In Loving Memory of Frances Bogomolny,
homemaker and artist, who passed away in January 2005.

Phot/Image ©2005 Abby Bogomolny

"…when you have made the Most High your shelter, no disaster shall befall you or come near your tent. For he will give his angels charge over you, to guard you in all your ways…"
Psalm 91

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If intuition is fast thinking, then my mother, Frances Bogomolny, used to think at the speed of light. Her intuitive hunches guided me in ways I can not fully explain. She had an instinct about people. My sweet and brave mother had finesse, perseverance and a great sense of humor. For example, to get me out from under her feet she used to send me downstairs with instructions not to come up until I had counted at least 100 cars passing by 405 Cortelyou Road. Other times, we'd play a game called "What's that smell?" while riding across the Manhattan bridge. The punch line was always, "The wind must have come in from Jersey" (sorry New Jerseyites).

Frances was the youngest child of six children, the "baby sister." Moving from Henry Street to Coney Island, she grew up in Coney Island when it was still an island, the beach was clean, and the school was a one-room schoolhouse. She watched the Boardwalk being built and loved the ocean.

Mom was very brave. Once coming home from shopping when my Dad was out working, she heard a loud hammering in the front bedroom. Thinking that a burglar was trying to break in or was tearing apart her room, she grabbed her heavy rolling pin and kicked open the bedroom door. Was she ever surprised to discover, rolling pin held high in the air ready to serve a blow, that it was just the radiator knocking. But she had marched right into the room! Mom was also wise as a young woman from her share of struggles. She overcame T.B. in her 20s, difficult childbearing episodes and endocarditus in her 30s, which left her with a heart murmur and a string of ailments. When Mom wasn't complaining—a family trait I also share—she loved to have fun.
Mom loved beauty; she loved color, loved art. She nurtured my creativity and brought me to museums, encouraging me to sketch with an open mind. Quite an artist and sculptor herself, in her early years she shaped the bust of an elderly, one-eyed man, whose picture is in this booklet. She also sketched elegant 1930s ladies in full length gowns. Yet, my mother was modest about her talents. Maybe they were overlooked in her day. Nevertheless, marriage to my father, Samuel Bogomolny, became her safe harbor. She adored him and devoted herself to him for 46 years. When he passed away in 1995, she was shaken, but she continued on, determined to make a go of it by getting up early every morning to "go to the center" (the Senior League of Flatbush), taking her shopping cart along to be able to pick up "a few things on the way home."

Above all, my mother was a lady. She was gifted in her ability to understand people and help them strengthen their nature. From comforting her neighbors to giving cookies to little Emilee Sierra, her heart guided her to be loving and generous. Frances Bogomolny was a wife, mother, daughter, sister and aunt. We will miss her charm, her grace, and quick wit. Once after visiting her at the nursing home a friend of mine said to her, " It was great to see you, Frances. Now, don't do anything here I wouldn't do…"
"Well, I'd have to find out what that would be…," Mom replied.

Abby Lynn Bogomolny
January 22, 2005

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Why Does the Barley Have a Line Down the Middle?*
©2005 Abby Bogomolny and Frances Bogomolny

         An old woman was once getting ready to cook some barley soup. As she prepared her stove for the fire, one piece of straw and one piece of coal fell on the wooden floor. A few minutes later as she poured the barley into a cup, one piece of barley also fell on the floor too. The barley, the coal and the straw looked at each other and immediately realized they were lucky to have been dropped. Then the barley stood up and cried, "We had better run away before she bends down for us!!!

          Away they went hopping across the kitchen floor. Since they were quite small, they were able to slide outside in the space under her door. They hopped out into the yard that resembled a small field until they came to a stream filled with many rocks and boulders.

         "How are we going to cross the water? I always sink when I try to swim," said the Coal.
         "And if I get soggy, I'll stick to the ground when I try to walk," cried Barley.

But Straw had an idea and said, "Don't worry! I'll lay down across the stream and you two can walk over me like a bridge. Then you will slide me to the other side."
So that's what they did. The straw laid down and made his body into a narrow bridge. First the coal tiptoed carefully over the straw, bending the straw with his weight. Then Barley did the same; however, when he was almost on the other side he slipped and slid down the bank of the stream, but Barley did not fall in the water. Instead, an outcropping of rock caught him, but it had torn a hole in his belly. Everyone was horrified, and Barley was crying, "What will ever become of me?"
Just then a little girl, who had been sewing a doily with her needle and thread, sat down next to the sad scene.

         "Don't worry, Barley. I'll sew up your tummy with my thread, and you'll be just as good as new!" And that is why every piece of barley has a line down the middle today!!

*A childhood story that Frances Bogomolny told Abby.