I never had the pleasure of knowing My Mom's parents.I only know what my Mom told me, and stories from other family members. They came over from Poland when they were very young.Were hard working, god fearing people. They loved to garden as they grew all their own vegetables. I guess when my Mom and her brother and sisters were growing up, the whole back yard was a garden.

My grandparents were very superstitous, they believed in spirits, and hauntings.The house on 50th street, was a 2 flat, with a large attic. The attic was accessed from the kitchen, there was a set of stairs, that went to a door that went to the attic. As kids we loved to go into that attic, and look through all the trunks up there, and of course scare ourselves, with thoughts of ghosts. As the story goes, one day my Grandmother heard all kinds of noise in the attic, she went up there and all the boxes and trunks had been moved around. No one was up there so it was taken as a sign of something to come...a warning! Two days later the house caught fire, there was extensive damage, and my grandmother thought it was my grandfather...who was deceased...and came back to warn her. That story stayed with the family and was repeated at all the card games that were always played in the dining room of the second floor apartment.The children were supposed to be sleeping, but we would lay awake and listen to all the stories.

After grandma died, my Aunt Al and her husband bought the house. They lived on both floors of it, and the stories of ghosts persisted

Here are my grandparents and a friend gardening in the back yard.