DADDY, WHAT’S HEAVEN?

Many years ago, #1 Son was playing on the floor of the living room in our old house, and looking up at me asked; “Daddy, what’s Heaven?”

Not missing a beat I began to describe what I thought Heaven is, what it looked like and what it meant to go to Heaven. I explained to him that Heaven is a place that once lived in the heart of Brooklyn, between Bedford Avenue, Sullivan Place and Empire Boulevard. It was a building with the most beautiful courtyard ever made by man. An original Brooklyn saint, Saint Charles Ebbet, created it and so they named the place after him: Ebbets Field.

I told him about the greenness of the courtyard, with straight whiter than white lines and reddish turf that surrounded the field, a true field of dreams, where those that occupied it were loved and revered for all the happiness they brought to a young mind, sculpturing heroes, both black and white, men of great skill, and courage, men who could disappoint you, and in that disappointment taught you that love is not conditional.

He couldn’t understand what I said or meant, so like a good son went back to playing with his blocks. There was so much more I wished to tell him, like how one day they took away those saintly men and tore down Heaven, so that it would only exist in our minds eye, remembered in our hearts and forever more be etched in our souls. That and the fact that when we went to heaven, we would be able to watch the Brooklyn Dodgers play every game ever played in Ebbets Field from 1913 to September of 1957, over and over again, and all the excitement and joy of loving Dem Bums would come back refreshed.

Today while I was re-seeding my lawn, my neighbor John was walking his dog and stopped by to chat. We started to talk about things in general and got to mention our childhood and the old days. He asked me where I came from and I mentioned Brooklyn, we talked about the Brooklyn Dodgers and he showed me a tattoo that said: “1955 Brooklyn Dodgers”, so of course we now are really reunited, although we never met before we lived in our respective homes. I mentioned to John that it seems that Old Brooklyn Dodger Fans are all nostalgic, and he seemed to realize and agree that is really is so.

I will show John my collection of Brooklyn Dodger memorabilia, share some more memories and maybe drink to the days gone by.

Just Over The Brooklyn Bridge Lyrics
» Art Garfunkel

(M. Hamlisch, Marilyn & Alan Bergman)
A world of its own,
The streets where we played,
The friends on every corner were the best we ever made.
The backyards, and the school yards
And the trees that watched us grow,
The days of love when dinner time was all you had to know.
Whenever I think of yesterday,
I close my eyes and see,
That place Just Over The Brooklyn Bridge
That will always be home to me.
It'll always be home to me.

SUNRISE, SUNSET

Gently roll the years, or so it seems.

I thought it was only yesterday when I looked out my front door and across the street from me stood two little children, playing on the front lawn while their parents were inside the house, looking to buy from Ray Cusimano, my neighbor for over 10 years as he planned his retirement in Florida.

What struck me about the kids was their frisky, puppy like zest for life, frolicking on the front lawn, running and jumping and just having a grand old time. There was a little boy and his little sister, and you could see they were close. Suddenly the little boy pushed his little sister to the ground, and I thought: “Ah, peace in our day” isn’t it typical.

Why do I bring this up? Well the little boy is now a big boy, graduation from high school, and the little sister is a year behind him and going into her senior year. His name is Joey, and sports a ponytail for a worthy cause, hair that will eventually be cut and given for children with cancer! A classy thing to do for such a young age! Joey was dressed in a tuxedo, climbing into his parent’s car on the way to I guess the senior prom, and his sister Lauren, a beautiful young lady was dress in a long gown that made her even more beautiful, and she was going to the prom too. These are two very good-looking kids in both physical and spiritual appearance, coming from parents who gave them that persona.
Richie and Alison are like most of my neighbors, really good people, with good kids, working to make their lives and the lives of their children better.

Sometimes I guess I need to stop and smell the roses, seeing what wonderful neighbors I have, and what wonderful kids they have. You know about My Man Bill and his Lovely Wife Carole and kids, and now meet Richie and Alison. There are others, just as wonderful; it makes for a wonderful place to live.

OOPS!

Sometimes I am so sure of myself that I forget that I don’t know. Sounds illogical but it is the best way to explain myself.

This morning TLW (The Little Woman) and I were going over business for the day when I asked her if she thought I should call the pool guy to power vacuum the pool.

As I write this, I get into another self-argument as to the spelling of vacuum, thinking it is spelled vacumm yet it doesn’t look correct. So angrily, I berate myself for questioning how to spell the word, and look it up, only to find I was wrong, it is “vacuum” after all.

Back to the conversation-TLW asks if I got a bill. No! What bill?? She says: “ didn’t you get a copy of the bill, a yellow piece of paper when the pool guy opened the thing? No, absolutely not. She asks if I maybe put it in the calendar pocket on the refrigerator. Ha, these women always put you in a situation to make you look bad, Geez!

I decide to go ahead and look for the bill, even in the pocket of the calendar, although I know for sure it is not there.

She must have put it there,

I never got it.

Can’t recall doing that.

Come to think of it, I did put it there! Oh yeah, I remember now, folding it and putting it there.

Maybe I just need to rest.

BOOK ‘EM AND SEND OUT THE INVITATIONS

I was listening on the news this morning about some guy who is suing his neighbor and wife because the couple’s daughters make a lot of noise in the family pool.

Naturally I thought about me neighbor: My Man Bill and his lovely wife Carole. They have this nice big pool in their backyard and a little girl who uses it. Like all little girls, Christina can get a little excited as she and her friends frolic and have a great time. What would happen if My Man Bill and his lovely wife Carole were to God forbid wind up in Jail?

Imagine the scene:
Correction Officer (CO): “Mr. Warden, Sir, they are sending out invitations!”

Warden: “Who?”

CC: My Man Bill and his lovely wife Carole!

Warden: “Are they inviting that nut next door?”

CC: “Yes sir, I’m afraid so!”

Warden: “throw them in solitary then.”

Or even worst still;

Warden: “Officer Chainandirons, WHAT’S THAT HAMMERING?”

Officer Chainandirons: “It’s My Man Bill. Sir, he just got a delivery from Home Depot, and he’s laying marble tiles on his cell floor, put in a wooden door and his own lock!”

Warden: “Does he try to escape?”

Officer Chainandirons: “Well sir, he keeps getting out but keeps coming back with more stuff from Home Depot!

Of course in the real world, My Man Bill would put up a pool in the exercise yard too.

WHEN PINCH COMES TO SHOP

Once a week TLW (The Little Woman) hands me the order of the day for Saturday, and instructs me to select recipes for the week so she can purchase what is needed.

This week I went through the cookbook, selecting three recipes that I think are interesting and had some fun in the choosing. One of the recipes called for a round steak made in a Chinese mix of ingredients. I composed the list, after checking whatever I wasn’t sure we had, to make sure we really needed it and presented the list to Il Duce.

Hunching my back and gritting my teeth, a normal stance for a husband of 36 years, I awaited the chief’s declaration. It is the hardest job as a husband when TLW any TLW begins to review the poor bastards selection, and he must defend himself.

TLW: “Don’t we have onions?”
The Sniveling Ghost of A Man, Me: (TSGAM, M), Not enough.
TLW: “You need Chile sauce?”
TSGAM, M: “Yup, I just checked the refrigerator, we need it!”
TLW: “I know I bought Low Sodium Soy Sauce just recently!”
TSGAM, M: “We ran out of it.” (As I get up to show her the empty bottle)
TLW: “Let ME check.” After 36 years I am declared “legally blind.” What is this item “Shampoo”?
TSGAM, M: “Yea, we ran out of shampoo.”
TLW: “For who?”
TSGAM, M: “Me?”
TLW: “YOU don’t have any! What kind?”
TSGAM, M: “You know for me. What do you use, I’m not using any sissy stuff.”
TLW: I use hand soap when I’m out of shampoo. Just a pinch.”
TSGAM, M: Look, I’ll give you a pinch latter, just get me the shampoo.”
TLW: “Where is the cap for the pen?” as she edits a new list of items.
TSGAM, M: “I don’t know, I capped it when I returned the pen to you.”
TLW: “Oh, it’s never your fault.”
TSGAM, M: “See if they have arsenic in stock, will ya?”

WHAT I HAVE

Its’ funny how the details are clear but the big picture is fuzzy. 36 years ago, and the days leading to the big event, I can remember but the big event, the wedding itself remains foggy, almost a mystery to me.

I recall with almost precise detail, the day before the wedding, working at my first job, finishing it up and giving it to my boss before leaving for the day, the last time as a single man, going off to get married and traveling on a fantastic honeymoon to Europe. My boss, Jack Stern, looked at the design package I did and said it was the best thing I had done yet!

Leaving the office early and on a high note, I took the train to my bride’s house to visit her, being how I left my car at her train station in East Islip in the morning, and how she had already taken her leave from Mobile Oil on 42nd Street. I found her ironing!

That night I went home, had dinner with all the guys in the wedding party and got into an accident on the way to rehearsal at the church! Never once did I consider it a bad omen, since it wasn’t my car, and I wasn’t driving.

After the rehearsal we all went to TLW’s (The Little Woman) house for a little party and an exchange of gifts between TLW and me.

The next morning, my whole family left for the church, without wakening me from a deep slumber, only to be awakened at 10:30 by my best man, knocking on the door. We dressed, went down to my Dad’s bar in the basement, had a shot of scotch and drove to the church, St. Mary’s where they removed my singleness forever. I remember TLW coming down the aisle, the moments before waiting behind the alter for the ceremony to begin

I recollect the drive to Land’s End for the reception in the limo, but it all became a blur to me except for the three drinks I had going at once, one given by the reception hall, one by my boss, and one from my friends. I finished all three, no point hurting people’s feelings on your wedding day.

I recall all the happened after the wedding, the drive to the airport and seeing people on the Southern State going home after the wedding, the seat assignment on the plane and some of the flight to London, England and flying over Ireland to England and as we approached the Heathrow Airport, looking out the port hole and watching a car racing along a English country road, yet the whole day, in spite of the details still remains blurry!

But I guess in the end, when all is said and done, what I have is better than clear memories, I have a wife who is best suited for me, one in which I am extremely fortunate to have, and she knows it, and if I could have to choice to do it over again, I most certainly would, I would have her sweet smile and beautiful face all over again, with all the happiness and joy that comes with her.

THE PRACTICING JEWISH CATHOLIC

It was a bright sunny beautiful day in mid June of 1971, the church was filled with family and friends, and the Priest was in the middle of his sacred duty of marrying off a innocent bachelor and TLW (The Little Woman), when it came time for the most holy of holiest events a Catholic can be part of.

The organ perched high above the rear of the old church called St. Mary’s was playing out softly, and the singer sang with solemnity and clearness, of things of everlasting faith and beauty, of love of God and each other.

Stain glass windows in multi-colored patterns surrounded the congregation for this happy and blessed event, light from the sun dancing and twinkling throughout filling both Catholic and Non-Catholic alike with a newfound spiritualism coming deep from the inner self. The many candles that surrounded this place of worship flickered their little lights in approval of this Holy Union.

Rounding the alter, Father Smith carrying his golden chalice and visited upon the radiant Bride and subdued Groom to administer the sacred sacrament of Holy Communion, with a solemnity that fit the occasion. “Body of Christ” whispered the Priest, “Amen” a hundred times over did he hear, serving to all and I mean all who were in his range.

Bridal Parties are sometimes strictly Catholic, sometimes diverse as in this wedding. The wedding party had Protestants and Jewish participants, who happened to be best friends of the principles.

As Father Smith finished with the Bride and Groom he went to the Best Man, a Jew, and as he did; Phil the Jew, my best friend, almost my brother, surprised by the speed of which the good father approached him opened his mouth in shock! The big gaping hole was soon filled with Christianity, as the Priest slipped one white wafer into an original Catholic’s mouth! You see he should have received that day, even though he was born a Jew, and will die a Jew, because all of us in the church are descendants of Jews for the most part. And if I’m not mistaken, that poor fellow that was nailed upon the cross that we all

JIM

There’s a man I met over 37 years ago, and I must say I am reminded of him daily. His presence seems to linger in not only my memory of him, but in his children and grandchildren. Jim was man of peace, a man of charity, a man of unquenching curiosity and intelligence, a man who loved without qualification or pretense.

The first time I met him he was sitting in his chair in a brown suit, watching the TV as I knocked on the door. I heard the shrill barking of a little dog and a very beautiful lady answered the door, to invite me in. The little dog “Jacque” nipped at my heels and kept up his barking, but Jim just sat there and acknowledged my presence after an introduction. He didn’t badger me, didn’t ask too many questions, just trusted me, and I immediately trusted and liked him. He was for real. No show of manly machismo or usual bull you get when you meet some men.

Jim was a hard worker, worked a shoe store as a manager by day, and a cashier by night at a local diner. On Sundays’ he was an usher, counting the money for the parish, and I can assure you he accounted for every penny of it.

But what made him so special? Loving his Helen meant more to him than life itself. He taught his children that; violence had no place in life, and truth and character were what really mattered. TLW (The Little Woman) is testament to that.

He was a curmudgeon and a lover of the written word, a thorn in the side of the New York Times, as every Sunday he would read it, circling all the grammatical and spelling errors and would send it off to the newspaper with a little note that I am sure poked them in their haughty sides. As curmudgeons go he was the leader. I recall one exceptionally beautiful Saturday morning, as I went to pick up TLW for a day trip somewhere. The sky was a cerulean blue, the sun as yellow and inviting as possible, and the temperature was a perfect 72 degrees, with no wind. I mentioned those facts to him, and when I left the house after his view of the weather I was depressed, praying for rain!

When he wasn’t reading a newspaper with pencil or involved with a book, he was watching a news program or the Watergate hearings that gave him endless hours of fascination and pleasure, as he would relate the day’s proceedings or arguments.

He suffered from emphysema and it seems it was always taking him down for a spell, but he always bounced back. Then one day he didn’t. His weary body could no longer fight, and he sadly said goodbye to his children, not bemoaning his luck, not sobbing or wringing his hands, but like a man who knew his destiny, and accepted it. He was a perfect role model for his sons, he didn’t teach them baseball or sports, didn’t go to many games, or scout meetings, but was there in a spiritual way, teaching them that family did come first, even if one must sacrifice the time with them so they could be provided for, given a quality education, a respect for God, and that love and the heart is present no matter where the soul is.

Thanks, Jim and Happy father’s Day. Say “Hello” to my Dad, and wish him a “Happy Father’s day”. Your sacrifices are not forgotten, both of you have given nine children, grandchildren and great grandchildren a way of life.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads of the world.

I CAN VISUALLY HEAR YOU!

I CAN VISUALLY HEAR YOU!

While in college, sitting in a lab, writing notes from a lecture was most difficult. Not being able to hear, I had to finds ways to improvise to make up for the lack of hearing. I was extending myself beyond the realm of possibility and using visual clues, some lip reading and textbooks that when combined, along with the professor’s body language when he/she had any was my only hope.

My social life was a complete bust. There was no time for any, I didn’t have the money and I couldn’t afford the time since I was so busy trying to catch up with the work I might have missed in class and lectures. Coming from a modest home, there was no money unless I earned it, and earned it I did. I usually work one or two jobs, depending on the day of the week, when the class schedule dictated my time off from classes. It seemed every night I worked well into the night, because I got home from a job at a supermarket, maybe slept for an hour and jumped on a train to sleeping to school the next morning. The train was at 5:30 A.M., because I needed to go into the city, switch trains and turn around and come back out again to another part of the island and make an 8:00 A.M. class or lab, jump off the train and hitch-hike a couple of miles to the campus, in the snow, rain and cold or oppressive heat of the early fall. While I hitched a ride, I would be carrying as camera with a tripod, books, art supplies and portfolio case, about 30” x 40”.

Somehow I managed to do the impossible, and I doubt that anyone believes me in this, but it is all the truth. Coming home at night, it was as difficult as it was in the morning. But things got better for me on a Friday night, my brother-in-law John, God bless him, would come around 6:30 or & o’clock and give me a ride home to his house, where my Dad would pick me up and take me home.

I CAN’T EVEN HEAR MYSELF THINK!

As some of you know by now, I wear two hearing aids. Being deaf is no picnic, and having lost most of my hearing at a tender age of 5, I have learned to try to compensate for the loss, while living a normal as possible life.

I lost my hearing when I came down with a severe case of mumps. In those days, doctors were not sophisticated enough to realize the ramification of a child with mumps, and what it could really mean. I can vividly remember the pain and anguish I had, recalling the suffering not only in my face and cheeks, but in my ears, how powerful the pain was to lead me into almost a hallucinated state of mind. I was so painful that I could not touch my face, or even lay my head down on its side.

My parents thought for years that I was just plain stupid, that I couldn’t learn or understand anything, and that I would end up with nothing in my life and probably in some institution for learning disabled. I was sent to a Catholic school along with my older sister, who was considered the smart one, and I was headed for who knew where.

The teachers at the school never caught on that I was deaf, and I was often punished severely for not knowing something, not understanding someone, and not responding immediately. It took me some time to learn how to lip read and realize I had to pay more attention to what was being said in class, and really feared missing something, which was quite often. One of the reasons I hated school so much as a young child can readily be explained.

My Dad was perhaps the most disappointed in me, not only being unhappy, but also the blow to his ego was too much for him to comprehend or handle. Although it wasn’t my fault that I was deaf, I couldn’t blame him for the way he felt. In those days, no one individual knew or was educated enough to understand the crisis I was in. I think my Mom had inkling that something was wrong, but she too was a severe critic and greatly disappointed. My older sister was the only one who gave me any comfort, never made fun of me, never criticized me, and never made me feel stupid.

Then one day something magical happened. We moved! We moved away from Brooklyn, and out of the school, onto Long Island and a whole new world. A world filled with trees, and water and sunshine and a school nurse named Miss Wager. Miss Wager had worked with the deaf, and I was given a hearing test, the first of many. I was 10 years old, and this was my first hearing test. She marveled that I had survived as long as I did, had gotten anywhere with language and when my parents finally understood, life became a little easier for me around the house.

Having some friends, but not many since I was afraid to make any being deaf, I could hear, but only up close and not well. I was becoming a loner by choice because I had to. I would spend time watching TV or reading, or playing ball. TV was watched only when I could watch alone, not when the family watched, because I needed it “Too loud”. When I was a sophomore in high school, I was sent to lip reading classes in Mineola Hospital where they discovered I could minimally read lips, and with circumstances, I could figure out what people were saying to a degree.

I took a huge step and decided that I really wanted to go to college and get away from the closeness that my parents lived in, and try to open up a new world for myself. I really wanted to teach history, but knew that if I did it would require not only teaching, but also listening, and I didn’t think that students would want to accommodate a deaf teacher. So I took the next thing I could think of, my love of art and drawing. I took a test at the Art Student’s League where I was immediately accepted, my Dad helping me to put together a portfolio of drawings and paintings. Yes Dad had finally crossed over to the other side. But I wasn’t happy with the idea of just becoming an artist in the commercial field. Not only that, I wanted to learn something besides how to draw. I looked up schools in the area and found New York Tech, took an entrance exam and passed. I was in a four-year college, with the promise of a Bachelor of Arts degree.

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

Last evening was indeed a night to remember and to cherish as a memory that ranks with my wedding day and the four days my children were born.

A month or so ago, I received a letter from the Community Affairs office of the Suffolk Chapter of the Association of the Help of Retarded Children informing me that the Board of Directors had chosen me to receive their Honorary Lifetime Membership Award. This is usually something that people get by donating large sums of money to the agency.

When I was introduced, there was a long litany of accomplishments that were mentioned, and all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hide. I’m not really keen on receiving awards or recognition for charitable work, and I like to just do what needs to be done and leave the recognition to others. But I’ve come to realize that such events are important not to those who are recognized, but to those who someday will be recognized, and so it encourages participation.

When I was nominated for the Board over 18 years ago, TLW (The Little Woman) said that if I do anything, being on the board and helping my daughter would make her proudest of me, and I worked to earn that privilege of her pride.

Last evening I got a crystal and gold clock that I am very proud of along with a certificate or Recognition from NYS Senator Caesar Trunzo. I probably will never get anything else in my life like that, except maybe grandchildren someday.

Please forgive me this blog this one time.

SUNDAY MORNING MEATBALL CHESS

It’s 10:30 A.M. on a Sunday morning; the kitchen is humming with TLW (The Little Woman) cooking dinner for later in the day. At this point in time she pulls out a tray of meatballs she’s been baking in the oven.

One of the meatballs has my name on it, and has been calling me since 6:30 A.M., seductively aromatizing my nose to the sweet childhood memories in Brooklyn on a Sunday morning. “Joseph,” it calls out to me, “come and taste.” Like a song of a siren, beckoning me to meatball land.

The question for me is: “How?”

How do I get a meatball, how do I get around TLW, how do I do these things and not get caught? A strategy has to be devised, a plan of attack drawn up, a scheme or plot envisioned, all for a meatball. I can wait for her to go to a store, she always does, but that might take too long.

I can wait for her to bend down into the refrigerator, and while she is busy in there, swipe a meatball and take the chance of burning the roof of my upper mouth, burning my lips and/or getting sauce on the stove, my shirt, the floor leaving a telltale sign. All options are either messy or risky. I have only one option, one I hadn’t considered, one that made no sense to me, nor did it offer me any challenges.

“Toots? Can I test one of your meatballs?”

TODAY IS POST #400 FOR DELBLOGGOLO!

MEASURED BEAUTY

J.D. Salinger once wrote that we tend to look at things and people in the way we are taught to look at them. We see a block of wood, and because it has dimension, we accept it as a block of wood. But do we really have proof that that block of wood is really wood, or a block for that matter.

Once upon a time long, long ago, my dad had a group of riders he took to his factory job every morning from Monday to Friday. Door to door service, each lady would climb into her assigned seat in the station wagon, with her little brown lunch bag and say a simple: “Good morning, Tony.” These riders were women who worked the machines of a manufacturer of children’s play clothes, simple natured; their jobs required a learned skill that needs only to be accurate and fast in assembling their part of the garment. They sat at a sewing machine, their heads down at 9:00 A.M. and except for a half hour lunch break and two 10 minutes coffee breaks, didn’t lift their heads again until the whistle screeched at 4:30 P.M.

All the women were “old maids” as they were called for their unmarried status, and the fact that they accepted their designation with resignation lent to their aura sadness. Though their jobs were considered menial, to them it was life and death to have. Being paid piecemeal, each eyed what the other had. The ladies working wardrobes where simple by need and plain by design yet sufficed to meet the challenge of their daily routine. All the women were to put it mildly: unattractive in looks. None of the ladies could drive, and if it weren’t for Dad, would all be taking the bus to work everyday.

Entertainment was a cheap and inexpensive sit in front of the TV, no dates, no restaurants, no vacations to anywhere but washing windows or cleaning a house, sadly those were the experiences they related to my Dad when he asked; “How was you vacation, or weekend?” Conversations centered on their jobs or TV shows they watched, or maybe a family member that was doing something out of the ordinary.

I remember those days and how special I felt that I was only working in the factory for the summer, anxiously awaiting the fall and the return to college classes, smugly knowing that I would not turn out like them, that I would have an education and be “Better” than they were.

One day I graduated college, took a job in the city and started a career, I climbed up the ladder, taking on raises and new positions, soon realizing how I missed those days of working in the summer. The meetings in my career were full of strange people waiting for answers, judging my work, criticizing my approach to a marketing problem rightfully or wrongfully, working long hours or overnight, made me wish for the security of the simple life these ladies had, how all they needed was to do a simple task and no one would question it.

I often wondered if when I left them for college, if they didn’t snicker and think: “Poor bastard.”

WHAT’S NEXT, HEAVEN OR HELL?

All you Jewish and Protestant readers go get a cup of coffee while all the Catholics read this.

Get a new Pope and you get new rules. It was on Yahoo, in the papers and now on the Internet, NO MORE LIMBO!

All those in Limbo are now being instructed as to where to go.

(My angel of God looks and sounds like TLW (The Little Woman) and like TLW has instructions sent from high above.)
“Attention all residents of Limbo. Due to new Papal Proclamation number L19463w847; you are being relocated. You should have received an assignment ticket as to where to relocate in the mail.
If you ticket is blue and white; use the UP staircase, if you were assigned the red and black ticket; use the DOWN staircase. Be sure to present your ticket at the gate before entering the staircase.”

Of course there are other ramifications such as: no more Limbo Rock at weddings, and I guess they will have to destroy all those recordings of the song.

Personally, I hope the Pope eliminates Hell. I could use a few carefree years after all this time.

Years ago, while TLW was attending a pre-Baptismal class as a young parent, a woman raised her hand and asked how come they recognized Limbo in New Jersey, but not here on Long Island? She was told that if you died in New Jersey you went to Limbo, if you died here, chances are … straight to Hell. My immediate thought was to look for a cemetery plot in New Jersey to cover all the bases.

THE EXPERIMENT

There are evenings when the mind roams, and I find ways to amuse myself and still manage to stay married to TLW (The Little Woman). Being how the Met game was over and I was watching a detective show while TLW was fast asleep in her chair, I took out the lap top and decided to test TLW while she slept. (Note: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, UNLESS YOU ARE A TRAINED HUSBAND!)

I looked up a web site that had religious info with a song you could play. Being how she is a religious instruction teacher, this idea was perfect. The only song available was; “Oh, Holy Night.” I figured why not? I hit the play button and let her rip. As I turned up the volume, I watched TLW, and holy mackerel; she started to stir, as her eyes started to flutter, responding to the call of holiness. Then suddenly I became afraid, thinking; “Maybe this will get out of hand! Maybe she will get up and go off to church, then thought about the outside chance that being it was a Christmas song, she might give me a Christmas present and I hadn’t shopped yet.) Was I creating a monster, a monster with uncontrollable passion to pray for me or worst still, drag me off to church?

Suddenly the song ended, and it was still and peaceful, TLW had fallen off, back to sleep! Gee, I wish I had: “Silent Night” to play.

AND SO IT GOES

Today I went for a semi-annual heart doctor appointment, and he asked me when I had the by-pass. I told him in September of 2003 and he said: “Congratulations!” He looked at my cardiogram and now I have to go to a stress test on Friday the 13th. It’s Friday, it’s the 13th, AND it’s a stress test! How lucky can I get?

Am I worried? No, because I’ve done this before with unfortunate results, and know how bad things can get. Am I being a fatalist? No, just accepting what will come, and when it does you will know about it too.

If you don’t take care of yourself, you can follow along with the results of such stupidity by reading what I have to say about it. If your wives, mothers or love ones says: “Go to the doctor” and you still don’t, don’t miss a word of the anxiety and pain I will experience either now or later on. I know it couldn’t happen to me, yet I did. Don’t listen and I’ll be seeing you in the same predicament.

Do me a favor and; take care of yourself; it’s the right thing to do.

BE AFRAID, BE VERY AFRAID!

Last evening TLW (The Little Woman) and I sat after diner and were discussing the purchase of the car and all that went with it, mainly or discussion about trees and forest and sound.

TLW: “So which conversation is going on the blog?”
Me: “What do you mean?”
TLW: “You know the one about the trees?”
Me: “Probably, in fact that one is already written.”
TLW: “When will it be on?”
Me: “In a day or two, I have some unpublished blogs I keep in abeyance and put up if nothing is currently happening that is worth talking about.”
TLW: “I never know when a conversation is going to be put on your blog.”

There is a lot of truth in what TLW says; I don’t know what is going up on the blog until I get on it myself. I write what happens, people I meet or have met, and events that occur. But the blog is a chronicle to some degree about my life and family. If by chance the blog lives long enough to the day I die, I will write about it too, and you will know all there is to know about the end of life for one individual, laughs, remembrance and all. Don’t be surprised if I joke on that day.

IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT…

Suddenly a shot rang out, a door slammed and a woman screamed. Well not really, actually it was sunny noontime, and the dog growled and what sounded like an airplane taking off was heard.

At first I thought that the growling was my stomach, but realized it was the dog, and I figured someone might be here or in the yard. I immediately went downstairs from my studio and into the kitchen, and as I did, I noticed someone outside my kitchen window! A prowler? An attacker of some kind, was trying to invade my home or maybe worst, a tax assessor?

Out I go into the side yard, and there arrayed before me is what looks like the welding team for the Brooklyn Naval Yard, but turns out to be my man Bill next door.

Three quarters of the outside of my house is a light yellow and one quarter is grey. I have been working with the grey side for a few years now, and was currently looking for grey flowers to work with the siding. The reason the side of the house was grey was because last year it was mildew green. The mildew green worked well with the trees, and I figured I was set. But no, the mildew green turned to grey and my landscape scheme was taking a hit in confidence and becoming impossible to match with flowers or shrubs.

So what was my man Bill doing there? His welding kit turned out to be a power washer, and he was power washing the side of the house, and making it match the other three sides once again!

Bill has a lot of heart and tools, using one or the other interchangeably or separate, it doesn’t really matter. If you look in the dictionary under good neighbor you will find his picture. He is very generous in his time and help, and you can’t imagine what wonderful neighbors he and his wife Carole are. It seems whenever he buys himself a new tool; he tries it out on the neighbors too!

I was seriously thinking of talking him into buying a driveway-paving machine of some kind. Only kidding. (Maybe)

As for the dog, she is a lot like me, I put some food in her dish and she was happy once more. We all have a price.

OK, LET’S PICK IT UP

Today was pickup day, the day we get the new car. TLW (The Little Woman) and I go down to the Toyota dealership and sign the papers, get the keys and drive off to our home. As we are driving we come to a light and it is backed up with a lot of rush hour traffic, maybe fifteen cars ahead of us. I suggest we turn at the next right and she does, and I see a parking lot that extends to the road we wished to get to after the backed traffic light. I suggest we turn into the parking lot and cut over to the road.

No good!

Nuh, Uh!

TLW will not hear of it. We must stay within the confines of the law.

Suddenly my criminal mind tries to convince the religious teacher of little second graders that it is OK to do so. After all, there are no cops watching, and if there were, they would let us do it.

Logic time has now come!

TLW: “If a tree falls in the forest, and there is no one around, does it make a sound?”

Me: “Yes it makes a sound, the physics are still there for sound to be made, even if no one can hear the sound,” (Pretty good, no?)

TLW: “So what you are saying is that the police are ok with breaking the law?”

Me: “No, I’m saying the sound is made no matter what, all the physics of the laws of sound to be made are present. The cops are ok with breaking the law, providing no civilians or higher-ups are around for a payoff.”

Needless to say, we went the legal long way with no cops anywhere to be found.

THE COLOR AND THE GIRL ARE NOT JUST RIGHT

OK, TLW (The Little Woman) and myself decide to get the Camry, and we talk the deal through as the dealer asks the simple question: “What color would you like?”

Having scouted the showroom floor, I had decided on the nice formal grey that worked well with the grey interior, and lent elegance to the vehicle. Nothing fancy, just a nice solid grey, coming from the finest blacks made and diluted to the correct shade of grey.

Out to the lot we marched, the three of us: the unsuspecting and until now innocent dealer, TLW and the dutiful husband, or #2 man in the outfit. Viewing the different shades of hues we visited upon the red, and when I say red, I mean red. Fire engine hot flaming red, that if parked in my driveway with the coming summer months of heat and humidity would cause me to strip down and run up and down the neighborhood, trying to get cool. Next to it stood a pearl green car, same model and make, just pearl green, looking pea green from the pollen that had fallen that day hiding a real nice color, and finally stood the grey, a car making a statement saying: “Boy am I classy, the valets will fight for my attention, cars will stop on crowed highways to make room for the passing of royalty grey.”

TLW asks a rhetorical question: “What color should I get?” The reason I am #2 in the scheme of things is that I answer rhetorical questions. “GREY!” says I, and wait for the “OK”- I said wait for the “OK”, but it never comes. Instead of; “OK” I get: “Oh no, I don’t want grey, there is a gal who I work with who has grey, and she’ll think I was copying her.” I think the salesman was searching for birds in the sky and I was trying to catch my breath.

?????

RENDER UNTO CAESAR THE THINGS THAT ARE CAESAR’S

TLW (The Little Woman) and I received a notice from Toyota that if we turned in our car now, four months before it is due, we could be forgiven the last four months payments and get a new car.

Being how it was almost time, we decided to do so and wanted to try out the Prius, a car of the future that has been around since 1999. Test-driving the car was a joy, all new technology and a whole different attitude made for a tough decision as to what to do. Being a Camry user for years it was a tough choice, but decided to stick with a Camry for another 3 years.

While we made the deal and finalized everything with the salesman, TLW casually mentioned to the car salesman that she knew him from church, seeing him most Sunday’s at church. Of course the salesman got all excited and asked why we didn’t mention it sooner. He went on to say how he was such a good son that he took him Mom to church every other week although he wasn’t a member of the parish, first taking the old girl for breakfast where they could talk, then Mass.

Getting home I asked TLW why she didn’t mention it sooner and said that she would never use Jesus for gain. Jesus first, Joe’s pocket second, and hope for the best. I guess that TLW spends her time praying just like me. I pray to stay out of church, she prays to find me in church, and either way I don’t save any money.

If my Mother ever finds out I don’t go to church, she will smite me with her wooden spoons, and I will be dammed to eternal hell. As a good Christian boy, what is eternal hell, but a series of lectures from Mom and a look from TLW that says: “Don’t blame me when God catches up to you, sinner.”
.

WHEN THE PHONE RINGS

There is nothing worst than when previous history catches up with me. Today the phone rang and not knowing any better, I answered it. It was TLW (The Little Woman) calling from work.

Me: “Hello?”
TLW: “Hi Joe, it’s me.”
Me: “Yes Dear.”
TLW: Can you do me a favor?”
Me: “What?” (Fear creeping up my spinal cavity.)
TLW: “I think you can handle it" said apprehensively.
Me; ????
TLW: “could you take the wash out of the washing machine and put it in the dryer? All you have to do is load the dryer, pull the lint filter up, take out the lint and stick the filter back in. Then go to US Nuclear settings on the dial on you left, go to the red arrow (danger) and turn the knob to high-risk explosives and push the button on your right. Or do you want to wait for me to come home to do it myself?”
Me: “Oh, no problem.” (Hah)
TLW: “If you plan on going out, don’t do it, I don’t like to leave the dryer running when I’m not there, in case of a fire.” (She really means in case I screw it up and there is an explosion and no one is around to save the house and dog because of the dryer being gas.”

Of course she knows something, must be when I last screwed up, and she is trying her best to build confidence in me again.

I did it! Yes, no big deal, no loose change anywhere, but I did it! If you would like to know how I did it, just visit me. Hospital hours are 10:00AM to 12 Noon and 4PM to 8:30 at night.

LET THE CHILDREN COME TO ME

Today I went to a meeting of parent’s that have children with physical and mental disabilities. I went as a member of the Board of Directors for the Association for the Help of Retarded Children, Suffolk Chapter.

As I sat in the waiting area for the director to come and fetch me, I could hear a voice from around the corner speaking in a high pitch, and suddenly turning that corner, the voice turned out to be a lovely tall woman that was leading a very small child by the hand. The little boy was being escorted to a program or another classroom, and had an inquisitive look about him as he looked around his world, toddling along. He couldn’t have been more that 3 or 4 years of age, tiny and cute as a button. The young woman was coaxing the boy along, and he obediently followed, but I couldn’t help but want to get down on my knees and talk to him, and tell him to hang on, help might be on the way, “maybe someday you will be on your own little feller!”

As a member of the Board of Directors I was escorted to the conference room and sat at the head of the long 26’ conference table in the Board Room. Sipping my coffee I observed that there were about 10 to 15 couples and single parents there, mostly young in their older 20’s or younger 30’s. Being the first one there I observed them as they came in, one or two at a time and it all came back to me. Each had a face that said; “I am here to help my child have a better life than is possible.” Each father followed behind his uncertain wife who wore a mask of vulnerability, concern and determination, all rolled into one face. You just know that for the most part, the wife, the Mother was leading this quest for help and information. The Father was along for more than the ride, but Momma was the guiding light.

It took me back to a time with TLW (The Little Woman), how it all started with a doctor’s recommendation and our inquiries as to why our sweet little infant could not talk, walk or mature as expected. The blow still hurting from learning that the hopes and dreams of a beautiful child’s future are crushed learning that she is retarded and physically handicapped, imprisoned in a mind and body of pure hell weighing heavily in our hearts and minds, as the doctors and experts broke our hearts forever. We had to come to grips with the fact that our child would never be normal, that our lives would never be normal, that there was no way to make her better if we did it alone.

There were times when we resented the experts, the doctors, and psychiatrists, therapists that laid it on the line for us, telling us things we didn’t want to hear. But yet we kept on asking, kept on getting our hopes crushed and our dreams shattered.

Our daughter is now 35 years of age, she should have been married and perhaps had a few kids too. I often have to go to a niece’s wedding like the one in July, and I will watch my brother-in-law dance with HIS daughter to “Daddy’s Little Girl” and I will be envious of him, but glad he is not in my shoes.

BEING AHEAD OF THE CURVE

You must have read the startling news that scientist have not only communicated with monkeys, they have spoken to them.

Well surprise, surprise, I’ve been speaking with monkeys most of my life! Yes, that is a fact. Just a few years ago I hired a monkey to put in a pool, one to put in the surrounding deck, and yet another to care for my lawn! It seems none of them could come down out of their tree long enough to do the job right! I believe in fostering monkeys and monkey business, but they ARE ridicules.

Business monkeys are not the only ones that I’ve met, some are teenagers, that when they communicate will use gurgling kinds of sounds when calling for #2 Son. “EEEhhhh, Iss Mike dere? Some of these monkeys will use other sources of communication, like the one that needed my attention one night as he flipped on and off repeatedly the light switch in the dinning room. Some of these monkeys will ape famous people in history like the one that walks with a hood over his head and bends at the neck as he slitters around like Rasputin in the shadows.

Naturally I don’t mean to demean monkeys after all, you might know one or two yourself that you are fond of as I am. There are the ones that drive without thinking, the ones that park in two spaces or the ones that need handicapped parking because they are monkeys, and feel they should be handicapped too.

Of course I’ve also voted for numerous monkeys in both party affiliations and sometimes see them playing professional sports and wonder: “How much are these monkeys making?”

And the biggest monkey of all, was me at the last neighborhood get together.

LOCK OUT

No not the union of some unionized company, but #2 Son and his aversion for peace and serenity. As a retired man I now can dream about what I’ll have for lunch, and while I was doing so the phone rang. All my dreaming was shattered by the

Phone: “RIIIINNNGGG.”
Me: “Eh Low”
#2 Son on phone: Eh, Dad?”
Me: “No Michael, you have the wrong number.”
Him: “ I need help”
Me: “What?”
Him: “I locked my keys in my car, what should I do?”
Me: Call a locksmith?”
Him: “OK, call one for me.”
Me: “Where are you?”
Him: “DON’T COME DOWN “JUST CALL A LOCKSMITH!”
Me: “I HAVE TO KNOW WHERE TO SEND HIM, NO?”
Him: “Oh, OK”

I think that before they give out driver’s licenses, they should send out the potential traffic jammer and let him/her pass a litmus test first. Leave them in the middle of nowhere, throw their keys in the car, lock it, and flatten at least one tire. All they should have is a cell phone, and a phone book of useful numbers. If they return with the car and the tire is fixed, they get a road test. The inspector can then notify the parent that the test was or was not successful. There should be classes that teach how to change a tire, change the oil, put antifreeze in the car, and call a locksmith or AAA, and if any phone conversation begins with: “Eh, Dad?” automatic failure.

ONE, TWO, SIDE STEP SIDE STEP

Off to dancing class we went! Me and TLW (The Little Woman) filled with anticipation and great hopes. Move over Fred Astair and Ginger Rodgers, here comes the fox trotting team of Joe and Ellen!

We arrive at the dance hall that is a middle school cafeteria, and await the instructor. I figured he would be Senior Eduardo, and his lovely dancing assistant and partner Natasha. Senior Eduardo with his ascot, silk fluffy blouse and long thin legs, slick black hair and pencil moustache. The lovely Natasha with her hair pulled back, big loopy earrings and long red dress with a heavy Russian accent. What we got was Edward and Sophie.

Edward, or Eddie as he likes to be called was an elderly gentleman, with grey hair and a paunch, while the lovely Sophie was a refugee from Hunger Anonymous. Behind her thick lenses she swayed and glided across the dance floor along with Eddie.

Along with about 15 other couples we stood facing each other men on one side women on the other, TLW was in her glory as we embarked on an evening on repetitious steps and orders from Eddie. Once Eddie established himself as dance tutor, we applied some of his instructions into our newly formed routine. TLW would dance with her feet too close and I would step on them to ensure we were getting our money’s worth. “Ow” or the more colloquial “Ouch” was heard more than once as we glided and pranced like robots with elbows up at the same level, no slouching, and stepping on our heels first.

Mama, you raised your son to be a dance faggot.

Only seven more classes to go!

BACHLORHOOD REARS ITS HAPPY HEAD

This morning as I gathered myself together for another day of cleaning up the yard, picking weeds from various spots on the lawn and walkway and pulling leafs off of the cover on the pool, I went inside for a cup of coffee, and could hear TLW (The Little Woman) giving #2 Son Hell for not being up yet, and for not having cleaned his messy room, a room that was supposed to have been cleaned up yesterday.

Dragging his lazy body out of bed after a severe badgering, he came down to gather himself, (yes, the apple doesn’t fall far from the apple basket) and I suggested that he keep the morning’s lesson in mind when he decides to propose to some unsuspecting young lady, and she in turn gets mad at his parents for not warning her. I also suggested that when they tie the knot a woman’s sweetness is like chewing gum’s, it might last only a short while.

After saying such things, I realized what a mistake I had made in warning him. Now he will never get married, and I will have to feed him until the day I die. Of course I will never warn the young unsuspecting gal because then we would never unload him, and I would be feeding him until the day I die. This is called a; lose, lose situation.

This is not to say that marriage is bad, just that it is bad for #2 Son. Once his LW (Little Woman) finds out what a slob he is, I’m sure he will be badgered, with yelling like a 7th Avenue train screeching into the subway station, not to mention the nasty things she will say about TLW, as she is cleaning up after him.

One thing about Fatherhood is we don’t get blamed for that. My Mother would make me make my own bed, clean my room and even iron my own cloths. My Mother was heavily armed with a wooden spoon in various sizes to fit the various crimes I committed. To this day she will threaten me, after I had four kids, and 36 years of marriage (For the record, they are happy years), her being 89 and about 4 feet 3 inches.

P.S. In yesterday’s blog, Steve Philip asked: “What are the yellow tubes around everyone's ears in the picture?”

Well Steve, Being how I was on my way out (If you catch my drift) I don’t really know what they are, but I felt I needed one on each ear to be “Well-balanced.”

LIVING IN THE HOOD…

or dying like I am, right now.

Yesterday was my last day on earth, which lasted about to the tenth Tequila shot, then I got up and the next thing I remember is being in my bed wondering how I got there!

Yes I figure about ten shots, three beers and a cute little concoction of some fruit in a blender with rum. But hey, who’s counting, and I had plenty of help and might be one of the lighter drinkers. Death came easy, and as I sit here dying again, with shame on me written all over my wife’s face, I beg for mercy. Please, somebody, shoot me.

I have never in my life gotten in that condition except once while in college. Last year I drank more and was fine, walking away on my own and feeling great the next morning. Today’s blog comes to you late because as they say; “I’m nursing a hangover.”

Nice, I’m very proud of myself.

Well at least my neighbors were all ok as far as I can tell, and it is always good to sit and talk to them.

Carole, this is all your fault, you should know better than to invite me!

PEOPLE I LOVE

There are people in this world, no matter how hard they try to avoid me; I still love them.

During my luncheon with my fellow co-workers of yesteryear, one of those people was a writer that exuded class and the principles of Christianity, as I never could. Her name is Susan, or Sue, or as I nicknamed her “The Horn” a shortened version of her last name. She is a tiny thin little Jewish lady that has a body too small for all the class she brings to the table. This is a woman who is slow as molasses, but fast on winning people over. She took my abuse with grace and dignity, and was always there for you if you needed anyone at all. Her humor was probably her next greatest asset after her wonderful heart, and I am glad that I know her, because she taught me that life is bigger than myself.

Then there is Elliot another writer who when I saw him, fell down on his knees and started bowing, telling everyone within earshot how as a pup writer he came to me one day, uncertain about what he could do, I sat down with him, and his natural talents took over. For some reason he gave me credit for his starting out successfully. We would always chat and he would go on about his children as he came back to PCH in his second time around. Always a good guy, always cheerful, and he gave my ego a huge boost yesterday.

Then there are the three troublemakers, Jan, Kathy and Carole, old stalwarts of PCH, probably the most fun you could have with three people. They are like sisters, and they always picked on their younger brother: me. Jan was the instigator, they idea gal, Kathy the mouthpiece, kept me from getting a word in edge-wise and Carole the executioner of the idea. Both generally aimed it at me, and when they were done, we all laughed ourselves silly.

Then last but not least is Sue, my client and former secretary to the president of the company. We would walk together every lunch hour during the spring, summer and fall for exercise, and was in constant litigation with my lawyers: Wheel, Cheatem and Howe.

Great memories and great people are all I have now.

THE PARTY IS THE MESSAGE

Last Saturday night we had the 89th birthday party for Mom, and she loved every bit of it. The food was a hit as was the gift and the guest of honor seemed genuinely touched.

It’s nice to see my sisters all in one room for a change, laughing and chatting and relaying their lives and appetizers to the rest of us. We all made an appetizer and had the dinner catered, while I bought my contribution by going to Albert’s Pizzeria on Portion Road in Ronkonkoma, NY where they were kind enough to cut it into many small pieces to be used as an appetizer. The pizza is called a “Grandma” pie, with fresh crushed plum tomatoes and fresh garlic and basil as the topping. It is the best, and was indeed a big hit to everyone who ate!

Accompanying Mom was her boyfriend, who gave her a present and a kiss on the lips that seemed strange to me to see it happen. Don’t get me wrong, Mom is entitled to be happy and I hope she is, but I never saw her kiss anyone but her Uncle, and my father when he was alive.

Life is getting predictable as all the men retreated in front of the TV to watch the Mets play the Yankees or fall asleep sitting in a low slung position on the couch and chairs with wine glasses all around, half filled. The women sat at the dining room table competing for word domination as they chatted and chatted over the course of the evening.

I did my part, testing every variation of appetizer presented and seriously testing the red wine for purity, consistency in glass after glass, and to see generally if I could sustain my sobriety and not embarrass TLW (The Little Woman/Winner.)

ANTHONY’S FATHER SPEAKS OUT!

Yesterday I had the pleasure of lunching with some of my old buddies at Publishers Clearing House. While everyone was getting together to meet in the building, I decided to take a walk and visit some of the people I knew there, to see how things were going.

Me: “Hi, how’s it going?”
Them: “Hey, how’s Anthony?”
Me: “Remember me?”
Them: “Oh yeah, you’re Anthony’s father, right?”
Me: “ Yes.”
Them: “So how’s he doing?”

The next time I visit that place, I’m printing up 100 copies of “How Anthony Is Doing” to be distributed as I pass along in the halls. I will call him to bring me up to date in his professional and private life, run by the news release for his approval and then pass it along to his friends.

I worked at PCH for over 17 years, the first ten I was known by my first and last name, then the kid started working there and everybody forgot who I was! In fact Anthony’s boss Harris put out a memo one day to refer to a job that Anthony and I collaborated on, and he was Anthony, I was “Anthony’s father.”

Hey, at least I was credited in the memo.

BLESS ME FATHER FOR I HAVE SINNED…

“And your penance my son is: 14 photo albums with newly designed outer and inside covers for TLW (The Little Woman), 14 Hail Mary’s and 14 Our Fathers, take two aspirins and call me in the morning.”

Every year at this time, TLW gives me the assignment to create photo albums for her religious instruction class of 2nd graders. I do a cover for the front and back, and inside covers front and back.

This year I was nearly finished when TLW visited me in my studio to check on my progress. She picked up one of the albums and complained that I didn’t do a back cover. I really didn’t want to, but with the face of a well-paying client, she would not accept that!

Doggedly I set about rectifying the situation and begged for forgiveness. I had to, she was cooking dinner tonight and I wasn’t sure what she might put in it. Being how she is a perfectionist when I do something, I feel it is easier to just make it the way she likes it and get it over with. This is something one learns in Human Husband 101. There are other lessons one learns such as: “Did you lose weight?” I use this for when a fight is about to break out and I want to eat in peace. “My, you look younger than that kid across the street!” This is used in extreme desperation when there is something you want from her.

Marriage is a 50/50 proposition, 50% of the time she’s right, and the other 50% you are wrong. This is the 50% Equation, learned in the early stages of matrimonial bliss, to avoid matrimonial blisters.

What am I saying? Well, when she reads this, I guess; “Goodbye”.

AMAZING GRAPES, HOW SWEET THEY TASTE

TLW (The Little Woman) came home from church as she does every Sunday, (Our Lady of the Holy Mackerel) and as she did I was upstairs in my studio, heard the noise and figured it was time to go down for breakfast.

As I entered the kitchen I heard this religious music, and didn’t know if I should genuflect, bless myself or just get down on my knees and pray. TLW is always buying these tapes and CDs with religious music as she is trying to get me to go to church.

The name of the guy that recorded all this music is Al Barbarino, and a relative to Vinny Barbarino, I guess.

I asked TLW what this Al Barbarino did in real life, and she responded that he worked for the prison system. I asked her; “Doing what?’ She stated she really didn’t know. I thought to myself, probably sings to the prisoners while they eat their lunch, whether the want him to or not.

The music really wasn’t too bad, as there were some old favorites such as: Amazing Grace, Oy Vey Murray (A Jewish Ave Maria) and some non-religious ditties that I happened to like.

Well with all the candles she is constantly bringing home and scattering around the house, I think I’ll light a few and pray for the Mets and myself.

Amen.

AH, THE COST OF LOVE

We were discussing our plans for the unexpected vacation TLW (The Little Woman) and Myself, when TLW said: “Oh Joe, you owe me big time for this, after all, I am bringing you with me. After all, I never won anything before in my life!”

?

I had to remind her that she won something big time 36 years ago, mainly me. (Hey, I heard that!)

We figured that we would invite #’s 1 and 2 sons to join us on this adventure, and make it a family week of pure expense for Daddy. TLW will be in her glory being the mother hen she is, the center of attention, being the “winner” so to speak and I can carry the luggage and drive, while paying for incidentals such as beer that #2 Son sneaks into the accommodations while I’m in the bathroom.

I am starting to feel like Margaret Thatcher’s husband or Bill Clinton in that I will be taking the back seat to TLW as usual in the eyes of my sons. They of course will occupy the rest of the front seats with TLW. Mom the winner and Dad (we won’t say loser out loud) loser.

No, I am not jealous of TLW, in fact I always knew something good would come of marrying her, and it has for 36 years, its just that now I have to grovel or she might leave without me on her vacation. From now until the trip is over TLW will be known as “The Little Winner.”

AND THE WINNER IS…

Sitting there watching the boob tube, the phone rang and looking at the caller ID, it was for TLW (The Little Woman). Without picking it up, I hand the whole phone, receiver and all to TLW.

Answering the phone, and a big “Hello!” from TLW. “Oh, that’s wonderful! It was worth the money, wow, I can’t believe it!”

It seems TLW while on her little trip to Chicago visited her nephew Sean, a gentleman in his own right, who informed her that the school chance she bought was a winner! In fact it was the Grand Prize winning ticket! A week for two to a resort in California, Arizona or Florida, with plane fare!

Outside of the DelBloggolo Sweepstakes 36 years ago, TLW has never won anything. This is a defining moment for her, as she tried to call her Sister Maureen to tell her the news. Guess what, no one home. So I decided to call my sister Theresa, guess what, not home, so I decided to call her daughter figuring she was there. Guess what, you guessed it, no one home.

If you see any of our relatives, would you please tell them TLW won the Grand Prize?

NOT KNOWING I HAD NOTHING

Watching a bunch of kids today as they were returned home from school, I couldn’t help but wonder what they would do with their afternoon.

I recall my son coming home from school a few times, and off he went with a baseball glove and ball or played Atari on the TV with a game set that was attached, and I imagine that today he would have turned on his computer to play a computer game with enhanced graphics and realism that would be hard to describe.

Growing up in Brooklyn during the 1950s, I never realized how so little was so much! Everybody seemed to own a coonskin cap but me, although I did own a Davy Crockett toy rifle, with a brown plastic stock that shot caps. So with a six-shooter and a rifle I terrorized a few places with my friends. Aside from a few toy plastic soldiers and cowboys and Indians, we really didn’t have much else except roller skates. No one owned a bicycle, as much as most people didn’t own cars, and if they did they hardly drove them.

One of the things we did to make our life interesting was to buy chalk, and get bottle caps and play a game called “Skelzie” where with your index finger you pushed the cap around this layout of numbered boxes until you completed the course, that was drawn on the sidewalk. While my sister was jumping rope with her girlfriends, I was racing up and down the block, or playing stoopball, punch ball or stickball. (Two sewers on a fly were a homerun.) Sometimes we would play handball at the schoolyard because it had these high walls that we could pound the ball into.

Money was no object; we had none. Everything we had lasted a long time except for Spaldeen rubber balls and wheels on our skates that wore out quickly on the concrete sidewalks. A pair of skates kept us busy from about 3:00 PM until supper time, and if we were having a real good time, we would totally miss supper and Mom would not hold it for us. Our job was to be home on time for supper, at the table waiting for Dad to appear.

Then there was tag, or sometimes iron tag where safe was any metal object and even hide and seek where boys and girls played together, these games along with “Red light green light” and a miniaturized version of baseball with a rubber ball and chalk bases where a fly ball over the infield was an automatic out.

Also included in the repertoire of games was; tops and yo-yos, where everyone had to master these toys or you were a loser. Finally came the hula-hoop, where all the little sisters would become proficient at something. Of course “A my name is Amy and I come from Alabama” was popular as little sis would bounce her Spaldeen and cross her leg over the ball as it bounced, showing her physical prowess as a little sister.

Life was fun and playing with your friends always gave you something to do, day or night, week nights or weekends.

SPRUCING AN OAK

Today #2 Son returned home from a triumphant tour of duty with a paintbrush. Having painted himself, his clothing including shoes, he walked in tall and proud! Witnessing such a scene throws me back to my early days as a housepainter. No, I wasn’t living in Vienna at the time, but I was working for a dictator in Dear Old Dad. Using a paintbrush and the then new fangled roller there was no object Dad would not paint, and if it stood still for too long, it too got painted. I always made it a point to whistle while I stood still so he knew I was not inanimate.

One of the lessons I learned from Dad was prepping for a paintjob. Learning this lesson required actual hands on experience with a broom, mop, rags and other cleaning devices and verbal instructions on how to carry on. Pop was a task-master, dictating every move, it’s sequence and strokes, minding movement of the grain, number of times and pressure to apply to each prep job.

To this very day I hate to paint. I would rather wall paper, or scrape my knuckles against concrete than paint a wall, especially with oil based paints that get into my system and causes me to have a respiratory ailment for a few days.

Whenever I see something being painted I think of Dad, whenever I paint I think: “Would Dad like the job I’m doing?”

Once many years ago in the mid to late sixty’s my sister Fran was expecting her boyfriend to visit the house for the first time, and Dad decided to spruce the place up. Taking out his can of white paint he started to touchup here and there, and found himself in the backyard. Fran was at the sink washing the dinner dishes and looking out the window to the back yard, when all of a sudden she started screaming: “MA, MAKE HIM STOP, MAKE HIM STOP!” Dear old Dad was painting or should I say sprucing up an old oak tree trunk in the color white. He must have seen it on the road where sometimes the town will paint a trunk of a tree to alert motorists of a bend in a road or some other visual reason. Poor Dad, I couldn’t figure out how high he was willing to go, and how many trees he was going to paint in the yard if we hadn’t stopped him..

All my married life I’ve done the painting with the help of TLW (The Little Woman), hiring a painter only once that I can remember, when I had the outside of my old house painted.

Well, I think I’ll go over to my Mom’s house, that tree is due for another coat.

THE HOOD CALLS

I got an invitation from the Hood today, and you don’t dis the Hood. Will I go, of course I’ll go, it’s the Hood.

Mamma Carol, the Godmother, my next door neighbor instigated this event, an event that she has previously instigated, in which I try to excel at. The occasion is the beginnings of summer, party time or anything you want, just don’t forget to call me.

The last party a sweet little old lady from Brooklyn sat next to me and we started to drink, she kept up pretty well until we switched brands and types for the third or fourth time, then she landed in the hospital and I felt like a cad. This time only young ladies will drink to keep up with me.

TLW (The Little Woman) looks down upon these forays in social well being, and tries not to watch, but I am a very careful drinker, and never spill any of it.

And so the Godmother calls! And I must go, the Hood needs me.

RIGHT IN HER TRACKS

It was early, about 7:30 A.M., and TLW (The Little Woman) was scurrying about, like a squirrel on the roof of my shed. She had just issued her orders for the day and was about to embark on a new adventure in the world of banking and in particular membership relations.

The TV was on and as she ran by it, she stopped cold in her tracks! There was the residue of the QVC channel, the shopping channel with something of interest. Suddenly she became mesmerized by what she was viewing.

This trance like state is very scary for a loved one to witness. Her eyes stopped blinking, breathing faint, as she became very still and her head had a certain tilt to it, as she studied and analyzed the content of the programming.

I became suddenly very concerned, as the heartbeat of TLW, her pulse stopping and grayness came over my wallet. Of course I did what any sane husband would do and tried to desperately revive the colors in my wallet, as they were fading fast. I tried to snap TLW out of her trance, but there was no snapping, I tried a body check, but I just bounced off the wall. It called for drastic measures. How could I get her out of this state?

“Toots” I shouted, “there is a young lady with a little baby in her arms, looking for #2 Son!”

As I lay there, gone was TLW off to work and I was slowly being revived by a good face licking courtesy of Happy my Cocker Spaniel, the room spinning and my chin throbbing, I realized that maybe I should switch from cable to the old fashion aerial setup.

MOVE OVER FRED AND GINGER...

Way over into another room, as Mr. & Mrs. Del Bloggolo dance the Fox Trot and Waltz with abandon, and frankly Freddie, you wouldn’t want to witness it.

“Poppa loves mambo”

TLW (The Little Woman) has a way of announcing when we are on the dance floor. She says: “Ouch!” or OW!” and sometimes you can even hear her say “AHHH!”

“Mamma loves mambo”

I on the other hand tend to just say: “Oops!” or just plain old “I’m sorry!”

“He goes fast”

Most of the guys are there because of their wives.

“She goes slow”

If it’s his idea, he’s looking to pick up a guy!

“He goes left”

None of it is pretty, yet we are one of the better dance couples on the floor!

“She goes right”

Of course TLW thinks we are at home and likes to lead, while I like to sleep walk or dance through the whole process.

“Poppa’s looking for Mamma”

“The gentleman leads with his left foot” so says Eduardo our dance instructor.

but Mamma is nowhere in sight!”

I have this tendency to lead with my right foot. Eduardo points it out to me, we stop, and I try again, leading with my right foot once again. This is called dancing with the Moron, and will never be seen on TV, maybe YOUTUBE, but not TV.

SANTA CAN HEAR ME!

The kitchen in Brooklyn where I grew up was an odd shape, with a black oil burning stove made of cast iron, that heated the whole top floor, with a long thick pipe that ran from the stove to the roof. The pipe loomed as a big black unsightly looking monster that held me in control.

Whenever Christmas came along, I was at my best, because like God, Santa could see and hear everything a five year old would do. Unlike God who lived in a dark and dreary place, where I had to be quiet and behave, and get nothing out of it but reprimands, Santa offered toys, toys for me. Of course if I didn’t behave in front of God, in God’s house, Mom would smack me silly, Santa would not bring me toys and God would send me to hell, all in one fell swoop!

Of course, the Easter Bunny had some sway also, all I needed was to be bad, and all of a sudden no candy, a smack on my silly look and God sending me down to hell!

Whenever we sat around the table at night to eat dinner, and I was being contrary to Mom and Dad’s plans, a strong knocking sound would come from the big black pipe, and that meant that Santa or the Easter Bunny was listening to what I had to say, so I better behave, according to Mom and Dad.

Mom had covered all the bases, reminding me that when no one was around, and I was being bad, God heard and saw all, and I had better pack for some really hot weather.

THE EAGLETT? HAS LANDED!

Yes, TLW (The Little Woman) has landed, home after 4 to 5 days away from the nest!

Getting up this morning, and preparing for TLW by checking the itinerary and noting the flight number and time of arrival, off I scooted to the airport in anticipation of her and her sister’s arrival.

Entering the terminal, I noticed that there were too few screens to tell me if the plane was on time, searching up and down the long corridors of Long Island Mac Arthur Airport. Turning left I entered the baggage claim area and finally found a tote board that said the plane was 5 minutes late. No problem, I’ll go get a cup of coffee and sit and wait for ten minutes. It was then that it occurred to me that there were two possible entrances in which to wait for arrivals. Finding a police officer sitting behind a desk I inquired as to which arrival point TLW would be arriving from. Being a government flunky, he flunked by telling me that it was a crapshoot as to which area to choose. I made my choice and preceded to wait while being in distant sight of the other arrival area, just in case.

Being I am an experienced husband to TLW, I suspected that my wait would be long, even though the plane had landed and people were coming through the arrival gate. Sure enough I waited about 15 minutes before I saw the love of my life and her sister strolling while chatting, and chatting while strolling. All 4 to 5 days, strolling and chatting, eating and chatting, riding buses and trains and chatting, and yes, even sleeping and chatting!

What took them so long? Let me tell you, TLW’s whole family is very polite, and knowing these two ladies, they stood at the exit of the plane and allowed everyone including the crew and cleaning crew to first enter or exit, before they made their move.

MY MOTHER’S HANDS

Have you ever walked down a busy street, and as you do so many unfamiliar faces pass you by that all you do is look for one that might be familiar?

As a child the only one we can recognize at birth is our Mother. As a newborn, we can only sense her presence at first, and know by her gentle touch the feel of her hands, hands that are gentle and reassuring.

Growing older we learn that the very hands of our Mother are a familiar sight. We watch them as they cook and as they clean, guiding us in the right direction and stopping us from going too far astray. Those hands that carried us opened the first book ever read to us, and perhaps the first book we learned to read from. Aside from her face, a face that stays with us all the days of our lives, we can remember her hands. They were there stretched out as we learned to walk, and the first hands we cried for when she left us off at school for the first time and she waved goodbye as we entered the school building, the hands of comfort, the ones that believe in you.

One day we realize we are older, as old as a time we can remember in our lives that our mother was, and we marvel that we were even allowed to be that similar. And as we look at her hands, we realize that they too are older, but that they can tell a story beyond what you will ever know, catching each wrinkle and fold tells of a year gone by, a child raised, a tear cried, and most of all lips that smiled and praised and said; “I love you.”

So next time you walk a crowded street, look carefully, you may see your Mother, or someone who looks just like her, and you will remember all that she did for you, you will remember her hands.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MOM AND ALL THE MOMS THAT WERE AND ARE, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, WILL BE.

HOWEWARD BOUND

Well after 4 days of bachelorhood, TLW (The Little Woman) is on her way home. Needless to say I am happy she is, I was enjoying myself too much, and feel no married man should feel that happy about anything. I mean, after all marriage trains you to be prudent, compromising, and practice self-denial as ways of showing true love.

Being a well trained husband, I am prudent, never ever mentioning another woman unless it is a sister or my Mother, I always compromise, sometimes she is right and sometimes I am wrong, and I always allow her to hold the remote.

One of the fun things this week was holding the remote both in the den and in bed, raising the bed to a height I like, and eating everything I shouldn’t. Funny thing is I had absolutely not one Jack Daniel’s Manhattan all week! On top of it all, I went to the doctor for a check up and lost more weight, I am now down to 92.5% of my original weight! I think tonight I’ll celebrate with a drink or two.

Funny thing is I went to the doctor and one of his middle to older nurses escorted me to the scale to weight me, and I felt like I was on the Ponderosa, herding a cow to the pasture, and I had to endure her scrutiny.

The doctor was all chipper, took my blood pressure (130/80) then remarked the sun was finally coming out. (No doctor, that is just my disposition from my weight loss.)

Speaking of “happy” my dog Happy did her usual routine this morning of looking for TLW before deciding to come with me downstairs. I’ll be happy tomorrow morning when TLW can again escort the dog downstairs. (It’s really a woman thing.)

KEEPING IN TOUCH WITH THE WORLD

May 10th is my Mother’s 89th birthday, and we her kids have decided to celebrate a little extra by giving her a dinner. The family has decided to try to cater the affair either at home or at a restaurant. Some of us will do a little shopping around to get prices, and I am one of the shoppers.

In discussing the plans I offered to go to a few places I know of and get menus and prices. Being how I am on the cutting edge, a pillar of my community and a now happening kind of guy I suggested two places. Neither of them exists anymore! How’s that?

This party has its complications. Five children have five different lives, living in five different areas, all five trying to be accommodating, all having conflicts. Who’s moving one weekend, who is going away the next, who is working that day, and the list goes on.

Will we be able to nail this down and make everyone happy?

Probably we will be able to somehow all agree on a date, we always have and always will. And who comes along with a rescue party to help out five old adults but my beautiful niece Laurie Ann, offering up her house, which is perfect for this kind of party.
And the date is nailed down too! Are we wonderful children or what?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OLYMPIA

PLAY IT AGAIN, HAPPY

Today, like yesterday finds me with a dog looking for TLW (The Little Woman) and #2 Son looking to get shot for giving me four (4), Quattro term papers to print up for him at the last minute.

If I shoot him, TLW will suspect something is wrong when she discovers his room is clean, and she still has the same amount of food and money that she started the day with.

As for the dog Happy, she did her usual routine of looking for TLW, and I made sure to tell TLW about it, and what happens? Why TLW feels bad. Hint to TLW; TAKE THE DOG WITH YOU NEXT TIME.)

Scheduling a grooming for the dog, but not for #2 Son like I really should have, I drove over to Pretty Puppy, the name of the groomers, and Happy dropped out of the back of my SUV and proceeded to walk and poop as she did, dropping one tubular bomb after another, making it seem like an old documentary of the bombing of Berlin during WWII, but instead of explosions, we got stinky. Come to think of it, they all lined up!

HAPPY 89TH BIRTHDAY MOM!

DON’T CRY BABY!

Now that I spent the first night alone almost sleepless, not from missing TLW (The Little Woman) so much as to worrying about the dog who usually awakens TLW to let the dog out to do her business at 4:45 AM every morning. I am afraid I will not hear her and she will do her duty on a rug or floor where I have to clean it up.

Jumping out of bed from a small nap, I looked at the foot of the bed where Happy sleeps, only to find the spot vacated. I became worried and figured she did her thing already and I was too late. Looking around some more, there she was, sitting on her hind legs, tongue sticking out looking at the spot where TLW sleeps, on her side of the bed. I called her, she looked at me but would not budge. Calling again, she just expected TLW to get up and accompany her downstairs. Finally she decided TLW wasn’t getting up and came downstairs with me where I let her out. Boy did I feel bad for the dog!

I guess I now know why they call a dog man’s best friend. What devotion to TLW, Happy will sit with her on the chair at night both reclined and one staring ahead on her stomach, and one with a remote in her hand, fast asleep on her back.

THAT POOR, TODDLIN TOWN

I woke up this morning at 5:15 anticipating the big day. TLW (The Little Woman) and her sister Maureen were scheduled to fly off to Chicago to do a little sightseeing and visiting. It’s a trip they planned a while ago, and I wasn’t invited. Having been to Chicago a couple of times, I didn’t feel deprived, neglected or unappreciated, just ready for another bout with bachelorhood.

Loading the bags (Luggage) into the back of my SUV I dropped the ladies off tat the curb and unloaded the bags (luggage) on the curb, just like the limo service would, and waited by the bags with my hand out palms up, which Maureen shook.

I can see the takeout menus now, the relief in not having to cook for a few days and just watching the ballgames, falling asleep on my own shows and just having the remote to hold, God, life is good!

Of course there are nagging things I have to do, trimming bushes, cleaning etc., but I am a free man for these few days. My dog and #2 Son will complete my picture of contentment of bumming and doing what I want.

I gave TLW instructions on what she should see, eat and ride, trying to guide her while not being there, in other words; not minding my own business.

But knowing TLW and her sister Maureen, they will find what they want and enjoy doing it anyway.

So for the next three and a half days I am a man without instructions, left to my own devices. Maybe I should just stay in bed until I have to go to the airport to pick them up. Maybe this time I’ll get a tip.

A WORLD GONE MAD

Every now and then something happens that makes me wonder if the world has gone mad.

Recently I received a letter from the Association for the Help of Retarded Children that the Board of Directors had selected me for Honorary Lifetime Membership! Usually when I get a letter from the organization, I kind of expect it to be a letter of resignation that needs my signature on it. Something like:

“Dear Mr. Bigmouth;
We the Board and all the staff, not to mention those we serve, including your Daughter wish you to resign. Frankly we can’t take it anymore, and are in desperate need of your resignation. Please, please sign and return it to us in the postage paid envelope immediately if not sooner.
The Board of Directors”

I’ve been on the Board for 18 years, and I must say that I am involved, however I never realized how involved I really am. This Blog is not to “Blow my own horn”, but to express astonishment in the news. I can think of many, many Board members that are more deserving of this honor, and should have gotten it. What I’m suggesting is that the wrong person got the resignation letter, and I got his/her letter by mistake! I’m sure of it.

I was President for 3 years, a full term, and chaired many committees as well as participated on many. I have given freely for the advocacy of the Association, including art and design and as a current member of the Board of Governors of NYSARC. They MUST be sick of me by now? No? I’ve been told I’m “Outspoken”.

I will go to the ceremony and will just sit there, when they announce the correct person, I will go up and accept the honor and say that that person was unable to attend and I am accepting it for him or her. Pretty good plan, No?

INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY

TLW (The Little Woman) is not a violent person. This simple statement does not preclude her from watching violent shows. Not the car chase kinds, just simple run-of-the mill murders. I also like murder mysteries with or without mayhem.

The problem with all the above is TLW has perfected the art of interrogation, and somewhere in the house, and I don’t know where, developed a one-way mirrored room for inquisitions. She will fall asleep on the murder shows while I ‘m watching them, yet she has developed the techniques for a successful investigation, while I can’t figure out how to beat the rap.

A simple question from her such as: “where’s my change?” can cause me to sweat profusely. Sometimes I even confess to anything, figuring if I confess I cover all the bases, and maybe death will be a welcomed relief. Remember the movie with Woody Allen where he meets a bully and takes his glasses off and steps on them before the bully does? Same thing.

“How was your day?” Simple question, but what does she really mean? Did I do any work while she was away? “Did you fold those clothes from out of the dryer for me?)” She is really asking if I goofed off today but at least did that.

Identifying with the hero of the show is how she sees it, and I identify with the culprit. This is a natural course of events in any marriage. You always give the Little Woman the benefit of the doubt, the better seat, first pickings, etc. Naturally one of us has to be the bad guy, and frankly I prefer it that way, the black hats are always far more interesting.

SHALL WE DANCE?

The other day TLW (The Little Woman) opened up the local newspaper to announce that there was a dance course being offered at one of the local schools. The dance is the Fox Trot, and TLW was inquiring if I would be interested in taking the dance course with her.

Let me tell you, the last time I had to trot I ate something that didn’t agree with me. In fact, the trot became a rumba quickly into the routine as someone was occupying the restroom. By the time I got in it was the twist!

Being a good sport that I am, and any chance to dance with TLW, I said “yes” and now pray that I don’t get any abuse from TLW if she dances with stars, mainly from my stepping on her feet.

I love to dance as it runs in my family. My dad once danced up in the living room one day while he was trying to fill his cigarette lighter, and somehow the lighter fluid slipped out of his hand, and caught fire on the rug, Dad doing a flamingo style dance step with heavy foot pounding.

Every Sunday, TLW, after returning from church and shopping will dance into the house and quickly jump into the kitchen and a cup of coffee with the grace of Ginger Rodgers.

My dancing is more than just dance, but an expression of our American heritage, as I do an Indian style Sitting Bull with his moccasin hotfooted. You have to see it to believe it.

But my favorite dancer is my daughter Ellen, who has perfected her famous shuffle whenever she sees us, pushing us forward and shuffling us along. This can be a two or three-person dance, no music needed as are all the dances mentioned above, just have a car handy for a quick get-a-way to some fun or eats.

DO THIS-NOW

TLW (The Little Woman) is under 5 feet, or at 5 feet at the most. She is the shortest person in the household, but packs the biggest punch. No she doesn’t hit anybody, not physically, but verbally she is very much a boss. Being the only woman in the household, she can pretty much command respect from me, and even #2 son when he’s on his game.

Now I don’t wish to create an impression that she runs the house, bosses us around all day and give orders. After all she does go out to work all week, and if I don’t answer the phone when I read the caller ID, she can’t push us around.

People have suggested that she is the boss by the way I write my blogs. Not true, she just tells us what to do.

Which comes to an interesting thought; why do I let her get away with it? Am I a coward? No, I never backed away from a fight in my life with anyone, both verbal and physical. So what is it? Is she bigger than me? No, I often have to sit down so we can see eye-to-eye. I know, she does all the banking, and through TLW comes my allowance, which she forks over on a day of her choosing. I pray she never gets amnesia, because she knows the bank accounts and I don’t. When I worked, I worried about working budgets, and let her deal with the household budget. I didn’t want to be bothered, and still don’t. We confer on major purchases, but I trust her implicitly.

The other day she was reading an article in the newspaper and gave it to me to read saying; “here, I want you to read this.” I dropped the sports pages and delved in immediately if not sooner.

Requests are often the norm before she leaves for work. Trying to avoid eye contact with TLW doesn’t work for me; she gets my attention early in the morning when I don’t like to take requests. Usually what she’ll do is drink up all the coffee, so I have to ask her what happened to the coffee. It’s her ploy to corral me and start her “requests.”

Let’s face it, I’m a sucker for a pretty face.

GETTING DOWN AND DIRTY

There is something special in life when you can live and work with people who have no real aspirations in life, but own the title to resignation of circumstances, yet teach in their own way.

All through high school and college, I worked for a company that manufactured children’s play clothes for Sears, Roebuck and Co. I worked for minimum wage, as did most everyone else in that factory around me. I was a part timer, a person who would work after school hours, Saturdays and in the summer from June to September for 8 or more hours a day. The people that worked full-time were not educated, came from poverty, and yet had all the answers to all the worlds’ ills. Generally speaking they had families they raised on a small amount of money, and never aspired beyond their current circumstances.

They feared the owner of the company, respected him in a idolic way in his presence, and when he wasn’t around would tell me what he would really say if that old son-of-a-bitch ever said anything to him.

But they were simple, hard working people, my kind of people, who loved their families, and spent it all on their wives and children. Life was simple, a newspaper, a TV, a cup of coffee, a pack of cigarettes, their bagged lunch from home, and their favorite teams was all the joy they had in life, and all the joy they needed. No fancy cars, no new clothing, and no extravagant vacations, just work and home to the TV. At break time you could see them all with their lighted cigarettes, cups of coffee, turning the pages of the sports section, making comments about this and that.

When conversation led to politics, a young idealistic college student had no chance to explain his logic, it was all gut feeling and opinion that was buried deep in a man’s soul from years of experience and personal history. No college kid could tell him what these expert’s thought, what did a college kid know anyway?

Often I wondered why the leaders of the business world never called these fine captains of global thought to sit in on the decision-making. How could the government ignore the clear insight that was brought to a conversation about how America was going to fall to communism if we didn’t listen to Jimmy the truck driver, or Bob in shipping? Why didn’t the owners of the Mets or Yankees hire one of these guys to manage the team, why then it would surely be in first place and undefeated with a world championship to boot!

I could not help but love them all, full with opinion and yet simple in life’s ways. These were not stupid people, just people who weren’t born to luck, or for that matter taught that there is more in life than what their everyday experience was. Somehow their children never picked up on it for the most part. In the sixty’s the college population started to grow, kids became more sophisticated and rebelled against inherited poverty, ignorance and self-denial, giving birth to hope and a better future.

It was a real honor to work next to these hard workers, to share in the toil, the talk and the pain and joy that life brought them. I know that later on in life I appreciated my education, and my job, knowing I wasn’t breaking my back, working for very little, denying myself anything because I listened to them. They would always say; “Joey, stay in school, make something of yourself, don’t be like me.” I wish I could be like them; they made my generation stronger than it would otherwise be.

HEY, WHAT IS THIS?

Today I was talking to TLW (The Little Woman) and complaining that I ran out of cereal, and that I was making an egg sandwich the last few mornings instead.

I mentioned that I was using her eggbeaters substitute for real eggs and that I found her low fat cheddar cheese that I was putting in the omelet. I reminded her that it was the cheese she bought for a Weight Watchers recipe so I was sure it was ok. Mentioning that the eggs tasted very good, that the Smart Balance was a great butter substitute for my low fat bread, TLW looked at me kind of askance.

IT IS THE LOOK THAT I DREAD THE MOST.

She mentioned to me that the cheese was NOT low fat, but your regular everyday cheese! It was a crippling blow, a shot to the head, and a punch in the solar plexus. I had done badly.

My whole outlook on breakfast meant that now I have to go out and BUY myself some cereal! Yes, spend the money, shocking! What really makes me nuts is she looks and sounds so authoritative when she informs me of these kinds of things.

She could let me down gently, maybe say something like; Wow, you sure saved a lot of calories and points! Just kill the cheese.”

Bless me TLW for I have sinned, I ate the cheese.

I decided to go to a Spanish-speaking priest to confess. He said that if I ate the cheese, and sinned, I ate it without the cheese. The word “sin” in Spanish means “without”, so technically, I can claim no cheese or no sin, or something, because I’m confused too.

Hey, its been a slow day.

MAKING APPOINTMENTS FOR DISAPPOINTMENTS

Today must be a day for me to stay in bed. First I received a letter from the agency I volunteer for, asking that since I work or am exposed to the medically fragile, I should go for a tuberculosis test. What they do is stick a needle under your skin and wait two days to see if it discolors, if it does, you can’t volunteer. This test must be done one year from the last one, and according to the needle Nazi I spoke with, NOT A MOMENT SOONER!

Can I make it a few weeks ahead of schedule? Yes, but she doesn’t do it a few weeks ahead of schedule, but she knows a nurse who will, “Let me put you through” says Frauline Needlemeyer. As the new nurse’s phone rings and no answer, I leave a message to call me back. Will I get a call back, you think?

Then I call my cardiologist for an appointment. He is very old and skinny. In his late 70’s, and still practicing (I wish he would get it right already) I went to visit him in December, and was told to make an appointment in 6 months. (If I’m alive in 6 months, he’ll make another appointment, if he’s alive in 6 months I’ll get another appointment, if we are both alive in 6 months, someone is certainly getting older but richer.

I go to the appointment maker and she tells me she can’t make an appointment that far in advance, to call in April. Well, Happy New Year-April rolls around and I call. “Sorry says Ms. Heartline but she doesn’t make appointments that far in advance, I should call in May! I know the guy is old, but they are really hedging their bets here! I’m sure when I call in May I will be told that I can’t be fitted in until August, because the good Doctor is all booked up, so call in July. I feel a pattern coming on here.