place in my memory.

These scenarios were sufficient to scare him into the woods for three hours. There was the bathing suit guy, and the sweater guy. You spring forth from bed, eager to find your friends, anxious to display the new talents with the bat or the glove you'd sharpened all across the now so distant summer. [16] Many villages and seaside resorts have large estates of 1960s bungalows, usually occupied by retired people. There was "Johnny on the Pony," or "Buck-Buck."

""Oh, yeah," his father assures him. There was a hot and smoky feel to the night. Your mom finished off dinner dished and sat on the lawn with friends, kibitzing for an hour or so prior to initiating their evening's recreation-either cards or mah-jongg. You held your arms about your body, shut your eyes, took a deep breath, and then, reopening, it was as if you'd never left. Pizza.

Brown 12!". The Apartment. You cleared the bouncers proofing without a hitch, secured a beer from a cute, comely waitress, and moved out to the deck to survey the scene.You felt cool and in charge, better than Travolta, because you knew how to spell. The family sedan entered the grounds just as dusk settled on the mountains, and you lit from the car, bubbling with excitement and anticipation, feelings ambivalent because you desired both to be the first kid to arrive, and to also be greeted by a horde of comrades. They would work all day in the City and then drive up for the weekend. It might have been a dilapidated old farmhouse, or a deserted small hotel.

I only ever felt love and joy from him.

A dozen chairs turned on their sides, the seatbacks tilting to the sky, assembled on the lawn, covered by someone's mom's oldest and most tattered quilt. But honestly, I think it was my Aunt, from the way my Dad was talking. You struggle hard to recall her name. “Tomorrow at Camp is color war day! Camp had concluded that Friday with the traditional prom---a local band playing badly executed covers of The Beatles, the Stones and The Who, and a plate of warm cold cuts and stale rye bread.

For me it was joy! We were consigned, instead, to but two items-fat, black rubber inner tubes from automobile and truck tires, and, deliciously, our pre-adolescent imagination. The linoleum is cracked, and peeling, and here and there are large holes peeking through to the ground five feet below, the cabin suspended still by the sturdy towers of cinderblocks. Love to hear from anyone who spent the summers 1960-1973. This architectural technique avoids the need for special arches or lintels to support the brick wall above the windows. What would we then discover? Shirley Katz, bungalow 7, you have a phone call.” The first time it was announced, it was very polite.

My summer as a gambler ended sadly for me. They call it "progress." The shower curtain restored, the spread on the kitchen hi-riser, summer quilts on the beds, summer dishes returned to the cabinets, the fridge up and humming, the coil heaters glowing red and hot in the bedroom, crisp, clean, cold sheets waiting for you in your room, a mountain of comic books aside the bed begging to be devoured. Usually on the weekends there were not as many announcements because the dads were up, the camp was closed and there were not as many phone calls. Nice quiet atmosphere aswell .

He is clowning, mugging for the camera, his face a distortion of what you remember to be a pretty cute little kid. I call it a damned shame. Once, when I was eleven, for a reason I cannot recall, I was chosen from among all the colony kids to receive the very coveted honor of riding shotgun on the truck during collections. Ghosts, specters ­ spirits of times I yearn for and hold to, haunt me.

She knew that we were safe with Mrs. Fink. Just a few minutes later we went to the bungalow colony, and my siblings and I met our great aunt and uncle for the first time. Then, by counselor decree, sufficient time has been expanded with the morning's dalliance. We would visit our friends during rainy summers, and walk through layers of drying laundry! I remember the sweet and tart taste of Orange Crush on my tongue, and how bits of potato chips would somehow wind up floating in the bottle. Being little invited rapture from a long lace of licorice, or the creamy sweetness of a Fudgcicle on a hot July afternoon, and the honest fascination found in the intricate patterns of a butterfly?s wings, or the confounded slipperiness of a bullfrog. There were Oreos, of course, but then there were also those wonderful marshmallow sandwiches from Nabisco-two wafers squashing a marshmallow center. I remember sitting behind my bungalow and crying.

Uncle Lenny and Aunt Hady were bad influences. The sun was setting behind the hill, but it was warm yet, and my tee shirt stuck to my back, and the band of my baseball cap itched against my scalp, and the putrid odor of the garbage filled my nostrils, and I must have been grinning from one ear to the other. Pinball did not merely require superior hand-eye coordination, but surely involved practically all muscles in the body. Dad?s hair is still dark, and thicker than you can recall.

Food arrived was amazing, chilli chicken, hot and sour chicken and roast beef, all hot a delicious!

From Memorial Day through Labor Day the place was practically 24-7.

I remember developing circuitous routes about the colony so I might avoid passing by Martin's now vacant shack. Thus further has the advantage of creating a foyer with a very high ceiling without the expense of raising the roof or creating a skylight. Also, there was marathon, and I mean four and five hour battles, involving a game called RISK. You wondered if any of your city friends were awake and about.

He played a keen game of gin rummy, and casino, which he taught to my brother and me. If The Mountains experience is a negative stereotype, then that is sad, because it is a great way to spend the summer...I think that is positive.I truly hope I didn't offend any New Yorkers in this article. And life was so full and easy and simple, that we felt no pressure, or stress or strain, and we were convinced we would all live forever.

You'd made the record score on the colony pin-ball machine, winning an unheard of 15 free games, consecutively, managed to even impress your dad in the process. Having been a chef myself for nearly 20 years in such places as Hong Kong and Israel, I am very hard to please and have high standards where food and customer service are concerned. "Ya a baseball fan, huh?"

Where they dispersed to each autumn, and how they passed their winters, was a never answered mystery. Whitey embraced much of the culture, developing deep affections for disparate icons of his time. One time, when we were returning from visiting a maiden aunt in Manhattan, I imagined seeing them among the lost and lonely roaming the Bowery. Fantastic, thank you so much for your great review and 5 rating. And now, three decades after the fact, it is evident that the signs were an integral part of the whole. Your dad assumed a General's pose, directing you and your brother (sister?) Because the attic is not used, the roof pitch can be quite shallow, constrained only by snow load considerations. music actspopular folk singers, nostalgic fifties groups like Dion and the Belmonts, the Coasters, the Drifters, Jay and the Americans. There were red stools along the long counter, and the days offerings were posted in black crayon scrawled on the face of paper plates and taped up haphazardly around the cooking area.

They say the body retains no memory of pain, but as you gaze at this photo, some four decades later, you surely recall the burn-the sting, the ointment, the horrible and ugly scar that finally formed.

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