Five High Points from Snowy Cramer Hill, 2019

Dear Readers,

It’s snowy on the first day of March 2019.  Did I expect blazing sunshine, warm breezes, butterflies, tulips and daffodils?  Good thing I did not.  Did you?

My house is warm, though, and my dog is happy to spend all day with Mommy Mommy.  Yes, Finn really does call me Mommy Mommy. Dog owners, you do believe me. Two high points for the first day of March:  warm house, loving dog.

This morning I had a perfect avocado.  You fans of avocado know that doesn’t always happen.  I cut it open and the green was beautiful, not one brown speck.  It wasn’t hard, it wasn’t mushy, it was just the avocado experience you want–and enhanced with squeezes of lemon juice and squirts of Sriracha. I should have taken a photo of it.  Oh well, by the time I thought of it, I’d eaten it. Another high point for today: exquisite avocado.

When I was growing up in the 1950’s and the 1960’s, I had never seen an avocado.  Avocado wasn’t even a word in my family’s household.  I did know that it was a color, but I’d never seen an avocado. I surely didn’t know about Sriracha, but I don’t think it was invented/available for people in North Camden yet. Hmm.

Thank you, Google. I looked up this hot sauce and it was produced for mass consumption in the 1990’s. I’ve consumed many bottles of this red sauce. Look up the story about Huy Fong  Foods and Sriracha! You could learn this chili sauce probably originated in Thailand long ago and about the company who makes it.  Thank you, Thailand and Huy Fong Foods. Another high point for this morning: Sriracha.  By the way, I own no stock in this company.  What’s the matter with me?

My last high point for this morning? My cell phone.  I can lie on the bed and research Sriracha on my cell phone. It’s almost too easy. If you have lived a large part of your life pre-cell phone/pre-computers, you might acknowledge that research used to take a bit of doing.  Libraries!  You dinosaurs, you!

Happy March from Cramer Hill!


Marguerite (Wunsch) Ferra

Retired ESL Teacher, Camden resident














Wishing I Could Talk to Dad

Dear Readers,

I’m at the end of a long and terrible cold/virus and I’m feeling weepy.  I miss my dad.  I had him for eighty-three years, but it wasn’t enough.

What provoked this weepiness?  This morning I hung my coffee mug on the hooks under my kitchen cabinet here in Cramer Hill.  It was thirty-some years ago that my dad put up those hooks for me.  Seeing the hooks made me cry.

When my dad died in 2003, I cried, but somehow I bricked up how terrible I felt. It was too hard to bear. Life had to keep rolling on.

Sometimes, though, it hits me that he’s really, really gone and inside my heart, I feel all crumply and sad.    It’s irrevocable I’ll never talk to him again.

Dad had a cockatoo in the jungle of New Guinea when he was there as a lineman in WWII and he was crazy about the bird. He was a kind, young soldier in the U.S. Army from North Camden who befriended a beautiful white cockatoo.

He made some sort of application to try to send it back to the USA.  I don’t know if that was possible?  However, he said that another soldier had taught the bird rude words and then there was no chance for the application to be approved.  I don’t think he ever forgave that soldier.  My father didn’t talk like that and that soldier ruined my dad’s dream to send the bird home.

When I grew up, we kids only heard bits and pieces of family stories and I’m sorry for that.  I wish that I could ask him to tell me more.  What was the bird’s name?  Did he tame it?  (I have that idea.) How long did he have it?  Who turned down the request? What happened to the bird after he left New Guinea?

There are so many times that I want to tell or ask him something and I can’t.  Usually I just brush it away because what else can I do?

Today I cried and then I decided to write a blog.

Rest in peace, Dad.  William Edward Wunsch, Jr., 1920-2003.


Thanks for reading.

Marguerite (Wunsch) Ferra, Cramer Hill resident








Ups and downs from Cramer Hill

Dear Readers,

I hope that all of you are having a decent 2018.  You know how it is.  Some years are up and some are down.  Often in the middle! Hope your 2018 is good.  Mine has been pretty good.  Grateful.  You need those breather years.  Do you know what I mean?

The photo is from a really UP day in the restaurant of the Galmont Hotel in Galway, Ireland this October.  After a day of trains and vans and seeing the island of my ancestors, I was extremely tired, but happily so.  A pot of tea, a newspaper and a view–in Ireland! I still can’t believe that I had that time in Ireland…  Dreams do come true sometimes and they make good memories.

Today I’m home with a mug of tea, my laptop and a view of my kitchen in Cramer Hill.  Still very good.  I’m enjoying this free day and the company of pets.  My tiny cat, Reina, is standing on my chest meowing.  I think she likes me a lot. My dog, Finn, tries to push her off.  He’s jealous. Oh, to be so loved!  It’s a pretty much up day to be so desired.

A little down happened today–I got the news that I need a new washer.  What happened to those washers with metal, not plastic, parts like my mom had and that I also once had that lasted for decades?  I rejoice in a big up that I am able to get a new one.

Laundromat costs add up fast and I always manage to drop a pair of panties on the floor of the laundromat in front of a stranger. It never fails.

That’s my Cramer Hill day.  I’m not in Ireland and I’m not pinching myself that I’m in a dream come true, but I’m good.  I’m going to finish my tea and look at washers online.  UP.

Hope your days and years are UP.

Love to all my readers from Camden, New Jersey,

Marguerite (Wunsch) Ferra

Retired Camden City Public Schools ESL Teacher

Camden resident























I voted! Even before I had a coffee

Dear Readers,

I got up super early and voted.  Maybe I should have voted by mail, but I followed the tradition of my parents who went to the former Washington Elementary School in Cramer Hill and entered into a booth and voted. If you know me, you know how I voted.

My parents never missed voting except in their very last years–Alzheimer’s for my dad and dementia for my mom.  They wouldn’t have missed for any less excuse.

Please vote–even if you have to miss a day of work, a wedding or picking up your lottery winnings.  Even if you haven’t had a coffee yet… Today might be your most important voting day so far.  Your priority today if you haven’t voted?  VOTE.

No excuses today.


Marguerite (Wunsch) Ferra

Cramer Hill resident

Reunion within Reunion – WWHS Class of 68

Dear Readers,

At last!  The long anticipated reunion happened last Saturday night.  Now I can go back to eating bread.  You know I just had to fit into the little black dress I bought for the occasion.

The reunion was great–and I mean it.  I could have eaten that bread. I could have eaten a chocolate birthday cake every day for weeks.  I could have bulged and popped out of my dress and no one would have noticed.  Everyone was so happy to see each other.  Many of us hadn’t seen each other for five decades.

No kidding–the friendliness and happiness in that room at Braddock’s Tavern just glowed, absolutely glowed.  I hadn’t expected an atmosphere that warm and lovely.  Frankly, I’d worried it might be awkward.

I wish the reunion could have lasted all weekend.  (Reunion committee members–don’t faint!)  I didn’t get to talk to as many people as I wished and somehow I missed some old friends who were there.  (Cathy Manning!  I didn’t see you until I saw you on the Facebook photos.) The four hours flew like four minutes.

My reunion with Ruth Ostermayer, the girl with the sweet smile next to me in the photo, filled my heart.  We’d been best friends from kindergarten to sixth grade in John S. Read School in North Camden and then my family moved to Cramer Hill.  Sixth grade was an unhappy year for me.  Everything was new–new neighborhood, new school, new church. So much familiar and loved seemed to disappear.

My mother had decided that a new townhouse in Cramer Hill was her dream come true.  She could choose the color of the kitchen tiles, wallpaper, the bathtub…   Everything new.  Good-bye to our tiny old rowhouse in North Camden!

Mom loved that we would be up the street from Von Neida Park and a relatively few blocks’ walk from grocery stores, a florist, a 5 and 10 (Binkley’s), church, school and a bus stop. We had no car.  Even two friends of hers from North Camden would buy across the street. She had instant good friends. Cramer Hill looked like heaven.  She would have to pinch pennies, but managing my dad’s factory worker pay was her expertise.

Somehow she got my dad to agree to leave North Camden and somehow with a two-week-old baby and two reluctant elementary school kids, she got us moved.  I was so, so sad.  I didn’t want to leave, but, in those days, kids didn’t have any input.  I also wasn’t able to understand that this brand-new house was important for my mother.  (She would never agree to move from this house and she stayed there in her dream home until she died in it last year at age ninety-three.)

I was especially sad to leave my very best friend, Ruth.  I was sad to leave other friends, too, but I’d spent years with Ruth and her family. I worried that our friendship would survive, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Ruth and I kept in touch, but those years of childhood best friendship became a wistful memory.  We went to high school together, but we ended up in different classes.  I worked in the Woolworth’s and I babysat.  Not much social life. However, we persisted with Christmas cards and occasional letters and e-mails, never forgetting our years of jumping rope, going to Brownies, roller skating, making cookies, reading Highlights, comic books, Bobbsey Twins and the World Book Encyclopedia, telling stories, drawing, singing at her piano and walking home from school together.

When we saw each other at the class reunion last week, we were delighted to be back together in person and we talked for as long as we could without ignoring the rest of the class.  Ruth told me that she had been devastated when I moved.  Even after all those years, that news almost made me cry.  I hadn’t known that she, too, had been upset. She seemed to be okay with other friends.  I never knew that she missed me, too.

We talked about her family’s three-story house on State Street.  We recalled every floor, every room.  What good memories we shared of that house.  I’ve even dreamed about that house.

Ahhh…  I forget where I put my keys, but I remember perfectly those years with Ruth and her family.

What a blessing to be able to sit next to Ruth at the high school reunion and to have a reunion of our childhood–in person.

Thanks, dear readers, for reading this account of a bit of my wonderful reunion.


Marguerite (Wunsch) Ferra, Class of 1968, Woodrow Wilson High School, Camden, NJ


PS I’m sure this is one little story of hundreds from the reunion.  Sincere thanks to the reunion committee for hunting up the class members and getting us to attend.  Great job. It was a night to remember.  Thanks, too, for letting us know what members of our class have passed away.  That list broke my heart, but it reminded me to be grateful for every day.  All in all, it was a super evening and I loved seeing so many friends.  Again, I wished it could have been a weekend.












Tonight’s the night. WWHS Class of 68

Dear Readers,

Tonight is my reunion–the Woodrow Wilson High School class of 1968.  Camden, New Jersey.  Fifty years. I’m ready.

I bought a simple black dress and I have kept it free from grandchildren mess, dog and cat hair.  That’s about all that’s needed.  A little black dress.  I should feel perfectly confident.  Maybe I don’t.

Will I recognize my classmates and will they recognize me?  I told my daughter, an oh-so-youthful thirty-five, that I wish that I was young again and then that new dress would look even better on me at the reunion.

She laughed.  “Your classmates will be your age, too!”

I guess so.

But, I imagine them as I knew them as teen-agers in high school and now I know myself as, shall we say, a more mature person in retirement. Certainly no teen-ager. Maybe this morning they, too, are thinking of how age has changed them.  I’m going to say–for the better!

All of us who can make it to the party are blessed that we have the health, the money, the time and the opportunity to get together.  No one is going to care  if someone has grandchildren’s yogurt stains, dog or cat hair on their reunion duds.  It’s going to be fun just to see each other.

Thanks to all the people who made it happen.  Sincerely.  It was a lot of work for you.

I’ll get back to you, my readers, with how the event went.

Love from Cramer Hill, yes, I live here in Camden,

Marguerite (Wunsch) Ferra

PS  That’s me in the picture…last week at the Bunratty Castle in Ireland. I still have a bit of jet lag.  Hopefully, my head won’t fall in the dinner plate tonight.





Funny Is Good

Dear Readers,

I get up and breathe the air of Cramer Hill retirement.  Bliss.   Should I go to the KROC CENTER just blocks away and walk in the pool?  Should I tackle the declutterment of the basement? Or, should I have a cup of tea and an egg with my new book?

You got it. I ‘m halfway through MAEVE IN AMERICA, ESSAYS BY A GIRL FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE, by Maeve Higgins.  It’s funny with a bit of serious thrown in.

Remember when you were in school and things were funny? Everyone told jokes?  You couldn’t stop laughing at the dinner table and your dad would say, “What’s so funny?”  I miss those days. The world is grim now.  So–please.  I love funny.

Funny happens especially with my grandchildren–needless to say, they are the dearest, sweetest, cutest, yummiest and funniest children on God’s green earth!  You could take that with a grain of salt because it’s a grandmother’s perspective.  Oh, you already knew that.  Sorry.

The other day I was playing “dolls” with my three-year-old granddaughter while her almost eight-month-old brother watched us.  He clutched his soft rabbit and listened to us act out scenarios that we made up on the spot.

Nora twirled Barbie who was wearing a fancy purple dress and no shoes.  She held her up, “She is the mother and she is taking her daughters to soccer practice.”

The daughters were tiny LOL dolls.  “We can’t find our soccer shoes. I mean, cleats.”  (I was the voice for the daughters.)

Soccer Mom Barbie (AKA Nora) said, “Look in your closet.  Hurry up. Don’t be late.”

In the imaginary car they go with their imaginary soccer ball, cleats and shin guards.

Nora looks around the room and Baby Nate loses his beloved stuffed rabbit because the rabbit must be the soccer coach.  His sister pops a pacifier in his mouth and Nate is good with that. Perhaps he figures there must be a reason that his friend was snatched away from him.  He’s an optimistic little chap even at this tender age.

“All right, get in line.  Pay attention.  No looking at birds in the sky nor squirrels in trees.  Keep your eye on the ball.”  I’m Soccer Coach Rabbit’s voice.   I say it sternly in my former teacher voice.

The two LOL dolls and elegant Barbie mom laugh appropriately.  I feel gratified at my humor being appreciated.  Thank you, Nora.

Then!  Soccer Mom Barbie lunges at the Soccer Coach Rabbit.  Does she feel that he spoke too harshly to the team?  What is this all about?  I remember sports moms–they can get excited.

Soccer Coach Rabbit falls back as the elegant soccer mom kisses him again and again.  “I love you!  I love you!  I love you!”

What could a grandmother say?

“Uh, are they married?”

Nora states, “Yes.  They had a wedding.”

Aaah, she’s going to be a writer.

Love from Camden resident,

Marguerite (Wunsch) Ferra

P.S.  I love to receive comments.  AND!!!!!!

I hope to see you at our 50th class reunion.  You can tell me about your kids, grandkids, neighbors, dogs, cats, birds or pet rocks.  OR— BRING A JOKE FOR ME!

 Here’s the info: October 20th, Saturday night at Braddock’s Tavern. 39 South Main Street, Medford, NJ 08055  6:45 p.m. to 11 p.m. $75 for buffet and dancing.  Cash bar.  Check payable to Woodrow Wilson 50th Reunion.  Send to Alberta Wolf, 25 Bear Head Rd., Medford, NJ  08055.  Please send by October 5th.