A BIT O THE OLD SOD

Recently TLW (The Little Woman) and I visited a cousin of hers who was in the hospital recuperating from a hip replacement. If you don’t know it, TLW is 100% Irish, and of course, her cousin is too.

Her cousin asked us to bring pictures since we see her every 15 years or so. I took the old laptop and off we went to Flushing, NY, and Mt. Sinai Hospital. We perused through the digital pictures, her cousin started to point out names of people from a memorial service get together for her brother who was killed in Vietnam over 35 years ago. She started to name people and tell stories about this one and that one and I realized it was taking a toll on this lonely Italian. After enough Kathleen Mary’s, and Monica’s were mentioned, a glaze descended across my face, and I went into a stupor.

“Ah, just like a man, he’s not paying attention!” said cousin Maureen to TLW. I missed what she had just said, because I wasn’t paying attention. In my comatose state of enlightenment, I had fallen asleep with my eyes open and my mind shut.

It took me back to sweet Helen, my Mother-in-law. Mom could rattle off her day at the supermarket, meeting Mrs. Murray, or Mrs. O’Farrell or Mrs. Kelly or whoever the Irish lady was. I was always awake for her stories since she knew how to tell them. My Father-in-law however, was in a comatose state of enlightenment, having fallen asleep with HIS eyes opened.

Visiting Maureen in the hospital brought back simpler times, how happy a young couple we were. Our parents were all living, and we connected with our siblings in a different way. The world still stood ahead of us, with our new jobs and careers. We had hopes and dreams of children and everyone was happy. We would gather for the holidays and take comfort in our comfort foods and traditions that defined our families.

Meeting TLW’s family for the first time was surprising. They had the very same values, with the very same problems my family had. It was fun to meet a mirror family like my own, Irish version! I became immediately comfortable with the Irish version of what I was.

Tomorrow, Introducing TLW to the Italians!

TAKING STOCK OF THE MARKET

I look at what Wall Street does one day to the next, and I don’t see day-to-day differentials in small increments. It seems the market is like a pregnant woman; day-to-day mood swings that go from one end of the meter to the other.

Spoke to my financial advisor. He concurs with me; it is an emotional reaction to news with no real effect on life. The only time it seems to really matter is when war is eminent or the price of fuel climbs or falls.

But why is it so dire when it is down, but nothing is said when it goes up? Do we enjoy bad news? Is our thirst for news such that we need to be scared to death?

Ever notice when it rains? The networks start with crawls across the bottom of the TV screen. “THERE IS AN EMERGENCY FLOOD WARNING FOR ALL THE COUNTIES IN NEW JERSEY. ¼ TO ½ INCH OF RAIN IS EXPECTED TO FALL WITHIN THE NEXT THREE DAYS! NEWS AT 10.”

How about the network reports on; “FOODS THAT WILL CAUSE YOU TO GET FULL! NEWS AT 10.” OR “MOTHER CHANGES BABY’S DIAPER IN CROWDED STORE! RIGHT HERE ON CBS NEWS AT TEN.”

Makes you wonder why you’re not on the news at 10 for attempted murder of the anchor people.

THE TOOTH NAZI

You have heard of the Tooth Fairy, but let me tell you, you haven’t met anyone yet, until you meet the Tooth Nazi.

It all started when my favorite dentist in the whole world, Dr. Hoffman, retired, and I needed a new dentist. TLW (The Little Woman) tells me I have to go to the Sachem Dental Group to get a new dentist.

I go for my appointment, and being use to intermit surroundings for a one-doctor dentist, the Sachem Dental Group has a large waiting room, with a complicated reception desk, with lots of different kinds of dentists and whatnots, along with this huge staff.

I am called, and enter this cold examining room. A young woman takes some answers from me and off she goes, with my favorite phrase; “The Doctor will be with you shortly.”

In comes this 4-foot woman, overweight and looking like she just came from a catfight. “WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

“Uh, uh, err, for my teeth?”

“There are NO cavities on the x-rays, WHY DID YOU COME HERE?”

She does some exploring in my mouth then starts to reprimand an assistant about some procedural problem she has, while the poor young lady stammers embarrassed, tries to explain, and is told to leave the room!

After looking, she decides I need $5,000 worth of dental care, and I should schedule an appointment with an orthodontist in the office.

I decide that I’m in love with this woman. Yes, in love. Because without her, I could never have experienced the fear of the poor people living in the concentration camps back in WW II!

I’m currently looking for a dentist, someone who likes to talk baseball, football, or babes.

BROOKHAVEN TOWN, WHERE ARE YOU?

You remember that show about two policemen, back in the 60’s called: “Car 54, Where Are You?”

Well a few months ago, the Town of Brookhaven, NY, here on scenic Long Island sent notices to all the residents on my street that they would be re-paving our road. Then last June we got a notice in our mailbox telling us that the re-paving would commence promptly on Wednesday and last through Friday in that month. We were warned that any cars parked on the street would be towed away and the owners shot.

Being we are a three-car family, we made plans on how we would park in our driveway for convenience.

I happened to notice my neighbor’s car across the street. The family was away on vacation and didn’t know about the re-paving. One car was left in the street! I went to MMB (My Man Bill) next door to see if he had a key for the car to move it into my driveway until the family came home. MMB was not home, so I looked out for him. I never found him, but noticed the car was moved into his driveway. MMB is a great guy, and of course was on the job!

We are now into the last week of August, and where is the town? They chopped up a little bit of road and disappeared? Well, finally! They finished!

This is the town that wants its taxes on time in full!

THE POLITICIANS ARE COMING!

Every four years we go through it. The stupid ads for elections and re-elections of thieves, liars, the power hungry, the sanctimonious and the dishonest, in other words, the politicians will run and run ad nauseum.

I will take at look at the various investigative committees in both houses and play a game. Who among these phonies will get caught with his/her hand in the cookie jar? Who will we find in a sleazy motel in Washington D.C. or Virginia with other than their spouse?

The two biggest hypocrites, former Governor Spitzer and John Edwards are not alone. Former liar Clinton isn’t alone; he was just caught. Nixon is a disgrace and for that matter, they all stink.

The primaries expose the fraud, how do you attack someone, say they are not ready to be president of the country, and then turn around and back them for the same job, after you lost out?

After the Republican Convention, every commercial segment will have a political ad for one or the other of the candidates. Every little politician from dogcatcher to president will try to sell you on the idea that his opponent is a bum, but he’s not! And to insure you that he is above all wrongdoing, he will say who he is and “Approve this message.” They will use the same old tired approaches, either digging up something shaded, or associating his opponent with some other politician who isn’t even running.

GOD HELP US ALL.

So therefore, I have decided to throw my hat into the ring, and run for president of the USA. Just think. If elected, you can all come to Washington and sleep in the Lincoln bedroom as my guest. We can have a big state dinner with lobster and filet mignon, and you will all go home with a President DelBloggolo medal. Darn, I’ll be a great President. Who wants to be ambassador to Paris?

I’m Joe Del Bloggolo, and I approve this Blog.

JOSEPH DEL BROCCOLO 1942-2008

Today I got a phone call from my cousin’s wife, that my cousin had passed away last Saturday night. It came as a shock to me, since I had spoken to him last, and he was feeling good. He and I had a lot in common.

My Dad and his Dad were brothers, and My Mom, and his Mom were sisters. We share the same first and last names. We both had by-pass operations in our fifties, and suffer from diabetes and have high blood pressure and high cholesterol.

He and I both loved to cook, however, he realized the dream that I had, owning his own restaurant. We even have a sibling with the same first name. We named a child; Joseph.

There are some differences, he worked for the phone company, while I went to college, and went into advertising. He never cared for baseball, baseball is a passion for me.

Growing up, we didn’t see much of each other, being how he lived in the suburbs and I lived in Brooklyn. Then when we moved out to the suburbs, we still didn’t see all that much of each other.

It is funny how shocking it is. Losing someone like that, someone who almost mirrors you in so many ways. You take him for granted, then one day, shock! Even awe.

I won’t say what a great guy he was, although he had a big heart, albeit weak. I will say this though, take care of yourself. Take care of each other. Learn to forgive, and to give. Love your family before yourself, don’t keep lists of hurts and don’t stay angry. My cousin loved to help people. He was cranky at times, and sometimes he told you what he thought. He made life interesting. He had a lovely wife and a wonderful son and daughter-in-law. I think that is a true measure of the man.

THE ITALIAN AMERICAN EXPERIENCE

Or, Speaking three languages.

Growing up in an Italian American environment meant speaking or at least understanding three languages. There was your Basic English, although growing up in Brooklyn left that a challenge also. For instance, “he was ascaird of it.” Translation, “He was afraid of it.” Or “getouttahere” or “Gowan” “Dere ain’t nobody hair.” Laugh at it if you will, we wrote correctly, and we were understood, but just in Brooklyn. “Dem bums done good taday, huh?” Translation: “The Dodgers won today.”

Next there was the Italo/Anglo English of Grandma and Grandpa. “Attsa good.” Or “Eh, comona get out!” “Monuddger, a pickim upper.” And “Eh, fachima, why you no eata?”

Then there was what I call; “Supplemental lingo” which is used universally with any language you dare to speak with an Italian. It involves the hands, and the fluid motion of expression in a physical way. For instance: putting your hands together, in a prayer like fashion, but fingers spread apart and hands barely touching each other. Shaking gently while invoking the Creator. “My God!” “Monugger” can also be used in this instance. The more advanced version is with the eyes lifted heavenward. This means; “I’m dealing with an idiot!”

Next on the list, is pinching your middle finger with your index finger and thumb. Try it. Make sure your hand is in the proper position with palm side, square to the shoulders. Say “What?” try saying “Que”. See it works in either language.

Next is the expression of frustration and surprise. Both sentiments can be best expressed with the hand opened, fingers apart and the hand with the palm facing the opposite shoulder. Try it. Say: ”Ehhh!” Means: “I’m going to smack you if you keep it up.” That was Mom’s favorite!

Now, take the same expression, raising the hand slowly upward, and say: “Ah, va fongoola” Poetic, no?

This is your basic language skills growing up in Italian/America, deep in the heart of Brooklyn.

One of the beauties of this life style is the urge to nickname everybody. “Eh, here comes fat Louie. A person of Finnish extraction? Eh, here comes Joe the Finn. Eh is used to get all conversations rolling. If you were happy to see Joe the Finn, you said: Eh Hey! Here comes Joe the Finn!” Subtle usage of the Italian American tongue, when coupled with the hands, speaks many sentences at once.

A little note of interest.
Have you ever noticed when people die, the person’s hands are crossed in the casket? In Italy and for Italian Americans, it means: “He’s done talking.”

FLUSHING BY THE ROAD

Yesterday TLW (The Little Woman) got a phone call from a cousin of hers who lives in Flushing, NY. It seems the girl (Maureen) was in the hospital for a hip replacement, and TLW wanted to go visit her.

TLW was a little apprehensive (with good reason) about driving into Flushing, and I could read her body language. I said I would go with her, so off we went.

Have you ever driven through the streets of Flushing?
If you have, WHAT ARE YOU NUTS?

Mt. Sinai Hospital in Queens is in the middle of traffic. Traffic with crazy people, people with a death wish. All the drivers are blind. That is, all Flushing drivers.

One should never, and I stress, NEVER get directions from Google. Google is gaga. No, Google is kaka. You heard me.

We follow the directions and wind up crossing the 59th Street Bridge into Manhattan! Yes, Manhattan! Why? Because Kaka told us nothing about a turn, we were supposed to make.

TLW is a sane driver. She can also help with navigation and giving me directions as to where to go, besides Hell. Even she was flustered. It WAS, Flustered in Flushing, or, the day down the drain.

Finally getting on 30th Street toward the hospital, panel trucks scout the area for parking spaces. Traffic lights tease you into moving, and then turn red on you. Bicycle riders cut you off, as do cars exiting parking spaces, jumping out at the last moment. Trucks dominate the skyline, causing one to slam on their brakes because the light turned red after the truck past it, revealing that there is a light for one to stop at!

To complete the visit, we enter the hospital and push the elevator button for the 4th floor. IT TOOK 20 MINUUTES FOR THE DQARN THING TO SHOW UP!

TLW says; “Why is it taking so long?”
Skippy says: (That’s me), because of the @*&%^$# Flushing traffic!

MONEY IS NO OBJECT

Believe me, not an object I have much of.

In our little foray into the world of gambling, TLW (The Little Woman) decided we needed to view some of the little shops in the Mohegan Sun world.

I had a vision of Mohegan Sun that was not quite right. I pictured gaming tables with Native American’s (Nas) in full headdress manning the tables, running the slot machines, and finally getting the upper hand on the White Man. That is not what I found!

Millions of Asians play the tables, and a million more old white people join them. Those old White Men, when not in the Men’s room, are on the slot machines, poker games, and roulette tables. The Nas are nowhere to be found! That is, until you enter the little shops, or shops of horror. There you see the massacre! Little old ladies: White, Black, Hispanic, and Asian, all getting their husbands scalped! Bankrupt husbands lie everywhere. Some sobbing some dazed and confused. This horrific phenomenon continues in the restaurants, with way overpriced meals.

TLW led me into Tiffany’s, where my blood pressure increased noticeably, my heart pounding as if I saw some infant stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon, unsupervised.

It was there that General DelBloggolo made his last stand: “Price is no object, your second husband can pay for it.”

THE MOHEGAN SUN

It was 4:30 A.M., I arose and TLW (The Little Woman) was already up and about. We were on our way to the Mohegan Sun Gambling Casino, owned by Native Americans, run by Asian Americans, and patronized by grumpy old White People Americans.

Going across the Long Island Sound in a jet-powered ferryboat, after a very pleasant sunrise ride out to the end of the North Shore to Orient Point, made for a very enjoyable trip. The bus picked us up, gave us $20 meal money, and $40 gambling money.

We played an Asian game called Sic Bo, and I won $90 bucks, plus and additional $13 bucks in poker. TLW also had a hot hand and won some money herself.

We went to Todd English’s Tuscany, an Italian/Tuscan fused with Asian restaurant, and we ate like never before. If you ever go to the Mohegan Sun, eat there and have the lunch buffet. The best deal in the building. After checking out all the restaurant menus, of which there are many, they are all over-priced, like Michael Jordon’s Steak, $58!

Like any good, white old man, I frequented the men’s room a few times, and am now depressed. Old men, everywhere, but particularly in the men’s room, where you hear: “Brrrrfff, blubbbp, sonofabitch! And my favorite; zzzzziiiiiiiiiiippppppppp.” It took one old guy forever!

There was one gentleman; who went into the men’s room, and quickly forgot why. Fortunately for yours truly, I went in, but couldn’t find a phone.

All day long, shorts with spinderly legs, Velcro straps on the sneakers, and a scowl. The wives although lively, smoked, drank, ad play the slot machines like bored prostitutes at work.

I’LL TAKE A QUARTZ OF GRANITE, PLEASE!

I was surveying the top of my kitchen counter, about 40 square feet, and noticed it is about 12 years old and showing its’ age. Where two sections meet, the seam is starting to separate, so TLW (The Little Woman) and I decided to look at new counter tops, and make a decision.

Going to 4 different places, they all gave me bad news! I, (this is me), has to take off the old counter top, remove the sink and they, (meaning the countertop people) will come and template the job. THIS MEANS NO COUNTER TOP IN THE KITCHEN, NO SINK, AND; ME (That is I), WILL HAVE ANOTHER PROJECT ON MY HANDS!

Making a selection proved difficult! You have to go with what you have, not what you think you have. Going out on the fly, with all that is available in color and materials, it is best to do your homework, and ask for advice where you can.

The colors range from black to white, from specks to swirls, from Formica to granite, and quartz, and all kinds of man made materials in between.

After visiting four places and viewing all they had to offer, I decided to go home, and study the situation better. What I found out amazed me! Both TLW and I were way off base! We were thinking light top, when we took in the floor, cabinets and area size, dark was better!

I must say though, the granite is the best looking. I have special plans for the splashing.

FOOL ME ONCE, SHAME ON YOU

Fool Me Twice, Shame On Me!

I’m too embarrassed to write this, but write it I will.

In the past, I’ve written about how 'Happy', my American Cocker Spaniel rings the little bell at the base of the Den door when she wants to go out. Chase a squirrel: “Cling” goes the bell. Chase a bird or do her business: “Cling” echoes throughout the den.

In the afternoon, about 4:30, she starts to prance and jump and bark. It means: get me some lettuce, if I feel like it, I will, if not, she has to wait.

About a week ago, she decided to try a new tact, and it worked! She went to the bell and rang it. I got up to open the door, and she starts to the kitchen, prancing; doing her I want some lettuce dance.

After realizing what she did, I laughed and got her what she wanted. A few days later: ‘clang’, up I got and prance she did, off to the kitchen. I stopped in my tracks and she stares at me, on her hind legs, waiting. Grudgingly, I went to the kitchen once more and fed her.

Then last Friday; she did it again! Three times, I fell for her trick!

WHO IS THE MASTER?

THE SPANISH LADY

For some reason, lately the topics of this blog center around or have religious theme!

Every Sunday, TLW (The Little Woman) and I go to the 8:30 Mass at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, in Ronkonkoma, N.Y. http://www.steas.org/
Attending that Mass is a little old lady of Hispanic heritage. She is poor in everyday things, but rich in everyday faith. She dresses the same every Sunday, and on occasion, I see her wait for a bus, dressed the same. Her head is wrapped in a dark grey scarf of some kind. Her dress is for both summer and winter, and except for a coat in winter and cool days, it is the same. She cannot speak English, but seems to speak to God very clearly, since she shows up every Sunday, and she continues to pray.

Before the Mass, she sits in the sanctuary and is in deep prayer, one wonders if she is sleeping, her devotion is such; the world is tuned out. Before the Priest enters, she goes to the same pew and sits in the same spot, every Sunday.

In her possession is a black leather bound prayer book, thick and filled for every moment of her life. In Spanish, the prayers fill her with the roads to her strict devotion to God.

She so treasures her prayer book, that she wraps it in a plastic leather bag, carefully folding over the plastic around the book, to protect it further. It is a grey bag with some commercial message on it.

It leads me to wonder who has more, her or me? Who’s treasure has more meaning, whose treasure would be guarded with his/her life? Is my faith that strong? Do I believe in God with all my heart? Am I a sham?

She is a teacher! I don’t know if she teaches class anywhere, goes to a school, or can really read that well. I do know she is a teacher. She taught me that loving God is really a personal thing. It shouldn’t be flouted about, boasted, or even advertised, just practiced. She teaches me that church is a place that God’s real house is in my soul, heart and mind.
http://www.americancatholic.org/Features/SaintofDay/

I know that I’m not very religious; I should probably stay away from churches because I would endanger the good common everyday worshippers. I hate when people postulate and sell me on their holiness, and that’s why I am not too much of a saint. God will determine how good I was; meanwhile, I’ll try and still be human, while being humane.

IT’S A LOCK!

#2 Son lost his car keys! I call a specialist in to create a new key. I called Nissan, and they weren’t too expensive, except I would have to pay for a tow. So, from the comfort of my home, this company sends over their man.

The phone rings about 10:30 AM, and the voice on the other end asks; “Are you going to be home in the next half hour?”

Half hour later, this pickup truck pulls up and out pops one of the brothers. A thin young man in his middle to late twenties, with funky baseball cap, black t-shirt and jeans. Reaching out we shake hands and introduce ourselves.

George begins to take out a portable battery, and a key maker. His truck has computers and keys and locks and everything that would impress one who knows nothing about the trade.

Me; “Wow! Did you go to school to learn all this?”

“Yup, went to a trade school in Brooklyn, my education was paid for, and now I do this for a living!”

“Do you mind if I watch, this kind of stuff fascinates me.”

“No, I don’t mind. Come with me to the car and I’ll show you what I’m doing.”

Well this guy taught me a lot about his trade. He taught me that it still matters to take pride in who and what you are. He patiently answered all my questions and offered more info than I asked for.

We got to talking about responsibility, how he has a little girl, and how he has to remind himself not to work beyond 5:30 PM, so he can get home and play with his little girl. Doesn’t mind working, because he loves it, “Throw as much work as you can at me, because I love it. But come 5:30 PM, I’m done!”

This was some guy, he loved his job, loved his family, and loved people.

I paid the bill, and we shook hands goodbye. I can tell you, this guy was not black, not white, but gold!

If you have a stereotype in your mind about a black guy, and you see one coming down the street, don’t cross the street, say: “hello”, he may be holding the keys to a great friendship.

A SMALL WORLD GETS SMALLER

Life has many funny twists and turns. Sometimes things get unbelievable, some incomprehensible.

Many years ago, in 1979, our son Joseph was born, and as good Christians, we needed to baptize the child. After doing a D&B on a number of candidates, I settled on my younger sister, Mary Ann.
TLW (The Little Woman) also did a background check, and settled on her younger brother Dennis. They made fine Godparents and all was and is well as well can be.

Fast forward to 2008,

Dennis has taken a job at Community Residences in Arlington, Va., as President this past year or so. http://www.comres.org/news.php providing services to people with a wide range of disabilities, since 1975.

Living in Ashburn, Virginia, Dennis and his lovely wife Angela reside happily with their handsome son Ryan.

Mary Ann, sister #3 decided to become an airline stewardess these past few months, and past her tests with “Flying Colors” (Including wings), and now works for Mesa Air Group. If you fly the airline, YOU BETTER BEHAVE, or she WILL kick your butt.

Well Mary Ann needed a place to “Crash” as they say in airline parlance, and where does she choose to live? This is a big country. Ashburn Virginia, where else?

DERE IS GOLD IN DAR HILLS!

Many years ago, I worked with a woman who was dating a fellow from Connecticut. This fellow owned a jewelry store, and was about to get engage with the woman. This arrangement was going well until Christmas came, and he gave her a piece of jewelry.

One morning I arrived at work, and there was this woman, who occupied the office next door to mine. Like a caged lioness, she paced to and fro in her office, a scowl and look of determination in her eyes. I couldn’t help but notice her condition, and inquired what the matter was, since she worked for me.

“Oh, David gave me a bracelet for Christmas.”

Me: “Oh? Were you hoping for an engagement ring, instead?”

“No, but the bracelet is GOLD PLATED, and under $100.”

Me: “OK, maybe I don’t understand, what is the matter, the brace let too tight?”

“NO! He should have given me a gold bracelet, I don’t accept gold platted, let alone a gift under $100.”

Me: “Did my wife put you up to this?”

“Very funny, but I’m going to return the bracelet.”

Me; “Won’t that make him feel bad? Besides, maybe that’s all he can afford.”

“Then he can’t afford me.”

And so dear reader, another relationship would be built on LOVE of gold and UNDERSTANDING that gold plated and under $100, isn’t good.

Good old TLW (The Little Woman), never returns MY gifts, just won’t use it if she doesn’t like it.

AND THE RACE IS ON

The other day I was on my way to a meeting in Bohemia. It seems I’m still wanted for something besides giving generously to some strange charity that calls me every day or so.

As I meandered along this country road toward my final destination, this SUV comes barreling up from behind me, criss crossing the traffic along the way, and swerving in front of me. Being a man of gentility, I merely referred to his lack of a father, and continued on my merry way, spreading cheer where I could at that stage.

Off the scoundrel went, into the distance, hopefully never to be seen again. As I approached the distant light, what do I see but, Lo and behold (WHAT does that mean?); the fatherless chap I had christened.

Once again, as the light changed, (It might have been re-painted because it was very long) the Daddy-less chump sped off once more, zigging and zagging, crissing and crossing, along the narrow lane of one-way traffic.

Once again, I meet up with the son of a female fox terrier, at the turning light. Lo and behold, (There is that dammed phrase again!) the fatherless chap is now turning in the same direction I’m going in! Now he has open highway! Now he can burn some rubber, put the peddle to the metal so to speak. What does he do?

Pulling in behind a slow moving cement truck, he casually pulls out a cigarette and proceeded to follow the truck, losing ground on him. I passed the lout and waved at him, telling him he was #1 in my book. Maybe not in the right finger.

ST. JUDE MOONLIGHTING?

I know the economy is bad right now. I know that the mortgage industry from what TLW (The Little Woman) tells me is in big trouble, but I didn’t know that when someone says: “Heaven help us!” they get help!

Driving home from signing checks for the Agency, I stopped at a light and saw a sign off the side of the road. It read: “St. Jude Mortgage Rescue.”

It is about time the saints got smart and started charging for the little miracles they perform. God bless her, my Mother-In-Law Helen, always invoked the power of St. Anthony in finding things. It could be a job, car keys, or some object that went missing.

TLW has similarly performed such miracles as finding #2 Son’s license, the day he needed it to fly to Arizona. I witnessed that one first hand. Down on her knees she went, praying to find the license, then, like someone whispered in her ear, she went upstairs and came down in a minute, holding up the license!

Of course, there are churches that have some interesting names like: Our lady of Perpetual Hope, or Our Lady, Queen of Sorrows, but I kind of take those names personally, since I think they meant me when they named them. I liked: “Our Lady, Queen of Spades,” myself.

Don’t stand too close to me, lightning is going to strike, SOON!

MORE IDEAS!

My lip-sync idea has led me to a new idea, for those who like to sing in church, but are afraid.

THE KARAOKE MASS!

Yes, you go to church, pay an entrance fee. It could be at a temple or church and you have a karaoke service.

You sign in, select your song, and a screen will run the music as you sing! The congregation judges all the entrants, and the winner splits the take with the poor box and church. There could be some side betting, where the ushers would come down the aisle and collect the bets! My God, why didn’t someone think of this before?

My guess is that all the younger people will suddenly rediscover their faith, coming not once, but twice a day to church or temple. Dads that don’t go to church will suddenly take up all the seats in the front row.

One could wear a costume, maybe as an angel or a saint, or even one of the multitudes you read about. In whatever case, they would do their thing.

An ambulance would be at the ready in the parking lot for all the little old ladies, when they have their fits, so everything would be covered.

I HAVE AN IDEA!

I opened the newspapers this morning, and there on the front page was a story about a former Suffolk County politician being arraigned. The paper couldn’t report on why, just that he was being arraigned first thing this morning.

The next page over was a story about John Edwards, and it got me thinking; our political process if not complete!

What we need to do is swear in all politicians, using a judge, who then, upon installation into office, immediately arraigns the politician!

The arraignment papers will be complete with name and description of the bum, with the offense and date to be filled in. This can then save us time and money in getting warrants, interfering with lesser evils such as: murder, stealing and physical attacks on people.

To make the newly installed politician feel complete, we could set up a fund called: “The Greed Fund”, that we could make available to the bums, that monitored, would give us insight into how much they would steal from the public trust. It could be the stuff that banks use to track stolen money. A green dye would activate on their hands staining them for years.

The beauty of the above plan is that the dye stays on their greedy hands for years, and we are always reminded that he or she is a politician.

Maybe we could provide them with an ATM Service, with a card that they swipe. Come to think of it, they could steal the card, too!

ATM Machine; Espanol o Englise?
ATM Machine; Are you stealing from a general fund or pension?

ATM Machine; How much do you wish to steal?

ATM Machine; How much would you really like to steal but are cautious?

ATM Machine; Do you think you can get away with it?

ATM Machine; Make sure you take all the money, receipt and your card.

ATM Machine; Before completing this transaction, face forward and smile.

ATM Machine; Thank you for stealing from us, and have a good day!

WE LIP-SYNC OUR PRAISES, OH LORD!

TLW (The Little Woman) and I went off to church this morning, and sat in our usual pew. That is: not too close, but close enough.

We don’t have a choir at the 8:30 A.M. Mass, but we do have two ladies, one with a guitar and one playing the organ or whatever it is she is playing.

Before throwing out the first prayer by the Priest, one of the ladies refers us to a piece of music in the hymnbook to sing. I took a survey. Including me, no one is singing! Oh, we all look like we are, but we’re not!

We are all lip-syncing. Yes, our lips move, but no noise. The other thing is that no one is looking anywhere but in the book. No point in catching the eye of the lady who is leading us. She might urge us to sing out loud.

The Priest surveys the congregation, looking for stragglers so to speak, but he really can’t tell.

I developed a routine in front of the mirror, where I use body emphasis to make me look I’m singing. I am remarkably convincing in my act. I look like I’m singing, but someone turned off the volume.

Why don’t I sing? I try it often, in the car, when driving alone. I sound just like Pavarotti, or Sinatra, depending on the music choice. I go into church to give the gift to others, and I get warning glares, people straining their necks to see where the water pipe burst is or the cow is dying.

They hurt my feelings.

THE NEWS!

It was eerily quiet. Sitting on the examining table, I started to contemplate opening some drawers to see what was in them, or playing with the doctor’s blood pressure contraption. After all these years, I deserve to have some fun. I had already memorized all the wall charts for intestines, and baldness. I already had quit smoking. There really was nothing else left. Suddenly the door swings open and in pops the Doctor.

“How are you today?”

I think: I have a right arm that is about to fall off, there is something seriously wrong about my recent weight gain. My feet hurt, my nose runs a lot in the morning, getting more exercise than I do, I seem to need more sleep. Every time I try to move, something else hurts. I have all the side effects mentioned by all the commercials for everything from medications for menstrual cramps to prostate problems. My dog is taking advantage of my good nature, and TLW (The Little Woman) is starting to look younger every day. The problem of bone density is in my head, I answer him: “OK”.

He says: “Let’s have a look.”

Yes, let’s.

My doctor’s vocabulary is very simple. “Hmmm, say aah,” and my favorite, “Let’s check the prostate.” Hmmm. Yes, let’s.

“Ok, this is your annual visit, so we need to take pictures, let’s go to the x-ray room. Hmmm. Yes, let’s.

We take the pictures and head back to his office. I sit waiting so he can finish talking to a patient sitting in there already. We are all called “Patients” because of our patience in waiting in all the different rooms he has.

As I sit, there is a room next to me where the catered lunch is sitting. It smells good, I’m hungry and hey, why not? I’m ready to make my move, when suddenly: “Mr. DelBloggolo, you can come in now.” Drats!

He looks at the heart tape taken earlier, puts it aside and turns to the x-rays, his demeanor seemingly changing!

Oh, no! Tell me doctor, I can take it! What is it? What terrible thing is it? Will TLW be a widow? Dam, I should have checked to see if the insurance is up to date before I left. I wonder if I should pick out music for the funeral. I’ll also need a caterer for afterwards. I hope TLW orders stuff I like. I guess that won’t matter.

“Oh, Nora, could you come in her, please?”

My God! It’s worst than I thought! I’ll probably have to be rushed to the hospital right now! Maybe I better call TLW, and Phil, my best man.

“Nora, the printer needs ink!”

Ha! I knew it! Not a thing to worry about.

THE ANNUAL CHECKUP

Or Doctor, Is That You?

Today is the big day. I see Dr. Hauer for my yearly checkup.

In his aptly termed “Waiting Room”, I sit and wait. Then I wait some more. While I’m at it, I survey those waiting ahead of me. Those who came in clean-shaven now sport a nice little growth, both men and women.

Reading the magazine articles: President Carter’s upcoming State of the Union Speech, I look up at the TV that is blaring loudly with conversations between Kelly Ripa and Regis Philbin, my attention shifts to the conversations I can’t help but overhear on the phone by the nurses, and receptionist.

“No Dear, the Doctor only does that in rear emergencies.”

“As soon as the Doctor is done with his patient, I’ll ask him to give you a call.”

Suddenly the parade of drug salespeople starts to pass before me. Sample suitcases and quick acknowledgements by the desk allow for immediate passage through the portals of healing.

It is getting near lunchtime, I’m starving, and the office staff lunch arrives! Catered!” I plot my move. How do I get some of that while no one is looking?

Finally, the young nurse who started her day just out of nursing school, is planning her retirement when she mangles my last name.
I rise, I once again survey all who have followed me, and follow her.

She weights me, screwing up royally and says: “Take this cup and go into that room and when you are done go into room #3.”

I go into the room, fill the cup, (I don’t want them to dip too far into it,) and leave it on the counter in room #3. Up on the table I go, the nurse sticking a thermometer in my mouth, checks the cup to see if it needs chlorine or an alkalinity boost and leaves me alone, closing the door behind her.

And so, I wait some more. I start to think. Do I have cancer, a heart attack coming on, maybe even a tropical disease? Is my insurance up to date, did the doctor get the new method of prostate exams yet, or are we going to do THAT again? Will TLW (The Little Woman) remarry again? I better tell her to leave my Brooklyn Dodger memorabilia in my coffin with me, and oh, don’t forget; I want my Brooklyn Dodger hat on.

Tomorrow: The News.

THIS IS DELBLOGGOLO POST #800!

WHAT DID YOU SAY?

Today I’m on an annoyance kick. A rant if you will. What has my shorts in a knot? Some of the “lingo” I hear these days.

The other day I was taking a walk in the mall and a little girl about 12 was walking with her girlfriends. She was talking into a cell phone, and as she did, I overheard a small part of her conversation.

I for one hate to hear these trendy terms like: “My bad!” It makes me realize how badly we do communicate with each other. I know my diction and grammar are not the best, but I refuse to reach for hocus-pocus lexicons to show I’m “Hip” or now.

In the little girl’s conversation, she was: “Pissed-off”. I thought about it for a moment and figured was she happy or sad? Wouldn’t she be angry if she were: “Pissed-on”? I mean, someone takes the time to avoid you while they pissed, or “pissed-off” your locale? If I was “pissed-on”, I’d be “pissed-off” as they say. It gets kind of confusing.

Imagine: “He pissed on me, so I’m pissed-off.”

Tune in tomorrow, when I may write about “&$%#”.

PROVING THEIR WORTH

Last evening TLW (The Little Woman) and I went to a picnic of sorts at my daughter Ellen’s group home in Wading River.

Everyone was sitting outside on picnic tables as the picnic was almost over when we arrived. We decided to sneak up on Ellen and surprise her, as we approached the area from the side of the house. Poking my head around the corner, I scanned the various tables, and there she sat, enjoying a piece of chocolate cake.

As we approached, she turned and saw us, jumping out of her seat and running over to us. Clapping her hands she took TLW’s hand and we walked her around a little until suddenly, she lost her balance and fell! Being how she is so unsteady on her feet, we come to expect that, but this time she twisted her ankle a little (Not serious) and scraped her knee, opening up a tear and bleeding.

Immediately the staff came running to assist us. The cook, the day care people and her parents took her inside to tend her wounds and make her feel better as someone fetched a nurse. After the excitement died down, we were all in the living room, staff, nurse and cook and all Ellen’s house mates. TLW and I went to greet everyone, shaking hands and getting hugs where we could. We started to talk about Ellen, and it seemed that everyone in the house had a personal relationship with my little girl. It was one of the warmest feelings one could possibly get from this wonderful staff of people. Ellen’s friends surrounded us.

I’ve been on the Board of Directors for over 19 years, dealing with all the programs both as President of the Board and chairman of various committees. I play Santa Claus every year at the annual Christmas Dance, and I’ve spotted the staff interacting in the mall unknown to them, and each and every time I have seen them, they have treated the people in their care with love and kindness. This is no act; they genuinely care, and take their jobs seriously.

If by chance you see them in your mall, or on a street you are traveling, working a wheel chair or assisting someone to walk, don’t be afraid to go up to them and say: “Thanks.” for making humanity great by lifting up the people who love, and need love.

HOW DO YOU DO (IT)?

We arrived early for the wedding in Holyoke, Mass. In the Country Inn lobby, waiting for our rooms to be ready. My lovely niece Sara, sat waiting along with TLW (The Little Woman), and #1 Son, along with us sat a strange lady who was nicely dressed waiting on one of the couches, while my Nephew John went to the toilet.

Suddenly more of the family started to arrive. As we sat around waiting for our rooms, my nephew John who rode with us arrived from the men’s room and started to greet everyone. Shaking the men’s hands and kissing all the ladies, John was on a roll. Coming up to the lone woman, he leans down and kisses her! Startled, she looks at him; he realizes he may have made a mistake. “Your with the wedding, right?” says John. “Yes, I’m Ritchie’s aunt.” Replies the stranger. “Oh, yeah, Ritchie’s aunt.” recovers John.

As we are leaving, John looks at the lady and says; “Well, I’ll see you at the wedding.” As the stranger waves and smiles at him.

Out we go, laughing in the parking lot, I said to John; “You pulled a Grandpa!” “Yeah, he says, I’ve got a little of you and Grandpa in me.” He does.

FAREWELL, STANLEY

Tonight we went to say: “good bye” to Stanley. Being how he passed on, we decided to pay out last respects to the man. We were glad we did.

TLW (The Little Woman) and I got in our car and drove to Wading River and the funeral parlor that accommodated Stanley. You know when you die a poor man, a man with no skills and no abilities to impress people; you can die lonely.

Stanley laid in his coffin, dressed rather handsomely, a tie and jacket, perfectly coordinated. He looked like he was a CEO of General Motors. Although the room was mostly quiet, for lack of visitors, his brother greeted us at the front of the room. He was happy that someone remembered this brother.

We introduced ourselves, and related a story about our daughter Ellen who sat with Stanley. Stan’s brother in turn related another story about a fellow who lives in the same house that Stan lived in, how he went into Stan’s room, sat on his bed, and refused to come out.

Driving home, I did a little thinking about Stanley, how he was in pain when he died, and how sad I was to hear that. That ugly disease Cancer claimed him, and although it may have consumed his body, his spirit is still, very much alive.

I am grateful for Stanley’s life, he gave much joy to my daughter. He made life whole; he made it joyful for Ellen.

I hope that more people come by to pay their respects. I know it is easy to forget a life like Stanley’s, but we must remember he was one of us, a human being. When we die, we will all be Stanley’s equal, no better, no worse. The people who took care of him, raised the human spirit a hundred fold. God bless everyone of them.

Good bye, Stanley, the world may forget you, and so will I, but it will forget all of us someday.

OH, HOW WE DANCED

The families gathered, like a Mafioso clan meeting in the Adirondacks. The difference was the families were mostly Italian and Polish, with love in our hearts.

One of the most beautiful churches I ever saw, Sacred Heart Church of Northampton, was the centerpiece of the wonderful event. The multi-columned large stained glass edifice was a perfect setting for the joy of marriage or the solemnity of prayer. Following a very beautiful sermon by Rev. Merle Lavoie, we all headed to the Delaney House in Holyoke, to dine, dance and be merry as we joined the happy couple’s celebration.

The beautiful Bride, Nicole Papia and the handsome Groom (he takes after his uncle on his Mother’s side), my nephew Marc Dzicek, joined hands for the first time in their long journey as husband and wife, and soul mates through life, and what it will offer.

Marc was always my nephew, not a married man. He was a little kid who played with his little cousins. There are no little cousins of his generation any more!

Instead, I witnessed a young man, in his prime, committed to a life of devotion to his new wife. It made me proud of him, his success as a human being, a living statement of the values shared by his parents and sisters, all just as fine.

Although the ceremony itself was a statement of love, and the reception a time to rejoice, the value of watching two happy people on their special day was their gift to all who attended.

May you have long life, health with happy children. Be rich in spirit and poor of malice: remember God joined you: only he should part you. Love each other, live for each other, put yourself second, and your partner first, until your children come. Remember this: wherever the two of you may be together, that, you can call home.

And don’t forget to laugh.

WHAT LIFE BRINGS US.

On July 10th of this year, I wrote about “Simple Love. If you read it, you will remember that my daughter Ellen; was heart broken that a gentleman with developmental and physical disabilities that resides in her home by the name of Stan was away at a hospital.

Stan is a very gentle soul, and like my daughter Ellen: one who does not speak. Like an old married couple they sit together in their living room, just enjoying each other’s company.

I also wrote that when Stan went into the hospital, Ellen was found, lying on Stan’s bed, missing him. Their affection for each other is simple in nature and practice, but very beautiful.

We hoped that Stan was finally sent home to recuperate from whatever ailed him, and Ellen would be very happy.

Today, this evening, we received the news that Stan had passed away this morning.

It saddens us, (The Little Woman) and me whenever one of these guys passes on. It saddens us to know that they lived lives that were sheltered from the mainstream, and that they lived in pain, or sometimes agony.

Today not only did Stan pass away, and maybe that was for his better, no more pain, but if will sadden Ellen. She will search for him, and she will look in all the rooms of her home. She will not understand what happened to Stan, just like I cannot understand what happened to my beautiful daughter Ellen.

WHEN SOMETHING SPECIAL HAPPENS

Today was kind of special. I spent the day with #1 Son, which I haven’t done in over 6 months. Then later on in the afternoon, #2 joined us. Just me and #1 at first, went to lunch together for sushi, and then home to watch a CD he bought me for Father’s Day on the six important games at Shea Stadium.

When #1 Son was a little kid, he ate drank and slept baseball. He played it even I the winter when it was very cold outside. We watched the game, one of the 1969 World Series Games that he was not born yet when it played. He asked questions and I gave out info that he found interesting.

Like old times we talked baseball, and just in time for the trading deadline. What could be more fun for this old fool than to spend time with my sons. Although #2 Son is not a baseball fan, it was still nice that he was around.

I wish there were more days like this particular one, and maybe before I pass on, there will be. I hope so.

IN HER ELEMENT

TLW (The Little Woman) is as happy as can be. She now has both #1 and #2 Son to take care of. Preparing bedrooms and making sure the food is ready, snacks are provided and drinks are aplenty, TLW goes about her merry way. Life is good!

Meanwhile, yours truly, (the man who tells her all the time: “I love you” because that’s my job) goes about his business without much ado. Fielding questions and following orders, and scampering about filling in the blanks for TLW. But, I could probably take a day or two away from all this, and she would hardly notice. Nesting is what it is all about.

Of course once the wedding is over, and #1 Son returns to California, I will come into sharper focus. She’ll go off to work and leave me with some requests that I will dutifully execute to the best of my abilities. TLW must have taken a course in Husbandry somewhere along the line.

In honor of #1 Son, she even went out and bought a box of donuts! Yes, Miss Weight Watcher of 2008 bought home a box of donuts! Did SHE eat one? NOOOOOOO! Did I? YESSSSS!

Well, I have to take my dog; ‘Happy’ to Kozy Knoses to reside for a few days, since we don’t trust #2 Son to let her back in the house after she does her business. The good side of this is that I get to sleep the whole night.