GIVING THANKS

As you know, the dreaded virus has visited upon my family in my daughter Ellen. I don’t know what tomorrow brings and it does concern me. My daughter’s fate is in the hands of God, Providence, or whoever is the force of life on this Earth.

If there is one thing that rings true it is that people are incredible, people like you who have read my words about this nightmare and have responded with love, concern, and care. For my wife and me, this is very consoling, very appreciated, and somehow uplifting. The number of prayers promised, makes us hopeful and we appreciate your loving concern. Thank you, it shows that the ugliness in this world is buried by good people and warm hearts, you raise your hands in hope-filled prayers and I can almost feel that power.

No matter what happens I owe you a thank you for your love and we love you back.

I GO TO THE DOCTOR

My doctor

I went to the doctor yesterday and found a few surprises. I enter the building to go into his office and there is a line of about 4 people standing ahead of me. The door to his office is locked and there is a sign on the door telling patients to be patient (a redundancy?) due to the ‘Fake’ Coronavirus.
One at a time we enter by first taking a small test. A nurse comes out with an oral thermometer, (Thank God, there are people behind me, waiting) takes my temperature, and asks questions like my name (I aced that one) if you are tired (yes, I've been standing here a while), have you vomited, (No, I haven't seen the bill yet) (feel nauseous (yes, I anticipate the bill), does your stomach feel upset? (see above).
I am admitted into the inner sanctum and answer more questions about what else? Is your co-pay still the same? (No, I now get this all for free now).
They come for me immediately, if not sooner and I make my usual offering to his majesty of one cup of self brewed Sample Joe. Sample Joe is my self-made brew concocted from Jack Daniel’s and beer, which by the way is very rich in color, I like to think it is a good, healthy, rich color.
After a lifetime in which I am reincarnated as a reasonable patient person, my doctor shows up.
“WOW! You still here?”
Me: Yes, actually since January if you must know.”
“No, I mean, you are still ALIVE!”
Me: It’s the least I can do, your kids haven’t finished college yet!”
He takes blood and comments on the blood pressure- “124 over 70! That’s perfect!”
Obviously, my blood pressure and I operate separately.
Everybody, and I mean everybody wears a mask, including the mice as we all look like members of the Jessie James gang. It is amazing to me how patients that were present in the doctor’s office seemed well-adjusted in their mask, and I discovered that I can make faces at everyone including my doctor and no one can tell!

DEALING WITH THE TV

I have spent a lot of money over the years watching things like Apple TV, and Amazon Prime. You become amazed by the number of shows there are to watch when you purchase these systems and then you become amazed by the fact that there is a special routine for each to allow you to watch the programming.

Then you take out your tray table, set the remote to play, put your dinner on the tray table piping hot, and begin the process of selection and starting the show. You select, press ‘Play’ on the remote, lean back in your chair, ready for the entertainment promised.

All of a sudden the show starts, the credits are long and you wait for them to run their course, suddenly a character appears and the music moves you then… it goes into one of those damned cycles where a little spinning arrow starts in and you must wait for it to stop! You get impatient and now reach for the remote pushing all the buttons. You think; I’ll go back to the lineup and so press ‘Return’ and then resume, getting about a minute of where you left off and the damned arrow comes back. You think, all these pain-in-the assess are on this same show at the same time, or, the damned cable company should really do something about this! You are not done yet, no, you must now blame Amazon or Apple, but someone must be shot for this.

When you finally get it to work, or just give up, your food is cold, uncut and uneaten!

I wonder how Netflix works?

Coronavirus timeout

Or, how best to waste time.

Since we have all retreated to our cocoons, the womb of protection the government and the virus have inflicted on us, time is not of the essence.

Just think, I got up this morning with nothing to do, nowhere to go and not caring to go anywhere. Do I have a plan for the day, you bet, I plan on reading the newspapers, do a crossword puzzle, solve a Sudoku and eat, nap, and maybe cook, and of course, write, watch some TV so I can swear at the turkey in the White House.  My easel is waiting and there is unfinished business on it for me and this is my day planned out a perfect day.

I remember when to have a day like I described, you had to have a snowy day and couldn’t go out because of the storm, now it is just an unseen storm of a virus, you can’t see it, have no idea where it is, and yet you cower from catching it, meanwhile, too many people have died, too much money has been spent to fight it and too many people are killing themselves to fight and prevent it. Where would we all be without the leadership of Governor Cuomo and the doctors and nurses and caretakers, all my favorite people?

Today is Sunday, I love YouTube and think it is a great way to look back in time, hear some old music favorites and read the comics. There is nothing like thinking or wasting time out of the box!

WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS…

Turning into the snow, sleet, and ice!

After dealing with the downstairs toilet the other day, I suddenly found a new part for a toilet sitting in it’s packaging on the kitchen table. Having been just flush from victory high over fixing the downstairs toilet, this made me stop in my tracks.

The Sneaker Lady had struck again!

Me: “What’s this?” (As if I didn’t know and who was responsible)
Sneaker Lady: “Oh, I checked the upstairs toilet and if you go into the tank you will see the old part is really going!”
Me: “Oh! I can’t understand how I could have missed it!”
Sneaker Lady: “Yes, We need to change it!” (WE?) “I guess I’ll start.

I grab my tools and head upstairs, open the top of the tank and peer in, she is right! The part, a rubber stopper is disintegrating and needs to be replaced.

“Now Joe, don’t panic… just don’t touch anything but the rubber stopper and then, get out. Don’t adjust anything else, no touch, no look, no Nuthin!”

After straining my hand from opening the part from the plastic encasement, I liberate the part and remove the old one. Great! Nothing is touched or interfered with.

“Now Joe, replace the top and don’t fool around with anything else, remember, nothing else was touched, it should still work!”

I replace the top and then make a huge mistake… I flush, and when I do my dreams of a nap go do

“Now Joseph, Jesus doesn’t like your kind of language you are using under your breath, try not to touch anything else and hope it goes away, you know how these primary flushes go, this was an initial flush, a real flush will show you how well you really did!”

I flush again. (The Mamma’s and the Poppa’s come to mind: “When will I eeeever learn?”

Pulling the chain off I readjust the linkage and return. A little better now, the train has left the station, just need to get a commuter off the tracks, me. I back off and am satisfied enough that I will not miss my pre-nap and head downstairs.

A half-hour later the Sneaker Lady stops me mid-nap.

“I noticed when I looked in the tank it was slightly off, so I moved the chain over one loop, works Great!

wn the toilet. The damned thing will not stop running as a little trickle continues and does not stop, plus there is a funny sound coming from it like a train screeching into a station.

START ‘ER UP, MAYBE

Dad wasn’t a rich man, haD to work all his life and never owned a new car until he was in his 70s right before he died that he finally purchased a new car.

Driving with Dad was an experience as you sat next to him and he zoomed along the highways and byways of Long Island, and speeding wasn’t even in the top ten. All of dad’s cars were either second or third hand, not one under ten years of age and all could have qualified as antiques in those days. Some of his cars you were able to tell if the line on the road was solid, double solid or, broken, JUST LOOK DOWN BETWEEN YOUR FEET!

When it rained the wipers would skip over the raindrops and clear away scrapping about 2 inches wide, maybe one at the top and one at the bottom of his windshield. He tried very hard to stay off the roads on a rainy day or night because the water content on the windshield was heavy from the rain sticking to the wipers and the only thing you could say about the wipers was that they were getting clean from the rain.

Heavy humidity that would form on his windshield was another problem, you were not allowed to touch the defroster because: “It will kill my battery!” So, to save his battery he would take a dishtowel and wipe the windshield as he drove. If I sat next to him, wiping the windshield became my job.

There was one very strict rule he had, and if you were a teenager, it was: “Turn that radio off, you’ll ruin my battery, and I don’t want to hear that crazy music!” Getting a ride from Dad was too much punishment, so I’d walk.

The snow was the most fun though, as it snowed and the fog built up from breathing, you had to open the window during a snowstorm while scraping the window while driving, timing it with the wipers, a coordinated effort to say the least.

Borrowing the car was another thing. There was a radius you could not exceed and when you did borrow the old coach, you made sure you put gas back into that which you used.

Not being a businessman he did manage to turn his used car into a breakeven proposition. Living a few miles from where he worked in the factory, he would drive four women who worked in his factory. Picking them up (old maids and widows) at their door in the morning and depositing them at their door after work, he would charge them $2 a week for the privilege. In those days $6 more than paid for the gas and errands he needed to do on the weekends.

Every summer while his kids were off from school, they worked in the factory earning money. Being the son, I had to contribute my 40 hours a week forty dollars to the family coffers, leaving me not very much until I became a junior in high school and started to save up for college.

The strangest thing about Dad was he was NOT cheap, as he could spring for someone else’s welfare while denying himself. He had nothing and I knew it, was glad to contribute and that contribution made me feel good that I did. He would give a lot of his time helping others with physical problems, poor families that needed food or clothes he was there for, and while he was always on the lookout for side jobs, he made sure to include me in those plans.

I got a lot out of helping Dad. I learned carpentry skills, electrical skills, plumbing skills and confidence to learn anything new I needed like fixing my car when I was too poor at the beginning to buy a new car.

Thanks, Dad, I love you.

SONGS OF YESTERYEAR

If you walked down the stairs to my grandmother’s ‘cellar’, you would find among the bottled homemade wine and jarred tomato sauce a Victrola, a record player at its earliest of times. The one in the picture is similar to a degree but Grandma’s had slots and slats like on a Venetian blind but running vertically instead of horizontal. In the slats on one side, you would find a recording or two of Enrico Caruso or maybe some Italian opera, a more modern Mario Lanza always the mainstay of Italian music lovers, resting among Grandma’s collection. On the other side of the Victrola for the music, slats to freely flow out the sound.

I remember it also had a picture of a dog, looking into the grammar phone on the label with the words, “His Master’s Voice”. I recently saw one in an old photo on the Internet and it got me to thinking about Italian music in this country, and the stars of the past that made America sing or just revel as they listened.

Of course, Caruso and then Lanza https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQz1McBv0fw

both recognized as a great vocalist who dominated the field of music, but after came a long line of crooners and vocalists that built the recording world up.

There are many present-day and past performers such as baritone Leo Nucci, Soprano Licia Albanese, the great tenor Lorenzo Salvi, the unforgettable tenor, Luciano Pavarotti, and the legendary Luigi Lablache for all of opera, plus the great Andre Botticelli.

Then the Italian immigrants gave us the likes of the great Sinatra and Perry Como, Dean Martin, Jerry Vale, and Julius La Rosa. Italy gave us Pinza, and Lou Monte, to name a few more.

All these voices originate at least in part from the center of the universe, La bella cuore del mondo, Italia.

They sang of fishermen and dockworkers, bakers and farmers and life and love, adventure and food, and they awakened the senses and made us laugh with Pepino the little mouse, or interpreted the true words of George Washington when he crossed the Delaware River. The perfect woman, Angelina, just ask Louie Prima, and Mama, yes, beautiful Mama by Connie Frances, a tearful rendition of the love of the past, as she sang for all of us as we listen on Mother’s day and pined once more as we await to see again in Heaven.

But when I listened, I never realized that what I was listening to was the heart, la bella cuore of Italy and her sons and daughters, giving life to the world in song. It made me appreciate the gayness of her food, the joy of a tarantella or the sounds of the mandolino as it plucked and strummed the heart and soul of our people, Americans first and infused with la bella cuore del mondo, Italia.

WHAT WOULD JESUS HAVE DONE?

Dad, in his many roles

The 'actual' fisherman

The 'actual' 1st Duke of the Sea

Dad was a softy, he never liked to see people unhappy or struggle. When it came to his own family, he was particularly diligent and aware of everyone's aches and pains or needs. In the early 1950s, Dad decided to book a little fishing trip, with Grandpa and me. Dad rented a rowboat and assign his crew to man the operation as he stood over us as Paolo Camillo Thaon, Marquess of Revel (10 June 1859 – 24 March 1948), latterly titled by Benito Mussolini with the honorary title of 1st Duke of the Sea, who was an Italian admiral of the Royal Italian Navy (Regia Marina) during World War I and later a politician, would.
Getting Grandpa out of the house on Fulton Street in Brooklyn was a major effort, Grandpa didn't like to go anywhere that required his traveling for more than 15 minutes that was away from his pinochle club and the fifteen minutes had to be round trip.

Being how we were living on Long Island, Dad decided one summer to get Grandpa out of the house in Brooklyn and take him fishing; "We have to get Grandpa out of the house and take him fishing!" We went to Mastic Beach on a Saturday and rented a rowboat, got a few rods and reels and bait and set out to fish. Oh, Captain, my Captain!

My thinking was that that was all the equipment we would need since we were fishing we would eat what we caught. Build a fire on the beach and cook our catch. Dad and Grandpa both seemed perplexed by my plan, and since I was only 11-years old, what the Hell did I know. 

The problem with the plan was there was a huge package coming on board the ride to the beach, it consisted of three Italian heroes, packed with peppers and eggs, and a chunk of provolone cheese and a Genoa salami, along with a gallon of Grandpa's homemade wine, courtesy of grandfather's bride, Grandma Francesca, "La Regina di Pasta".

Being the ‘city type', both the 1st Duke of the Sea and Grandpa dressed for the occasion. Dad wore his shorts, sandals and black dress socks, while Grandpa never changed. Grandpa wore his work pants, brown unpolished shoes, and white shirt, along with his fedora, which he sat under come rain or shine, baptism or wake.

1st Duke of the Sea became the grand admiral, directing me, the only crewmember that showed up that day to man the oar, bait the hooks and full steam ahead. 

As we set ‘sail', we each had our position on the boat, Dad sat up front with his rod, tossing it in into the drink (literally), and I try to get the hook that caught me in the neck was sitting mid-ship so to speak, while Grandpa sat in the back, legs crossed serenely holding his rod, eyes closed, dreaming of home.

Suddenly Grandpa caught a fish, then another, then still another! Dad was feeling inept but still fishing with his rod, and I was almost done getting the hook out of my neck and ready to fish, while showing the ineptitude reached over generations.

After a while, with Grandpa's success, I asked him how he was able to catch so many fish.

Grandpa looks at me, squinting in the sun and says: "SSSHHH".

I looked at him and he says, "SSSHHH, that’sa how a you catcher da fish!!"

As we floated along the Great South Bay, Dad and Grandpa had their wine, and it seemed fine until we reached the shore to unload the boat. When Dad stepped off the boat, he suddenly looked like he saw a ghost, stopping in mid-tracks to catch himself. Sitting at the edge of the dock with his head in his hands, Dad had too much wine! Grandpa, however, stepped from the boat onto the dock and fish in hand looked at Dad and said: "Tony, prendi il tuo tempo." (Tony, take your time.) I wondered at that point: what would Jesus have done? He would have got out of the boat and just casually strolled back to land without even getting his ankles wet.

Apparently drinking on the water didn’t make you drunk because of the movement of the rowboat, but step on land and say “Ciao” or “Goodbye.”

HOW ABOUT EDUCATION? A thought...

With the CORVID-19 going about and changing things a bit, it seems to me that life could be better once we are ready to attain our old ways.

One of the things I notice is the change in how we can educate our children and maybe make it a little better. Today the kids are homeschooled, they are having parents teach and many more are learning online, teachers and school systems tapping into the ability to teach remotely. With the cost of maintenance of school buildings, the landscaping, and salaries that the taxpayer must carry, it is very expensive, as school taxes rise yearly to the point that the governor of New York State, Andrew Cuomo has put a cap on increases from year to year.

What if there was one administration building that oversaw the educations of the many students residing on Long Island? From this administration building one teacher who taught, for example, 3rd graders, one taught 4th graders, etc. What you would have is a far cheaper reach in how many children you can reach with a minimum of expense to the taxpayer, everyone getting the same education. Perhaps we still have sports according to districts where the kids report to a field or gym to have their practices, and games, maintaining a team spirit for each district?

Think of the insurance payments annually that would be so much lower, the cost of utilities and maintenance that would disappear from the school taxes. It would allow townships to increase services for the better and still not inflate the school taxes.

School socialization could be available online and after school would still be possible.
Many school clubs could still take place and I think that the best of all would be the increase of information for the student to access the Internet.

The Internet is a tool that we are all familiar with, we go to work on it now, the nation is already using it to teach and learn, why not perfect it even better. Or economy both nationally and locally would transform into something more productive, and even places of worship could maintain less brick and mortar and still reach the faithful without so much maintenance and fundraising. The outreach programs would still have an effect and it would all come down to a computer or I-pad or laptop only, something that could be deducted at tax time and be required to own by law.

A LITTLE CLARITY WORLDWIDE

If there is one good thing coming from this quarantine, it is the fact that we are getting our Earth cleaned up pollution-wise. Because of less traffic on our roads, there is less pollution in our air and water, feeding us a healthy dose of what we do need.

My little grandchildren suffer the polluted air of the valley in which they live out on the West Coast near Los Angeles. Chances are hopeful they will have fewer respiratory events in their young lives.

It is terrible how so many of us worldwide have suffered from the pandemic and how many souls we have lost to it, people who should have been enjoying their lives peaceably and with their loved ones, instead of perishing like they have.

However, is this God’s way of like thinning out the herd, saving the Earth? With the crazy fool in the White House rolling back environmental protections that have helped, is the pandemic a divine response to it?

WHAT IT TAKES

Amid the self-quarantine because of the COVID-19, one thing seems to be certain.

Way back almost 50-years ago I stood at the altar of St. Mary’s Roman Catholic Church in Easy Islip and watched TLW (The Little Woman) and her dad march down the aisle toward me. I dreamt of a life of serenity, peace, joy, and love, and even tranquility. In the ensuing years, something happened that happens to all newlywed for the most part…  kids.

I remember thinking how happy I will be living with the love of my life, just the two of us, then… kids. But the kids were a great event starting with my little girl and finalizing with my youngest son. They made our life as a couple of fun, interesting, and challenging. There was great joy and sorrow, but my children are implanted in our hearts and I will never change that love.

Now, amid the self-quarantine because of the COVID-19, one thing is certain as I share the space of my home with just TLW, life is indeed good. The union is strong and the hope is alive for tomorrow.  We have co-hebetated and have not so far killed each other. We both assume tasks without the others requesting, yet will offer to do without the other's request.

One thing about this stay-in-doors national movement is that it feels good to me. Aside from wanting desperately to see my children and grandchildren once again, I am happy to spend the days with TLW, the once upon a dream I had when we married is now a reality, whether I wanted it this way or not.

AND SO, WE HAVE STOOPED TO HIS LEVEL

“The World Health Organization (WHO) is a specialized agency of the United Nations, responsible for international public health. It is part of the. U. N. Sustainable Development Group. The WHO Constitution, which establishes the agency's governing structure and principles, states its main objective as ensuring "the attainment by all peoples of the highest possible level of health. It is headquartered in, Geneva Switzerland, with six semi-autonomous regional offices and 150 field offices worldwide.

The WHO was established on 7 April, 1948, which is commemorated as World Health Day. The first meeting of the World Health Assembly (WHA), the agency's governing body, took place on 24 July 1948. The WHO incorporated the assets, personnel, and duties of the League of Nations’ Health Organization and the Office International d’Hygiene Publique including the International Classification of Diseases. Its work began in earnest in 1951 following a significant infusion of financial and technical resources.

The WHO's broad mandate includes advocating for universal healthcare, monitoring public health risks, coordinating responses to health emergencies, and promoting human health and well being. It provides technical assistance to countries, sets international health standards and guidelines, and collects data on global health issues through the World Health Survey. Its flagship publication, the World Health Report provides expert assessments of global health topics and health statistics on all nations. The WHO also serves as a forum for summits and discussions on health issues.

The WHO has played a leading role in several public health achievements, most notably the eradication of smallpox, the near-eradication of polio and the development of an Ebola vaccine. Its current priorities include communicable diseases, particularly HIV/AIDS, Ebola, malaria and tuberculosis; non-communicable diseases such as heart disease and cancer; healthy diet, nutrition, and food security; occupational health; and Substance abuse.”

-Wikipedia

It is this very important world organization that has become a fall guy for the Child-in-Chief, the orange dope of the White House, as an excuse for his failings. He has blatantly lied in a COVID-19 White House briefing recently stating that the failings of the U.S.A. are WHO’s fault. That the leadership fell on both WHO and the governors of the states to prepare for the onslaught of the horror we are all facing because of this incompetent president and his equally incompetent administration. 

The person in the White House needs to be called out and honestly answer to the so-called ‘Fake News’ and not avoid answering. He needs to stop trying to insanely place the blame on others for his failings. He needs to stop letting his people down by his lies, insinuations, and law-breaking. It is time we drag him out now before a world court for his transgressions against humanity. He needs to be put away before he kills any more people. Congress, especially the feckless Republicans who are at fault for all this to step up, admit they are wrong and pursue to bring him to trial. He has now attacked a world organization, one void of politics but dedicated to helping humanity, how low can he get and bring us down with him?

IT THE CORONA DON’T GET YOU…

The plumbing might!

To add to my misery during this COVID-19 crisis, as I worry about family and special friends, more trouble beckoned.

Yesterday TLW (The Little Woman) announced to all within earshot that the toilet downstairs was running. “THE TOILET IS RUNNING!!!” thus confirming the claim I just made. I think I was the only one who heard her. Since it was a stormy day yesterday, I decided I would just use the upstairs toilet for those occasions such as reading, contemplating, and general mundane use as everyday needs until I am ready to fix things.

This morning I had a great idea… go online to order the part from Home Depot and have them mail it to me. This would serve two purposes, 1) Stay away from the possibility of getting the Japanese version of the Coronavirus, the Corollavirus, and B) put off fixing it for a day or two so I could work up the willpower to fix it! I made my suggestion since I am the man of the house, she said: “NO!”

My suggestion was taking away a memory she is desperately trying to keep alive, shopping. “I will go to Walmart, I need some things anyway.” Was her earnest reply.

As I stumbled through my pathetic life, TLW jumped happily into her car and drove off, returning within the hour with a few things and unfortunately the parts I needed to fix the toilet.

“JOE, I’M BACK WITH THE PARTS!” she gently yelled up to me in my office, causing me to stop what I was doing or say I caught the virus and need to go to bed. I… chose the truth!

When I have chores that require parts, two things happen, A) it will be a pain in the ass to undo old connections, in this case, 21 years old, and 2) there will be a pain, much pain, pain like arthritic back reminding me I am an old fart, and why are you doing this, stupid?

I dig out my tools and begin, as I get down on my knees under the flush tank, I feel this presence over me, and without looking up, shifting my eyes slightly and see a pair of sneakers, they look like TLW’s. I wait and sure enough: “You want a pot under there?”
“Sure, I was going to ask for a pot!” As I venture forward, a little cussing, a little ache, and a whole lot of direction from the sneaker lady, I along with her, complete the task at hand.

Well, everything seems to have gone off neatly, that is it seems to flush well. This has me concerned after the first try. Now, every time I sit there I will wonder if it will come apart and I will have to swim away amidst some horrible things I will not mention. Tonight, while in bed, I will lay awake wondering if the trouble will start while I’m asleep or have the decency to at least wait until after breakfast. If nothing happens, this is what you call 'Lucky' at my age in bed.

THIS TOO SHALL PASS…

But so will we?

Two hours White House press conferences do not make us up-to-date or in on the strategy that we need to meet the COVID-19 and survive it.

The Child-in-Chief has the mistaken belief, or maybe he just makes it up, that he has the power of a king to reign over the people of this country with unchecked powers and that he can assume new powers, not in the U.S. Constitution.

Back to the two-hour press conference, it proves that The Child-in-Chief is irrelevant to the crises that he should preferably go away and allow the adults to decide what is needed. We have the very capable Andrew Cuomo who has demonstrated his leadership ability as he shows us hope and informs us. The other governors in the Northeast similarly have demonstrated very important qualities.

So we have over 10,000 deaths because The Child-in-Chief has not acted when he should have, has failed not only the people of this country but also the people of this world! As I have stated before, he should be tried for incompetence and lack of ability. To offer the people the fact that he prefers us to forget the U.S. Constitution and the Federalist Papers screams out that he has to go, into the dustbin of history.

The Child-in-Chief has left the nation vulnerable, both politically and physically, dismissing the Constitution would be the most egregious act on his part, suggesting it in passing, is, and moving forward we will only sink in the quagmire of incompetence and stupidity he has favored so far. The damage is being done, and anyone who supports him must truly be without understanding or love of this country. Supporting a moron is not something they need as in The Child-in-Chief.

DARE I?

It is Easter Sunday as I write this, after a nice walk in the neighborhood to free me from the confines of the pandemic.

It is deceivingly beautiful outdoors with a slightly brisk wind that fills the sunshiny day. As I walk I see my neighbor and she greets me as I greet her, tipping my cap. We both smile as we pass each other at about 30 feet apart. She is on the sidewalk and I walk in the street, accommodating the suggestions of Dr. Fauci and the governor.

As I sweep through the area at a slow and steady pace, a little old lady across the street passes me by as she is going in my direction. I should be embarrassed by it all, but frankly, I don’t give a damn.

There is a strangeness in this activity today, there is no sense of life or activity until I pass one house where a woman is outside complaining to her husband, giving him orders and directing him about. Under the shade cast driveway, she points and wearing a mask, gives me a steady look. I wonder if she is hostile or just plain nosey. Maybe she is the witch of Easter Present?

Although the streets are clear of traffic there seems to be an annoyingly loud sound that breaks the stillness of the mid-morning stroll, the sound coming from a motorcycle as it runs by me, not once, but twice. The cyclist is breaking the peace and tranquility as I muse over the things I want to think about.

Having been in the house inactive, the walk has done me some good as I stretch and move my bones, old as they are, to free myself body and soul, and think about my lasagna dinner waiting for me later this afternoon!

Life certainly seems dull today.

FAILURE • FAILURE • FAILURE • FAILURE • FAILURE •

The Child In Chief

The best way to describe this administration we have in Washington D.C. is with a single word: FAILURE!

Early warnings came to Trump way back in November from what I heard this morning, the 9th of April. Even so, the intelligence the White House got in early January was enough time for us to prepare for this disaster, yet it was ignored and downplayed.

Experts in the field of immunology and disease control, the Center for Disease Control, and other experts all warned Trump what was coming, yet he states that no one knew what was coming.

A statement made by the Child-in-Chief was that it is the states that have to fix the crisis. Just imagine FDR after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor told Americans that the individual states would have to fight the war, that the Federal government was not responsible! In this fight against the Coronavirus, the Child-in-Chief has stated just that. I ask you, why is he still in charge? The shame is we had a chance to get rid of him a little while ago, but his lap monkeys, Bitch McConnell and Lindseed Graham Cracker managed to be as despicable as they look and took that worm off the hook!

We desperately need leadership; grownup leadership and we need it NOW!

The inability and denial of the Child-in-Chief to recognize the danger and impact of the COVID-19, the ridiculous responses to the urgent warnings of both the experts and press, allow this country to place the deaths solely on the Child-in-Chief. He has to answer for this both to the American People and God.

THE SOUNDS OF SILENCE

It seems strange that the churches and temples are now closed, barren of ritual or faithful maybe no candle flickers or prayer book opened. With the sounds of silence so prevalent, I wonder if things are any worse or not.

I wonder if the need for a brick and mortar is essential in religion if indeed it is more a divider than a unifier? Does it draw boundaries or cause the division we all seem to feel with prejudice about how we should believe and praise God? The rituals constructed by man long ago, the rituals that separate one type of Christian from another?

As I look at the response around the World to the COVID-19 I marvel how so many have come together, crossing religious lines to attend to their brothers and sisters.

Sometimes we don’t recognize God’s hand nor do we understand it, so we don’t recognize it. Make no mistake, this is a very serious situation the World finds itself in, but there is a thought I might share with you: will the World remember us in 100 years from now? Will anything religion has implanted in our hearts and souls be credited with the defeat of the pandemic, or will it be the universal spirit of compassion and empathy that guided us?

Sometimes bad things happen to America externally like Pearl Harbor or 9-11 and some times internally like Donald Trump. Now this reminder how bad our choice of presidents is with the COVID-19 pandemic, that we need to reassess what is best for our children and grandchildren. We need to stop listening to Trump with his so-called “White House” briefings, filled with denials, misinformation and political rhetoric that come daily from his lie-filled mouth. The Child-in-Chief needs to be stifled and put on trial for his actions causing so many deaths in this country. I wonder if those who supported this ignoramus in 2016 having passed because of his policies would condone if they could his re-election?

"A APPY A EAST, FACE-A-BOOK!"

Pasqua, or Easter Sunday, was a sacred holiday, bigger than even Christmas Day to many Italian Americans back in the 1950s. In those golden days, when everyone dressed up for every special occasion: it was a time to say that the long cold winter was over; that "Let me out into the sunshine and warmth, I have new clothes, and let's eat!"

I remember Easter Sunday as being a very festive morning; the Easter bunny had come and gone, leaving chocolate bunnies, jellybeans, and colorful cellophane grass, I was in my new shoes and suit, fresh new tie and white shirt. You only wore white shirts in those days with a tie. My hair with its ever-present ‘cow-lick' was combed and pasted down with Brill Cream (‘A little dab will do ya!’) and I was warned: "DON’T get dirty!"

We would get sent off to Mass at Our Lady of Lourdes in Brooklyn on Aberdeen Street and Broadway, under the shadow of the El and sit with our class listening to the sermon as our stomachs growled that they needed attention. Under the watchful eyes of Sister Hairy Mary as she patrolled the church aisle, switch in hand, ready to pounce on anyone who dared not pay attention, have their hands clasped in prayer, and their rear ends should NOT rest on the pew while kneeling! We weren't allowed to eat in those days before you went to communion, and once we were freed from the confines of our religious obligation, we walked the two or three blocks home, smelling the sauces that everyone's house seemed to be cooking that morning along the way.

If Mom wasn't cooking, then it meant Grandma Frances was, and that meant cousins I hadn't seen in a while, the long hallway that became the play area for all the kids while the grownups spoke in Italian in the huge long kitchen which sat adjacent to the hallway that could feed without exaggeration with two tables head to head about 24 to 35 people.

Happy Easter, or as my grandmother used to say "A ‘Appy a East!

People think that Italians speak with their hands, they don't use the whole extremity of the shoulder, arm, and hand with accentuated fingers. Sometimes right and left get into the act. If an Italian weren't talking to you, he would put his hands in his pockets and just use words. The dinners were elaborate, the china wasn't and the conversations multi-subject, in all three languages. Broken English, Italian and what I call ‘Mano-Italiano,' making multi-syllabic statements in two to ten fingers, depending on how poetic they were. These statements were often a collection of Broken English and Italian words to accompany the conversation. Facial expression was key to understanding a conversation. Someone made a point without expression meant that they were not happy. We would either go to Grandma's or have it at home, but we would take after-dinner walks around the neighborhood in our Easter finery. Girls paraded in their new straw hats and patent leather shoes, maybe a new pink or soft blue coat. Relatives showed up in droves, the doorbell ringing constantly as friends and relatives arrived, paid their respects to Zia Francesca, with a: "Appy a East" and spoke their native tongue. They were able to speak three languages, Broken English, Italian and what I call ‘Mano-Italiano,' making multi-syllabic statements in two to ten fingers, depending on how poetic they were, smiling and waving!

But dressing us up for Mass, with new clothes and shoes, haircuts and any new accessories needed for the girls, getting together with relatives and feasting on Easter Sunday was a reward. Not only lasagna or ravioli as the main course, meatballs, sausages or rolled beef and pork stuffed morsels, roasted chicken and there were the magnificent Easter meat pies, the very tradition that defined Easter Sunday in my house. One of those pies was made with Ricotta cheese, and ANGINETTI, the Italian Easter cookies rounded out the day's feasting. It was this final act of eating that closed out the beautiful day.

It seemed every Easter Sunday was sunny and warm to me in those bygone days. ‘IN MY EASTER BONNET’ & ‘HERE COMES PETER COTTONTAIL’ was the magic, with our basket of jellybeans and marshmallow chicks encased in cellophane confetti!

The Easter season has always given me a sense of renewal, rebirth, and just a good memory. There lived once in my daughter's home for people with developmental disabilities a fellow by the name of Paul. Paul was a fellow that didn't speak and sat alone. He was about 40 years of age, and would not look you straight in the eye. He appeared to be very hostile and did not acknowledge that you were even there. It was on an Easter Sunday, a few years ago that I went to pick up my daughter, Ellen, to bring her home for Easter dinner. I decided that I was going to try to get Paul's attention. I learned a lesson in a hurry. I went over to where he was sitting, I knelt down and leaned into his stoic face.

"Hello Paul, How's it going?" Paul was sitting Indian fashion in his chair, his legs intertwined and he was in his undershirt, with evidence of his last meal clearly shown. Paul looked at me into my eyes, I waited to get slugged in the face and he instead, kissed the side of my cheek. If I ever felt like I did something worthwhile, it was then, as it taught me that the old adage IS true, you can't tell a book by its cover.

Grandpa Ralph had a very important job on Easter Sunday. Actually, it was two jobs. One was to stay out of the Republican club where they would smoke cigars, drink espresso and whiskey, and play poker or pinochle, and two: "Be a quiet Rafaela anda getta the vino"!

When Easter Sunday came to an ending, the kids would all be sleepy or sleeping on the

kitchen chairs, the parents all talked out, the table clothes stains from the sauce (gravy), the rich black espresso, and the scattering of nutshells and wine stains, or the remnants of pastry. Then one by one they would disappear into the darkened hallway and into the Easter night.

 

"A Appy East" to all!

NOT SO VERY LONG AGO

In a small town in Southern California called Burbank, once upon a time lived this wonderful lady. She was a lady of substance, glamorous without trying, and fair of both sight and soul. Her heart was constructed out of the fibers of compassion and understanding, glued by her intelligence and humor, she was an incredible lady.

Her name was Courtney Hyde Del Broccolo, but I called her; ‘Amazing’ that was all she needed. She might have disagreed with my assessment, but I know better, I am older than she.

One of the things that she did was excel in all she endeavored to do and excelled more than anyone could. She was competitive and it was her burning underside to her character and achievement, it is how she could perfect herself to a lower point of ‘Human’. As I said, she was ‘amazing!’

Something truly amazing (there’s that word again) happened a few years ago, I feel like it was yesterday, but it was not, on a hot overcast day in York, Maine, she married my #1 Son. It was an incredible wedding with enough imagination to earn a place in the Cleo Awards for advertising the banquet hall all decked out in 1950 and 1960 advertising and life memorabilia. People came from many distances for this wedding and no one felt it was not worth it.

Then something else amazing happened (I can’t get away from the word) she gave birth to this beautiful little angel she named Darby, fair and brilliant, just like her mom! Darby Shea was a great gift to her grandparents on both sides. We were four very blessed and lucky people.

As life goes on, so must it end, and in one hundred years from now little will be remembered of it. Four years after gifting the whole world with Darby, Courtney gave birth to Robert Courtney and as she did, gave her last breaths to the child before succumbing during the birth.
I always love to travel to Burbank, to experience the wonderful times we all spent with Courtney that can never be taken away from me. The restaurants, stores and even the errands that we ran along with her as she lived for her husband Anthony and little Darby. Be it a birthday party or her graduation, a trip to the aquarium in Long Beach or a dance recital of Darby’s, it was all time, valuable time, well spent with the Amazing one.

We miss her terribly, but as she passed through this life, she left us with one more amazing gift, her son Robert Courtney, so filled with life and mischief, love and affection he like his big sister will fill a void I call: Amazing.

Today is her birthday and as I look at what she did, I think: Amazing!

SITTING ON THE DOCK OF THE BAY

A few days ago, to relieve the boredom of sitting home all day, TLW (The Little Woman) and I decided to take a ride in my car with the windows closed. We decided to go down to the bay in Sayville and enjoy the sights I have long forgotten.

I decided the drive would be a leisurely one, taking in all that I took for granted and now miss. As I got into the car I asked TLW which way I should take, a local road or the more direct Nicholl’s Road with its two lanes in both directions. She suggested I take the Nicholl’s Road route because it is faster. I thought about that as I did and said to myself: “The fastest route to get to nowhere in particular!”

Arriving at the dock of the bay in Sayville next to where our wedding reception was held almost 50 years ago, Lands End, I found a nice spot to park against the abutment to the bay and discovered that everyone seems to have the same idea at the same time. To say the least, we all look lonely and sad. Under a beautiful sky with water rolling by people were in their cars, looking at their cell phones with their heads down! Why not just stay home and do your scrolling on the phone?

Sitting there looking out the front window I started a journey back in time when the beach was so much a part of my life. For the first time in many years, I noticed the seagulls, drifting lazily by, then suddenly hover above my head then continuing their flight. I thought of the great painters such as Leonardo or Botticelli who may have studied their flight and committed it to a canvas or board. I saw the waves as they headed into the shoreline, lapping occasionally over the abutment, white caps in the distance as a storm or rain occasion of some magnitude was preparing to overtake the beach.

The soothing echoes of the cawing of the birds seemed to awaken days gone by as the smell of salt air on occasion gave rise to even more memories of my youth. I even recalled my first time on a beach on Long Island, when my older sister Tessie, (much older) took me down to the beach when I was about ten and I sat with her friends as they lay in the sun listening to a small transistor radio. One of the guys started to sing along after the music ended and another cracked: “That’s what’s good about the radio, you can always shut it off!”

I remember seeing the horseshoe crabs as they landed on the beach, finding out that they were called horseshoe crabs with their spine-like tails because of their shape and wondering how they would taste in Mom’s sauce.

Leaving the dock and passing the restaurant where it all began I noticed how little has changed, and that dear reader to me down another memory lane I didn’t plan on going down.

THE NEW WORLD

As we trudge through this pandemic secluded in our homes, a lot has changed, will change, and seems we have built-in for the changes thanks to technology and adjusting as humans.

As my daughter Ellen resides in a nursing home she is stuck in because of the COVID-19 precautions, we cannot physically visit her but must rely on the tools of technology. This means prescribed times with an I-pad to visually see each other without leaving our homes. Face Time is the way to do this. We are thrilled that we can do it and it helps us settle our minds as we worry anyway as her parents.

Visiting California to visit my grandchildren is also no longer possible as we avoid the germ pit of the pressurized cabin of an airplane. I always catch whatever may be about on these planes and get sick within a day of landing in Burbank.

It has got me wondering about how things will be done in the future. For instance: doctor’s visits, will there be any changes in how we schedule as life returns to a non-pandemic world. How many haircuts are going to be needed? Will we now have to schedule an appointment for a barbershop?

How many cars will need attention at the local mechanic, and will the increase in demand take us to the limit? Jobs that were lost will suddenly come back to life, will we have the same jobs or will we need to re-interview?

There are people with psychological problems, how will the flow of patients be handled, will there be a problem seeing them in a timely fashion? Those that are intent on committing crimes, home or car break-ins are sure to increase as social distancing and home seclusion is over?

And here is my biggest question: will churches and temples suffer from a marked decline in attendance as people get used to not going during the pandemic! Will home-schooling be on the increase?

Stay tuned.

WHY I TELL THOSE JOKES

Recently, someone complained to me that all my stories make it sound like Super Mario and that I shouldn’t make fun of other countries. He happens to come from another country and feels insulted.

My intent is not to make fun of Italy, and nowhere in my jokes do I, but I do have fun with the accent that comes with immigration and its effect on my life. The people who spoke broken English loved me, they gave me many names of affection, physically said I love you with a pinch on my facial cheeks, kisses that seemed endless, and stories that they themselves told to me with their precious accents.

Many a time Mom would laugh at herself, as did my grandmother telling stories about themselves from long ago.

I had an uncle, Uncle Joe, who may be the inspiration for many of my stories. Putting on his Italian accent Uncle Joe would tell a story and have a room filled with relatives and me pitching forward in hysterics, it was his gift. I love all those sweet moments I recall. I had aunts that would open their mouths and you had no choice but to pay attention and prepare for your sides to hurt, their reactions to themselves and their predicaments.

But most of all, I could hear the laughter, the laughter I am told you have when you read my stories. Hearing how you feel about the joke makes me connect to Mom and Dad, Aunt Angie or Aunt Tessie, Grandma or Grandpa and then I don’t feel so bad about missing the people I love, because, you people fill that void.

I love you all!