A selection from Kim’s Reading, Writing & Chocolate newspaper columns (more than 300 and counting!) written and published 2018 – 2025 in the Katonah-Lewisboro Times, as well as appearing in the Mt. Kisco-Bedford Times, North Salem News and Somers Record newspapers.

2025

December 18, 2025

Holiday state of mind

     It starts earlier each year. Those first signs of the upcoming holiday season: displays of pumpkins and Halloween candy at the supermarket in August followed by decorative holiday cards and ornaments in early November.

     The sights, sounds and scents of the holiday season send subliminal messages to our brains. Twinkling lights wrapped around tree branches and store fronts on Main Street – festive! Giant inflatable Santa Claus and Snowmen on front lawns – be jolly, Christmas is coming! Lavishly decorated store windows, downtown displays and craft markets – the holidays are here! Red, white, silver, blue, and gold wrapped gifts and packaged confections – be merry! Lit candles in menorahs placed in front windows – Hanukka is here!

     The scents of cinnamon and sugar beckon us inside of bakeries and pastry shops. The warmth of simmering apple cider with cinnamon, cloves and orange slices on the stove makes the house smell so inviting! Big business has caught on to the power of our olfactory senses. The shopping district along Fifth Avenue in Manhattan has installations of greenery set up along the sidewalk with sensors giving off whiffs of fresh pine into the air. Passersby appreciate the scent of pine trees as a welcome change to the typical smells of the city.

     That holiday state of mind kicks into gear when we hear certain songs, too. I always smile when I hear Adam Sandler singing “The Chanukah Song” from his skit on Saturday Night Live in December 1994. I also smile when I hear that goofy holiday song, “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer” first released in 1979 by the duo Elmo & Patsy.

     On the weekends there are holiday craft fairs, gingerbread making activities, choir and bell ringing performances, ornament making programs and musical concerts to get people in that holiday mood.

     Couch potatoes can sit back with a cup of hot chocolate and a few homemade ginger cookies to watch all of the classic holiday movies on television. It’s a Wonderful Life has the nostalgia factor, while modern family-friendly fare includes the Home Alone movies, Elf, and remakes of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Apparently, Hallmark Christmas movies have a cult-like following with holiday themed romance movie marathons pulling in viewers of all ages.

     Human beings are influenced by the sights and sounds and smells around us. What if you lived in a town with a holiday-themed name? Would your attitude be affected every time you saw that road sign with the name of your town while driving to work, school, and yoga?  I did my Google research and was astounded by the number of towns across the U.S. with holiday-sounding names. Did you know that 11 towns are named Garland (from Texas to Nebraska, Wyoming to Tennessee)?

     There is a Noel, Missouri. Two towns are named North Pole – one in Alaska and one in upstate New York. There is a little town of Bethlehem in Pennsylvania and in North Carolina. Would you be in a holiday mood if you lived in Holly, Michigan, or Wintergreen, Virginia, or Mistletoe, Kentucky?

     Residents of Rudolph, Wisconsin, and Snowflake, Arizona, are probably a festive bunch. What about the folks who live year-round in Christmas Cove, Maine, or Christmas Valley, Oregon, and Christmas, Florida, and Christmas, Michigan?

     Four towns across America are named Santa Claus – can you believe it? If you want to stay in a happy mood with a holiday attitude of good cheer to all, perhaps you might consider moving to the town of Santa Claus in Georgia, Indiana, Arizona or New Mexico!

Kim Kovach wishes readers a very happy holiday season!

November 20, 2025

Giblets, parades, balloons, oh my!

     Thanksgiving is associated with candied yams, cranberry sauce in a jellied cylinder shape, cornucopias filled with fruits and nuts as table centerpieces, Turducken for the main course, watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on TV, and perhaps a family friendly game of frozen turkey bowling to kick things off!

     Thanksgiving is the busiest time of year for the workers staffing the Butterball Turkey Helpline. People attempt to cook giant frozen turkeys in all sorts of ways – in the oven, in the microwave, in a backyard deep fryer. I’d love to hear some of those desperate calls from first-time home cooks who have forgotten to thaw the frozen turkey or who have discovered that you are supposed to remove the plastic bag of giblets before placing the bird in the oven.

     What exactly are turkey giblets? Giblets is the term for the edible internal organs of poultry often found packaged inside the cavity of whole turkeys or chickens. The heart, liver and gizzard can be chopped up as ingredients for making gravy or stock.

     A gizzard is a muscular organ within the digestive tract of birds used to grind food since turkeys and chickens do not have teeth. I never knew that chickens and turkeys do not have teeth. Now that old phrase claiming that something is “as rare as hen’s teeth” makes perfect sense!

     Are you familiar with the term “turducken?” No, it is not a curse word uttered by a frazzled home cook trying to find a pan large enough to accommodate the gazillion-pound bird for Thanksgiving dinner. A turducken is a deboned turkey that has been stuffed with a deboned chicken which is stuffed with a deboned duck breast. Seasoned stuffing is placed between each layer of poultry. This dish takes a lot of time and skill to prepare and is supposed to offer a unique combination of poultry flavors in every bite.

     According to my internet research, Cajun chef Paul Prudhomme is often credited with having invented the turducken in the 1970s as a turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken.

     Before you pop that frozen turkey into the oven on Thanksgiving Day, your family may want to try a game of frozen turkey bowling. Usually played outdoors in the driveway, all you need is several bottles or bowling pins and then roll the frozen turkey towards them. According to the internet, participants can follow the standard bowling scoring rules. A “gobbler” is for two strikes in a row and a “wishbone” is for a 7-10 split.

     Lots of people have grown up viewing the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in person or on TV. The original parade began in 1924 as a Christmas parade to celebrate the holiday season. That first parade featured store employees dressed as clowns and other characters, musical bands and live animals from the Central Park Zoo. In 1927, the live animals were replaced by large, helium-filled balloons. Re-named the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in 1930, more floats, balloons and marching bands joined the festivities.

     Did you know that the first Mickey Mouse balloon appeared in the parade in 1934? The parade was suspended from 1942 to 1944 because rubber and helium were needed for World War II. In 1945 the parade was televised as a national event for the first time. In 1980, the Superman balloon set a new standard for balloon size at 104 feet long. Today this annual event includes thousands of participants and is enjoyed by millions of spectators around the world.

Kim Kovach wishes readers a very happy Thanksgiving!

October 30, 2025

Witches among us

     My first Halloween costume as a young child consisted of a green plastic witch face mask with attached black pointy hat. The costume included a black shapeless long skirt. My younger brother’s costume was a one-piece skeleton outfit depicting white bones on a black background. My mother thought we looked cute. We wore those Halloween costumes for at least three years.

     I am not a fan of Halloween. It’s just not my holiday. But I have always been interested in the occult, vampires, the spirit world, paranormal investigations, and witches. As a 7^th grader, I rushed home from school to watch “Dark Shadows” a popular afternoon TV show featuring a vampire named Barnabas Collins and a beautiful witch named Angelique. As a teen, I asked for a deck of tarot cards for my birthday. After reading through all of the descriptions, I was too afraid to read my own cards!

     Since 2020, the demand for psychic readings has increased in the U.S. as a result of the Covid-19 pandemic and economic uncertainty. Now psychics offer digital platforms. The online psychic reading market continues to grow with the convenience and 24 hour availability of virtual personal readings via computer and cellphone. In 2025 people are still asking for psychic predictions about jobs, health, and love life.

     Salem, Massachusetts, is known as the “most haunted city in America.” People flock to Salem, especially in October, with its history of the famous witch trials and paranormal activity. The mass hysteria that culminated in the Salem witch trials of 1692 pitted neighbor against neighbor with accusations of witchcraft. Those cold and hungry residents looked for reasons to explain the death of cattle, sickness of loved ones, crop failure and other negative events in their lives. Accusing other residents of witchcraft (especially older women) became a likely explanation for these unfortunate events.

     Walking tours and ghost tours are available in today’s Salem where tourists can visit the Salem Witch Trials Memorial, the Howard Street Cemetery, the Old Burying Point Cemetery, and the historic home where Judge Jonathan Corwin once lived.

     New York and Connecticut have had their share of witch trials, vampire activity and haunted houses, too! During the 17^th – 19^th centuries at least 30 documented cases of trials, hearings and prosecutions of people accused of witchcraft took place in New York.

     In 1669, Katherine Harrison was accused of witchcraft in Wethersfield, CT, and convicted by a Hartford jury in 1670. Katherine was banished from Connecticut and moved to Westchester County, NY, to live with her daughter. Westchester neighbors complained about her but she was allowed to stay and sued her neighbors for defamation in 1672.

     Winifred King Benham and her daughter, Winifred, were tried for witchcraft three times in Wallingford, CT, in the 1690s. They were found innocent and were banished from CT. They moved to Staten Island.

     In the late 1700s, a woman in South Salem, NY, named Granny Brown was considered by neighbors to be a witch. Rumors of her magical powers causing issues with local livestock gave Granny Brown the reputation as the only recognized witch in Lewisboro.

     Modern day witches can participate in the annual Sleepy Hollow Stand Up Paddleboard Witches Festival each October. Participants dress up in black pointy hats and witch attire to paddleboard on the Hudson River in this celebratory event. If you missed it, there’s always next year!

     Tarot card reading, mixing potions or casting spells – you never know what your neighbors are doing behind closed doors!

Kim Kovach has so much fun doing research for her columns!

October 9, 2025

Maligned feathered friends

     I enjoy walking outdoors in October. I notice the changing colors of the leaves on the trees, the faint scent of wood smoke in the air, and the abundance of wildlife. I don’t see any pigeons on my walks.

     Pigeons get a bad rap. Flocks of pigeons are usually found in city parks and urban areas where people carelessly drop food on the ground. Tourists visiting Trevi Fountain in Rome or sightseeing along the streets of London or practically any open space in Manhattan especially near park benches encounter these feathered denizens. I saw a black and white photograph of a man sitting on the edge of a fountain surrounded by pigeons. He must have been tossing pieces of bread or crackers or a hot dog bun to have so many pigeons crowding around his feet.

     Pigeons and doves belong to the Columbidae bird family. Recognizable as plump birds with small heads in shades of gray, black and white with spots and various markings on their feathers, pigeons feed mostly on seeds, fruit and foliage. Pigeons have been around for thousands of years throughout Europe, Asia and the Middle East. A few pigeons must have hitched a ride aboard the early ships headed to the New World and decided to stay.

     According to my pigeon research, these birds are intelligent survivors that mate for life and can recognize and remember the facial features of humans who feed them or may try to cause them harm. In urban environments, pigeons search for food during the day and find safe perches at night to roost on building ledges, window sills and under bridges to avoid nocturnal predators.

     The ancient Egyptians recognized the combination of speed and sense of direction that domesticated pigeons possessed and used pigeons as messengers. During World War I homing pigeons were used to deliver messages across enemy lines. Cher Ami, was one of 600 Army Signal Corps pigeons sent to France to assist with battlefield communication. The legend of Cheri Ami documents this brave pigeon’s flight to deliver a life-saving note to Army headquarters, despite being shot, losing a leg and blinded on her flight across the battlefield. Cher Ami was awarded the French military honor, the Croix de Guerre. This famous pigeon’s taxidermied body is in the Smithsonian Museum of American History. The U.S. Army’s Signal Corps Pigeon program was headquartered at Fort Monmouth, NJ, from 1919 until 1957.

     New York City has a longstanding tradition of pigeon racing. In the 1930s,1940s and 1950s pigeon coops were kept on many rooftops throughout the Lower East Side, Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx. Homing pigeons were specially bred and trained to compete in races. The pigeons were released into the sky to fly from one location and arrive back at their home coop in the fastest time.

     As a young child, my family drove to visit our Italian relatives at the multi-family brownstone they owned in Ridgewood, Queens. My mother’s grandfather (my great-grandfather) was very old and cheerfully greeted us from his bed after a life-time of hard work and injuries as a stone mason. Uncle Tommy would lead us up the four flights of stairs to the rooftop to visit the pigeon coop. I was fascinated to see all of these cooing birds perched in their wooden house high above the bustling streets.

     Pigeons are often referred to as “rats with wings” or as “the cockroaches of the sky.” My favorite pigeon reference found online: “Some days you’re the pigeon, some days you’re the statue.”

Kim Kovach is surprised and proud to say that this column about pigeons is her 300th newspaper column!

July 24, 2025

Saddle up, dudes!

     My mom planned summer vacations for our family each year when I was growing up. I recall a really fun beach vacation on the island of Jamaica where I met a new friend, Susan, who lived in Illinois. My dad was the driver on long car trips to Florida, the Catskills, the Jersey Shore and to Nova Scotia, Canada.

     As a high school student, I remember a family cruise ship vacation. I was plagued by motion sickness the entire cruise. My only respite was on the daily excursions off the ship. One memorable incident from that cruise ship vacation was walking onto a sandy beach in St. Martin and hearing my name being called by a woman in a black one-piece bathing suit wearing a straw hat. It was one of my high school teachers!

     After college graduation, I planned my first summer vacation trip to California. My boyfriend and I flew to San Francisco to spend a few days. Then we drove our rental car to go camping in Yosemite National Park. This was my first camping experience. On the way to Yosemite, we stopped at a K-Mart and bought a tent, two sleeping bags, a cookstove, groceries, etc. It was late afternoon in mid-July. When we arrived at the first campground we were told that all of the tent sites were booked. The park service worker said that we could stay if we asked other campers for permission to share their camp site to pitch our tent. So that’s what we did.

     Yosemite National Park featured gorgeous waterfalls, hiking trails, a beautiful river and lots of wildlife. After two nights, we drove to Big Sur, then Monterey Bay, and finally to Hermosa Beach. Camping, hiking, beaches, and Disneyland made for a fun vacation!

     Over the years, my summer vacations have included hiking trips to Maine, Vermont, Massachusetts, Tennessee, North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Colorado, and San Diego.

     I’ve been looking online at Dude Ranch vacations in Wyoming. So many options for Dude Ranch or Guest Ranch experiences! Dude Ranches like Blackwater Creek Ranch offer trail rides on horseback, fishing, hiking and archery in the beautiful Wyoming wilderness.

     I have not ridden a horse in years. I started riding up at my summer share house in the Berkshires when I was 28. I bought the leather boots and the black velvet riding helmet. I was assigned a large dark brown horse named Rocky. I focused on improving my riding skills each weekend through leisurely group trail rides on the hilly wooded property and also individual trail rides with the owner so I could practice my cantering and galloping with Rocky. I also signed up for time to learn jumping with Rocky in the corral. I enjoyed the thrill of jumping one to two feet off the ground and asked one of my friends to take photos, too.

      The last time I was scheduled to ride Rocky on a trail ride, I arrived at the barn to learn that the owner couldn’t make it but his twenty-something son and his girlfriend said they’d ride with me. They took off on their horses at a full gallop. Rocky rocketed right behind them through the woods on the narrow dirt trail. In sheer terror, I feared being decapitated by the tree limbs whizzing past my head. I hunched down with my face against Rocky’s neck and closed my eyes and prayed as the horses thundered one after the other through the woods. We eventually returned to the horse barn in one piece.

Kim Kovach prefers leisurely trail hikes with waterfall views!

April 24, 2025

Confessions of a farm girl wannabe

     I have watched plenty of reality TV shows over the years including Survivor, Big Brother, the Amazing Race, and The Bachelor. On Thursday evenings I’ve been watching the weekly reality series, Farmer Wants a Wife. Four eligible young farmers from across the U.S. bring a bunch of single “city gals” to live on their farms, do farm chores and go on dates to determine if one of these women will become “Mrs. Farmer.”

     This show reminds me of the Summer of 1995 when I ordered a special issue of The Farm Journal which featured a listing of single farmers from across the U.S. looking for love. That summer, I had just moved into a little house on half an acre with woods in the back, a large garden plot, big backyard and a daily view of deer, chipmunks, squirrels, raccoons, and birds. I had not installed cable TV yet and spent evenings after work looking through the Farm Journal and deciding which single farmers to correspond with.

     I focused on dairy farmers in Eastern Tennessee and Western North Carolina. I like that part of the South. I had traveled to Tennessee and North Carolina several times over the years on hiking trips and vacations. I like the topography, I enjoy grits with my biscuits and eggs for breakfast, and the cost of living is a lot less in that part of the country.

     I have always liked Holstein cows. I’ve stayed on a dairy farm bed & breakfast in Vermont, I like to take photos of cows at county fairs, and I always applaud on long car trips when I see a herd of cows grazing in the fields. Since friends and family members know how much I like cows, I have received numerous cow mugs, oven mitts, earrings, T-shirts and stuffed animals featuring that distinctive black and white Holstein image.

     So that July 1995, I wrote to a few farmers to see if they would write back. Since the Farm Journal did not include photos of the farmers, each farmer sent me a photo with his letter. It was almost the same “official farmer pose” with a skinny guy in jeans and a ball cap standing next to a pick-up truck with a silo in the background.  These were regular hard-working guys, not fashion models. Over the next two months of back and forth letters and telephone calls (no email or Zoom), my top contender was a dairy farmer named Glenn from Greeneville, Tennessee.

     Glenn seemed like a really nice guy. We had great telephone conversations. Glenn invited me down to visit him. I booked a plane ticket to Knoxville for the long Columbus Day weekend. Unfortunately, I learned that every bed & breakfast and motel room was booked because of an annual storytelling festival a few towns away. I did not want to stay at Glenn’s house (that would be too awkward). Instead, Glenn arranged for me to stay with an older farm couple in town.

     On Saturday, I flew down to Knoxville wearing new workboots, nice jeans, a cute top, and a denim jacket.  Glenn picked me up in his pick-up truck. For two days we drove around, I took pictures of cows, I ate grits and biscuits, we went to a farm auction, and I stayed with the older farm couple in their spare room.

     By Monday, as I ran to catch my plane back to La Guardia, I called out, “I just think of you as a friend!”

Kim Kovach still likes cows from a distance.

March 27, 2025

Kindness of strangers

     I fainted in Staples on Wednesday. I literally passed out by the laptop computers.

     It was a lovely sunny day and I had planned several errands about 30 minutes away. My first stop was Target. I try to do a “Target run” every six weeks to stock up on soap, Swiffer dusting cloths, garbage bags, envelopes and the miscellaneous items that always wind up in the shopping cart. I was aghast at the register total.

     The next destination was Staples. My reliable 15 year old ink jet printer had recently malfunctioned. A few days earlier, I had just finished writing a three page story and was printing it out when the machine made loud rattling and grinding noises. The display indicated multiple system failures including “paper jam, printer failure and ink system failure.”

     I called HP tech support and was informed that my Office Jet printer was “vintage” and needed to be replaced. Looking over at my faithful Dell laptop computer which must be close to 20 years old, I realized that I should probably purchase a new printer and a new laptop at the same time. I had not planned on this expense.

     After a bit of online research I planned this trip to Staples to look at HP laptop computers and HP printers. I wanted to feel the keyboard and see the screen size in person. On this fateful Wednesday, I walked into the store and headed for the printer aisle. I just need something to print and make copies, nothing fancy. Then I walked over to the laptop computers. I need a reliable laptop to use for my writing, research, Zoom classes, and email.

     I was fortunate to find a friendly assistant manager close by who offered to help me figure out which laptop would fit my needs and budget.. These laptops seemed thin compared to my beloved Dell laptop. The keyboards are flat and not raised. Will a flat keyboard hinder my writing when I am in a creative mindset with my fingers flying across the keys as fast as the ideas are formed?

     I remember looking down to copy the model number of one of the HP laptops and suddenly feeling dizzy. I said, “I don’t feel well. I’m kind of dizzy.” Shaunte immediately asked, “Do you want to sit down?” I said, “Yes, please.” Shaunte ran to get a comfy office chair on wheels. She gently helped me to sit down and then she ran off to get me a cup of water.

     I recall sitting in that chair in Staples in the laptop computer section and thinking, “What is happening? I still have to ask about flash drives and then drive to the library.” I did not feel well at all. Then I passed out, slumping back in the chair in Staples. A few minutes later, I heard Shaunte asking the manager, Anthony, if they should call someone. Shaunte gently touched my shoulder and I opened my eyes. Shaunte handed me a fruit punch energy drink and told me to take a sip. “This never happened to me before,” I said.

     After several minutes of sitting quietly and sipping the pink energy drink, I thanked the kind Staples employees Shaunte, Anthony and the nice man at the register. I paid for the energy drink and carefully walked out to the parking lot. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I prayed to get home safely the entire 30 minute drive home.

Kim Kovach needs a personal tech advisor!

2024

February 29, 2024

Be happy, eat pasta!

     People are always searching for happiness. Maybe if they changed jobs or ditched their significant other or dyed their hair a new color they could finally be happy. I watched a news segment on TV about people paying up to $12,000 to change the color of their eyes in a search for happiness. Injecting a color pigment directly into the eye can change brown eyes to bright blue. But will blue eyes really make your life happy?

     A quick online search of self-help nonfiction books published in the last couple of years for people who are looking for happiness includes The Meaning of Happiness, The Happiness Advantage, The Art of Happiness, Getting Back to Happy, Habits of a Happy Brain, Happiness: A Guide to Developing Life’s Most Important Skill, and The Courage to be Happy.

     I have not read any of those books. I am reading a wonderful historical fiction book titled, This is Happiness, by Irish writer Niall Williams. This book was recommended by a friend who knows how much I enjoy reading and writing fiction. The story takes place in a small Irish village just at the time that installation and availability of electricity is coming to that part of Ireland. This book has everything a fantastic fiction book should contain – interesting characters, descriptive settings, action, tension, and most of all, beautiful writing. Each page contains phrases that are imaginative and colorful. The lilting Irish brogue comes through while the words create wonderful images. I actually feel happy reading This is Happiness and try to take my time reading to make the chapters last longer.

     A recent study released by the Behavioral and Brain Lab at Italy’s Free University of Languages and Communication, states that pasta can increase happiness and boost a person’s mood. Researchers used neuro-scientific and brain-tracking methods to study the emotional reactions of 40 men and women ages 25 to 55 years old. Scientists discovered that individuals exhibited a powerful and lasting positive emotional-cognitive state after consuming pasta. This positive emotional state was equivalent to the feelings of happiness experienced after participating in a favorite activity like listening to a favorite song or watching an enjoyable movie.

     Seventy-six percent of the respondents in the study reported that eating pasta makes them happy. Of course, this study was conducted in Italy, where lots of pasta is consumed. According to the internet, more pasta is actually consumed in the U.S.  Americans consume 5.95 billion pounds of pasta every year compared to Italy’s second place ranking with 2.98 billion pounds per year.

     People generally think of all types of pasta as warm and nurturing comfort food. Scientists note that pasta’s positive impact on mood is a result of the presence of tryptophan and B vitamins. Tryptophan intake helps to regulate mood. B vitamins promote serotonin production and muscle relaxation. Serotonin can be found in carbohydrates, including pasta, and can promote feelings of happiness and well-being.

     Good to know! I consume pasta several times a week in the form of spaghetti, rotelle, penne, and tortellini. Whether covered in a red tomato sauce or a green pesto or creamy Alfredo sauce, that’s a bowl of comfort and happiness for sure. You can add tiny pasta shapes to a simmering pot of vegetable soup or a big pot of chili, too.

     I agree that happiness-seekers should eat more linguine, ravioli and lasagna. My personal happiness is also attributed to writing, teaching and inspiring 70 students each week, appreciating nature outside, reading, eating avocados, and enjoying chocolate every day!

Kim Kovach is happy writing, teaching, walking, cooking, and baking!

July 25, 2024

My life in boxes

     Over the last couple of months, I’ve been watching a show called “Legacy List with Matt Paxton” on the Create channel. In each episode, Matt visits people who are in the process of moving to a new home or who have decided that they need to de-clutter their overflowing attics, basements and garages. The viewer gets a front row seat to peek into these dusty, crowded spaces and see what kind of junk other people have saved for years.

     Is this an American phenomenon to accumulate so much stuff that we don’t remember where things are and we have to rent extra storage units to hold all of these items that we no longer use? People hold tag sales and yard sales and garage sales to get rid of some of their old furniture and knick-knacks. Then even more people plan out which estate sales and yard sales they can drive to on any given weekend to buy someone else’s stuff.

     The last time I moved, I was confronted with boxes that had been stored in the attic for 16 years. If I hadn’t used that blender or played those board games or hung up that spice rack in all of these years, I shouldn’t lug those boxes onto the moving van. Box by box, I opened and evaluated whether to donate or keep each item. I had dishes and glassware, books and games to donate.

     But what about the more personal belongings that I have accumulated over a lifetime? I have boxes containing photograph albums – remember those? Literally a lifetime of photographic images from childhood, teen years, friends and family, marriage, vacations and adventures carefully placed into the pages of these photo albums. I have framed photographs, too, showcasing people and places from the past. That early 1900s antique-framed sepia tinted photograph of my Uncle Steve as a baby used to be displayed on the wall in my childhood bedroom. In the 1980s, framed photographs of me bungee jumping from a hot air balloon, para-sailing in Mexico, and hang gliding in Tennessee adorned my “Wall of Adventure.”

     Looking around the condo where I have lived for the last 13 years, I have boxes in the closets filled with more photos, yearbooks from high school and college, and diaries from elementary school and middle school years. Reading through some of those leather-clad diaries, I discover scintillating entries including, “Victor said “Hi” to me in the hall today!” and “Mom drove me to Woolworth’s and I bought the new Rolling Stones 45 record!” and “Dad drove us to Carvel for ice cream and we rode in the convertible with the top down!”

     I glance around to see stacks of cassette tapes from the 1980s and 1990s – Soundgarden, Travis Tritt, Black Crows, Alanis Morrisette. But my cassette tape player no longer works. I still have two shelves of VHS tapes but no VCR. I haven’t used my fax machine in more than 10 years. What do you do with all of this stuff? I have old fashioned cameras in a drawer. Can you still buy film and have photos developed?

     I’m confronted with a sense of inertia when contemplating those boxes and possessions. I should commit to going through the clothes in the closets and the mystery boxes. I can donate the clothing and books, drop of the old electronics, and shred the saved articles. But all of this stuff represents the different stages of my interesting life’s journey. Where did the time go?

Kim Kovach has boxes of lesson plans going back to 2002 and income tax papers dating from the 1980’s!

August 29, 2024

That’s a weird job!

     It’s that time of year when students may be leaving their summer jobs to return to the rigors of high school and college. Typical part-time jobs include day camp counselor, life guard, waiter or waitress, barista, retail store clerk, and babysitter.

     Recently, I was talking on the phone with my favorite high school teacher, Mr. Goodman. I mentioned how much fun my creative writing classes have been this summer. Since my classes are on Zoom, most of the writers mute their microphones while each participant reads the new short story they’ve written. One of my students forgets to mute her microphone but I don’t mind because she always laughs loudly in all of the right places when I read a funny story!

     This anecdote reminded Mr. Goodman of a German short story called, The Laugher, by the Nobel Prize winning German writer, Heinrich Bőll. I had never heard of this story and quickly found the charming two-page short story in English on the internet. The story is about a man who works as a professional laugher. He gets paid to attend theatrical plays and comedy clubs and record laugh tracks for TV shows and movies. But this man is conflicted because he never laughs at home and has always been a somber person, even as a small child.

     What an unusual way to earn an income! Over the next few days, I kept thinking about other odd types of jobs like being paid to stand in line for people at the passport office or to test out new products from home. How about a job as a food taster for a politician who is paranoid about being poisoned?

     I did a Google search for more weird jobs and found an entire list of part-time jobs including mattress tester, snake milker and dog food taster. If you don’t mind being groped by strangers, a job as a Professional Cuddler may be right for you! There are places where you can sell your own blood for some quick cash. College students are often recruited to sign up for medical lab experiments. Years ago, I read an ad in the Pennysaver looking for participants to enroll in a medical study at a Fainting Clinic!

     Some odd jobs have been around for years including professional matchmaker to set up eligible singles looking for matrimony and also paid escorts to accompany you to a wedding or college reunion and pretend to be your significant other. Have you ever considered making money with one hand? You could be a specialty parts model and get paid to model rings, bracelets and wrist watches for print ads and TV commercials.

     In Japan, employees are paid to stand on the crowded train platforms and gently push extra commuters onto the packed train cars before the doors close. A Train Pusher is required to maximize the passenger load of each train car as a cost-effective alternative to adding more train cars. People get pushed and shoved on crowded trains anyway, so this is just an accepted part of the daily commute.

     Here’s a fairly new unusual job that I heard about on the news recently – a Baby Name Consultant! Forget about thumbing through books or scrolling through lists of baby names online. For a hefty fee in the thousands of dollars, a Baby Name Consultant can help prospective parents choose the perfect name for their soon-to-be-born bundle of joy. I could definitely do that!

Kim Kovach has worked as a tutor, a baking class instructor, a babysitter, ghostwriter, book store story time reader, freelance recipe developer, and demonstration chef! 

October 31, 2024

Celebrity in the family

     On Sunday I was going through old papers to shred and I discovered an envelope that my Uncle Steve had sent to my dad. “Family Tree” was written on the outside in Dad’s handwriting. I eagerly unfolded a neatly typed Kovach Family Tree with five generations of relatives listed on my paternal side. I had seen this family tree years ago but I did not remember where I had put it!

     Uncle Steve, my dad’s older brother, had compiled the Kovach family tree the old fashioned way – no computer searches or ancestry data bases back in the early 1980s. I remembered Uncle Steve saying that he had written letters to the town and church in Hungary where my Grandpa Kovach’s family had originally lived. Seged is located in the Southern part of Hungary where they grow papika peppers. Uncle Steve could not trace too far back on the family tree. Apparently, the records of births, baptisms, marriages and deaths were kept in the churches and Uncle Steve was informed that a fire or flood had destroyed the oldest records.

     I have always had an affinity for all things Hungarian. Growing up, I kept track of famous Hungarians including talk show personalities Zsa Zsa and Eva Gabor, New York Jets quarterback Joe Namath, and the actor who played the classic horror movie Dracula, Bela Lugosi.

     After I graduated from college, I moved into my first apartment on East 76^th Street in the Yorkville neighborhood of Manhattan. This part of the Upper East Side included many Hungarian bakeries, butcher shops, and restaurants. I often walked to the Hungarian gourmet store, Paprikas Weiss, to buy imported paprika. I even purchased a cookbook with recipes in English and Hungarian at the Hungarian book store.

       In 1985 my first trip to Europe was to visit Hungary, of course!  On the train from Vienna to Budapest, the train stopped as we crossed the Hungarian border. Soldiers with weapons climbed on board and demanded to see our passports. Glancing at my passport, the soldier smiled when he saw the name Kovach and asked me if I spoke Hungarian. I responded sweetly and all tension was eased.

     So now I excitedly perused the neatly typed sheet of paper and looked at all of the Hungarian names – Istvan, Laszlo, Katalin, Mihaly, etc. One name caught my attention – Ferenc Molnar. Ferenc Molnar was one of Hungary’s most famous writers and playwrights! OMG! Am I related to Ferenc Molnar? At last, here is proof that there are writers in my family! But not so fast – I looked closer to see that Ferenc Molnar was the husband of my grandfather’s sister. That’s still great – I am related to a famous author by marriage!

     For three days I was excited about this unexpected discovery on my family tree. On Wednesday, I decided to Google information on Hungarian writer Ferenc Molnar. To my chagrin, the dates did not match up, the names of his three wives did not match up with the name of my grandfather’s sister, and most shocking of all – Ferenc Molnar is not even the author’s real name!

     This distinguished man of literature was actually born Frank Neumann to German-Jewish parents who lived in Budapest, Hungary. At some point, the young writer must have decided to change his name to appear fully Hungarian. Molnar is a common Hungarian last name (similar to Miller in the U.S.).

     So I guess this means that I am the only famous writer on the Kovach family tree!

Kim Kovach teaches fiction writing and creative writing for adults, teens and children.

February 2, 2023

A Writer’s Refrigerator

     Yesterday morning when I opened the refrigerator door, I burst out laughing. The shelves of my refrigerator displayed an almost empty container of half and half, a small jar of mayonnaise, half an avocado, one apple, a container of pesto sauce, and a package of chocolate pudding cups. Hilarious! Is this what it means to be a starving artist/writer?

     Fortunately, it was my grocery shopping day so the refrigerator shelves would be re-stocked by the afternoon. When I think of the refrigerators I have had in various kitchens over the years, it is interesting to reflect back on how my eating habits have changed.

     My first refrigerator as a grown-up was the old refrigerator in the 4^th floor walk-up apartment on East 76^th street. I walked home from work each day and stopped along the way at the fruit market, fish market, specialty stores and the small grocery store to purchase ingredients for dinner. I was flexing my culinary muscles and preparing all kinds of interesting recipes including Cajun shrimp, sautéed scallops, risotto, Hungarian lecso sausage, tacos, and lasagna. I also stocked up on ingredients for bread baking as well as making cookies, brownies and cheesecakes.

     I remember one Saturday morning dedicated to defrosting that old refrigerator, chipping away at the layers of ice taking over the freezer compartment. I had read about using a hairdryer to melt the ice faster but did not want to somehow electrocute myself in the process.

     Years later, taking a walk down the memory lane of past refrigerators, I remember when I kept my new refrigerator in Cross River stocked with grapes, apples, carrots, soda, sour cream, butter, eggs, milk, and heavy cream. You never knew when friends might stop by. I was prepared to whip up a batch of scones with fresh whipped cream or brownies to go with our late night coffee!

     In my refrigerator in the house near Lake Kitchawan, I can clearly remember stocking packages of pepperoni, sliced bologna, bacon, kielbasa, mozzarella and cheddar cheese. That was the year before I got food poisoning eating lunch from a chicken fast food place. I became a vegetarian for life!

     After that transformative experience in April 1996, my refrigerator contained heads of romaine lettuce, fennel bulbs, yogurt, chunks of Havarti with dill cheese and lots of fruit. Years later after a nasty nationwide salmonella scare involving romaine lettuce, I stopped buying lettuce and fresh spinach.

     These days, when the power goes out (as it seems to do quite often), I despair at losing the entire contents of my refrigerator of yogurt, half and half, mayonnaise, butter, eggs, cheese and pudding cups. Don’t even get me started on having to throw out the expensive melted ice cream in the freezer!

     We’ve come a long way from the days when families had to cut out large blocks of ice from the local pond in the winter to store in the ice house on the family farm. In the early 1900’s, lucky families could purchase an ice box to keep a few items cold. They had to buy large blocks of ice delivered by the ice man with his horse and wagon. The ice man had to climb up and down those tenement apartment stairs hauling the chunks of ice on his back!

     In 1913, Fred W. Wolf invented the first electricity powered refrigerator for home use in America. It consisted of a refrigeration unit on top of an ice box. In 1918, William C. Durant introduced the first mass produced home refrigerator with a self-contained compressor.

Kim Kovach needs half and half in her morning coffee!

May 4, 2023

Where the vampires roam

     I wrote a recent column about Connecticut residents requesting that the names of relatives be cleared from accusations of witchcraft in the 1600’s. I mentioned the topic of Connecticut witches in one of my fiction writing classes. Lisa asked if I had heard about Connecticut vampires. She was not joking.    

     I’ve been interested in vampires since childhood. I used to enjoy raising my hand in social studies class when the topic turned to Ellis Island. I proudly announced that my grandmother was born in Transylvania. OOOH! This fact always got a great reaction from my classmates.

     Transylvania is the home of Count Dracula, that stylish denizen of the night. The 1897 Bram Stoker novel, Dracula, was based on legends about Vlad the Impaler, a not very nice castle dweller who lived in the Carpathian Mountains. The remote forested region of Transylvania had been part of Hungary for centuries and is now part of Romania.

     As a seventh grader, I watched “Dark Shadows,” a gothic horror soap opera set in the fictional town of Collinsport, Maine. The show time-travelled between present day and the 1700’s to show the many generations of residents, human and other-worldly, who resided at the Collinwood mansion. One of the main characters was a vampire named Barnabas Collins, played by actor Jonathan Frid.

     New England has a rich vampire history. According to the internet, the New England vampire panic started in the 1790’s. Early settlers in New England looked to supernatural causes to explain infectious diseases, epidemics, and crop failures. Rhode Island was briefly known as “the Vampire capital of America.”

     In 1883, wary villagers in Exeter, Rhode Island, learned that farmer George Brown’s wife, Mary, had become ill and died. Six months later, 20 year old daughter, Mary Olive Brown, also sickened and died. Within a few years, 19 year old daughter, Mercy Brown, died. Teenage son Edwin, a formerly healthy store clerk, became frail and sickly. The village doctor informed George Brown that his family was dying of “consumption” (tuberculosis). Suspicious neighbors thought something more sinister caused this family’s misery.

     In March 1892, a group of men entered Exeter’s Chestnut Hill Cemetery and exhumed the bodies of George Brown’s wife and two daughters. Mrs. Brown and daughter Mary Olive’s bodies had decomposed. But daughter Mercy’s corpse appeared well preserved after two months. Mercy Brown was suspected to be a vampire. Her heart was removed and burned on a rock. The ashes were added to her sick brother’s medicine but he died less than two months later.

     Rumors of vampires abounded in Rhode Island from 1870-1900. The grave of alleged vampire Nelly L. Vaughn of West Greenwich, RI, is supposedly cursed. Nelly died in 1889 at age nineteen. The inscription along the bottom of Nelly’s tombstone reads, “I am waiting and watching for you.”

     The story behind Connecticut’s vampires concerns the multiple deaths of members of the Ray family from Griswold, CT, in the 1840’s and 1850’s. Fearing vampires, the Ray family was said to have removed and burned the hearts of the deceased or placed the femur bones in an X below the skull to prevent the bodies from rising from the graves.

     In 2022, a lawn care company, LawnLove.com, announced that New York is the best city for vampires due to a large population, a busy nightlife, a subway system that runs 24/7, and homes with basements. The best cities for vampires includes: New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Pittsburgh, and Baltimore.

     Think about it, we’re just one Metro North ride away….

Kim Kovach cannot confirm or deny the presence of vampires.

May 18, 2023

Joy finder

     There are optimists and pessimists. Individuals who look at life as a “glass half full” or a “glass half-empty.” Positive-minded people try to “look on the bright side” and just put one foot in front of the other because “tomorrow will be a better day.”

     I prefer the positive folks, those plucky people who wake up each day and try to make the best of the hand they are dealt. Turn off the negative news and avoid the gloom and doomers. Give thanks for the little blessings each day. I am thankful when I have enjoyed a quiet night’s sleep. I applaud each sunny day. I am happy when I write a new short story or newspaper column. We each have our own sources of joy.

     I appreciate a good cup of coffee. I am happy to pick up new library books anticipating afternoons of reading pleasure. I notice a particularly juicy apple or the fantastic aroma of a freshly baked homemade chocolate croissant. You have to actively look for joy each day.

     Anyone can be a joy detector. You just have to turn on all of your senses and actually pay attention to the world around you. Did you know that by consciously telling yourself to smile, and lifting the corners of your lips in a wide grin, your brain receives a message that translates into a more positive mindset? Try it the next time you notice that you are just going through another blah day with a blank expression on your face.

     I keep my joy detector radar on as I go about my day. Oh, look, more green leaves on the trees. Is that a red-headed woodpecker tapping on that tree trunk? I find lots of joy just by looking out of the window. Here comes the brown bunny, hopping across the grass. That little chipmunk is scurrying back and forth across the patio again.

     Staring out at the water and watching the ducks, geese and swans with their honking and splashing can be a source of joy. We are lucky to have so many ponds, lakes and reservoirs to visit. I spotted a great blue heron a few years ago, swooping majestically out of the dead trees and across the pond in search of a meal.

     For a large jolt of joy, drive over to Croton Gorge Park and watch the cascading waterfall over the historic dam. Walk around the park and sit on a bench to bask in the sights and sounds as you contemplate the beauty and force of nature all around.

     I feel joyful driving past horse farms and watching the horses grazing peacefully. You can achieve an infusion of joy by stopping by a garden center and walking slowly along the aisles of colorful flowers, herbs and vegetables. If there is a greenhouse on the property, go inside and observe the hothouse plants, orchids, violets and unusual flora.

     Walk into a local bakery or confectionery store and take a deep breath. That’s joy!

     If your joy detector is on, you may burst into song when you hear an old favorite tune on the car radio or while shopping at the grocery store! Sunrises and sunsets are sure ways to add more joy to your day, if you take time to watch for them. Also spotting a deer and her fawns walking out of the woods, speaking with a good friend on the telephone or trying a new shampoo. There is joy to be found in everyday life. You just have to look for it!

Kim Kovach finds joy in eating squares of dark chocolate after lunch.

February 3, 2022

Cup of memories

     On Sunday morning I was sitting at the kitchen table eating my breakfast crumb cakes and drinking my coffee while looking out of the windows at the snow covering the ground and the blue sky reflected on the icy surface of the pond. As I took a sip of coffee and placed the mug back on the coaster, I realized that I have been drinking out of my favorite coffee mug since 1979!

     Immediately my mind was filled with memories. I remember browsing in the housewares department at Macy’s in Herald Square as a newly married young woman. I saw a display of chunky colorful stoneware mugs with animal designs. I bought one mug with elephants on it for myself and one mug with lions and leopards on it for my new husband. I had always liked elephants. My husband’s birthday was in August – a Leo – thus the lions.

     My elephants coffee mug is the perfect size and weight to easily carry a hot cup of coffee to the kitchen table. The elephants design has not faded over time. Now that I study the design more closely, it looks like a family of whimsical elephants standing in a field of apples. A  decorative band of strawberries circles the mug just below the rim. Apples and strawberries and elephants? I never noticed that before.

     I have moved several times since that first apartment on East 76^th street.  I still have the mug with the lions on it, too. I didn’t keep the husband. Where did the time go?

     On Monday morning, I asked my adult fiction writing students to think about the cup or mug that they drink out of each morning. I asked them to describe this object and then write down all of their thoughts associated with this particular cup or mug.

     What wonderful stories were revealed!  We are all creatures of habit and have strong preferences for the cup or mug that holds our morning coffee or tea.

     Since our writing class is over Zoom, many writers actually held up their coffee mugs like Show & Tell before reading their personal stories. Jackie held up a beautiful bright red demitasse cup and saucer. She said that a few years ago, her husband purchased an espresso machine. He became the family barista every morning. Jackie’s husband makes her a cup of espresso and serves it in that red cup and saucer.

     Deb held up a pink travel mug. She wrote a cute story about the adventures of her travel mug – rolling down the driveway, falling overboard and floating in the lake, etc.  Cynde held up her stained Dunkin Donuts cup and travel lid. She told us that every morning she drives to Dunkin Donuts to pick up a coffee and by the time she pulls into the parking lot at work, her coffee has spilled over the side of the container and onto her coat and car. “The lids never fit!” Cynde told us with a laugh.

     Tony told us the story of his favorite morning coffee mug. He showed us the chunky white mug with the name of a steakhouse restaurant in black letters. “I’ve never been to this restaurant,” Tony told us. “My wife will kill me if she finds out where I got this mug.” Of course we were all anxious to hear more. Tony confided that last year his neighbors were moving away and left cardboard boxes at the curb. Tony spotted the white mug in one of the boxes on his daily walk. “It’s my favorite mug now!”

Kim Kovach finds story writing inspiration everywhere!

July 28, 2022

Magic box

     Family, friends, students, and readers of my columns know that I love chocolate: Chocolate cake, truffles, brownies, ice cream, and candy bars. This past March, a large heavy carton arrived for me at the post office from my favorite high school teacher, Mr. Robert Goodman. What did he send me?

     After arriving home, I opened the carton, read the lovely birthday card and then unwrapped the heavy square package inside. It was a bright green cardboard box with the word SPORT printed in bright yellow letters. Sport? Is this exercise equipment? Maybe free weights or those elastic tension bands?

     I noticed Hungarian words printed on the back and 2,604 kilograms. Then I saw the word Budapest. When I lifted the box cover, I was astonished to see rows and rows of  individually wrapped chocolate bars in bright green wrappers with yellow lettering imported from Hungary!

     The contents smelled divine! What a super-thoughtful, unique birthday gift! I called Mr. Goodman and said, “What a fun surprise! Thank you for a lifetime supply of chocolate bars!”

     Mr. Goodman explained that Sport chocolate has been a popular candy bar in Hungary since the 1950’s. I was thrilled to have this unusual gift imported from Hungary! Not only was Mr. Goodman my Hungarian language teacher in my senior year at Bayside High School, but we are both Hungarian-Americans and have a strong connection to all things Hungarian.

     After finishing our weekly telephone conversation, I was excited to try one of my new Hungarian chocolate bars. The ingredients on the wrapper were printed in Hungarian. I did see the word rumos (rum?) and the word energia (energy?). I unwrapped one slender Sport bar and gently broke it into four pieces. The dark chocolate coating on the outside revealed a chocolate cocoa filling on the inside. Mmmm. I had never tasted anything like this before! I savored each delicious piece as the chocolate melted in my mouth.

     I lifted the heavy green treasure box of confectionary delights onto a shelf in my kitchen cabinet. I could enjoy one Sport bar as a treat every afternoon. That was on a Friday. By Tuesday, I excitedly described this wonderful birthday gift to my afternoon writing class students. “I don’t know what’s in these chocolate bars,” I said, “but I feel ten years younger! I actually feel kind of hyper!”

     So March turned to April. April turned to May and May turned to June. Several times a week around 3pm in the afternoon, I opened the kitchen cabinet and reached inside the bright green box to grab my afternoon Sport bar from the seemingly unending supply. I did not eat a chocolate bar seven days a week. Some afternoons I ate a couple of cookies just to change it up.

     By mid-June, I had the realization that one of these days I might reach into the bright green Sport box and the magic box would be empty! I lifted the Sport box out of the kitchen cabinet to see how much inventory remained. Six chocolate bars. Since it was now summer, I had been eating ice cream in the afternoons. I started a formal countdown so that I could savor each remaining Hungarian chocolate bar.

     On Saturday afternoon, July 2^nd, I opened the green box on the shelf in the kitchen cabinet and lifted out my last Hungarian chocolate Sport bar. I wanted to make a ceremony out of savoring this delicious chocolate melt-in-your-mouth confection. I gently separated this final Sport bar into four pieces and enjoyed the chocolatey goodness one piece at a time!

Kim Kovach recommends this chocolate taste experience!

September 8, 2022

My life in bags

     My foyer is filled with bags. Stacks of reusable tote bags for grocery shopping, colorful gift bags and more tote bags reluctantly purchased when I forget to bring the bags I already own.

     Before Zoom, I usually carried my class notes, water bottle and umbrella in a fabric tote bag when driving to teach my writing classes.

     Years ago, for my first full time teaching job, I received an adorable canvas tote bag from the kind senior teacher in the classroom next door. With bright red handles and primary colored designs of children’s handprints, that colorful tote bag carried my lunch, water bottle, lessons, stickers and school supplies each day for years.

     In college, I remember carrying my books, notes and pens in a red and white woven tote bag that my friend, Alexandra, had brought back from her summer vacation in Greece. The tote bag fabric was itchy but it held everything that I needed to walk across the campus and up the stairs to all of my classes each day.

     In high school, I carried my books, pens and homework in a green knapsack that I bought in the army/navy store. I could fling one strap over my shoulder as I navigated the crowded stairwells in between classes. One day when the bell rang to change classes, the new student from France started talking to me and walking with me in the hall. As we approached the staircase to go down to the lower floor, the French guy pulled at my knapsack. Maybe he was trying to be chivalrous and carry my books. But I’m from Queens and I thought he was going to throw my knapsack down the stairs as a prank. I tugged my knapsack out of his hands and hurried on to my next class!

     This life-long habit of carrying objects around in a bag started in first grade with my very first schoolbag. I remember that it was imitation leather and green plaid with a top zipper and a sturdy handle. I carried my pencils, crayons, homework sheets and workbooks, along with the sandwich, apple and cookies packed by my mom each morning.

      Most days I had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread. Sometimes bologna.  But one day, I reached into my schoolbag, opened up the wax paper baggie and discovered a sandwich with American cheese slices! The horror! I DID NOT LIKE CHEESE!  Mom must have run out of peanut butter and jelly. I ate my apple and cookies. I walked up the aisle from my desk (we ate lunch in the classroom) to throw out that cheese sandwich in the only trash can that was right next to Mrs. Hanson’s desk. “You can’t throw that out!” barked Mrs. Hanson. “Throwing away food is sinful!” Since I could not throw out that cheese sandwich at school, I just shoved it down to the bottom of my schoolbag.

     Two more times over that first grade year, I discovered a dreaded cheese sandwich! And two more times I quietly shoved those sandwich baggies into the bottom of my schoolbag. That schoolbag went into my bedroom closet over the summer vacation.

     In early September, Mom was in “back-to-school” mode. My brother was entering kindergarten and I would be starting second grade. Mom was hanging up the new school clothes in my closet and said, “What’s that smell?” She opened up my forgotten schoolbag and discovered a green moldy mess of uneaten cheese sandwiches. Mom freaked out! The next day we went shopping for a new schoolbag!

Kim Kovach learned to pack her own lunch!

January 28, 2021

Remember me?

     From the moment we are born, people pass in and out of our lives: Parents, siblings, grandparents, neighbors, childhood friends, teachers, classmates, co-workers, dates, spouses, etc.   A few people make significant impressions, many are just ships passing in the night.

     Last April as we were all hunkered down in the beginning of pandemic mode, I received an email from a woman (Hi Bernadette!) who said that she read my column in the newspaper each week and wondered if I remembered her. She had been a college intern in the small public relations agency where I had worked in 1985-1986. She recognized my name and photo (even wearing a pink baseball cap!) and recalled that I was fun to work with and that she had learned a lot about public relations. I was so pleased to be remembered fondly in this surprise email.

     In November, I received a lovely email from a different woman (Hi Heidi!) who read my article in the winter issue of Westchester Senior Voice magazine and wanted to reach out. She said that she recognized my name and photo (a tiny headshot wearing a goofy fedora!) and wondered if I would remember her. She had been a recent college graduate hired at the first public relations agency where I had worked in 1981-1982. In the email, she said that she remembered me because I was one of the only people that was kind to her and taught her public relations writing. Wow! That was forty years ago!

     What a wonderful feeling to know that I made such a positive impression on these two women years ago. I beamed with pride for a few days. Then I thought, I can’t just accept these lovely gifts of positive memories. I need to reach out to my favorite high school teacher, Mr. Robert Goodman.

     Mr. Goodman was my Hungarian teacher at Bayside High School, the only New York City public high school to offer Hungarian language as an elective. My father’s family is Hungarian, so I couldn’t wait to take this class. But most of the high school seniors just signed up for the class to have Mr. Goodman as their teacher! This joyful educator made learning Hungarian fun.  

     I only had one semester of Hungarian with Mr. Goodman. I had already planned to graduate early in January and go straight to college. After high school graduation, Mr. Goodman and I kept in touch through holiday cards until 1990. But I did not forget him. I have thanked Mr. Goodman in previous columns, Thank a Teacher in 2018 and Graduation in 2019. This special teacher had no idea that one of his students had written about him and kept him in high regard since the 1970’s.

     I resolved to find Mr. Goodman and let him know how much I valued him for setting a wonderful example as a kind and enthusiastic educator.  I narrowed down my Google search and took a chance sending a two-page letter and copies of my columns inside of a holiday greeting card.

     A couple of days into the New Year, I drove to the Cross River post office to pick up my mail. At the bottom of the stack was a large red envelope with R. Goodman in the corner! I literally shrieked with happiness as I opened the envelope in the post office. Mr. Goodman and I have reconnected. We’ve chatted on the telephone twice so far, for more than one hour each time, not just as teacher and student but as friends!

Kim Kovach makes fiction writing fun with classes via Zoom for adults, teens and children.

March 18, 2021

The Kim Show

     Sometimes I feel like a game show host. Leading my Zoom writing classes, I have to constantly be on the alert. Occasionally, students forget to mute their microphones before they answer a personal phone call (resulting in the class listening to an entire telephone conversation). Technical glitches often arise when students have bad audio feedback or their volume is so low that we are practically forced to lip-read. While I am frazzled by these technology issues, I have to maintain my light-and-breezy manner while remaining in control of the class.

     I resist the urge to yell, “Live from South Salem…..” at the start of each class. Teaching my writing classes is exhilarating. I want to hear every participant’s story and make helpful and positive comments. In warmer weather, some students sit outside on their decks for our classes. We never know when a loud squawking bird, barking dog or noisy lawnmower will interrupt while that person is reading to us.

     Years ago I had the opportunity to be in an actual TV commercial for a regional gourmet food store chain. Different sections of the store were to be highlighted including the deli, bakery, fresh produce, etc. I was dressed in a white chef’s jacket and was instructed to sauté a pan of shrimp and then flambé the skillet on camera. (If you are a faithful reader of my columns, you may recall I have an aversion to lighting things on fire ever since my hair caught on fire blowing out the candles at my Sweet Sixteen birthday party!).

     We practiced the segment a couple of times. I remember feeling nervous. I know that I was blushing like a red tomato which must have contrasted with my white chef’s jacket. The director yelled, “Cut!” and the camera crew moved on to the bakery department.

     A few weeks later, the first airing of this TV commercial was scheduled during the six o’clock news. I set my VCR to tape it so that I could show the commercial to my parents. I sat on the edge of the sofa waiting to see myself on television. The familiar store jingle came on with a montage of bright colors and juicy looking produce and shelves stocked with gourmet delights. For a split second, there was my arm sticking out of the sleeve of a white chef’s jacket and holding a pan of shrimp. Was that it?

     I later learned that the commercial was filmed during a Screen Actors Guild strike. Since I did not have a SAG card (why would I?), they could not show my face or the other non-SAG people who had participated in this TV commercial. Imagine my family’s reaction, when I brought the VHS tape over. I showed my dad, brother and Uncle Steve the new commercial. “There’s my arm!” I shouted gleefully. We viewed the commercial three times. I’m pretty sure they believed me.

     When I taught Kindergarteners, I always thought up creative ways to make learning fun. One year, I decorated a large poster board with a big square cut out in the center. I printed “K-I-M TV” on the top of the “TV screen.”  Each student was given the job of Sports announcer or Weather forecaster or Traffic reporter. The boys and girls held props like a football or matchbox cars or sunglasses and each decided what to say for their morning report.  A great way to introduce the concept of public speaking, the kids enjoyed making brief presentations to their “viewing audience.”

Kim Kovach teaches fiction and narrative nonfiction writing classes via Zoom for adults, teens and children. 

June 24, 2021

Box of Knowledge

     When I was very young, our family owned a black and white television set inside of a long wooden cabinet. This stylish entertainment center also contained speakers on each end, a phonograph, a pull-out drawer for record albums, a tuner and radio. Sliding wooden doors could be pulled together to hide the high tech equipment when company came over.

     I remember sitting on the floor, in my frog-like position, and watching kid-friendly TV shows like Captain Kangaroo and Romper Room. The lady on Romper Room (Miss Sharon?) looked directly into the camera at the end of the show and called out children’s names in the viewing audience. I waited to hear her say, “Kim” but I don’t think she ever did.

     Captain Kangaroo was not my favorite character. I thought the blonde bangs of his bowler cut hairdo didn’t look good on an older portly gentleman. I looked forward to appearances by Mr. Greenjeans, his farmer neighbor.

     Actually, on Saturday mornings, my brother and I would wake up early and tip-toe down the stairs to turn on the television set in the living room. My parents were still asleep at 6AM. The children’s cartoons did not start that early, so I eagerly watched the agricultural show, Modern Farmer. I learned a lot about potato harvesting and irrigation while my brother rolled his Tonka trucks around on the living room carpet.

     I may be the only child who did not enjoy watching cartoons in my formative years. I did not like the violence of cartoon characters hitting each other over the head or blowing up sticks of dynamite. I did not see the humor.

     I did enjoy watching old episodes of The Little Rascals. Filmed in the 1930’s as movie shorts, these children in their scruffy clothing playing in the California sunshine had distinct personalities and were always fun to watch. I looked forward to seeing the new adventures and high-jinx of Spanky, Darla, Alfalfa, Stymie, Porky, Pete the dog, Miss Crabtree, and the rest of the Our Gang cast. From 1922 – 1944 more than 220 Our Gang comedies were filmed with a new cast of child actors every few years. I can recall many of the classic episodes to this day.

     My brother and I watched lots of TV sitcoms including The Beverly Hillbillies, Hazel and Bewitched. The little fiction writer in me was interested in the characters, dialogue, and misunderstandings presented each week. 

     I remember watching episodes of Petticoat Junction (I thought it was funny that all of the sisters were named after their Uncle Joe – Betty Jo, Bobbie Jo and Billie Jo!). We watched episodes of The Real McCoys, the Andy Griffith Show and Lassie, too.  Sometimes we watched Leave it to Beaver and Dennis the Menace. Dennis was annoying and I didn’t care what happened to “the Beav.”

     Father Knows Best was one of my favorite shows. I wasn’t particularly interested in the two sisters, but I liked the father and brother, Bud. As a young television viewer, I observed the different ways that characters spoke to each other, the regional references and the foods they served at family meals.

     I absolutely remember watching the somber funeral of President John F. Kennedy on TV. We had the day off from school and every TV station showed the grieving widow, the two young children and the horse-drawn casket. I clearly remember little John-John’s salute to his father’s coffin.

     Television showed that life can be cruel and bad things can happen. There is no canned laugh track in real life.

Kim Kovach could happily watch re-runs of Seinfeld every day.

July 22, 2021

Dark Shadows

     Summer TV viewing leaves a lot to be desired, especially between 8pm – 10pm.

     Sometimes I am lucky to catch a repeat of an interesting documentary on one of the PBS channels. Recently I watched a biography of singer/songwriter Sam Cooke and a program on the life and work of neurologist and author, Oliver Sacks.

     We have to wait until fall in order to watch an exciting TV program that has everybody talking about it the next day. Remember when viewers waited anxiously for the next season of “Downton Abby”?  

     A few years ago, I planned my Sunday evenings around the new episodes of “Poldark” starring that dreamy actor, Aidan Turner. I was hooked in season one when the brooding Captain Ross Poldark returned from the Revolutionary War and learned that his one true love had not waited for him but married his cousin instead. Several scenes focused on heartbroken Ross Poldark, with his long dark hair and intense gaze, cutting the tall grass in his fields with a long scythe – shirtless – under the hot midday sun!

     Remember when the entire country faithfully watched “Dallas” on TV each week (1978-1991)? Viewers were left to speculate and wonder “who shot JR?” for the entire summer until the new fall season began.

     Another evening “soap opera” that I enjoyed watching was “Knots Landing” (1979-1993). That was before “Desperate Housewives” became popular in 2004-2012. Episodic television shows draw the viewer in with diabolical characters that we loathe and sympathetic characters that we cheer on week in and week out. We tune in for the characters and the ever-changing storylines.

     When I was in sixth and seventh grades, I was a big fan of “Dark Shadows.”  I watched this Gothic horror soap opera every afternoon.  Airing on ABC right after “One Life to Live,” the residents of Collinsport, Maine, had a lot of secrets, especially the supernatural kind.

     Set in 1795, “Dark Shadows” not only had heroes and villains, but also vampires, werewolves and witches. Mysterious Barnabas Collins arrived in his black cape and was extremely furtive. The viewers watched him rise up out of his coffin as the sun set. The episodes moved backwards and forwards in time to show the different generations of the Collins family.

     Viewers tuned in to follow the storylines for the Collins and Stoddard families in the present day, as well as Quentin, Angelique and Barnabas in the 1700’s and 1800’s. I bought the “Dark Shadows” soundtrack record album and packs of character trading cards.

     Mom and I were lucky enough to travel into NYC to watch a cast rehearsal at the ABC studios. I brought my autograph book. Despite my shyness, I walked up to my favorite actors Jonathan Frid (Barnabas Collins), Lara Parker (Angelique) and Kate Jackson (Daphne) to request an autograph. Scripts from previous episodes were scattered on a table off to the side. One of the studio people told me to help myself. I was thrilled to add two actual scripts to my “Dark Shadows” collection!

     A few months later, my mom noticed that I was reading books about the occult and had requested Tarot Cards for Christmas. According to Mom, the final straw was when she peeked into my room one night and saw me sleeping with my arms crossed, as if resting in a coffin. Mom forbade me from watching “Dark Shadows.”  I promptly devised a plan to visit a different neighborhood friend’s house each afternoon to watch the latest episodes of “Dark Shadows.” The embargo was short-lived. I think Mom also enjoyed watching “Dark Shadows!”

Kim Kovach often wakes up with her arms crossed! 

October 28, 2021

Queens, born & raised

     I grew up in a small suburban neighborhood in Queens. The large picture window in my upstairs bedroom provided a view of waterfront houses and boats sailing along the East River.

     This quiet pocket of Queens was a mix of single family homes and apartment buildings. We had plenty of trees and grass and the bonus of a tiny beach and marina within walking distance. Since our road was the last street before the water, we did not have much car traffic. Children played outside: punch ball, roller skating, jump rope, and riding our bicycles.

     Queens has always been cool. When I was growing up, Queens was the home of the NY Mets and also the location of the 1964 World’s Fair at Flushing Meadows Park. The Beatles played a concert at Shea Stadium in August 1965. The Rolling Stones performed at Forest Hills Tennis Stadium in July 1966. As an elementary school aged child, I was not allowed to attend those music concerts. Instead, on weekends, my family sometimes hopped into the car to drive for pizza or to Carvel for ice cream.

     I remember walking after school with my friend, Irene, to the stationery store to buy candy or tiny colored beads to make jewelry. As an additional excuse to walk and talk, I often asked my mom if she needed any groceries from Waldbaum’s. All of our friends and siblings played outside unless it was raining. In winter, we went sledding down the big hill two streets over. We could bike ride to the Throggs Neck Bridge or even further to the park near the Whitestone Bridge.

     Department stores, record stores and Army/Navy stores were located in Flushing. As a teen, my friends and I took the Q-15 bus into Flushing on Saturdays to shop for new jeans or record albums.

     After graduating from Bayside High School, I attended Queens College, a part of the City University of New York. After the first year of taking two city buses each way to get to campus from my family’s house, my brother and I pooled our money to buy a Pontiac from a cute guy in our neighborhood.

     I enjoyed my years at Queens College. I also had fun going to evening rock concerts on campus to see Peter Frampton, Hall & Oates and the group, Meatloaf. (Fun fact: the lead singer, Meat Loaf, actually performed on stage in a wheelchair that night since his leg was in a cast!)

     Many famous people attended Queens College, besides me. One famous graduate is comedian Jerry Seinfeld. He must have been proud of his college days there since Jerry wore a Queens College T-shirt on a couple of episodes of his TV sitcom, Seinfeld. In another episode, when Jerry got a very short haircut that made him look like a five-year old boy, he wore a Queens College baseball cap to cover the bad haircut. 

     Comedians Ray Romano and Carol Leifer also attended Queens College. So did actors Fran Drescher, Jon Favreau and Hal Linden. Musicians Paul Simon and Marvin Hamlisch also walked the halls of Queens College.  

     I never received an alumni newsletter from Queens College. The mail would have gone to my parents’ address. I have no idea what my fellow students are up to decades after sitting in the same classes or walking past them in the Quad. I’m sure many titans of industry and artists, writers, teachers and medical professionals graduated from Queens College. Please don’t start sending me any alumni requests for donations!

Kim Kovach does not have a Queens accent, except for saying, “Cawfee.”

November 4, 2021

Be Yourself

     How did I get here? This might be a logistical question someone may ask when they can’t remember where they parked the car at the mall. But this can also be a philosophical question. How did I become the person I am today?

     Sometimes it is beneficial to stop and take a look at the long journey of your life. Most journeys are not straight lines from start to finish. My personal journey has had lots of twists and turns and detours. How did you become who you are today?

     As children and teens, we take our cues from influences around us – parents, siblings, family members, and teachers. We are also influenced by celebrities, music, books and movies. Some children grow up attending the same schools as their parents, attending the same college or university, or going into the same trades or small businesses that their families have owned. Following a path that is pre-ordained and set out for you may work well or may be too restrictive.

     Growing up, my parents did not give me any advice for career path, higher education, financial responsibility, or relationships. I considered myself lucky that my parents were not trying to micro-manage every aspect of my life. One teenage friend had to model the new clothes and shoes she bought so that her father could see how she was spending his money. (I thought that was kind of creepy since she mostly bought short skirts and skimpy tops.)

     I remember one summer night when my friend, Alexandra, and I were sitting on the hood of my dad’s car in front of my parents’ house. A girl we had known since childhood, Lorraine, came walking up the street holding hands with her new boyfriend. Alexandra and I did not have boyfriends at the time. We were not at all interested in Lorraine’s pudgy boyfriend. The fact that Lorraine even had a boyfriend is what really bugged us.

     We pretended to be interested when Lorraine stopped for a few minutes to chat. Like a snarky high school girl, I remember asking, “Lorraine, what is your secret?”  This former childhood acquaintance did not catch the sarcasm but thoughtfully responded, “All I can say is be yourself. That’s it, really. Just be yourself.” After Lorraine and her boyfriend continued up the street towards her house, Alexandra and I laughed and repeated to each other, “Just be yourself!”

     Wise words. As a high school student, I forged ahead in my own way, buying clothing, books and records of my own choosing. I decided to graduate high school early and go straight to college. I majored in Creative Writing and Anthropology without any idea of how I would earn a living. But those were the classes I enjoyed – be yourself!

     It was exciting to buy furniture for my first apartment. No one was telling me how to decorate. It was fun to buy cool earrings at the local street festivals – be yourself! From job choices to relationships, vacations to hobbies (baking! hiking! gardening!) I followed my interests and passions and carved out my own path in this world.

     If something interests me, I pursue learning more about the subject. Sometimes new ventures are scary, but you just try it and see how it turns out.  That’s how I wrote and published my first book (six fiction books and two anthologies later!), that’s how I bungee-jumped from a hot air balloon, hiked trails in more than twelve states, hosted a 13-episode podcast, and started teaching fiction writing classes (inspiring writers since 2007!). I’m just taking Lorraine’s advice, “Just be yourself!”

Kim Kovach encourages individuality.

June 18, 2020

Finding Beauty

     How do you define beauty? Do you go out of your way to look for beauty or add beauty to your life on a daily basis?

     Despite staying indoors for three months, we are always surrounded by the beauty of nature. Just standing by the sliding glass doors or sitting in the rocking chair looking out of the windows, I notice beauty in the graceful swoop of a bird or the effortless flitting motions of a butterfly hovering above the flowers. I find beauty in the chipmunk scurrying across the patio and in the fluffy brown bunny scampering across the grass.

     Looking skyward, I see beauty in the white puffy clouds floating across the brilliant blue sky. After dinner, I observe the streaks of pink, peach and purple in the sky before sunset.

     A quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson reminds us to “never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God’s handwriting.” Beauty may be fleeting, like spotting a hummingbird poised above the azalea blossoms before it darts away. Beauty may be unexpected. Looking up at a flock of geese flying overhead towards the pond or when the sunlight shines through the delicate threads of a spider’s web.

     A friend in Pound Ridge recently put up a new bird feeder in her yard. She was looking forward to attracting orioles to her new bird feeder. She told me that she walked over to the windows several times those first few days to see if the birds were enjoying this new feeding station. On one mid-morning peek out of the window, she did not see any birds at the bird feeder, but she did spot a black bear ambling across her lawn. Unexpected beauty!

     There are many wonderful quotes about finding beauty in nature. The artist, Henri Matisse, is quoted as saying, “There are always flowers for those who want to see them.” Writer Laura Ingalls Wilder, that little girl on the prairie, once wrote, “If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere.”

     Beauty actually appeared in my email recently (Thanks, Sandi!) with a lovely poem titled, “I Want to Age Like Sea Glass” written by Bernadette Noll. A contemporary writer who grew up spending summers on the Jersey Shore with her family, Ms. Noll found a colorful piece of sea glass as an adult and recalled those childhood summers. She wrote the poem in 2014 to honor her sister who died three years earlier.

     The beautiful message of this poem is that our life experiences shape us. In an interview after the poem was published, Ms. Noll stated that sea glass “isn’t sharp or jagged. It is lovely in whatever shape you find it, and the more it has been tossed around, the more lovely it is!”

     Maybe beauty, for you, is in preparing a delicious home-cooked meal or in gazing into the eyes of your pet cat, taking a walk with your dog or planting in your garden.  Beauty can be found on a hike through the woods to glimpse the majesty of a cascading waterfall or snapping photographs of swans floating across a reservoir.

     A favorite painting or family heirloom or hand-knit sweater may be beautiful if it holds special memories for you. Hearing the voice of a friend or loved one you have been thinking about is beautiful.

     Perhaps beauty is seeing your son or daughter standing in the driveway in cap and gown and knowing that you have raised a resilient human being ready to go out into this world. What does beauty mean to you?

Kim Kovach finds beauty in writing words to share with readers.

August 27, 2020

Piano lessons

     My neighbor called to ask if I could move my car on Saturday morning. She was expecting a shipment from Europe and wanted to make sure there was enough room for the delivery truck.

     After moving my car that morning, I went for a walk around the neighborhood. The large white truck had arrived precisely at 8:30am and was gone by the time I returned home. That afternoon, I sat down at the kitchen table to eat my lunch and was treated to an impromptu tinkling of the ivories from next door. My neighbor had inherited a piano.

     I was surprised at how clearly the sound traveled. I was even more impressed by the fact that my neighbor was able to sit right down and launch into a classical music composition after not playing an instrument for years. As I enjoyed my live concert while eating yogurt and a banana, I thought back to the many years I had taken piano lessons as a child.

     I was in first grade when my parents announced that we were getting a piano. My father’s partner and his wife were re-decorating their Manhattan apartment and offered my family their piano. I remember the day our piano was delivered. It was a beautiful shiny cherry colored wood. The padded piano bench lifted up to store sheet music. Each black and white key beckoned to be plinked to hear the different sounds. Now I needed piano lessons.

     My first piano teacher was old Mrs. Anderson. She lived in the dark apartment building two blocks away from our house and taught piano lessons in her living room. I have no idea what songs I was taught to play. I do remember a spring piano recital. Mrs. Anderson had folding chairs set up in her living room for the proud Moms and Dads to sit and listen and realize where their hard-earned money had gone.

     After a couple of years, my next piano teacher was a family friend named Mrs. Hempe. I remember bringing sheet music for an Elton John song. I wanted to play rock and roll. Mrs. Hempe said that I was not ready for that and just turned to the next page in the piano lesson book.

     My parochial school did not have any musical instrument instruction. We had music appreciation class once a week with Mrs. West. We learned to read notes and sing songs. We also learned all of the musical terms like fortissimo and arpeggio. We learned all about the great composers like Bach and Beethoven and Mozart.

     The next piano teacher lived in a high-rise apartment building. She wore a lot of make-up. I barely practiced during the week. It was not a good fit.

     Mom was not a fan of driving all over town to take my brother and me to after school activities. Mom found a guitar teacher who made house calls when my brother decided to learn acoustic guitar. Old Mr. G arrived at our house once a week and supervised my brother’s guitar lessons in our living room.

     Mom was happy to learn that old Mr. G had a forty year old son who taught piano lessons and also made house calls! Mr. M waltzed into our home reeking of cologne. I placed my Elton John sheet music on the music stand, but Mr. M preferred the classics. I learned to play Beethoven’s Fűr Elise.

     My piano lessons ended after Mr. M  asked my mother what time I arrived home from school, where was my bus stop and which direction did I walk home?

Kim Kovach appreciates musical talent in others.

January 31, 2019

Playing My Songs

     I’ve always loved listening to music. As a little kid, I liked to listen to the chart-topping songs of the 1960’s on my transistor radio. Sometimes I would sing along to the car radio from the backseat if my mom turned to the cool station. My dad usually preferred talk radio or baseball games if he was in charge of the car radio.

     My cousin, Ilona, gave me my first Beatles record. She was a huge Beatles fan and had two copies of “She Loves You.”  I started purchasing my own 45’s at Woolworth’s and kept my new collection in a red and white checked carrying case. I carefully wrote down the song titles and musical groups on the cardboard divider tabs.  I remember setting up my portable record player on the back steps on a summer afternoon and lip-synching to “Paint it Black” and “Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown.” At nine years old, my first LP record album purchase was Aftermath by the Rolling Stones. Give me the Rolling Stones over the Beatles any day of the week.

     Certain songs evoke specific times and places in my life. When I hear Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son” I think of the year we lived in Florida. In the Florida house, I often listened to records in my room or outside on the patio by the pool. Listening to Melanie singing “Candles in the Rain” was almost like being in church. Whatever happened to her?

     Throughout high school and college, my album collection continued to grow. I started going to rock concerts at Madison Square Garden and also Queens College and St. John’s. I kept the concert ticket stubs as souvenirs tacked up along the shelves of my bookcase at home. In those rock and roll years, I saw Peter Frampton, Led Zeppelin, Rod Stewart, Bad Company, Queen, the Kinks, Linda Ronstadt, Eddie Money, Meatloaf, and Hall & Oates in concert.

     When I moved into my fourth-floor walk-up apartment in NYC, it was so much easier to go to concerts after work without the long commute from Queens. I was lucky enough to see Bruce Springsteen, Bob Seeger, Elton John, Billy Squier, INXS, U2 and many more bands. My album collection grew weekly with vinyl tunes by Bon Jovi, Aerosmith, The Police, Foreigner and Def Leppard.

     While the rock music of the 1970’s is iconic, I am partial to the music of the 80’s and 90’s.   Any Billy Idol or Talking Heads song can bring me back to those carefree days of driving up to the Berkshires on Friday nights in the summer to our weekend share house at Lake Buehl. It was our Saturday night ritual to blast “Psycho Killer” after dinner while we all got dressed up to go out for the evening. Ahh, those were the days.

     In the 1990’s, I was living in Lewisboro. I had a lot more living room space to dance around in compared to that tiny fourth-floor Manhattan apartment. Now I was collecting my favorite music on CD’s instead of vinyl. My new favorite songs were from Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Metallica, and Temple of the Dog. The raw emotion in the signature wails of Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell combined with the sounds of blazing guitars resonated with me.

     Over the recent holiday weekend, I was very thankful that the forecasted snowstorm turned out to be no big deal. We still had heat and power and the sun was shining so who cares if it is fifteen degrees below zero? On Sunday afternoon, I had finished reading my last library book and looked around for another form of entertainment.

     Let’s play some music! I loaded a selection of discs into the CD player and was transported back to the heydays of the 1980’s and 1990’s. Metallica, INXS, Alice in Chains, Temple of the Dog, and Depeche Mode blasted from the living room speakers. What a wonderful afternoon! 

Kim Kovach’s eclectic musical taste includes polka music, blues guitar, gypsy music and reggae.

February 21, 2019

Go with the Flow

     Over the weekend, I was reading a business book and came across the name, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, in reference to the highly focused state of concentration known as “flow.” My first thought was, “I have to include Mihaly on my list of Famous Hungarians!” My second thought was, “That’s how I feel when I’m writing!”

     Over the years, I have compiled a list of Famous Hungarians. I am proud of my Hungarian heritage and enjoy learning about interesting Hungarians. My list includes: 1) Bela Lugosi – the actor famous for playing Count Dracula in the 1930’s. 2) Harry Houdini – famous illusionist/escape artist. 3) Erno Rubik – the inventor of the Rubik’s Cube. 4) Joe Namath – the former NY Jets quarterback. 5) Magda Szabo – author of many novels including The Door. 6 and 7)  Eva and Zsa Zsa Gabor – actresses/Hollywood personalities. 8 and 9)  Franz Liszt and Bela Bartok – famous composers. 10) Laszlo Biro – the inventor of the ballpoint pen.

     Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi is a Hungarian-American psychologist credited for recognizing and naming the psychological concept of flow, “a feeling of engagement and focus that time seems to pass unnoticed.”  If you are lucky enough to have an area of interest that allows you to become completely absorbed in that activity and lose track of time, then you have experienced flow. Artists, writers, scientists, inventors, and musicians experience flow when they are in the middle of creating or discovering something. Gardeners, photographers and weekend car tinkerers can experience flow, too.

     I love the feeling of becoming completely absorbed in my characters when I am writing a short story or longer manuscript. On a particularly productive day, I can write for hours on the computer and not realize how much time has gone by.

     A few years ago when I was working on the manuscript for my last middle grade fiction book, I needed to figure out how to connect two very different characters who had grown up in the same small town but did not even speak to each other as adults. High school sweethearts after a bad break-up?  No, too cliché. Former student rivals? No, not exciting enough.

     At that point in the writing process I knew my characters so well that I could hear their voices and how they would speak. I decided to let the female character lead me to the answer that I was searching for to give a reason for both characters’ animosity towards each other.

     I decided to have this female character interviewed by a third character. I quickly began typing the dialogue back and forth. When the name of the male protagonist was brought up, the female character replied, “I bet you didn’t know that he’s my cousin.”  I gasped out loud! I didn’t know any of this until I started typing those words. It made perfect sense!  A betrayal between teenage cousins causing a family rift that continued into adulthood.  I was in “flow” and it was exhilarating!

Kim Kovach enjoys “being in the zone” whenever she can in writing and teaching her classes.

March 7, 2019

Paths Not Taken

     I always wanted to be a writer. Ever since I could scrawl words onto paper, the ideas for stories flowed. I loved making up names for new characters and creating adventures.

     But during my formative years, I did consider two other possible career choices. In the primary grades, I attended a small parochial school. I enjoyed listening to Bible stories and reading about the many characters and their problems. Like an ancient soap opera, we learned tales about fighting brothers, a prodigal son, people being turned into salt, a coat of many colors, greed, betrayal, adultery, and a giant-slayer. Around second or third grade I decided that I might want be a pastor when I grew up. I liked the outfit – black shirt, black pants and white collar – and I also knew that the pastor got a free house next to the church.

     I even started conducting Sunday morning services in my bedroom when my parents had been out late on Saturday night and wanted to sleep in the next morning instead of driving us to Sunday school. I don’t know how my little brother felt about this, but I planned a different hymn and Bible verse each week. I did not know if women could even become Lutheran pastors. We only saw older men reading the sermons at our small suburban church. But I still considered it a viable career choice.

     A few years later, after an embarrassing incident in 5^th grade, a new career option presented itself: children’s optometrist. As a youngster, no one had a clue that I needed eyeglasses. When I was a small child, I used to sit in a weird double-jointed frog-like way on the livingroom rug in front of the television set to watch Captain Kangaroo and Romper Room.

     In elementary school, I usually sat in the front row of the classroom. Most of my teachers were older women, probably counting down the days until retirement. For their own sanity, they placed the well-behaved children like me in the first and second rows. The trouble-makers were left to their own devices in the back of the classroom to sleep or run amok.

     But in 5^th grade, I had my first male teacher, Mr. Renninger. I remember that he called all of us, boys and girls, by our last names like ball players. “Kovach, Eliason, Wright, etc.”  Mr. Renninger decided to arrange our desks in alphabetical order. In that 5^th grade classroom, I ended up in the back row, behind Johnson. One fateful day, Mr. Renninger wrote a word on the blackboard and called on me to read the word out loud. From my vantage point in the way back of the classroom, I squinted my eyes and said, “Dinosaur?”

     The word was “diamond” and the whole class laughed at me. Fortunately, Mr. Renninger knew that Kovach, the straight A student and excellent reader and speller, would not have made that mistake. That afternoon he called my mother and suggested that I needed eyeglasses to see the blackboard. That led to my visit to a kindly neighborhood optometrist, Dr. Miller, and my first pair of tortoise-shell eyeglasses. Dr. Miller told me to wear my new glasses only for distance – like reading words on the blackboard, watching TV or going to the movies.

     Several years later in high school, I finally decided to get contact lenses since I could not see the cute guys driving by when I hung outside with my friends and ended up waving at practically every car. My transition from young eyeglass-wearer to contact lens-wearer, deepened my desire to think about pursuing a career in optometry. I even sent away for information on an optometry school in Manhattan.

     However, once I started college, I focused on my one true passion – creative writing – and never looked back.

Kim Kovach helps high school students write college application essays with personality.

June 27, 2019

Graduation

     We have so many milestones in our lives, starting with taking our first steps and saying our first words.  Entering kindergarten, losing a first tooth, learning to ride a bike, going off to sleep-away camp, and getting a driver’s license are celebrated. But one of the biggest milestones is high school graduation.

     The academic, social and athletic experiences gained during the elementary, middle school and high school years inform a great deal of how we see ourselves. Making friends, dealing with mean kids, trying new activities and interacting with all of the teachers and coaches in our formative years is great training for life. Some high school students are super-social and belong to every team and club. Others have a couple of close friends and focus on one or two particular interests in their free time.

     Think back to all of the adult influences a high school senior has had over the years. How many of your teachers can you name from high school now?

     Last June I wrote a column called Thank a Teacher. I reflected back on two of my most memorable high school teachers.  Mr. Goodman taught Hungarian as an elective for high school seniors. I only had Mr. Goodman’s class for one semester since I chose early graduation, but we stayed in contact for years. His enthusiasm made everyone want to take his language classes at Bayside High School. When we lost touch almost twenty years after high school graduation, I just assumed that Mr. Goodman had retired to Florida.

     Only recently, after searching online, I discovered that Mr. Goodman eventually left Bayside High School and went on to head the language department at another large high school in Queens. He taught at this new school for many years and had lots of students posting great comments about him. It appears that he finally did retire in the last couple of years after a very long and productive career in education. So many lucky students!

     The other high school teacher that I wrote about was Mrs. Goldstein.  In Creative Writing class Mrs. Goldstein treated us like writers. She inspired us to find story ideas in the most unusual places. I still use some of her writing prompts in the classes I teach.  

     But did I ever look up Mrs. Goldstein to tell her how much her enjoyable class inspired my writing and teaching? Nope, I never did. Besides thanking her in my column last June, I didn’t try to locate this special teacher.

     Imagine my surprise when I received an email from one of my former writing class students. She is a senior graduating from John Jay High School. This student participated in my Saturday morning Creative Writing classes starting as a third grader all the way through ninth grade. We had not seen each other in three years. Finding me through my website, this student told me that she was asked to write about a teacher who influenced her the most and she thought, “No contest, Ms. Kim!”

     We met up recently and she handed me her beautifully written letter detailing the ways that I had influenced her writing and her self-confidence over the years. I asked her to read it out loud so that I could hear the words in her voice. I was so humbled and proud that this lovely, accomplished young woman remembered our writing classes so fondly and had taken my comments and suggestions to heart. This is my Nobel Prize. Her words in our conversations and emails and in this thoughtful letter mean the world to me.

     Many of my young writing students will be graduating from high school this spring. I hope that the lessons, camaraderie and fun they experienced in our writing classes over the years will serve them well in college and beyond. Happy Graduation!

Kim Kovach enjoys helping students of all ages discover their own writer’s voice.

November 15, 2018

Casa Peligrosa

     Did you know that the kitchen and bathroom are the two most dangerous rooms in your house?

     According to safety experts, millions of people injure themselves each year doing everyday activities and chores around the house. The top 10 at-home injury categories include trips and falls (on the stairs, getting out of bed, stepping over toys on the floor), falling objects (reaching for large boxes or heavy items stored on high shelves), bruises, sprains, cuts, burns, choking, poisoning, and glass-related (broken bottles, drinking glasses, shower doors).

     Another category responsible for many home-related injuries: bites. Every year, countless adults and children seek medical help after sustaining bites from spiders, pets, rats and other humans. Scorpion stings are included in this category.

     Kitchen accidents include burns from hot oil and removing hot items out of the oven. Mis-use of knives in slicing, dicing and carving various foods is a big problem. This past summer, hospital emergency rooms noticed a surge in the number of patients suffering from “avocado hand.”  Apparently, watching too many food network and chef competition shows has led to home cooks trying to removing the pit of an avocado by holding half of the avocado in the left hand while swiftly bringing a sharp chef’s knife down into the center of the avocado pit. Instead of neatly removing the avocado pit as the TV chefs often demonstrate, thousands of Americans have sliced off fingers, cut open their palms or wrists and required tendon surgery and stitches to repair the damage. I simply use a spoon to loosen and remove the avocado pit.

     The bathroom is a danger zone.  We’ve all heard stories of people slipping in the bathtub but there are so many other ways to be injured in that small room. On Sunday night at 1:48am, I got out of my warm, cozy bed to use the facilities. As soon as I flicked on the bathroom light, I noticed something black on the tile floor next to the bathtub. Leaning closer and squinting my eyes (I was not wearing my glasses), I recoiled in horror. It was a camel cricket! If you have never seen a camel cricket in real life, first be very thankful. Second, search for a Google image of a camel cricket right now. (It’s okay, I’ll wait.)  Hideous!

     This prehistoric looking creature (also known as a cave cricket), has hinged legs, long antennae and can jump. That’s right. Even though I have read up on camel crickets and know about their proclivity to hop, all of that information was not in my head at 1:48am. I ran to get my special bug catcher (a handy invention I came up with a few years ago utilizing an empty paper towel role with double-sided masking tape at one end).

     As I tried to whack the camel cricket with the sticky end of my bug catcher, the camel cricket hopped to the side, to the back and across the room. (Articles on camel crickets state that because of the cricket’s poor eyesight, it can hop directly at perceived threats. I had forgotten this tidbit of information!)

    I could not let this creature get away to roam throughout the house. In desperation, I reached into the cabinet under the bathroom sink and pulled out a bottle of bleach spray. If I could not crush this invader, I would try to drown it. I sprayed the camel cricket and the surrounding floor about six times until it seemed ready to give up. I then swung my cardboard bug catcher down to finish the job. At that same moment, my slipper slid on the slick bleach covered bathroom floor and I fell, slamming my right knee into the tile floor. Before I could even say, “OW!” my flannel pajama-clad knee slid across the bleach-soaked tile floor, propelling my body forward and smashing the top of my head into the wall!

     I slowly, painfully pulled myself up from the bathroom floor. I glanced at the wall to see if it was dented, checked to make sure that I wasn’t bleeding, and said, “This is my next column!”

Kim Kovach is always on the look-out for new story ideas but prefers not to be injured in the process.

September 13, 2018

The Dizzy Season

     It’s happened again. No warning signs. I wake up after a cozy night’s sleep and the room is spinning. My own internal poltergeist. Vertigo.

     I used to look forward to the beginning of autumn – new classes to teach, warm cider donuts, pumpkin cake, and colorful leaves on the trees. But for the past four years, a skulking trickster emerges any time between August and November and turns my life upside down and sideways. I’ve come to think of this time period as “The Dizzy Season” and not in a good way.

     When it happened the first time on a Sunday morning in early August 2015, I awoke after a lovely night’s sleep and sat up on the side of the bed as usual. Only this time I was thrust backwards onto the bed with the entire room spinning round and round.  I couldn’t understand what was going on and attempted to sit up again. My body was thrown backwards as if lassoed by an unknown force while the room continued to spin. That was my introduction to the very unpleasant experience known as vertigo.

     Vertigo, an upending of the equilibrium, can occur in men and women over the age of forty. As the person experiencing vertigo, it is like trying to walk on the deck of a ship in choppy waters. If you make the mistake of bending down to tie your shoe or pick up a pen that you have just dropped, the room spins and you can literally fall over. Many adults are injured due to falls and gashes to the head during an episode of vertigo. Sometimes just standing still I have the sensation that the floor is moving like a conveyor belt.

     That first vertigo episode lasted for three days. During the day I felt exhausted, queasy, and walked like I was listing sideways. The vertigo returned with a vengeance three weeks later and lasted for five days. A visit to the doctor resulted in a photocopied list of instructions on how to turn my head from side to side to adjust a wayward “crystal” that may have dislodged itself inside my inner ear canal.

     More Googling of possible vertigo causes turned up dehydration, anemia, seasonal allergies, the ear crystals theory, and cervical vertigo where the arteries in the neck may be compressed during different positions of the head. Another doctor prescribed motion sickness pills which did nothing for me. The worst part of my vertigo was immediately upon lying down in bed at night or sitting up the next morning. The violent spinning motion inside my head felt like the worst carnival ride ever.

     The symptoms left and did not return until September and October 2016. Months went by with no symptoms until August 24, 2017. I was accosted by vertigo three more times during this horrible dizzy season in September, October and November!

     Flipping through the TV channels this past spring, I found a PBS program on migraines. Migraines are an inherited genetic neurological disorder. I’ve suffered from terrible migraine headaches since my late 20’s (as did my mother and grandmother). That informative PBS program was worth the cost of my cable bill! I learned that while migraineurs often experience stabbing headaches and sensitivity to light and sound, migraines may take different forms including ocular migraines and vestibular migraines. Vestibular migraines affect the balance system and can cause vertigo symptoms with or without a migraine headache. Finally, an explanation that makes sense for me!

     There is no cure for vertigo. But at least I can be prepared to make the best of The Dizzy Season and know that an end to the misery is in sight.

Kim Kovach always finds inspiration for writing.

September 6, 2018

RED SHOES

     September is associated with the start of a new school year. A time for purchasing notebooks, pencils, school clothes and shoes. I remember my mother taking me shopping for new outfits and a new winter coat a week or so before school started every year.

     Part of the preparations for my first day of kindergarten was a trip to the Buster Brown shoe store. The shoe salesman brought over that long metal torture-chamber looking device to measure my foot. Of course the foot-measurer gizmo did not hurt, it just looked menacing. On that shopping expedition, Mom purchased a pair of red leather shoes for me. The shoes had a strap with a buckle on the side. I was very excited to wear them on my first day of school.

     On that first morning of kindergarten, I practically skipped into the classroom wearing my new red shoes. There were only twelve boys and girls in our parochial school class. The kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Schultz, was the opposite of warm and fuzzy. Being my vivacious self, I skipped up to the front of the classroom as the other kids were hanging up their sweaters or crying or wiping their noses on their sleeves.  “Mrs. Schultz,” I exclaimed, “look at my new shoes!”

     With barely a glance at my fetching footwear, Mrs. Schultz replied, “There are children all over the world who have no shoes.”

      Would it have killed her to say, “How nice!” or “Good for you, Kim!” I was five years old. I had no idea about barefooted children across the globe. I was just making conversation!

     Looking back, I can now see that was the beginning of tamping down my enthusiasm and sparkling personality during my formative elementary school years. Mrs. Schultz used to stand in the front of the classroom and ask questions about our lessons from the previous day. I always raised my hand with the answers. Janet and John H. were the only other students who raised their hands. The rest of the students were drawing on their desks, licking white paste off their fingers or staring out of the windows dreaming about recess.  

     Sometimes Mrs. Schultz called on me. But most of the time Mrs. Schultz would look over in my direction and say, “Put your hand down. I know that you know the answer.”

     Fortunately for me, instead of becoming cynical and giving up on my academic future, I continued to take pride in learning and handing in my completed homework. Unfortunately for me, I became quiet in class. Super shy.

     I did not emerge from my introverted school personality until ninth grade. Our assignment in English class was to make a presentation in front of the entire class. Yikes! I could write a fine book report or essay but to actually stand in front of my peers and talk? I didn’t want to make a mistake. I didn’t want the kids to laugh at me. Or did I?

     I came up with the idea of presenting three ethnic folk tales. My ah-ha moment came when I decided to wear an accessory to match each folktale. For the French story, I placed a beret on my head. For the Inuit story, I wore furry earmuffs. The students warmed up to the pattern of a new prop for each story. For my third and final story, a Russian folktale, I casually wrapped a red bandanna around my head, like a babushka, and tied it under my chin. My classmates laughed, my teacher laughed and I laughed as I basked in the attention of the audience. My presentation was a success!

     The red leather shoes may have been the start of stifling my outgoing personality as a kindergartener but a red bandanna in ninth grade brought me back.

Kim Kovach enjoys encouraging and inspiring students of all ages.

June 7, 2018

THANK A TEACHER

     As the end of the school year approaches, we think of graduations and moving up ceremonies. We think of parties and summer vacation plans. Take a few minutes and think about the teachers in your life.

     I can remember the names of all of my elementary school teachers. My second grade teacher, Miss Nicholas, was my favorite. She was young and had moved all the way from Wisconsin to teach at our little school in Queens.  Miss Nicholas told our class that she was from Sheboygan and explained how the Native American name for her town originated. Miss Nicholas was sweet and caring. At the end of the school year, I asked my mom if we could invite Miss Nicholas to our house for a swim in the pool.  She didn’t own a car so my family picked her up for the afternoon and drove her back to the small apartment she rented near school.

     Two of my teachers at Bayside High School stand out: Mrs. Goldstein and Mr. Goodman. Mrs. Goldstein taught creative writing. She sparked my imagination with every new writing assignment. Mrs. Goldstein introduced us to the Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters, a collection of 244 poems about the deceased occupants in a small town cemetery. After reading and discussing the characters presented, she asked us to create a new character and write from that person’s point of view. Exhilarating!

     Mrs. Goldstein encouraged her students to think like writers. She asked us to make up pseudonyms. For one assignment, we had to look through the newspaper and choose a factual article to use as the basis for a fiction story.  The stories I wrote for Mrs. Goldstein’s class gave me a chance to find inspiration in unusual places. I looked forward to reading her comments when our stories were handed back.

     Mr. Goodman taught several languages including German and possibly Latin or Italian. Most importantly, Mr. Goodman was the only high school teacher in the entire New York City public school system to offer Hungarian as an elective language. I looked forward to my senior year when I could finally sit in the front row in Mr. Goodman’s class. My father’s side of the family is Hungarian but relatives I knew did not speak the language. A pale, slim, tidy little man with a moustache, Mr. Goodman loved teaching. You could just tell by his enthusiasm every day. High school seniors signed up for this class every year just because Mr. Goodman was teaching it. Unfortunately, I had decided to graduate high school early, so I only got to enjoy the fall semester of Hungarian language classes.

     After starting college, I stopped by Bayside High School a couple of times to visit Mr. Goodman. Of course, that was before metal detectors and security guards in schools. Former students could just walk through the front doors and down the hallways and pop their heads into the open classroom doors. Mr. Goodman was always happy to see me and proudly introduced me to his students.

     I corresponded with Mr. Goodman for years. I wrote about my first jobs in publishing and my move into Manhattan to the Hungarian neighborhood of Yorkville in the East 70’s and 80’s. I called Mr. Goodman for sight-seeing suggestions before my first trip to Hungary.  

    As a creative writing teacher for more than ten years, I have received countless cards and notes and gifts from my students. It is rewarding to know how much they appreciate my encouragement, ideas and inspiration. Thank you, Miss Nicholas. Thank you, Mrs. Goldstein. Thank you, Mr. Goodman!

Kim Kovach teaches fiction writing for adults and creative writing for children and teens.

April 19, 2018

SPIRIT  ANIMALS

     Do you know anyone with a collection of butterfly jewelry or a kitchen filled with rooster knick-knacks? Many childhood collections begin with a favorite stuffed animal. Sometimes growing up with cats or dogs as family pets is the start to a lifetime of collecting decorative feline or canine related trinkets.

     When I was in high school I decided that I liked elephants. I thought that elephants were gentle, majestic creatures. I started to collect little elephant figurines made out of marble, quartz, plastic, pewter and wood. Elephants with raised trunks signified good luck. I bought t-shirts with elephants on them and received several elephant pendant necklaces as gifts. I remember a colorful patchwork Asian-Indian elephant displayed on my bookcase.

     As an adult, I spent summer weekends at a house on Lake Buel in the Berkshires. On Friday nights, my housemates would carpool up from Manhattan on our three hour drive to Great Barrington. Once we got to Pawling, I started eagerly looking out of the car window for cows. Green fields on the drive up Route 22 north to Route 7 were speckled with black and white Holstein cows. Cows became my new favorite animals. I thought that cows were quiet and gentle and largely taken for granted. Cows provided milk, cheese, butter and meat and never asked for anything in return. I routinely broke into a round of applause whenever we passed the first field of cows on our way up to Massachusetts or on the way back to the city. I wanted the cows to know that they were appreciated.

     My cow collection began with a t-shirt.  The colorful image of a cow in a field of daylilies was designed by Woody Jackson. A Vermont-based artist, Woody Jackson also designed the colorful cow-themed packaging for Ben and Jerry’s ice cream containers. More cow t-shirts followed, as well as a cow calendar. Once friends caught on to the fact that I liked cows, every birthday and Christmas brought a plethora of bovine-related items – a set of decorative stuffed cows made in England, a small mechanical cow, oven mitts, dish towels, salt and pepper shakers, ceramic cows, wooden cows, cow mugs, and silver cow earrings. One year, my dad sent me “Cow of the Month” limited edition porcelain plates depicting cows in every season.

     Over the years, my cow fancy has included vacations on dairy farms in Rochester, Vermont and Greeneville, Tennessee, a trip to the Big E in Springfield, Massachusetts to see the livestock exhibits, and a cattle auction in upstate New York.

     Last week, on a sunny cold morning, as I was about to turn out of the driveway, a flash of red caught my eye. I slowed the car and noticed a large black and white woodpecker on the side of a tree. The bright red crest on the top of its head was magnificent. At that moment, I felt a kinship to that woodpecker. The woodpecker does not just bang its head against the side of a tree all day for no reason. It is seeking nourishment from the grubs and insects underneath the tree bark. Wouldn’t it be easier just to swoop down and pick up insects and worms off the ground?  The woodpecker is focused and determined and persistent in looking for what it needs below the surface. “Just like me,” I thought, as I continued to drive to my morning writing class. Maybe the woodpecker is my new spirit animal.

Kim Kovach teaches fiction writing for adults and creative writing for children and teens.