VENTURING OUT

Only half-way there!

Feeling blest

We finally broke our self-imposed rule of quarantine to venture out to Costco, to get the almighty goods that will sustain us until the plague lifts, if we are around that long. Of course, I have to think this out in my head, visiting all four corners of it to come up with a well-organized plan, something that would rival the planning of ‘Operation Overlord”!

Into my Rav-4 TLW and I journey to Sayville and with trepidation and worry arrive at Costco. As we enter the parking lot I hear: “Oh my God! Look at the line!!!” Well-spoken lines y TLW (The Little Woman)

We discuss what we will do at this point, park with the toilet paper deprived and go to the end of a ½ mile line keeping each person and cart 6’ apart, or go piece-meal for items at the local marts.

I park near the center of the building and a cart park and we stroll all around the building. It is cold and cloudy with winds that whip you into order. Once we get to our place of line, my mind begins the process of understanding what is happening. Slowly, people fall-in behind us with their carts face masked and wearing gloves. I wonder where these facemasks are coming from, isn’t there a shortage of masks? I’m handing out plastic gloves I give to my wife and myself as we touch the basket, she hands me a Handy wipe she has made for the occasions such as this.

Cars are streaming into the large parking lot by the dozens, and our line begins to move about 20 to 30 paces at a time, every 5 to 8 minutes. We have arrived at about 8:00 AM, a special hour for people who are senior citizens. The line ahead is ½ mile long.

As I chat or listen to TLW, I see a few Coronavirus bugs in my mind, whizzing by my head, causing me to duck and dodge as we commiserate and wonder why to spell check considers Coronavisus two words and TV and the press doesn’t.

Suddenly, an elder gentleman jumps off the line afraid to wait and decided he wants to die on time and not prematurely. I scorn him because I know that when he does croak, he won’t have any toilet paper to leave to his grandkids by jumping off the line.

As I look up the line, I see another gentleman about 85-years old, slowly shuffling toward the end of the line probably having left his home sometime last night.

Finally, we arrive at the entrance, a staff person hands us a paper towel to wipe down the cart that I gratefully accept. People are passing us by as we casually stroll down the aisle toward the toilet paper section, determined to reach their objective. We head to what is important: steak, pistachio nuts, coffee pods, and then, toilet paper. As we come to the section where the paper is stored and there is a tape barrier. There is a line behind the barrier and we fall in. Passing the barrier we find the toilet paper and by a few rolls. We are blest! God is good! And, to top it all off, we even buy a few boxes of facial tissues. Can this all be? Is this but a dream?

Surprisingly, as we leave the store we notice that it is not overcrowded, and the self-checkouts are empty!

I come with my wagon to the exit where they check your receipt and behind a small plastic booth stood a man, I ask for two mezzanine seats, and he smiles at me.  I wonder if most shoppers were asking for loge.

Leaving the store we stroll along the long line waiting outside when I notice this one guy peering into my basket looking at MY toilet paper. “Scott toilet paper!” he says. “Yes, and I use both sides of it, too!”

WILL I WAKE UP?

I know this is all a dream. Soon, I will open my eyes and go downstairs and pour my coffee to start my day after my shower. I’m having this silly dream and of course, I can’t explain it well. Like most of my dreams, this one doesn’t make any sense either.

When I wake up the first thing I am going to do is go out for breakfast at my favorite dinner, make a lunch date and then phone for a reservation for two at an Italian restaurant that serves great quality food and service.

Between these meals I will go to the supermarket and buy a roll or two of toilet paper, there is so much to choose from. God forbid, if I see someone with a mask it will probably be either a stickup or Halloween.

I will turn on the TV and watch the news, probably about Trump’s ratings or the scheduled Democratic debates for president. I wonder how the Mets made out this past week and, are they in the first place? What time do the Mets play today and who’s pitching?

Maybe I should fill my tank with gas and go for a nice long ride or visit the mall, there are a few things I’d like to get, I just have to navigate the crowds of teenagers that hang around there. I could drop by my sister’s house and see how she is doing, maybe invite her over for dinner Sunday.

I tell you after this silly dream is over, I certainly will enjoy my freedom, thank goodness I will wake up soon.

WHEN IT’S EVEN MORE!

I’m sorry for all of you that this horrible virus that has hit us. I’m sorry for the inconvenience it is causing you as you sit through your days wondering if you will get this virus. And if you are 65 or older, well, you have heard the warning about your vulnerability in this crisis. Living alone must be difficult, spending endless days from socializing, and we all have to keep our 6-foot distances.

For the past month people have been asking me about my daughter Ellen, as she goes from hospital to the medical center to multi-care institutions, never settling down, never getting better. She levels out and we have hope, only to have it dashed time and again. Recently we were told she was heading to her home finally, just a matter of a small meeting for intake back into her agency home. Then, the virus came. We have no confidence she will indeed ever return to her home, we just don’t believe it.

She spends her days, endless hours, sitting in her bed with her blanket over her head. She still doesn’t eat, doesn’t speak, or interact with people. Imagine such a life with total noting as you do this day-after-day.

Then last night we got the call from her multi-care residence that she is going back into the hospital. Her white blood count is through the roof, once again endangering her and our hope of her ever going hoe again.

So, after the call, we added together all the worries and were sure to include this new one.

She is in a place where they are currently treating the Coronavirus. Where was is dealing with it by edict of the State of New York, places like that have to take in a victim of the virus. At least we are safe if we stay in our homes and not go out. Ellen has no choices.

OLFACTORY OR NELLA CUCCINA

Definition of olfactory: “Of or relating to the sense of smell olfactory receptors. -Merriam Webster 

They sure know their stuff.

Years ago while working as a young graphic designer, I used to smoke and at one point lit a cigarette. I was going over some designs I was considering with my boss, Jack Stern. As I lit the cigarette Jack remarked that the smell triggered a memory he had.

I know you have had the smell trigger experience also.

I can remember walking into a Federal building where I once had to attend a meeting, an old building that sat somewhere under the el in Brooklyn. As I entered I got a whiff of the steam heat that was generating from the generators, and it took my back immediately to my childhood and the Catholic School I attended, Our Lady of Lourdes. It was a smell that I hated because it meant the hard discipline of the nuns and brothers that tormented me during the day. (Maybe it was me tormenting them, I’ll have to get back to you on that.)

When I worked for a major direct marketing firm in Port Washington, every morning, but especially Monday morning, after a weekend of being at ease, I would open the door to the building, flip my passkey and open the inner door and a certain smell emanated, probably from either the rugs or walls. It told me that I had to change my mood, up my guard and take on another persona. When this happened my wing-tipped shoes started to feel stiff, my wool suit felt heavy and itchy, and my tie felt very tight around my neck, all this from one smell.

Then a few days ago I went to the supermarket to look for some ‘green gold’ basil, Italian basil. I deliberately took a whiff of it and I was transported all the way back to Grandma Francesca’s Cucina. Suddenly I could see the huge pasta pot, smoking, the oven hot and sending forth an aroma to die to know what she was cooking, it smelled so good. I can still see \and hear the flip-flop of her slippers as she clopped around her kitchen like a middle linebacker checking all the positions of the offense. Suddenly, she would pivot and head for grandpa’s garden and pick some basil and toss it, roots and all on top her table where I would put my nose in it to smell its wonderfulness. This happens every time I smell the herb, and along with Italian parsley, I conjure up a dish of Lasagna!

There is a blessing in being Italian, the smells of their cooking will dictate that you are hungry and that something good is coming, so you better eat!

I can remember Mom and the Sunday gravy being started. As I lay in my bed, mom was busy starting the sauce, frying meatballs at 6 A.M. is a great starter to a day!

THE BIRTHDAY GIRL

Today is La Principessa’s birthday. She is the ripe old age of 6-years old. More beautiful each day, she manages to be more talented as she ages.
Being she is my first grandchild, she has spoiled it for all that may follow. As an older sister, she is fully engaged in loving her little brother Bobby, as Darby Shea attends to his amusement while forgiving his indiscretions as he knocks down her building tiles and shouts with a macho voice: “BOBBY DEEEEE!” fists clenched and chest out.

There is an interesting dichotomy in that Darby is not the only older sister who has a birthday today. Her great Aunt, my older sister Tessie was born on this very day many, many, years ago. How many? I lost count and, Tessie’s first grandchild was born on my birthday.

But Darby has mastered the art of expression, reaching for paintbrush or pencil, pen or chalk, and expresses herself so beautifully with passion and emotion her work can only be described as ‘masterpieces’.

So, let’s break out the cake and ice cream, wrap the presents and have a party!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LA PRINCIPESSA!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO A ROCK SALESMAN!

Many years ago while growing into a walking, talking child who made friends in his neighborhood, my #1 son Anthony, along with his friend Damon, at the age of 4-years old, decided to go into business. It would be a hard sell for sure, going door-to-door, selling their wares to the locals. And what were they selling, these two young and ambitious salesmen, and entrepreneurs if you will, Giants of free trade and masterminds of industry.

Rocks!

These were not your special moon rocks or rocks from some special place like Lourdes, but rocks that sat in the streets and lots and mortgaged property of home-owners.

They had ‘thought out of the box’ so to speak. Who knew ordinary rocks could be so valuable, let alone expensive. When told this, I immediately imagined myself living like a king, retired at an early age, mainly from the very rocks that populated my lawn.
As they gathered their inventory and knocked on doors, they introduced themselves by name, address, and age while proudly presenting their goods. I was so proud! Of course, I could have been prouder if they managed to sell one.

Today is one of those salesmen’s birthday, where he has a potential rock salesman he is raising. Anthony turns older this day, and although he has artificial turf for a lawn and no rocks, I don’t know for sure if his son will take on the business and run it efficiently, or run it into the ground where it was born. My fear is that Bobby, maybe a playboy and the later will occur.

But to Dad, 31 Son, Anthony, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

WASHING MY HANDS

A few years ago this coming June, while visiting the Children's Hospital Los Angeles where they treat children throughout Southern California, I had a chance to learn an everyday simple task. I was in the lounge waiting to visit my grandson Robert, aka ‘Bobby D’ aka ‘Moscolo Marinara’ as the medical staff was trying to give him a start in life, better than what we, all his family, was afraid of might be. The trauma of his mamma Courtney, my beautiful and smart daughter-in-law had passed on the delivery table sending shock throughout the family. Her final gift to the world was in danger and needed to help us all withstand the horror and understand life a little differently.

As I waited in the lounge, a group of people gathered together under the plate glassed window that faced the corridor. Of the group, one was a staff person who was wearing a white coat and had a box with a special light inside of it that showed the appearance of germ on one’s hand. Laying down a magazine I was reading or mindlessly browsing, I looked over. The meeting was to learn how to properly wash one’s hands, the step and techniques needed to do so. It was a course I committed to my mind because I saw the importance of doing so in ordinary times. The emphasis of the hospital was because there were children in their hospital that some were recuperating, some were fighting for their life (Bobby), and some who were tragic, dying!

Every visitor in the beginning days of this ordeal who visited Bobby needed to wear a mask and gloves for his protection. As he lay on top of the bed, freezing because they needed to keep him that way to manage his body temperature, we marveled at the little miracle that was considered going for the most part but for the quick action of a nurse at the birthing hospital who transported him to the Children’s Hospital. That was dedication and leadership by the staff, something that I still marvel at to this day, grateful for them and their professionalism. God, bless them all.

This takes me to today, and the need to wash our hands, listen to the professionals and like the nurse that saved Bobby’s life with her professional reaction in a crisis, we need that professionalism to save us once again. Keeping a distance of 6 to 8 feet apart in public places, the suspension of public gatherings and the consideration of all my fellow Earthlings health is the dedication I need to demonstrate in my own small way. Keeping a stiff upper lip, defying the fear with humor goes a long way. The fear is for my family and friends I consider of value, the humor to help them survive if only for a moment, a respite from the ugly reality we are facing.

Please… take care of yourselves, take the precautions needed to survive, protect your family and friends and have faith in the angels of life, the medical profession. To stay home and away from the possibility is the best thing we can all do.

It’s funny how when I worked every day, and I climbed the train for NYC or got into my car for Port Washington, I often wished for a day or two where I could do anything I wanted, paint, woodcarving or writing a novel that seemed like a distinct impossibility that somehow has morphed into reality. Now I can do just about anything my imagination will let me do. I hope that you can find that time and opportunity, also.

Stay well and safe.

WHAT I DON’T UNDERSTAND?

Have you wondered why car dealerships are inviting you down to the showroom on TV for a great deal on a car? Does Toyota, or Ford, or whomever, expect anyone to leave his or her house for anything but to stock up on toilet paper?

How is it that some of the talking heads on MSNBC and FOX NEWS are in the studio and some are in their homes reporting?

Do we really need a weatherman these days?

There is a commercial for assisted living called: ‘A PLACE FOR MOM’. TELL HER TO STAY THE HELL HOME! No one is going out to place her with that virus running loose. A tell her to button her coat and the HELL about Dad!

On Long Island, the way to prepare for any disaster is to order $12,000 worth of cold cuts, or ten gallons of milk, and fill the gas tank that will allow you to let your car sit in the driveway where it can’t move anyway.

I watch the TV to see the Coronavirus team report to me what they said yesterday, the difference being that they are repeating themselves again today.

Why does spell check so dislike the word Coronavirus? It tells me I spelled it wrong!

I have washed my hands so often they are chapped, scaling and dry. I would think that is a fertile field for any virus.

Coronavirus is now in all 50 US states and 6 states have already issued mandatory lockdowns. More states will go on lockdown by the day. Why are the rest of the states waiting? If we all do it at once, won’t we be more successful and quickly end this nightmare? Should the President order this? Is he conscious yet?

ONCE UPON A TIME

It’s been a year ago this month that I resigned from the Board of Directors of AHRC Suffolk. It was my job that was at one time my second job and quickly morphed into my only job.

Over the years as I attended board meetings, conferences, committee meetings and functioned as both director and a two-time president for six years I met a lot of great people, people I loved and called my friends.

Every Tuesday morning I would go to the agency and sign checks for the agency as the two signatures for checks over $7,500 needed for authorization. As I entered the building that sat like a fortress on Veteran’s Memorial Highway in Bohemia, NY, I would greet the many people that who staffed the agency on a first name basis. I was once told that my presence as a board member made staff uneasy as a whole, and this troubled me exceedingly.

I started to come in on a Tuesday and greet the receptionist first by her first name and as I walked down the office aisle I tried to leave them laughing. There were quite a few that I left that way. It seemed each of them had something we could share jokingly, one was a troublemaker, one I advised about her new husband doing the cleaning to check under the rug and one I would ask about the grandchild she had.

I miss them. I miss their faces that lit up, their laughs and their kindness, their decency and the fact that they were hard workers dedicated to their jobs servicing people with disabilities. God bless them.

YESTERDAY

March 20, 1972, was a day that I will remember forever. It was a day that welcomed my beautiful daughter into the world. She was born on a Tuesday and borne from love.

Being a dad for the first time was a thrill yet it seemed to be a sobering fact. Luckily, I had a wonderful wife who helped me get through the ordeal. Having experience with women who had gone through the trial of pregnancy, I understood what that entails and how heroic a mother to be is.

That Tuesday morning 48 years ago my wife Ellen drove me to the train station for my commute to the city of New York and my first professional job as a graphic designer. As I kissed her goodbye, she reminded me she was going to see the baby doctor that morning. I knew it was coming soon.

At work that morning I was in my office and there was a meeting going on behind closed doors about the work in progress. My wife calls and tells me she is on her way to the hospital to deliver by advisement of her doctor. I get one of the secretaries to inform my boss that I was going off to meet my child.

As I took the long and agonizing ride in the taxi from the Bay Shore railroad station to Southside Hospital, I grew very nervous, thinking about my wife in labor and being there without me. Finally, I arrive and after a few cigarettes and a worrying wait, the doctor enters the waiting room and tells me I have a daughter! I rush to the elevator to go to see my wife. As the elevator stops on a floor between where I was and where I was going, across the hallway I see an elevator stop and open, there is an incubator with my last name on it and a pink card, announcing who was occupying it. I see this beautiful pink bundle and my chest swells, just then the elevator door closed and I continue on up to see my wife.

I had my first glimpse of my new family member! I insisted we name her after her mama, Ellen.

SOME THOUGHTS ON COVID-19

The Three Stooges: Graham, Trump, and McConnell

It seems like nothing in history has had a profound effect on life, as I know it as does the Covid-19 or Coronavirus has. If you scan the newspapers you will see nothing about foreign or domestic news except the virus. The issues facing us as Americans: is do we have enough ventilators, masks and other equipment to successfully combat the virus and keep our medical people safe.

The sports world is non-existent at this point; the major sports leagues have all canceled their schedules for the exception of the NFL, which is not scheduled to begin until September. However, I would not bet on that for sure.

I watch the TV and most TV talking heads are still at it but the guest instead of appearing in the TV studios are at home doing their reporting.

The stock market is quickly fading and many of us will no longer be solvent as retirement accounts are disappearing. The malls and small businesses are closed while restaurants are reduced to take-out only. Gathering more than 10 people is highly discouraged and don’t you dare hug or shake hands. Our primary elections are put on hold and flying is becoming endangered, meaning I can’t visit my grandchildren or even see my three kids.

And who is leading us, a Doctor Fauci, or an Andrew Cuomo or a mayor from New York City? Every day the restrictions become more pronounced as the death toll and other bad news become more prevalent for Americans.

Where is the national leadership? Why has the President failed to lead? Where are his plans and reassurances to Americans? How could this child be given the task that only a logical and mature mind can handle, not his childishness?

I think that in this time of crisis for our country, as the Republican Senate has a responsibility to correct the mistakes they made at the the impeachment trial of the President to demand his resignation, and that of both Mitch McConnell and Lindsey Graham also step down. All three have proven beyond a doubt they are incapable of leadership.

Due to the inability of the president to lead since he has no experience in leadership, we need to make a change now, for the sake of our freedoms, the prevention of a delayed national election, and the saving of our national economy.

GROWING UP INTO A KID

Today is March 19th, Saint Joseph’s Day, celebrated in the biggest kitchen in the World, Italy and by far the best! When I was a wee one back in Brooklyn, St Joseph’s Day was a big deal in the Italian/American neighborhood, and if you were named Joseph, better yet, you were a prince. People, mostly adult Italians would see you and say: “Giuseppe!” and give you the two-finger squeeze of the cheek and laugh. Some would give you a dime, and even a dollar if they were really happy.
 
Having THE name meant that crème puffs were coming your way, too. You got the first and fattest crème puff there is and just ask for a little more sugar and you got it. Zeppoli and sfinge were worth all the cheek pecks there was that day.

 If I saw my grandmother that day, she would clasp her hands in a prayer-like shake and repeat my name in Italian, then, grasp my cheeks with two hands and squeeze while lifting both feet off the ground of course! One would think they closed down Brooklyn for the day so people could eat the bakery goods and enjoy the Feast. I came to realize that ‘Festa’ meant to eat because every feast day you eat well… better than usual!

This, of course, it was not a day of rejoicing for my sibs, since they had pedantic feelings about the whole scene and me in particular. But it was no matter, after all, the dessert came with a nice meal that mom would prepare, whatever I wanted that day, which usually ended up being Rigatoni, my favorite macaroni with meatballs. Life was good.

Then one day I did something stupid, I grew up, and when I did, there were no more crème puffs, unless I went to the bakery. Granted Grandma didn't hang around anymore! Married to an Irish wife, there is little if no recognition for the big day.

But as Dad (Tony) used to say: “St. Joseph’s Day, ha! Every day is St. Anthony’s Day” Managgia!

THE FREE FALL FOR ALL

It feels like gloom and doom as the Coronavirus increases in intensity and the stock market falls. Where is the end, is it anywhere near, in sight?
As I sit in my home in fear of the virus, the pandemic that will destroy the world economy and then be gone, I listen to the state and federal people give updates and reports, bad news and nothing positive. It comes during the season of hope, the season of Easter the Christian belief that is hope. Even my spell-check has problems with the spelling of Coronavirus, striking its red underline to denote a misspelling.

I can’t even go out to dinner to get away from it all, it is a barren wasteland of closed restaurants and businesses. Take out is OK, but then I have to eat it at home or in my car, taking away the joy of getting away from it all.

I watch the TV and my wife and I spend our time on Amazon Prime, watching Poldark, The Last Tycoon, and discovering some great shows from across the pond and even in these United States of America. We eat in front of the TV fascinated, by the horror of the news and the wonder of Amazon Prime. I have my own little joy in recorded Hogan’s Heroes; it is funny how Sergeant Schulz and Colonel Klink can amuse me. Once the Little Woman falls asleep in her recliner, on comes the joy of Stalag 13, my TV stalag opposed to my very own stalag with a mortgage!

If I don’t read the newspaper from front to back, do all the puzzles, I take a snooze, eat or cook up new ideas, but I do most of that anyway.

I try not to answer the phone except if it is coming from a source where my daughter is involved or my sons. Who knows, maybe someday my grandchildren will start calling asking if we want to do Facetime with my children.

A TIME TO CATCH UP

There is a time for everything under heaven, as the song goes. As I sit hunkered down in my den watching the universal or at least world-wide response to the pandemic called Coronavirus, I worry about my wife and children, my grandchildren and friends, the innocent and the brave medical souls that are standing on the front lines fighting to cure and save lives. They are the heroes, the soldiers, and leaders that will make a difference. 
“To everything turn, turn, turn
 There is a season turn, turn, turn
 And a time to every purpose
 Under heaven”

I cannot believe that with all their dedication as medical and related professions, we will be denied a final positive result. To do so would not be placing faith in their dedication, unselfishness, and determination they so bravely display. Thank God if you have one, that they exist as a firewall between life and death.

“A time to be born, a time to die
 A time to plant, a time to reap
 A time to kill, a time to heal
 A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything turn, turn, turn
 There is a season turn, turn, turn
 And, a time to every purpose
 Under heaven”

We need leadership though, we need POTUS, Congress, and civic local leadership to reassure the public. We need them to strip away their partisanship. They have to step up and tell us the truth, harsh as it may feel, inconvenient as it will be, as cold and curt a sentence of words will affect us, we need the truth. We need the truth for our sake, that of our children and grandchildren.  

“A time to build up
 A time to break down
 A time to dance, a time to mourn
 A time to cast away stones
 A time to gather stones together”

One thing we have for sure is the greatest minds in the world, residing here in the USA. Minds that can defy the moon and depths of the deepest part of the seas, minds that see the word ‘impossible’ as only a poorly worded description as they make things possible. They will solve the problems, be it flying off into outer-space or a cure for the Coronavirus. 

“To everything turn, turn, turn
 There is a season turn, turn, turn
 And a time to every purpose
 Under heaven.”

The Department of Health and Human Services has detected attempts by hacker’s maybe a foreign entity attempted to hack our health system and because of the Department of Health and Human Services diligence and additional monitoring, failed.

“A time of love, a time of hate
 A time of war, a time of peace
 A time you may embrace
 A time to refrain from embracing”,

So, let’s show the world what Americans are, show them that we are survivors and fighters. Show them that we are beyond what the world has, we have the world, condensed into the many nationalities, with their positive traits, humor, and experiences that make us great. We may make mistakes, but we have the tools to correct them and set ourselves straight once again.

“To everything turn, turn, turn
 There is a season turn, turn, turn
 And a time to every purpose
 Under heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose
 A time to rain, a time of sow
 A time for love, a time for hate
 A time for peace
 I swear it's not too late”

With apologies to the Byrds

CORONAVIRUS, A MIRROR OF DAYS PAST

The 1918 influenza pandemic (January 1918 – December 1920); Also known as the Spanish flu, was a deadly pandemic, It infected 500 million people around the world, or about 27% of the then world population of between 1.8 and 1.9 billion people, including people on isolated places such as the Pacific Islands and in the Arctic. The death toll is estimated to have been anywhere from 17 million to 50 million people, and possibly as high as 100 million World-wide, making it one of the deadliest epidemics in human history.

Grandpa Joe, coming to America on the Italian passenger liner Madonna, sailing out of Genoa, Italy, arrived on the shores of the promised-land and met my grandmother Francesca through a friend, Felix, or as we knew him: Zio Felice, Grandma’s older brother.

Grandpa Joe was an industrious man who took no one’s guff and was as tough as nails. His dream was to start a business and make it as prosperous as the prejudice world of the 20th Century would allow an Italian to do. After marrying Francesca, Giuseppe started a fruit and vegetable store, operating out of a storefront and finding a respectable apartment in Brooklyn. At this point, he now had three children with Francesca, my dad, my aunt Angelina, and my uncle Joe.

When war came to America, he and his new best friend Raffiello, immediately enlisted in the US Army, leaving behind his wife and children to prove he was an American and belonged here. Both fought on the fields of France and returned to the USA when peace was declared. Grandpa was mustered out of the army, but almost immediately came into contact with the world pandemic known as the Spanish flu.

Lying in a hospital bed not far from his home, he was very sick but as sick as he was, he was restless and pined for his Francesca and three little children. In the mid-winter of 1920, a blizzard hit the New York Metropolitan area. As the snow rose in feet and the winds packed their punch, the cold air was at its lowest, and Grandpa had enough. He decided to climb out of the hospital window and walk the blocks to his home. The driving winds and cold, the snow almost up to his hips, he found his way home where he collapsed, and a few days later, he died from pneumonia. All this occurred a hundred years ago.

He left the World with a widowed mother and three small children, one of them less than a month old! He was an Italian with a qualifier: American.

ON THE BEACH

On the Beach is a 1957 post-apocalyptic novel written by British author Nevil Shute.

The reason I mention it is not to offer a review but to offer a comparison, no matter how dark it is. The story is about the world after nuclear war the year before. In a capsule, people are dying from the nuclear fallout that occurred in the Northern Hemisphere and traveled the world by the winds of weather and war.

It touches on the different people and how they prepare for their deaths both collectively and singularly. The sense of people dropping and or disappearing from the Earth as a result of the nuclear radiation is casting off a familiar feeling today.

Why mention this?

Recently, the suspension of life in many forms due to the Coronavirus has left me with the feeling that doomsday is at hand. Schools close, my daughter’s nursing home is closed to visitors until further notice, professional sports has canceled their seasons until further notice, the stock market has sunk to the lowest of depths, colleges and schools have suspended classes and the medical field is overwhelmed and understaffed and inadequately funded to deal with the pandemic called Coronavirus.

I went to a local convenience store last night and found panic buying, milk is flying off the shelves, and even cake is in short supply!

To add to it all is my daughter and her battle to survive. If you mix it all together, it is indeed dark and dreary, frightening in fact.

These are the dark days, I am afraid to make lunch or dinner dates, I canceled my flight to California this month out of fear and precaution, I will miss La Principessa, my beautiful granddaughter, Darby’s birthday for the first time in her young and beautiful life. I will also miss my little guy, Bobby D, aka Muscoli Marinara, my grandson.

ANNE FRANK

Today, at the tender age of 15, a Jewish child from Frankfurt, Germany, died from typhus in a German concentration camp. Her death was needless, cruel and happened from blind hatred, she was, an innocent and a Jew.

A German-born Dutch Jewish national, Anne Frank, age 13, and her family went into hiding in Amsterdam in 1942 to escape persecution under Nazi occupation.

Betrayed in 1944, Anne and her family were sent to concentration camps where Anne later died from Typhus on this date in 1945.

 Anne's diary from June 1942 to August 1944 is regarded as the most famous personal account of the Holocaust and has been turned into both a play and film. She may be the most famous child borne of tragedy in history, and certainly the most profound in the hearts of good people everywhere. She chronicled her everyday life hidden and sheltered from the Nazi occupiers of her adopted country.

In this day and age of pandemic fears and World economic collapse, Anne Frank reminds us all that life will go on, that the sun also rises again somewhere in this world that we need faith in ourselves.

As I can attest to life is indeed too short to harbor the fear and anger that fills our hearts sometimes, that we need a respite from even ourselves, let alone the world. Clinging to one another, giving our support and love to help bolster each of us in our darkest hour is what is needed, acts of kindness and compassion are the order of the day. It is a loving family thing, without criticism or rancor and as it is a World family thing.
 

PRIORITIES

About one person in 5,000 –15,000 dies by suicide every year (1.5% of all deaths in 2016). Because suicide rates take population size into account, that can be a useful tool for understanding the relative proportion of people affected within different demographic groups. We have this down to a science and we take it for granted. 120,000 people have died worldwide from the Coronavirus since the breakout in China.

Both figures for suicide and Corona Virus are tragic, staggering and worrisome yet one has urgency while the other is taken for granted. It seems that we need to have worldwide attention paid to both. Why dies the governor of NY rally the National Guard for a county that has an epidemic if Corona Virus, the world shuts itself down because of a potential that has a lifespan of about 14 days, as does the flu, yet the dangers of suicide we take in stride, and no real call to arms about it. 

I understand that people have died from the Corona Virus and that it is a greater risk for people over 60, but what about the suicide rates? Where are we on preventing suicides aside from a hotline or two and no public outcry to stop it? Are not the young as well as the old all vulnerable to this tragedy? Are families not victims of suicide when some loved one commits this act of ending his or her life. 

There is a black cloud that forms in the hearts of the survivors as they face their lives without those they cherished, how is this not a form of suicide if they are not counseled may not have the resources to carry on in support of themselves and their family members?

I read all the time of young teenagers who are bullied and commit suicide to escape the heartache imposed upon them from their peers and see how wasteful this is to the world at large, the potential for a scientist or musician, chef or doctor, someone potentially giving something to the world and having them wiped out by their own hand.

The Corona Virus can be deadly, it has the potential to be, but suicide is final when it happens there are no ways out, no short cuts or massive efforts to deny it.

CORONAVIRUS

According to health experts, unless you have been to the Hubei Chinese province or had close contact with someone who visited there recently, your chances of getting coronavirus are extremely low.

Yet, we read about people dying and the quarantine measures are now becoming extreme, so we are all concerned about contacting it. When people die, it is serious.

I like to think that the odds are low that I will get it. However, I will take precautions for the future, after all, no one wants to die from it, we all want to die healthy.

When I do go which feels like soon, lately, I want people to view me in my pine box and say: “He looks good!” What I don’t want to have them say is: That’s the best he ever looked!”

I plan on having a card made up that the corona will place in my suit jacket breast pocket tat says: “I HATE WHEN THIS HAPPENS!” I think that it would be nice if instead of rows of chairs, the pine box be placed on a rotating platform with a mechanical hand that waves bye-bye as I turn 360 degrees, the chairs all placed around the platform in a circle. To induce people to show up, I would like my mouth wired open and popcorn be distributed as the visitors try to toss the popcorn into my mouth.

So, coronavirus, or just plain flu, stay healthy.

UNWANTED CALLS

As I sat in my daughter’s room bored to death and reading a newspaper (I’m multi-tasked) my cell-phone came alive. Digging into my phone holster (what a nerd!) the caller is unknown. Normally, I would not take the call but I was bored.

“Hello?”

“Recently you indicated on our website that you were interested in a job, this call is on a recorded line, can you hear me OK?”

“No.”

Pause…

“Now, our records show that recently you showed interest in a job, (a lie) to better serve you, can you tell us what kind of work you are interested in?”

“Yes, I would like a job where I can walk between two telephone poles via the wires.”

“GREAT! We can help you with that as I will connect you to one of our advisors after a few questions.”

“Great!”

“Are you an American citizen?”

“No.”

“What year did you graduate high school?”

“1929”

“You responded that you are NOT a U.S. Citizen?

“Yup!”

“I’m sorry, we can not assist you unless you are a US citizen. Thank you for your time.”

“Does that mean I don’t get the job?”

Dial tone.

At least there was no age discrimination!

I’M STILL LEARNING!

Almost 75-years old and I still am a student. The lesson being learned is how to live and communicate with my daughter.

As she lies in the bed of the Medford Multicare facility, she has become a major problem to feed. If you bring the spoon to her abruptly, she becomes defensive and refuses to take it. This behavior mirrors when a person other than my wife or me comes near her and she becomes defensive.

This issue of defensiveness on her part has vexed me for years, and I never realized that it held a solution in all this madness! Then suddenly at her breakfast, it struck me! If I took the spoon to her without warning, she refused to take it. However, if I first showed her the spoon, let her realize what it is, she willingly took the spoon by opening her mouth wide for me.

Once I realized the fact that she needed more time, suddenly the whole morning and the feeding process became lighter, joyful and a relief!

She is 48-years old this month, I am 75-years old in July and she is still teaching me!

WHEN THE SENSE OF SMELL LEADS YOU.

It was an early spring morning and the sun had climbed high enough to filter through the open blinds, casting a wakeup nudge as I lie in my bed. Lying there I could smell the tempting aroma of Italian bread being bake a few doors down in the basement of Curiale’s grocery store. If the aroma of Italian bread was not enough, the delicious aroma of coffee perking in the kitchen did. To greet my day hungry was a great way to start.

Mom would give me a quarter and I would run downstairs to the grocery store and select a loaf of bread and the wonderful aroma of Italian cold cuts, which hung and sat in the casement, overpowered you. Once I was back upstairs, I poured a cup of coffee, with milk and in those days sugar, and cut a piece of bread and butter it, and with no formality, dunked the bread, and to this day I can still taste it.

There were, of course, other sources that enticed me to eat. Often I would take a walk over to Grandma’s house and in her large kitchen be treated to the experience of watching a great cook do her thing, and insist I eat while she cooked. The smell of a hunk of cheese or the aroma of a salami twisted my mind, sent gurgling sounds from my mouth and made me want it all, cheese, salami and if possible, grandpa’s homemade wine.

As grandma cruised her kitchen, she would go out into her garden and pick fresh basil, that I would take a piece and hold up to my nose, the smell triggering a fantastic pasta sauce in my mind. Sometimes, I would steal a piece of Italian bread and dip it into the sauce as it brewed on the stove. One day she was making lasagna and always made enough to feed the Italian Army, (they must have been big eaters!). Ricotta would be sitting in a cheese clothe as she drained it, making for a rich, thick lasagna filling and took some, put it in between two slices of bread and gave me a sandwich, the cheese so fresh and tasty!

Of course, I had to get home after that moment of bliss, and when I did, I could smell from the hallway the sweet odor of garlic and onion as it cooked on my mom’s stove. When I opened the door to our apartment, there was mom, in her apron and standing where she always stood, stirring a saucepan or pot, pasta Fagioli, veal scallopini, scampi, or chicken soup, all grabbing me by my taste buds and taking me to another world, all by smell, that should be blind but was instead, a sight to behold. Her wooden spoon in hand, I made a first-glance look to see if she had another use for the wooden spoon before I felt it safe enough to kiss her hello.