The Electric Chair (Draft) -- I really need to post this today even though it will be extensively revised and a photo added

By Gina Giuliano (2026)

My mother has been gradually shedding possessions since 2022, when my father died. Recently she moved from an apartment to assisted living. One beloved item that remains in her apartment is the electric chair. This sturdy chair was an important piece of furniture when she was a child, growing up at the Axinn Farm in West Shokan. Mimmie, my grandmother was always interested in True Crime. The biggest story in the 1930s was the kidnapping and murder of Charles Lindbergh's baby. A man named Bruno Hauptmann was arrested and put on trial for the horrible crime. Mimmie never skipped listeneing to the case on the radio, and so my mother and her slightly younger brother Bud heard the details as well. In the evening they would act out the trial. Eventually, he was convicted and sentenced to die by electrocution. In the living room of their house at the Axinn Farm was a solid wooden chair, painted green in Mimmie fashion. My mother and Uncle Buddy would take turns sitting in the wooden chair, tying each other to it with a rope, dramatically pretending to be executed, while the jailer would pantomime pulling a big lever that sent juice through the body. The unfortunate imitation Hauptmann would jerk and flail while tied to the chair, eventually slumping forward, limp. Several years later my grandparents moved from that house where these antics took place and the electric chair was stored in my grandfather's sister’s barn. It stayed there over 60 years, long after my great aunt sold the little bungalow and barn, and incredibly, no-one disturbed it. One day many years later, Uncle Bud explored the old dilapidated barn and was surprised and delighted to discover the electric chair. Remarkably, it was not at all damaged by the leaking roof. On my mother's birthday, Uncle Bud visited her. He went inside and said, “I have something in my truck for you.” She followed him outside, wondering what it could be. He opened the back of his truck cap and there it was: the electric chair!

                                                                My latest advocacy!

 Also: Mimmie's 120th birthday today. She probably would not approve, but she lived in a different time.

Visited the cemetery yesterday. 😢😢😢😢😢
 

 An earthquake, an aftershock today (I only felt the aftershock) and an eclipse on Monday! 

Mimmie died 31 years ago today. 😔

An excerpt from my "Mimmie book" that I wrote in 2003, ten years after she died: 

Mimmie didn’t like to go many places, but she did enjoy strawberries picking; in fact, she even liked it more than she feared snakes. In my mind’s eye I can see her, wearing sneakers and a house dress, carefully navigating the rows, carting quarts of perfect berries, making sure that she didn’t step on any plants. She looked frail, but somehow strong at the same time. Mimmie never gave into temptation as the rest of us did, by sampling the berries while out in the field. That was due more to the fact that insects may have been on them at some point, than to a concern about pesticides. And if she discovered later that a bug had gotten into one of her quarts, she’s have to throw the whole thing out.

“Next spring, if I’m alive,” she’d say afterwards, her blue eyes sparkling as she looked off into the distance, as if she could see all the way until the following June, “I’m only going to pick medium sized red-orange ones, instead of ripe ones. They’re rotten by the time you get them home.  And the big ones look nice but they’re tasteless.”

 End of semester is so challenging! Before more time passes, I want to note that last week, I had a dream that had Mimmie in it. It was brief. She was peeking around a door that looked like the ones we had in our white house in West Shokan. She looked as she always did. I had this dream the night of 4/12, so Daddy's birthday was the next day, but he wasn't in it. This year is the 30th anniversary of Mimmie's death (April 5). It was good to see her, even if just a glimpse.

So after four years of drama, I was officially promoted to Lecturer II. Drama because it took years to get going, partially but not entirely due to the pandemic, and a year and a half to assemble the dossier and move through the various levels of voting, approvals and signatures. Today at the faculty meeting, it was stated that I am part of the initial batch (I thought I was part of the third or fourth) and my dossier and the department's process is setting the bar for the future. Assuming that's true (?), it is quite flattering.

Several nights ago, I had a dream with my grandmother in it. It was just an image of her, very clear, but she didn't speak. It was not like the dream I had in 1993 after she died. Although I think of her often (almost daily), I have rarely dreamed about her since that vivid visit nearly 30 years ago. It was good to see her.

On January 30 a high school friend died. She lived in Texas, and we were connected on Facebook for 10 years or so. She was a real friend in high school, not one of the popular, affluent, snobby clique members (many of whom are also now Facebook friends). She was tall, skinny and kind of awkward in high school, and from a huge family who seem to have health challenges, in that her parents died long ago and some of her siblings have already died. Anyway, she was always nice and funny. RIP Kris.

I didn't mention it here before this, but last week or so, I had a dream that had Gary and Bob's grandmother in it. It was at some sort of facility, I was instructing Gary about Grandma's needs, and he was taking it all very seriously. His appearance was normal; he was not ill. 

Then, the past two nights were filled with vivid dreams: Thursday night, I had two dreams in a row that were unrelated. The first was about dogs. We had a bunch (many more than three). It wasn't a bad dream, but it was chaotic. LOL. I guess that's life with a bunch of dogs. Maybe mine were barking while I slept, and that's what inspired it. IDK. 

The second was about Mimmie! I don't recall dreaming about her in a long time, even though I think of her often. At first, I knew it was her, but the woman did not look or seem at all like her physically. Then she suddenly changed into actual Mimmie - the way she lives in my memory, house dress and all. I was sitting at a table across from her, and my niece Anna was sitting next to me (as an adult). The setting was Mimmie's kitchen at her trailer, except the trailer was more of a double-wide. The decor was just like the trailer, '70s/'80s. 

Last night, I dreamed of my father again. He looked great, like himself. He was sitting in his living room watching television. I was so pleased, because I knew he'd been sick, had surgery, didn't care about TV any more - and there he was, in good spirits, seeming fine, happily watching it. 

I feel as if I am glimpsing "the other side" with all these dreams featuring animals and people who have passed on. I have always occasionally had dreams like this, but since my father died it has increased, and very recently it is almost nonstop.

Twenty-nine years ago, on April 5, 1993, Mimmie died. I think of her often, daily in fact. But since I'm currently reading a book we extensively discussed when it was first published, she is on my mind even more than usual. I remember her telling me that she would think about her employers, the Kearneys, at night when she was in bed. They had died in 1970 from murder/suicide. She would envision their faces in the dark, not their entire bodies, just their heads. For some reason we both found that funny, and we laughed.

I am currently reading Hello from Heaven: A New Field of Research-After-Death Communication Confirms That Life and Love Are Eternal. It's a qualitative study. The researchers interviewed a large number of people all around the United States about their After Death Communication with friends, relatives and colleagues. I haven't gotten to looking at the precise numbers, but I will if it is in an appendix (not sure yet; one of the few downsides of ebooks). Something the authors mention is the social stigma surrounding ADC. It is not a rare occurrence in our own society, but most people don't talk about it because they feel inhibited by skepticism or they are afraid of being labeled a nut. Even a lot of religious believers aren't accepting of ADC. In many other cultures, ADC is embraced as normal. 

As I have written a few times, when I was a teenager I did a lot of reading on the subject of life after death, and talked to Mimmie about it many times. From the Hello from Heaven book, I learned that having a compact, as we did (I will contact you after I die) is not uncommon. I have also discovered in the book that being contacted during a dream, as I was, is a fairly common ADC method. I wrote several posts ago that based on this, I am hoping to have a similar dream featuring my father.

I have had two glimpses in dreams, but I wasn't sure whether either were true ADC or a figment of my fevered brain. In the Mimmie dream, I woke up convinced it was her ADC promise. It was so vivid and real, and the message so clear, detailed and nuanced. The first glimpse of my father was a very quick, fleeting image. I couldn't see him too well, but I knew it was him. We were dancing. I was wearing a purple outfit that I recognized. I remember how much I loved it. The second glimpse was a little longer, although not by much. I was looking out of the sliding glass door in Samsonville. There were a bunch of people in the yard. My father was standing next to Marty. It was noisy, and he was staring straight ahead, not looking at me. I was yelling "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" But he couldn't hear me. Suddenly he did! He looked over, our eyes met, and then the dream was over.

The dancing dream was not too long after my father died. A couple of weeks ago, my nephew sent me some links to videos he has converted from VHS to streaming. One is of my MPA graduation party in 1991 at my parents' house. The number of guests who have now passed away is startling. My nephew texted that he hopes the party is what heaven is like. That day I was wearing the purple shorts set I had on in the dream! At one point, I danced with Bob; I remember the winter before, we had taken ballroom dancing lessons. I did not remember or think about any of this before watching the video. Did I pull the party out of the recesses of my mind, and the dream was a coincidence?

I read one chapter per night from the book. Yesterday's was about contact through animals, plants and inanimate objects, sort of the "pennies from heaven" idea (which I've always viewed as a little too Reader's Digest for me). I think about my father almost constantly, and he is the first thing I think of when I awaken. Usually I realize I didn't have an ADC dream. This morning I went downstairs to the bathroom and thought, St. Jude, God, Daddy, send me a sign that all is OK.

I came out of the bathroom and sat down at the table. Usually Bob brings my mail to me while I am in my office, but yesterday he put it on the table. I didn't notice it before I went to bed. There were two pieces, one was a fundraising appeal from MHHS, and the other was a letter from someone whose name I didn't recognize and my address was in handwriting. Unusual. I opened it, and pulled this out:

On the flip side it's a brochure from JW, and there was a hard-to-read handwritten letter combining boilerplate and personal information accompanying the brochure. I am not at all interested in that religion, but I was pleased to get the ADC. Bob says my father would find it funny.

When I was a teenager the question of life after death really captured my attention. At that time, I read a lot on the subject: Elisabeth Kubler-Ross books (On Death and Dying), and some popular works, for instance Life After Life and The Evidence for Life After Death. I found a lot of comfort in that reading.

Mimmie and I talked a great deal about the topic. She promised she would let me know someday, as it was likely I would outlive her. The summer after she died, I felt the world was different; somehow less colorful. Oh, the grass was green and the sky was blue, but it wasn't the same shade or brightness or something. Then one night I had a dream. She was sitting there, as always, at the little table in her kitchen, but her mobile home had been transported to a stunning hillside, surrounded by hay and Christmas-tree sized spruce trees. We had tea. She was OK. I felt better afterwards, though I still think of her, and miss her, a lot.

Quite a few years ago, a friend gave me a book called Embraced by the Light. I was impressed by the book at the time, and even shared it with a friend’s father, when he was grieving the loss of his wife. I re-read it recently, and even though I still liked it, I was not as taken with it as I was the first time I read it. I am reading Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon's Journey into the Afterlife and so far, I’m enjoying it. After I bought it, I learned he taught at Harvard and worked at MGH. How about that!

Due to the magic of the Internet archives, I discovered this story, Compost Pile:

Yesterday, I read the most delightful thing Mimmie wrote - in 1972. What a treat. Have to type it up.

It's hard to believe it has been twenty-five years since she died. I wish I could have a cup of tea, piece of danish (heated up in the toaster oven, of course) and a visit with her, but my memories will have to do. Miss you, Mimmie! This year, I know Uncle Buddy is with you.

I had a memory today of Mimmie and her old house on Whispell Road. I have never written about it before. Upstairs there was a small bedroom where we slept when I stayed overnight. The toilet (there was no bathroom) was in the downstairs bedroom where Grandpa and eventually Uncle Bud slept. Mimmie had a chamberpot upstairs for us to use (for pee only, LOL) during the night. I wonder how many people my age have had this experience? I think I had this memory today because the bathroom in my old house is three flights down from my office and the bedroom. I was thinking how handy that chamberpot would be!

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I'm sharing this story from my book "A Visit with Mimmie: Catskill Mountain Recipes."

All four of Mimmie's grandparents immigrated from Ireland. She was proud of her Irish heritage, and had no patience for tired jokes about being Irish and drinking. Her mother, she said, would not touch birch beer or root beer either, just because of the word “beer.”

On the card for my 18th birthday she wrote:
“Want to wish you Happy Birthday for Tuesday. Hope my card gets there on time. Eighteen is a lovely age to be isn’t it. Just think you are now your own boss. Have a Happy Birthday Tuesday and don’t drink too much (champagne). Suppose that is spelled wrong, but guess you will know what I mean. That horrible tasting drink that they always have at weddings.”

Years later, I noticed Irish Soda Bread being sold at the Kiwanis Club barbecue at the firehouse. and many restaurants serve it on St. Patrick's Day. I was not really familiar with it, so was wondering if Mimmie had a recipe for it. I looked, and couldn't find anything. However, the 1926 Old Book begins with a recipe for Irish Wedding Cake. Mimmie wrote on the page: “I started this cookbook in 1926. My first recipe was given to me by Gladys Fox.”

Irish Wedding Cake
Flour 2 cups
Baking Soda 1 teaspoon
Butter 1 tablespoon
Cinnamon 1 teaspoon
Cloves 1 teaspoon
Egg 1
Molasses 1 cup
Boiling Water 1 cup

Sift dry ingredients, add remaining ingredients and beat all together. Bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes in loaf pan, or recipe can be used to make layer cake. Use white icing.
Here's Mimmie's Irish Apple Cake recipe; this one is not from the 1926 notebook, but from the little 1970s mod recipe file box:

Irish Apple Cake
Flour, sifted 3 cups
Sugar 3/4 cup
Salt ½ teaspoon
Egg Yolks 3
Butter 1 cup
Lemon Rind, grated from one lemon
Applesauce 1-3/4 cup
Cinnamon ½ teaspoon
Cloves 1/4 teaspoon

Mix flour, sugar, salt, egg yolks, butter and lemon rind. Divide mixture in two parts. Press one part in bottom of pan. Mix applesauce, cinnamon, cloves, and spread over mixture in pan. Sprinkle rest of mixture over applesauce. Bake at 350 degrees in a greased 9x9x1-3/4-inch pan for 40 to 45 minutes. Top with whipped cream, if desired.

 Ann Kathryn McSpirit Eckert (1904-1993) at about age 17

Happy 110th Birthday Mimmie. Miss You.

I’m fortunate to be able to wear clothes to work that are pretty much always in the “business casual” arena. Besides that, my usual garb consists of tattered, roomy tee-shirts and shorts or sweat pants when I am home, or jeans and a “nicer” long-sleeved tee when I am out.

Trying to find clothing to wear to a “fancier” event is a chore. This is definitely complicated by my hatred for shopping. I buy nearly everything I wear online, from LL Bean or Hanes. I have some more formal clothes that I have worn a few times or bought for a special occasion and wore once. Yesterday I tried on numerous items in the closet in an effort to find something decent to wear. Studying my reflection in a few of the outfits reminded me of a hilarious Mimmie-ism: “Looks like a burlap sack of potatoes with a string tied around the middle.”

I finally came across a couple possibilities for a skirt, pants or blazer, but no shirt was right. So I entered the black hole of searching online. It was frustrating to say the least. It seems in younger days you can look good in nearly anything, but I don’t think clothing manufacturers are considering the middle-aged with some of these styles. I finally found what I hope will be a suitable shirt (on amazon!). I’ll know Wednesday whether to bring a hoe or a handbag with me as an accessory.

Three weeks into the semester and I have a pretty good sense of my classes. In the online class, I tried using Collaborate for the initial group chat and I couldn't be more pleased. The evening section is a very serious and high calibre cohort so far. Many of the students are a little older than traditional college aged, and that's always a good thing. The day section has one group of very engaged students, but the jury is still out on the rest of class. Finally, Toleration seems as if it will be pretty good, although it's still early (it has only met twice due to last week's holiday).

Changing the book in foundations has been both a disappointment and a good challenge.A Disappointment because of all this, and also because I've had second thoughts about some of the chapters in the new book I chose. A good challenge because it has forced me to be creative and to make some long overdue changes in certain assignments.

Today Mimmie would have been 109. I don't think she'd mind a shameless plug for my book. Happy birthday Mimmie!

I have not had a burning desire to write very much here. I think during the first half of the summer it was enough of a challenge to keep up with my work, even the much lighter workload of summer session. Now that my life has returned to something resembling normal (and Bob finished his vacation), I spent the first two days of this week power-working -- and got completely caught up! Yesterday I worked on my plants. The beans are coming, the cukes are in blossom, the flowers look OK overall. Sadly, the tomatoes are pathetic. My inattention, and the rainy spell in June have taken a toll. I hoped the intense heat & humidity would help, but it didn't. So I fussed with them yesterday, but I am not optimistic that this will be "a good year for tomatoes" (as Mimmie would say).

Weekend visitors in Samsonville, should be fun. Harry is doing well. It's already a harmonious group.

I wrote a facebook post on Friday about Mimmie, since it was the 20th anniversary of her death. There were several reminiscences shared in comments, including my niece remembering songs she sang. One had lyrics "oh you dirty little kid does your mother know you're out." My mother remembered Mimmie singing it to her also. So my sister did a google search and discovered two versions:

Version 1:
Oh you dirty little devil;
Does your Mother know you're out?
With a hole in your britches;
And your mickey sticking out?

Version 2:
Oh you dirty little devil;
Does your Mother know you're out?
With your hands in your pockets;
And your shirt hanging out?
If it a cop came along;
And he grabbed you by the pants;
Have you ever seen {insert kid's name here}
do the hootchie cootchie dance?

Mimmie's version:
Oh you dirty little kid;
Does your mother know you're out?
With a hole in your britches;
And your hiney hanging out?

 Took all day yesterday -- but the new exercise bike is assembled!

The chives are up, and I think-maybe-could be I saw a hint of a leaf bud on the forsythia, but it's hard to beat my flaming katy kalnchoe

 Potatoes really need to be planted outside! Yikes. But the ground isn't warm enough.

Some possible good news here and here? I don't trust the developer at all but I'm trying to be an optimist. Besides the developer, the grocery store chain, the city, and the lawyers, I am mad at the Albany diocese too.

I fully appreciate that "the church" is not "the building." I really, really do. On the other hand, nothing will pain me more than if our little mission church is closed by the NY diocese. I won't lie; I will probably fight.

 However, in St. Patrick's and many other cases, I am realistic about how expensive it is to operate a huge, old inefficient building in a neighborhood that has experienced a deep demographic shift and now has a declining, and aging congregation. I know people don't pursue vocations any more and there are severe personnel shortages. 

But I'm still mad. I think they should be more selective about who the buyer is, and what the intended purpose will be. Another church? Check. School? Check.Senior Center? Check. Theatre, library or museum? Check. Food pantry? Check. Check. Animal shelter? Check. Other non-profit offices?

For profit business? Let me see the plan. Re-use existing buildings? Very, very likely check, as long as the business purpose is reasonable. Razing this jewel to make way for one more Price Chopper? Denied! Now how easy was that?

 

Speaking of church, this was in the bulletin on Easter Sunday. Close enough! (Something you have to get used to when your name has a lot of diphthongs.)