By Bernadette Gentry
Opportunities to show kindness come many times throughout
our day--simple things like holding a heavy door for
someone, offering a seat to someone who is standing, saying
thank you to the people who ring, and pack our groceries,
or sharing a comment and smile about a warm summer day.
There is a feeling of connection between the
giver and the recipient.
For me, feeding the birds is a kindness I show to them.
In turn, I am blessed by their sweet songs
and cheerful presence.
Planting flowers is a kindness shown to the world, because
doing so make it more beautiful.
Even in cities with buildings so close together, sidewalks
have planters with lovely flowers, and front yards have
Listening to another who is troubled is an act of kindness
that shows care and concern, and can make someone feel less alone.
By Jerry & Kara Noble
from the Diaries of Clifton J. Noble Jr.
I was awake through the night because I had a peculiar dream.
In my dream, I was walking with Hester and young Jerry on the edge of the park in town looking at early buds and blossoms. I was looking at a tulip tree and wished Elizabeth would not spend so much time in the house. I wished she would come out too. Then suddenly I was assisting George Berry and Al Cloutier as they laid out interchange ramps near our office. Jimmy Thurston, with a gleeful grin on his face, listened to me chip away at concrete being repaired on a nearby roof. Then I heard a beautiful soprano singing sweetly but with great determination. She sang a hymn called “Break All the Ties that Bind” to the tune of “How in a Song of Grateful Praise.” I awoke crying.
I was awfully worried about Hester, so I said prayers for her. I went to see her the next day. She was very lame after long walk. She said she knew I was praying for her because she went to sleep soon after 11:00 pm and slept till 5:30, which is wonderful for her. To her, loss of sleep is almost a sickness.
At work, I saw Louis, Adams and Cooney just after they had been blasted by a woman for putting a railroad spike in a tree on her lawn for a benchmark. Joe apologized with his best smile, but the woman yelled, “That isn’t enough!” She said that she would complain to somebody.
When I got the office the next morning at 7:49, I met the janitor. When he discovered that I drive to work over Route 66, he told me he lives on Florence Road, opposite the house that burned. In fact, he said, he was the one who phoned the Fire Department. He thought the four children might be there alone, as the mother of two of the kids works nights as a nurse at Northampton State Hospital. Their father was “Drag Race Johnny,” a $165 per week carpenter who goes off and gets drunk at night. Johnny had a hard time getting his pickup truck out of the yard at about 11:00 pm, just a half hour before the fire started, the janitor said.
He also told me the house was unfinished and the family slept on the floor around the stove. Johnny has been known, according to the janitor, to beat up his wife and he had a bad name with the Easthampton police. He said the house had been financed by the bank, so they would be responsible for repairing it. He further reported that this is the third house Johnny has lived in that had a fire.
When I traveled to see the road parties, I picked up Jimmy Constantino’s watch. Its automatic winding didn’t work properly since
the new stem was put on. I took it to my cousin Lester and waited while he fixed it. He told me of an almost collision he had trying to land the airplane he built at the Poughkeepsie Airport on his last solo flight.
He located Poughkeepsie, but because the concrete runways blended in with the snow, he couldn’t spot the airport. He called Flight Service on his radio, and they told him he was over it—just look down. They asked him to expedite his landing because they had a plane waiting to take off. Lester, nervous by this time, made a tight turn to the left, according to the rules for making a quick landing. He was just a few feet above the ground when he suddenly saw the silhouette of another plane landing in front of him. The other plane had circled right (against the rules) so he had not seen it and neither had Flight Service. After both planes landed safely, the other pilot got bawled out by men from the FAA, who said there is a $500 fine for such actions.
After Lester finished fixing Constantino’s watch, I told him to give his story to the newspaper to support more Federal funds for airport safety.
In the evening, I walked with young Jerry to the railroad tracks near the bridge into Russell. Then I drove to Blandford with him, parked on Huntington Road opposite Second Division Road, and hiked down the old trolley line to the pond.
Uncle Ralph told me that only freight was ever hauled on that line, possibly because trolleys could not get enough power. Franchise troubles never allowed the trolley company to connect with Springfield Street Railway in Huntington or to carry passengers. It failed after a brief run. Ralph Gillett (also of Control New England Railroad—another failure) had apparently pocketed a lot of the shareholder’s money, but when the police came to his house to take him into custody, they found he had just committed suicide.
Elizabeth’s wedding ring is still missing. We had her engagement ring cut to her size (5 ½) and she ordered a
replacement gold wedding ring, which will only cost $5.00 (on sale—it retails for $9.00).
The next day, I took oranges, grapefruits, and grape juice to the Sarah Gillett Home for Hester, but she was not in. We left a parcel for her, but I still felt I should look for her. I drove slowly around the area and park searching the sidewalks. I stopped briefly at the Atwater’s to please young Jerry, then went home.
After supper, Hester phoned to say she had found what we brought. She was discouraged and in tears because she had gone to Friendly’s to get something palatable to eat and she was scarcely able to walk back. SGH has only fish during Lent and it doesn’t agree with her.
By Tonie Ann White
At the car show, I could hear sighs from guys who saw their first car displayed there. Yes, sadly, the car that they sold years ago was now parked before them, fully restored and worth a hundred thousand dollars! “Oh, why did I sell it? Why didn’t I keep it?” they muttered as they shook their heads. Well, think about it and you’ll remember exactly why you sold it and really, where on earth would you have kept it? Actually, I had one of those old 50’s cars, but I don’t mourn the loss of it, at least not any more…
Years ago, big, beautiful dairy farms owned by the wealthy enjoyed the status that horse farms have today. My uncle was the farm manager for such a dairy farm owned, as a hobby, by a wealthy elderly gentleman in Simsbury, Connecticut. One day this old gent told my uncle to take the farm secretary’s ’53 Chevy to the dump. It still had plenty of life in it, so, my uncle being my uncle, showed up at our house and that car became my car. I was around ten or twelve years old. Since we lived on a farm there was plenty of room for an old unregistered car.
We had a “road” of sorts around our back woods. By road, I mean the trees had been bulldozed down and the brush was removed. Dad used this road around our woods to give his “city slicker” friends a hayride experience, pulling them in our trailer behind the John Deere. That road and our back pasture is where I traveled in my two door sedan. We had a red Irish setter at the time and he was my good buddy. After school and chores, Reddy and I would climb into the Chevy and away we would go. He loved to stand behind me as I drove, so he could look out the open window next to me. I had to hunch over the steering wheel to make room for his big, red doggie body. He would be smiling ear to ear and his tongue would be hanging out the window as he panted with excitement. For Reddy, riding in a car was even more fun than chasing one.
We would drive around and around the back pasture and then we would drive up the hill past the back of our neighbors land up through the woods. At the furthest point in our property, marking the back corner of our woods, sat a giant rock. It was the highest point of our farm and when the leaves fell off the trees there was a wonderful view. That rock was the place where I would sit to do my major thinking about life. When I walked there, Reddy would go with me, usually taking side trips, following his nose for great smells among the ferns, over downed trees and through the woodsy growth. Eventually he’d come and check on me to see if it was time to head back to the house together. He was all smiles and his feathery setter tail would be waving with happiness.
But, when Reddy and I took the Chevy, we didn’t stop at the rock. We didn’t stop for interesting smells or deep thoughts of life. We just swung a ninety degree left turn to drive bumpitty –bump over the wild grasses and ferns along our northern fence line to the steep back hill. The back hill was a long, forty-five degree grade which made for a cautious, slow drive, down, down, down to the
flat piece of land at the bottom which ended up at the brook. At the base of this steep hill, on that flat piece of land, was a field full of Christmas trees that our family had planted to sell in the future. So, I sure did not want to lose control on that hill and plow over any of our Christmas trees. The road went past these trees on the right, by the salt block Dad put out for the deer among the trees on the left, past the older than old apple tree, and then ran parallel with the bottom of the big hill’s drainage ditch. Eventually it came out at the back pasture down behind our barn.
Reddy and I made this drive together many times. One day I coaxed Mom to take a ride with Reddy and me. Well, she was fine with our journey up the hill behind our neighbors and along the eastern boundary line through the deep woods and left by the big rock. We followed the back fence line then we got to the tippity top of that really steep back hill. Mom took one look through the windshield of my old car and even though I drove this all the time, Mom did not trust the brakes or maybe her kid driver. There was no way she was riding down that hill. She got out and walked. I drove down. Of course Reddy flung himself out of the car to joyously escort Mom safely to the bottom. That was the one and only time Mom was my passenger in the Chevy.
My aunt and uncle and cousin came over one Sunday afternoon. Actually, they came over every Sunday afternoon. My Dad and I affectionately called my cousin “Harold” and she jokingly called my dad “Harold.” That all got started with a TV ad with a really precious little kid voice saying, “I like it too, Harold. I really do.” Somehow that “Harold” name stuck for us. Anyway, when she was quite young, our dear “Harold” practically lived at her father’s gas station behind their house, so she knew cars. There were times when she actually knew more than the guy who represented the “Factory Trained
Mechanic on duty” sign in front of the garage. As a kid, I had seen her on the creeper under the car actually showing the mechanic what to do. Well, this particular Sunday, “Harold” decided to take the Chevy for a spin. “Harold” was a couple years older than me and had been driving since she could reach the gas pedal and see through the steering wheel. She got behind the wheel of my Chevy and I got in the passenger side. She stepped on the gas and away we sped across the back pasture, up over the crest of the pasture hill and down the other side and around and around the pasture we flew! When we got tired of driving we went back to the house. There we discovered that my parents and aunt and uncle had been watching us out of the four large picture windows in our living room. They saw what they described as “the Chevy going up and over the crest of that pasture hill on two wheels.” The dust was flying but I don’t think those wheels were actually off the ground as they all insisted for many years to come.
No, I don’t mourn the loss of that car, but I do wish that we had at least one picture of the Chevy with Reddy and me behind the wheel. As they say, “Those were the days.”
By T. J. Banks
Let’s face it: Siamese cats, like the rich, are different. They’re noisy, demanding egos in exotic fur suits.
If they can come up with a way to make you crazy, they will; and, what’s more, they’ll patent it. Doreen Tovey, who wrote a whole slew of vivid, humorous books about her life with a succession of Siamese autocrats, summed up the relationship between Siamese and their humans like this: “People who don’t have Siamese don’t understand that the only way to live with one is to accede to its idiosyncrasies: they think the owners, not the cats, are odd.”
Tovey would have understood about Star.
Star came to us when she was about two-months-old. She had the sweetest deep-blue eyes – hence her full name, “Starfire,” short for the star sapphire her eyes resembled – and that’s about as far as the sweetness went. She never played the part of the shy, shrinking kitten around the older cats-in-residence: no, General Sherman marching through Georgia during the Civil War was more her style, and the Ladies of the Club – Cricket, Kilah, and Tikvah – eyed her askance. Very askance. In her first year with us, she broke countless ornaments (she had a genius for picking off the ones with the most sentimental value); nursed off Woody, our black-and-white mail cat; decided that human legs made for great scratching posts; and took over my daughter Marissa’s dollhouse. “Mom! Look what Star’s doing to my dollhouse!” my pre-schooler would shriek indignantly.
Some things – nursing off Woody or rampaging through the dollhouse, for instance – Star abandoned along the way to cathood. But she added to her repertoire jumping on the shoulders or backs of unsuspecting guests; disrupting board games; and leaping up onto the ceiling beams and woefully miaowing to be rescued, even though she knew perfectly well how to get down by herself. She flirted with workmen and was even offered a new home by one who had a weakness for Siamese.
She staged flamboyant escapes, once making it as far as the porch roof. Another time, I was just unloading groceries from the car when Star came sauntering around the back-porch steps, nattering about The Lovely Walk She’d Had. She had, quick investigation revealed, practically turned herself two-dimensional and slid out through a narrow space in the cat enclosure. What was more, she had somehow persuaded Merlyn to join her in this Great Escape – although Merlyn, being Merlyn, was clinging to the cat-enclosure roof and crying about Missing Her Food Dish and how Tikvah had Been Right about Not Listening to Those Siamese Foreigners….
This troubled Star not at all. She clearly believed – and still believes – the old legend that Siamese cats are the reincarnations of the queens and kings of that land. Translated: she could do as she damned well pleased.
She ate Marissa’s first fish, Blue, conning Merlyn into taking the fall for her. Merlyn – she was very trusting in those days – was found alongside Blue’s overturned plastic tank, looking miserably guilty while Madame sat smugly nearby, having what was clearly an after-dinner scrub. Star didn’t stop there. She took to jumping kittens coming out of the litter box until Bandit the Good put a stop to that by jumping her when she came out of the box. She hated Keisha – the feeling was very warmly reciprocated – and deliberately peed in a cat bed that the blue tortoiseshell was fond of. Liked that bed, did you? Star smirked, waving her tail triumphantly as she sashayed off.
She stole jewelry. One morning, I caught Star dragging Marissa’s good watch down the stairs. Since several other pieces of jewelry were missing at that time, I speculated that
“General Sherman marching through Georgia during the Civil War was more her style”
she must have a stash somewhere.
“Give her a cheap plastic watch and see where she goes,” my father-in-law, Bob, suggested with amusement.
“Star wouldn’t take a cheap watch,” I replied, and it was true.
She made for good stories. One friend told me about her ex-boyfriend’s ferrets, who were always stealing socks; and we came up with this scenario in which Star ran a pawnshop (this was around the time of the jewelry heists) and the ferrets were desperately trying to get money for the socks from her, insisting that they (the socks) were “brand-new and freshly washed, too.” Another friend had a little tortie cat named Flatty Bones (now deceased) with a suspiciously Siamese-sounding miaow: we had a running dialogue for years about how Star was sending Flatty self-empowerment tapes and trying to help her bring out “her inner Siamese.” I even put Star in my time-travel novel Souleiado, figuring that if any cat would travel through time, it would be a Siamese.
All of this just goes to show that Star is so out there, almost anything about her sounds believable. Star running a pawnshop? Sure. Star leading Siamese consciousness-raising meetings and selling self-empowerment tapes? Absolutely.
As for her being able to stroll through time…well, maybe that is a little over the top. Then, again, maybe not. Siamese are, after all, different.
Summer and the Lost Boys
of Riverside Park
By Todd Shiveley
When our two best friends graduated up to High School
Keith Darlington and I replaced them with each other.
As my body grew with puberty, so did my gross acne
While he worked off his pudgy build and
learned how to play guitar.
We both grew our hair longer.
When the second Karate Kid movie came out
We built a dojo in his basement and practiced the art
though that did not last long.
And the band Y&T had continued good luck
with their feel good anthem “Summertime Girls”
reflecting our naive impression of the world,
but was soon to be eclipsed by much harder stuff.
Ironic that on some other summer day, “Rock,”
my father’s work friend and a driver in Riverside’s car races
said to me bluntly, “I’ll kill you if you ever
touch my daughter,”
A girl whose name or face I didn’t know.
Shortly after, my cousin Brian and I went to
Riverside Park stadium and we stood front row
like two helpless groupies, panting and purring.
Samantha Fox, the British, blond and bosomy pop star
Sang her hit song “Touch Me,” as we stood in awe.
And that’s most of all I remember that was left of 1986.
Fourteen years old in seventh grade and most of 1987
I spent grounded due to my bad grades
with no help from the ruthless teacher Mrs. Spears.
But for those run on sentences, I am to blame.
However, due to my more rugged and heavy metal dress style
I had my share of fights, while Keith matured
into a near spitting image of a young John Bon Jovi
attracting girls in numbers with his dyed hair, tight pants,
fancy boots and the scarfs to match, while
his guitar playing improved as well.
We prowled the thoroughfares of Riverside Park after 5 P.M.
when all of the parents and families including my own
left or went to the car races.
Those intercom speakers played the music of our generation
with songs like “Big City Nights” by the Scorpions,
most of Ratt’s entire catalogue,
and Bon Jovi’s “Social Disease,” ”Wild in the Streets”
or “Tokyo Road.”
First we had to visit the Musical Express, where the
dizziness and the speed of the ride was matched
with more great music like
Cinderella’s “Once Upon the Ride,”and ”Push, Push,”
or David Lee Roth’s “Yankee Rose.”
Then perhaps a trip to the Slingshot where Van Halen’s
“Hot Summer Nights” was burned into our memories.
Whether it was aroma of cotton candy and popcorn,
mixed with the smell of greasy french fries,
hamburgs and cigarettes or maybe
a few passing fumes of whiskey or alcoholic concoctions,
the air, the feeling of mystique summoned up
the recent hit, Whitesnake’s “Still of the Night.”
While the dangerous element which played loud in the dark
was probably Motley Crue’s new anthem “Wild Side”
leading our minds to the decadence of the later 1980’s.
A new darker tone set in with the vibe of the July release
of the movie “The Lost Boys” which features cool dressed
vampires living and feeding off the visitors
of an amusement park.
So Keith and I, in our black long trench coats
got on the sky ride and sailed over the whole park in silence
like bats, seeking out females rather than real victims.
And the “Lost Boys” soundtrack was just as hypnotizing
and addictive, whether it was the theme song,
“Cry Little Sister,” or “Lost in the Shadows - the Lost Boys.”
We were possessed.
Or maybe it was the cover of the Doors tune
“People Are Strange” mixed with the background
of neon glowing signs for the quarter game booths,
the wheeled food carts or the pale yellow
blinking lights around the arcade.
But for some of us, our lives were about to get
a whole lot darker very soon.
Ozzy Osbourne’s “Shot in the Dark” is not only
the last song on his album the “The Ultimate Sin”
But it absolutely captures the excitement and the end
of the night vibe of those Riverside Park Nights in 1987.
However, my friends, this story ends with a graceful twist.
For my last memory of coming to Riveside Park in the 1980’s
was surrounded by a life of low self esteem and being
grounded for most of the year, though
I was often allowed to visit the park when my parents
went to the races to cheer on my father’s friend Rock!
But unlike every other time, this night was different
For though we only knew each others names and
nothing more, I met a mysterious girl named Tammy.
Dark gray clouds which poured with rain worked in my favor
For whatever the odds, we hung out all night
And due to the rain, the rides were all empty of lines,
Including the damned Cyclone, which I had been
so petrified of ...
And so with no excuses and many regrets to overcome
We hopped on and took that ride, and then followed it up
with multiple trips on the Black Widow!
And at one point in that evening, we visited the photo booth.
We took “that” picture and it meant a lot
since I was nothing more than some acne ridden teen
and she was what seemed a model in comparison.
All I can say in looking back is thanks a lot, Tammy.
It was the very last great memory I had
before that fateful day in the coming January
when my life changed forever,
And amid those gray clouds and rainy days in the hospital,
I had at least a few things positive to look back on!
Spring Veggie Gnocchi
1 bunch asparagus, ends
trimmed and chopped into
1 cup frozen peas, thawed
1 (16 oz) package gnocchi
1 tablespoon olive oil
3-4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 yellow onion, chopped
1/2 cup Parmesan cheese,
1/3 cup half-and-half
1/2 lemon, juiced
Salt and pepper, to taste
Optional: red pepper flakes,
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add gnocchi and cook according to package instructions. Drain and set aside.
In a skillet on medium-high heat, add olive oil and onion. Season with a pinch of salt and pepper and sauté until translucent. Add garlic, stirring until fragrant, about 1 minute.Add chopped asparagus and sauté for 5-7 minutes, or until tender. Add peas and gnocchi and cook for 2 minutes.
Pour half-and-half and parmesan cheese into skillet and stir carefully to coat with cream sauce. Sauce is done when cheese has melted and cream sauce has thickened. Add lemon juice and toss before serving.
By Judith Cronin Farina
It was empty, the chair, blue cushion and worn arms.
For years he sat, and read and dreamed and
prayed, on that rolling hill, small farm.
Though no one ever thought of that-
could some have even cared?
But yes he did, much more than most..
in that large and sweat stained chair..
For 60 years of life’s pursuits, he kept a vigil there-
with company of author’s great, and music sweet, he shared.
And drifted off to rest at times,
in that worn, safe haven chair.
So on the day, he left it be.
A lone a corner stood.
I sat and pondered, while his last breath,
lapsed into the empty room.
It’s quiet now, most always was.
So different now it seems-
Perhaps in only memory,
could I restore his dreams?
Then found beside, the cushion side,
I felt a booklet there.
A Burpee catalog for Spring-
all checked, and well prepared!
I filled that order, soaked some seeds,
for morning glory shows.
I planted sweet peas, Williams too,
with my father’s spade and hoe.
And though the chair, long gone and spent,
A part of him remains. In every year, and Spring,
when the bursting clouds bring rain-
Then like the mornings new born sun,
and days that have no end,
I like to think of dad’s small part,
in the colors that remain-
Of flowers rich, with scents so pure,
with colors Heaven sent.
And whispered prayers, that touch the breeze,
I feel his humble presence.
To include your event, please send information by the 20th of the month. We will print as many listings as space allows. Our usual publication date is within the first week of the month. Send to: Southwoods Bulletin Board, Southwoods Magazine, P.O. Box 1106, Southwick, MA 01077, Fax: (413) 569-5325 or email us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Crafters & Artisans Needed
Crafters & Artisans are needed for a fall craft fair to benefit the Westfield Food Pantry on September 30, 2017 from 10 am to 4 pm. It will be held at the Episcopal Church of the Atonement, 36 Court Street, Westfield. Inside & Outside booths are available, there will be a limit to same type of crafts.
Please email gail at email@example.com for an application. www.WestfieldFoodPantry.org
Whip City Travelers Trips
Cape Cod 2 Day Tour
Whip City Travelers presents a 2 day tour on Aug 13-14 2017 to Cape Cod and the Boston Pops. The package includes motor coach, 1 night at the Irish Village Resort, 1 buffet breakfast there, 1 brunch at the Daniel Webster Inn, a reserved ticket for the Pops on the Hyannis Green, a Hyannis Harbor boat ride, and time to shop in Hyannis Village. Price is $269 pp double with a $50 deposit before the signup deadline-6/30/17. Cancellation protection is available at signup. FMI contact Whip City Travelers at Westfield COA at 562-6435, Mon 10-1 Wed &Fri 9-12. All trips are open to the public and all ages are welcome.
Whip City Travelers presents 2 SELF DRIVE shows this summer at the HuKeLau in Chicopee (plan to arrive there by 11:30). Each show includes twin lobsters or Prime Rib, vegetables, rolls, ice cream and coffee at a cost of $61. This includes the delicious meal, the wonderful entertainment, the tip and the meal tax.
The first show is a Tribute to Rod Stewart on Wed, July 19, 2017. The second show is a Neil Diamond Tribute with the American Longboards on Wed, Aug 9, 2017.
For more information and reservations: the Travel Desk @ COA (413) 562-6435, Mon (10:00-1:00), Weds & Fri (9:00-12:00)
19th Annual Grandmother’s Garden Party and Garden Tour
The Art of The Garden
The Grandmothers’ Garden Party will be June 23rd
6 pm - 8:30 pm at the Watkins’ Garden, rain or shine, tickets in advance only. The 19th Annual Garden Tour, open to the public Saturday June 24th and Sunday June 25th, will showcase 5 private gardens. The tour is from 9 am - 4 pm, rain or shine, tickets are good for both days. This is a self-guided tour. Tickets can be bought in advance or at Grandmothers’ Garden the day of the tour. Tickets: Tour $20, Garden Party Tickets $50, Both Events $65.Advance (Before June 16) $15. Make checks payable to FOGG and mail to: Garden Tour 2017, Friends of Grandmothers’ Garden, P.O. Box 1432, Westfield, MA 01086, for more info visit www.grandmothersgarden.org
Goods & Services
BERNESE MOUNTAIN DOGS puppies - for sale. Please call 413-569-1420 and ask for Kelly.
Middle-Aged Man looking for a house or apartment share in Southwick. Former chef, would be willing to prepare food for dinner parties and barbeques for reduced rent. Call Harry at 413-544-5313 for more information.
Goods & Services
DELREO HOME IMPROVEMENT for all your exterior home improvement needs, SNOW PLOWING & SNOW REMOVAL, ROOFING, SIDING, WINDOWS, DOORS, DECKS & GUTTERS extensive references, fully licensed & insured in MA & CT. Call Gary Delcamp 413-569-3733
BLACK AND DECKER WEED TRIMMER, great condition, comes with 2 chargers. $35.00. Call Lisa at 413-732-1976.
Our busy Salon/Day Spa is seeking a stylist to join our team! We offer education, vacation pay, high commission with performance rewards. Please stop by Designer’s Edge Salon and Spa at 549 College Highway in Southwick, Ma, email us at Info@DEsalonspa.com or call Denise Jenkins at (413)539-1685.
TRAPROCK DRIVEWAYS built & repaired. Gravel, loam, fill deliveries. Tractor services, equipment moved, York Rake. Bill Armstrong Trucking. 413-357-6407.
HOUSEKEEPING SERVICES Polish woman looking for work at a private home, small business, doctors office. 13 years of experience, excellent references. Call Anna at 413-355-4646