My sister and I have October birthdates just five days apart, so our dinner at the Turkey Farm allowed my parents to kill two birds with one stone. Remember Larison’s Turkey Farm in Chester? It was a delicious annual tradition for us when I was a kid. \\\in a row while singing along into my hairbrush. Never again will I see those silver crisscrossed escalators on the approach to Two Guys in Kearny, where I’d beg my parents to buy me a 45 record and show my appreciation by playing “Seasons in the Sun” 55 times (Wild West City, here we come).īut plenty of those places are sadly gone. I’ve got a stockpile of heartwarming memories from places I’ve been to along the way (lucky me), many of which remain standing and I can’t wait to introduce my new granddaughter to some of those old happy haunts. I’m not being morbid, and I’m surely not surrendering when I’m still rocking another 525,600 minutes of my 50s I’m just being realistic. Growing up in Jersey, and now growing old here, means I’m seeing more in the rearview mirror than what’s on the road ahead. Posted on Decemby Ana Gonzalez - Community
Musings from a Jersey girl: The ghosts of a Jersey girl’s past
