Synopsis
How-to Rise Above an Economic Crisis with Love and Joy
Author Laurie Hennicker recounts heartwarming New York City childhood memories of how her struggling immigrant family found perpetual joy and contentment amid the Great Depression.
Her tender childhood stories of the joy of living with unconditional love will give any funny bone an irresistible tickle! The secret she shares in this heart-lifting book is simple-unconditional love still works, even in the twenty-first century.
Laurie Burns Hennicker (1917-1998) was born to an immigrant family in 1917 in New York and came of age during the difficult years of the Great Depression. Before World War II, she tutored French and worked as a successful fashion model.
After Pearl Harbor, she enlisted in the Marines only to learn that she was pregnant with her first child. Undeterred, she went to work for British Intelligence in New York City. Following the war, she held several key executive positions until moving to the West Coast in 1950 to raise her children.
An incurable optimist, she shared her empowering childhood memories (which appear in this book) with her three children and many friends.
Synopsis
We all have "why me?" days and wish we'd stayed in bed. Then, we have those marvelous days that make life special. An old proverb tells us, "life is like a Zebra. One day a white stripe, the next day a black stripe, and it is always in motion." When life seems parked on a black-stripe day, the heart-warming stories in this book will remind you that a white stripe is not far off. Then when you get there, celebrate with another story. In minutes, you will find yourself shaking your fists at the heavens and joyously proclaiming "This is my day and I m unsinkable!" This book is rooted in America's Great Depression. In such times, life is powerfully hard, but unconditional love can overpower it. This is when a young girl from a struggling immigrant family in New York learned that no depression imaginable, can trump the magic of unconditional love. These are the joyous and life-affirming stories of her childhood. [DOI: 10.1572/yowbooks.when] Enjoy this story from When They Invite You to Dinner - Eat First Don't Tell Mama - It Is Our Secret I don't think Papa was unhappy to have an only child--and a daughter at that. There was no son to carry on the name, but adjustment was no problem. God gave Papa a girl and who argues with God? Papa told Mamma when I was born: "Rose, we don't have a child, we have an angel." Being an angel only meant I was not responsible for religious matters. I became Papa's sidekick in the cellar, learning how to splice wires, saw wood and tin, repair plumbing, drive a nail straight, and how to straighten a bent nail. The cellar was a cold, damp place, but Papa always sang and told stories, and I loved to be with him, and loved working together. It didn't matter that the toy box looked like a coffin--we stood it up, put shelves in it, and it became a storage box before Mamma could find out and kid us. One bitter, cold night, I noted blood all over everything. "Pa, where is all this blood coming from?" I said. "Shh," Papa cautioned me, don't let Mamma hear the word blood--you know what'll happen." Drug stores used to close at ten o'clock in the evening and it was almost that now. I had to tell Mamma that Papa had scratched himself and we needed peroxide and bandages. Mamma bundled me into wool sweaters, coat, boots, etc., and we hurried over the snow to the drug store. Mamma was too excited about our dog getting ready to have puppies to give much thought to the first aid supplies. Mamma always bought the biggest, or by the dozen or the gross to save money and have plenty on hand. We got the biggest bottle of peroxide, the largest roll of bandage, and the largest spool of adhesive tape. Band Aids had not yet been invented. I got back to Papa with the purchases, and Mamma went back to put together the apple crate box for the coming puppies. I went to help Papa but, as usual, Papa said that in Russia they knew everything, and he could do it himself. Humming and singing, and since a little is good, a lot is better, Papa went to work. First, he poured the whole bottle of peroxide on his arm; then he used the entire roll of bandage; finally, all the adhesive. "See," he said, "I can do it myself." He had bandaged his arm from the wrist to the elbow. We went back to work sawing wood. "Pa," I screamed, "where is all the blood coming from?" "Shh," he said, "Mamma will hear you." He had bandaged the wrong arm. He kept the bandage on for a week, so Mamma wouldn't find out and laugh, and then sarcastically tease him his own words, "in Russia we know it all."
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