THE GREAT PUMPKIN AND THE NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE

Yesterday, TLW (The Little Woman) and I decided to pick-up my daughter Ellen from her group home, and then swing on down to Ridge, NY to attend a dedication of a new “Individual Residential Alternative” (IRA) home that was just built for retarded people. The home was being dedicated to a fellow chairperson for Guardianship, my good friend, Claudia Nemias.

Being how I have never been to the location of the new home, I took my GPS to help me get there. I attached the unit to the windshield, and ran the wire over the steering column to plug it into an electrical socket. I drove off to the LIE service road to get on the expressway, and as I made a right hand turn onto the road, the car felt like someone had taken over the steering wheel, and forced us off the road! Fortunately, no one was on my right as the car veered off and I had to jam on the brakes and fight the steering wheel.

The wire had slipped into the small groove the separates the steering wheel from the column, and being the wire is rubber, stopped the steering wheel from returning to it’s original position. Scared the hell out of both TLW and me.

To top off the day, we pick up my daughter, drive to the IRA, and discover that a farm is offering free pumpkin picking, hay rides and pony rides for all of Long Island, Connecticut, and as far north as Canada, south as far as Florida, and west as far as the Hawaiian Islands, or so it seemed. When we hit the road where the IRA is, the traffic was unbelievable, bumper-to-bumper, for about a mile!

Being how my luck is so good, when I finally arrive at the house, there is no place to park, the traffic is still heavy, and the farm that was making the mess was right next-door! I finally found a space across the street in an abandoned lot, next to a rifle range. With the sound of: “pop-pop” in my ears, heavy traffic going both ways and my daughter being very unsteady, a nervous TLW and myself tried to negotiate traffic, while holding up and steadying my daughter while we crossed the busy highway! We get into the crowded house, only to discover my daughter didn’t want to stay, so back across the road again, under the same conditions.

THE FRANKFURTER MAN

One of the earliest recollections I have in my life is of me in my Mom’s kitchen in Brooklyn. The room was the last of five rooms, and facing the backyard. The apartment itself was on the third floor of the three-story walk up, and on one side was an alley. The alley led to a two-door garage, and the doors swung open like a barn. Inside the garage was stored; two frankfurter carts.

The carts had two large wooden wagon wheels, and a big red and white sun umbrella with stripes that radiated out of the center top. I would watch the owner of the cart, as he would pull the cart out in the morning, and return it in the evening, slowly pushing it in the alley into the garage. Whenever I watched him, I felt that I was peeking over his shoulder, grabbing a glance and intruding on his privacy, all the while being compelled to look. I was maybe 4 or 5 at the time when I first noticed this, and was always fascinated by the sight. To this day whenever I see one, I stop and remember those days and my curiosity about the cart.

The wooden cart had these little compartments all over the place, with a few sticks for mustard and relish, with a compartment for the rolls and two flip doors that lay flat on the cart. Inside those doors were frankfurters, in hot water, which the vender took out with a big long fork, with one hand, and grabbed it with the bun in his other hand, while the doors were flipping, all in one motion. Then he slapped on some mustard, went to a flat laying cover and with the same fork, pulled up some sauerkraut and gently placed it on top of his creation. The final touch was the reaching down to a low shelf where he kept his napkins, it was a little fascinating rolling restaurant, and it was the class of the streets of the city called New York.

There were other vendors along the streets, the fruit and vegetable man, the fish monger, and even a junk man, with a horse that clopped down the street, leaving a clue to the fact that he had gone by, laying in the streets, that looked strangely like straw that was eaten. None of them could match the fascinating frankfurter man and his wonderful cart.

HOW TO INSULT WITHOUT REALLY TRYING

It was a long overnight flight from NYC to Dublin Ireland, and landing as we did at 8:00 am Dublin time, I was tired and all the while being a little anxious. Getting off the plane, we entered the customs area when I noticed that my hearing aid tube; that connects the mold in the ear to the actual aid had a slit in it, and made it difficult to hear in that ear.

Passing through customs, we ventured over to the car rental counter where we had reserved a car, and thinking about the broken tube, I figured I could tape it with some scotch tape and it would work until we got home again in a few weeks. Sitting behind this long rental counter was this young attractive woman, smartly dressed and looking very efficient. After finishing up the paper work and showing her my license, and getting the keys and instructions for the car, I thought I’d ask her for some scotch tape.

Me: “Excuse me, but do you have a piece of scotch tape I could have?”
Her: “Looking at me quizzically, “Pardon?”
Me: “Scotch tape, I need just a small piece.”
Her: And what’s wrong with Irish tape?”
Me: “Huh?”
Her: “What do you need the tape for?”
I show her
Her: “Oh, you mean cellophane tape!”
Me: “Oops, sorry.”

Take me out of my environment and look out for international incidents!

Help keep this country great, write to:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com,
Tell ‘em “get outta here already.”

THE ONGOING BATTLE

It’s been over a year now, and as I gradually empty my studio of over 40 years of files and records, I do so with trepidation and deep concern. In 2008, I will be working for an up and coming direct mail agency that is requesting my expertise. Although I am retired and plan to stay that way, I agreed to do it on a part time basis.

As I sift through the books, pamphlets and resource material, I am now afraid to toss any of it, and I know if I do, I will soon wish I hadn’t. You know the old saw that once you toss something, you discover you need it.

Going through the material, a lot of what I saved makes me wonder; what the hell I was thinking about at the time. I even saved old appointment books, and desk calendars because of the little notes I scribbled on them.

The mess goes beyond the paper; you should see the volumes of records I saved electronically! There is enough stuff here to fill the Library of Congress, and the Smithsonian Institute, all the buildings.

TLW (The Little Woman) keeps admonishing me that I save and am a pack rat. I remind her that that habit kept her around. My comment leaves her looking regretful!

There is a huge volume of paper and electronic files that comes from two organizations. The New York State Association for Retarded Children, now legally known as NYSARC, of which I am a member of the Board of Governors, and the Suffolk Chapter Association for the Help of Retarded Children, where I am a member of the Board of Directors and chair a few committees. This material is building daily, and I know even as I type there is stuff on its way to me.

Between the project of cleaning out my files, a sculpture I am working on, a portrait I am painting and now glass painting, along with the board work and travel, and soon the free-lance, I am going to be one busy little trooper!

Fight mental fatigue; write to;
joedelbloggolo@yahoo.com,
Tell ‘em; get the hell out of here.

Ps-the photo is really not me; I’m a better shaver than that.

GETTING THE DROP ON HER

For weeks now I’ve been plagued by the Supermarket Nazi. It is a woman about middle 60’s and very bossy. It seems if I got into my local Waldbaum’s, and all I have is a few items, she will track me down and make me come over to the self-help scanner.

I don’t particularly like the darn thing, because it shouts out instructions to me in a very authoritative voice, sounding like my old first grade teacher Old Miss Langin. Old Miss Langin was a mean old witch who once threw me in a dark cloakroom because she thought she heard me say something, when I didn’t. (It must have been her knees cracking) She even called me a: "Bold, brazen chatterbox”! Me, at 6 years old, wasn’t even allowed to talk at home, let alone in a classroom. Seems the old hag died the next year while I was in second grade, and I went to her wake to make sure she was dead. Then went to her funeral Mass because I went to a Catholic school that she taught me in. Got the whole morning off from class!

But as they say: “ I digress.”

The Supermarket Nazi will always scan the other checkout lines to see who has a little that can be scanned by the self-help machine. It seems she is always catching me trying to slip by on one of the lines with real people, and she calls me over all the time. SN (The Supermarket Nazi) is not very tall, maybe 5 feet high and has a slight weight problem, wears glasses and sneaks up on the mirror every morning when she shaves. She has a very bossy demeanor and is mean or meaner, more or less.

I seriously contemplated getting a wagon, filling it with stuff and getting on a line, then when she looks away, ditching wagon as I got to the checkout girl.

Yesterday I needed Chinese noodles to complete a dish I was making for dinner, and all I had was the one item. I wanted to challenge her once more and drifted toward the checkout line without getting on. Sure enough she found some other husband who shouldn’t have been there and while she worked him over, I went through the checkout process, paid the cashier and slipped out, waving the plastic bag with my sole purchase in her face, almost doing a victory dance on the way out the automatic doors!

Victory was mine.

Score your own victory, write to:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com
tell ‘em: “get the hell out of here.”

FEELING SOCIALLY SECURE

The big day arrived when I took the big step. I went to the Social Security office and applied for benefits!

My appointment was at 11:00 AM, and the pain from the dentist is much easier to take than the pain that I experienced.

Everything is automated except getting things done. I was told when I made the appointment that it would go quickly, and indeed the actual interview did, what didn’t go quickly was the wait. It took one full hour of waiting. If that wasn’t so bad, the screaming little girl who accompanied an over loud PA system that nearly blew away my deaf ears made for a very uncomfortable wait. The wait was so long, I thought my primary care physician was behind all this.

On top of everything else, there was the trip into Patchogue where the office is located. Having left the house with a reasonable idea as where the office was, when I got within ½ mile of the office. All the streets and sidewalks were being ripped up, causing me to become a little disoriented from detours, as I trudged from a parking lot to a lot of twisting and turning over a mile of trampling torn up sidewalks and streets.

There was this one Indian fellow, about his early thirties, with his wife and small daughter who were wrapped in traditional Indian clothing, with big red dots on their foreheads that accompanied Papa as he went back and forth to the guard desk to get application after application as he screwed up one after the other. Applying for a Social Security Card, holding his passport in his hand, he would take large strides back and forth, creating a very comical scene for me to amuse myself for an hour.

Of course, not everyone is looking to retire or get Social Security cards, and the waiting room was busy as some business took seconds, some a long time, and some needed to come back again. I just hope that kid isn’t there again when they have to return. I know that by the time I got out of there, I needed another shave and a Valium.

WHY I’M STAYING RETIRED

Went to Wal-Mart to get an oil and filter change, and drove to the area behind the store where you should bring your car. I sat there a few minutes and some young fellow comes over to me and tells me to leave the car and go to the counter in automotive and register, because his punchboard was down.

In I go to the automotive counter and what do I see but a long line ahead of me. There is a young woman taking payments and an older gentleman, who looked like one of those retiree’s you see in a hospital volunteering his time behind the computer entering customer information for their cars to be taken care of.

The man is new, not just born, but new to the job! The man is screwing the paperwork up, royally! The man is making me nuts. The lady ahead of me now takes her turn and to avoid spelling her last name, gives him her license to read from. The man just got slower! He may be rehearsing for his wake. He has a death grip on the ladies license and is pecking on the computer with one finger, the other hand holding onto the license. He hits a key and shakes his head, no. He peers at the license and hits the keyboard once more; he stares at the license, and asks the lady some questions. The lady, being slightly overweight by about 200 pounds, shifts her weight to rest her feet, while hanging onto the counter.

Finally, it is my turn. “Can I help you?” says the gentleman.
I’m thinking: “Yes” before I die of old age, please.”
I tell him my story and he asks me for my phone number.
A long line behind me is growing by the moment.

The printer next to him is spewing out sheets of paper that he is taking from the tray and placing next to the computer, which he is mixing up because he is not watching what he is doing.

The young lady meanwhile, asks a customer if she can help him. “Si, my kar is ready?”
“Name?”
“Valesquez.”
“I’m sorry, there is no paper work yet.”
“Lady, he poot da woirk nexxt to da compuuter!”

The young lady looks and sure enough, Senior Valesques is correcto mundo!
“George, don’t touch the paper-work, let me worry about it.”
“OK”

The young lady now has to sort each four-page document for each of five customers, and her frustration level has now reached the level of the five waiting customers and mine.

Retired people should not be seen or heard in public. They don’t have the speed or dexterity to do it fast enough for the general-public, just ask Senior Valesquez.

Three old men

Three old men are at the doctor for a memory test. The doctor says to the first old man, "What is three times three?"

"274" was his reply.

The doctor worriedly says to the second man, "It's your turn. What is three times three?"

"Tuesday" replies the second man.

The doctor sadly says to the third man, "Okay, your turn. What's three times
three"?

"Nine" says the third man.

"That's great!" exclaims the doctor. "How did you get that"?

"Jeez, Doc, it's pretty simple," says the third man. "I just subtracted 274 from Tuesday."

Send your indignation to:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com,
tell ‘em: “Yo no hablo Espanol. Por favor.”

ATTENTION: MARRIED MEN SHOPPERS

If you shop with The Little Woman (TLW), always remember, and never forget, that you are on her home field. She has the home field advantage and will use it.

Being married to one of the best shoppers I know, she buys more than I can afford and still keeps us solvent! TLW has over the years shown me things when she shops that truly impress me, and I always remark: “WOW!” Just today she wanted to show me something in a large retail store, and by a simple signal: the use of her index finger flexing, and the simple words: “Come with me”, not unlike a teacher with a bad boy, she will take me to some area that interest her and in turn will have to interest me.

She knows all the nuances of shopping, getting on line, how to react to the words; “Next” and has the quickest draw on the credit card this side of the Mississippi River. She wanted me to pay for some paints I bought, and said: “Use the CitiCard®” as I fumbled in my wallet, she had whipped out her card and paid for it, before I could get mine out!

I know I have said this before, but it warrants repeating, she could be dropped by parachute blindfolded into the middle of a mall, one she has never been to before, I would then park the car while she waits in the mall, she will find the car!

Her shopping is like the invasion of Europe during WW II, it is meticulously planned, down to the smallest details, every store is put in her itinerary and no motion is lost. This helps her to shop for more. When she has completed her missions, I will suddenly see a huge pile of plastic bags moving up my driveway and into my front door, and a little person, TLW will be holding all the merchandise, and her overloaded pocketbook!

Well I live with a legend, and I guess being awed is no longer new to me, just a daily shopping occurrence.

OH, THE PAIN!

Pass the arsenic. I need it. I can’t win, and I told TLW (The Little Woman) she married a loser. The Macaroni Man, my nephew, came over to watch the football game with me, and I swear we are the only two Jet fans left. The reason we are the only two left is that they STINK REAL BAD, AND WE DON’T KNOW ANY BETTER!

I mean, I had a double by-pass, yet I root for the Jets, and if the doctors find out, they will find a rest home for me where they don’t have radios, TV or internet service for me to know what is happening to those stinking bums.

There I was Sunday, a beer at the ready, chips in place set to root on to victory. Maybe I should stop before the kickoff and kneel down and pray. Will it help? Not if some crazed fan of the other team is praying. And what if it’s a nun praying against my team? Will Jesus smite me? And what exactly is a smite?

I have decided not to pray for victory, but to pray for the end of the season, or of a life on Sundays that will keep me away from the TV. Away from the misery and frustration of the football season.

So starting Sunday, I will take up knitting, buy up all those books on knitting and different colored wool to while my time away until the opera season opens. So if you need socks, scarves, sweaters or gloves, put your order in now,

CHINATOWN

Today TLW (The Little Woman) and myself visited Chinatown on another “Get Up And Go” tour. Taking the Jitney Bus out of exit 63 of the LIE, we motored in NYC via Brooklyn and the Manhattan Bridge on a clear and sunny if not somewhat hot day.

Arriving in Chinatown I noticed how crowded and foreign it all seemed to me, as the people like those in Chinatown in San Francisco go about their morning rituals of certain kinds of exercise, based on either dance, physical fitness, martial arts or karate. And to think I thought they were just showing off all this time!

One of the great things about the area is that the Chinese people are not only industrious and hard working, but very friendly and willing to invite you in to their stores and shops, as well as places of worship. The photo you see is a shot taken of the front or main altar inside a Buddhist Temple. Prior to that, we visited a store that sold offerings for funerals, toy-like items that are given at the wake of a dead individual to honor and/or mark their departure. Next to the store on either side was door after door of funeral parlors for Chinese people, all leaving at once to bury their dead or going off to China to be bury them.

One of the things that westerners like to do is shop in Chinatown, and buy very cheap costing rip offs of original jewelry, women’s pocket books and other pricey items. The problem with all that is the police often raid and when they do, the shop keepers run the risk of closure and/or arrest, along with the confiscation of the goods being offered as well as those purchased by the customers.

We happened to appear on the street as a raid was going down. Jewelry was switched right before as eyes as we walked the streets, shop keepers took their clients to hidden rooms and kept them there until the police left! On the bus going home, we heard of fellow tourists who were caught in the raid.

The historic value of the area is great! It started in the “Five Points Area” with the Irish, then the Italians and then came the Chinese. All have left their mark on the city in this few square blocks that in 1920 housed 20,000 Chinese people and today over 250,000 working, swarming industrious people from China and their families that they have started here.

We saw Al Smith’s street, the Church of the Visitation, started as a meeting hall by the British, then converted to a Catholic Church by the Irish, then the Italians took it over and People such as Mother Cabrini, Enrico Caruso, and the great Jimmy Durante prayed at. Now the mass is said in both Chinese and English!

For dinner: we went to the Triple 8’s and feasted on Dim Sum and 4 main courses, each better than the last. 8 is considered lucky to the Chinese, and it seems that the dominate colors are either red or yellow.

Next month the Rainbow Room in midtown Manhattan for what I hear is the “feast of all times.”

A LONG DAY’S NIGHT

After a long flight to LA from NY, and renting a car and finding our hotel, me, TLW (The Little Woman) along with my #2 Son was very tired. It was around 3:00 AM, Los Angeles time, and we were finally finished with dinner at the hotel inn, and TLW was at the counter to pay the check, reaching over to hand the man the check and cash when a man moves in front of her and pushes her aside to pay his bill. Now TLW was there first and it was clear as the dawning day. I was a few feet away, as the fellow and his family left the building and TLW finally paid.

Angered, she asked me if I saw that, and twice as incensed as she was, I responded: “Yes I did!” I knew that I wanted to get my hands on the bum, but figured it was too late; he was long gone. I mentioned to my wife my feelings and she said to let it go. She being non-violent and me being a nasty bastard from Brooklyn, I didn’t want to let it go.

As we step outside to go to the hotel, whom do I see but the bum standing there with his whole family, wife, kids and either mother or mother-in-law, chatting in a foreign tongue!

Positioning myself to be in direct line with the stinker, I walk toward him and as I pass him, give him a shoulder block and wait for his reaction as he goes reeling back. He and his clan start chatting in gibberish and look at me but don’t do anything. I was really hoping they would start something, because I was frustrated, tired and angry that they would treat my wife that way. It would have capped my long day.

Well, needless to say, TLW didn’t reprimand me for my actions, and even if she did, I would still act the same way.

There are few instances in my life where I would act so belligerently, but mess with my family and watch out.

TOMORROW; China Town

PROPPING MYSELF UP

I went to bed last night around 11:00 PM, and could not fall asleep. I think that part of my problem was that I was overtired and hungry. Another problem was the creeping humidity as it crept up to a higher number, making the night muggy.

Around 2:00 AM I turned on the air-conditioner and went downstairs and took some small crackers to rid myself of the hunger, having eaten a decent dinner, I am surprised that I was so hungry! I tried to go back to sleep with the ac running.

I got up again about 3:00 AM, and found these pills that are called: “Just Sleep”, but I have a feeling they are more than just sleep. At 3:50 AM, I looked at the clock and realized I wasn’t winning the battle.

When I looked again it was 8:00 AM! The pills finally kicked in! After breakfast and a small errand I ran, I decided to do some painting, so I set up out in the garage, opening the front door to get some light, and discovered I couldn’t do it. Try as I might, the fumes from the turpentine and linseed oil along with the oil paints were too much to deal with, as the day got hotter. After lunch, I gave it another shot and finally gave up.

Tomorrow I will try again, and only hope for the best. I know this is all boring to you, but it was my day.

GO FIG-URE

It’s funny how a simple thing in life can trigger an emotion or thought. A certain smell can carry one back to his childhood, a noise that reminds us of some obscure thing in our past that we thought we had forgotten.

My neighbor Rich Ignellzi came over last Saturday with some fresh figs from his backyard fig tree, and gave us a plate full. Seeing the fresh figs carried me back to Brooklyn, early 50’s and standing in my grandfather’s backyard, under his grape vines, looking out into his garden at his fig tree, and eating them right off the tree, ripe and sweet and fleshy. Eating figs is one of life’s true pleasures, the fig’s tiny seeds nesting in between my teeth.

Grandpa had homemade wine, fresh tomatoes, fresh basil, mint, pears and apples. Grandpa Ralph was a country boy from the hills of Naples, and Naples never left the man.

My grandmother would jar all her tomatoes, and using the fresh basil, jar it with the tomatoes for use in the future. Her sauces were spicy and delicious, and the aroma in her kitchen emanating from the fresh basil and parsley all came back in one quick moment in time in my own kitchen, just by looking at the figs.

On Saturday nights, she would be down in her basement, standing over an old gas stove, flame high with a steak in a wire rack and she turned the steak to cook it on the open flame, and as she did, she made the whole neighborhood hungry. Then the big salad with fresh tomatoes and basil would be the accompaniment to the roasted steak.

Thanks, Richie, it was a bigger deal than you thought, a simple gift but a great pleasure.

MIXING FINANCES AND PASTA

Today I had a meeting with my financial advisor, a man of great interest to me, and to my retirement. I got into his Melville office at about 11:45 am; he invited me to sit down and had a report ready for me to read. His words were: “you took in more than you took out, congratulations, ready for a little lunch?”

Being an Italian like me, any celebration is followed by food, and of course, it was Italian food, of the finest quality. We went to a little place in Melville and sat down, after a cramped ride in his little sports car. It is reassuring that he is doing so well, since he is doing it on my dollars to some part, and he is an honest man that I know for about 8 years now.

We tend to exchange experiences and adventures in life, and as we did, he mentioned his trip to Las Vegas, and how life has passed him by, being he is 46 years old. The babes in Las Vegas all extremely young and beautiful while the lines to get into a little place for a drink are long and the ownership selective. He said he felt like he was out of the game, or the game was over. I reminded him that the game was over long ago when he said: “I do” then went ahead and did it anyway.

Being how I mysteriously grew older since my wedding day, I have often envied the younger fellows, unmarried and alone, going home to an empty place, with no one to listen or talk to. It is at that point that I realize how lucky I really am to be bossed around by someone. To be able to share a meal, a TV show, a joke or a cup of tea. Hey, it is the good life indeed.

Don’t you be bossed around by DelBloggolo, write a scathing comment to:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com

READY, SET, CRY

Sunday was the big day! The day that both the Mets and Jets were on TV, and at the same time. Big game for the Mets, and a regular but important game for the Jets were to be played. The Jets were playing their conference rivals, and the Mets had to win in order to stay alive for the playoffs, no win and there’s no tomorrow.

The Macaroni Man was coming over to help me watch and cheer my teams, and I set it all up for the big day. The remote for set for an easy switch from one game to the other, without pressing more than one button. The TV screen was dusted and ready, the chips were laid out, ice in the glasses, soda filling the crystal iced glasses to capacity, napkins on the ready.

Go to the kick off at 1:00 PM, watch the first series of downs, nothing happens, switch to the Mets, 4-0 Mets losing! Oh no, 4-0, but it isn’t even the first inning! I watch a little more, 7-0. Doom starts to rear it’s ugly and familiar head in my TV, laughing at me in defiance, and causing the Macaroni Man to moan, groan and reach for some aspirin.

Macaroni Man starts to pace, I start to contemplate suicide, but think what if they make a comeback. TLW, (The Little Woman) says: “could they make a comeback?” I respond; “oh yeah, they can comeback next year.”

Back to the Jets, losing now only 7-0, still early, maybe Chad Pennington can lead them back, if not, I would like to see another “Hanging Chad”.

Back to the Metsies, 8-1, God help me, I decide there is no point in watching the unwatchable. Back to the Jets, they wind up losing, and so the rest of my day went. Last I saw Macaroni Man, he was wandering around my neighbor’s shed looking for something to eat. Hope he can share it.

Help prevent sad stories with unhappy outcomes, write your displeasure to:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com
Tell them: “give me a friggen break!”

PICKEN AVENUE

Growing up in Brooklyn, my Mom along with her sister would on a nice day gather up us kids for a long walk to Picken Avenue, a long commercial center with outdoor vendors and small shops that lined the street.

On these usually sojourns, while Mom and Aunt Marie would gossip and push the two baby carriages, I would look at the different sounds and smells of the area, with its predominately Jewish merchants selling every conceivable dry goods one could imagine. The prices were reasonable I would assume since Mom was thrifty, and we all got something. I would get a belt, or socks or underwear, my Mother maybe a pan or plate or whatever.

Usually these events occurred after the weather had cooled off considerably, and the days were good for the long walk. I can still smell and taste the Knishes, golden brown and salted, being careful not to bite too deeply into one for fear of burning the roof of my mouth. There was the smell of the chestnuts roasting, and hawking of hotdogs and drinks. It was like a giant bazaar, the only thing missing was the camels and donkeys.

One day the two sisters entered the small store of a dress merchant, descending two steps to enter beside the stoop of the building, long rows of dresses hanging on racks. Mom picked one dress off the rack and asked how much.
“For you lady, twelve dollars.”
“Twelve dollars!”
“”Lady, that’s very reasonable.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, twelve dollars, let your wife wear it.”
Now you know where I get it from.

To avoid having to read similar such stories, write your disapproval to: joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com

IF I’M STILL AWAKE, PLEASE EXCUSE ME

Well after a two and a half hour meeting, it is hard to keep one’s eyes open, when the main speaker is a lawyer, with robotic tendencies. None of the material was new or startling, and I could have stayed home and gotten more out of it.

However, the trip up and down to Suffern, NY was a great time, talking and reminiscing about the old days and trading stories about our lives, as Jim McEnaeney a board member and I chewed the fat.

One of the things we spoke about was refinishing floors, and how I am waiting for my dog to die before I rip up the rugs and
refinish my floors. It seems the dog has peed on all my rugs over the years, and thank God, I don’t wear a toupee!

We both noticed how when we were younger, we were lumped with the hip people, and now we are lumped with the hip-replacement people. We both take medications for physical ailments, and both of us have a love for steak. But his love is tempered by his diet, while mine is tempered by constipation. So, I take something before I eat one, and the next morning I’m sitting pretty!

Keep things like DelBloggolo off the net; write to:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com
Tell them: NO MORE SUFFERN STORIES, PLEASE!

DO YOU KNOW THE WAY TO SUFFERN?

What is a Suffern? I guess a name of a town in Europe, like England probably. I’m going to the one in New York State today to attend the southeast regional meeting, before the major convention to be held in Albany for the New York State Association of Retarded Children. The mouthful has now been condensed and is just called NYSARC.

I’ll drive up with my fellow board member and retiree
Jim MeEneaney, a former English teacher from Sachem High School. We will discuss the coming convention and all that jazz, and I will have a giant headache by the time I get home.

Jim is one of those board members that doesn’t say a lot, but is all action. He gets things done. Something that is missing on the Board to some extent is reliability lately, but Jim always comes through.

Being it is only a one day trip, we can’t stop at the bar and have a few, but then TLW (The Little Woman) who would not care if I did, will probably be holding supper for me to eat with her. So I think I’ll be a good boy this time.

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OH, THE PAIN

I got e-mail from my brother-in-law Don, who invited me to go to a Mets game, which I accepted. To quote him: “ They could be clinching that night”.

The only clinching that was done was by me with my teeth. A pall seems to be hanging over the stadium; the fans have no enthusiasm, and the team plays like it is Friday afternoon before leaving for a vacation.

But thanks go to my beautiful niece Sarah Harrow for thinking about her Uncle Joe for the tickets, as she had them and couldn’t make it but thought I might like to go. To me that is an honor, and I truly appreciate it. The risks are that I root for the Mets, that is not her fault, and indirectly may be mine, handed down from my Dad.

I know full well I will survive the pain of watching those Bums lose last night, and maybe throw away a whole season.

I went with not only my brother-in-law Don, a prince of a man who married one of my sisters, (I can't for the life of me remember her name right now) but with the prince of kielbasa, another brother-in-law, John. John is older than I am, and together we are experiencing the stress and pains of growing old. Getting out of the car after the trip home from Shea Stadium, we both groaned at the same time when we stood up!

If the Bums don’t make the playoffs at least, I will enjoy the post season even more, since I won’t be biting my nails, throwing out body language and stifling swear words through the course of it.

I’d like to say: “well the football season started” but I have to admit, it doesn’t look to good either.

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tell him: “Grow up.”

500 BLOGS AND STILL SOME FIGHT LEFT IN THE OLD GIRL!

This is the 500th DelBloggolo!

The other morning, around 2 A.M., I received a punch in the arm that has probable paralyzing future effects on me. It was administered by TLW (The Little Woman), who was staking her claim to territory that lies between the two of us on the bed. This territory I refer to as: “No Man’s land,” and believe me no man should venture there.

The egregious action by TLW was to demonstrate that she is still the Boss, and that I get what is left over.

Being a man of peace, I moved over and waited till morning to discuss this pre-meditated attack on my person, to recover from the shock, pain and general hurt I experienced at her hands, or should I say fist. This is a little woman, not too big a fist, and I might say I doubt it was ever used before. But like any nuclear weapon, it needed to be tested, and I was the proving ground.

The next morning at the peace-table I inquired why I was so viciously attacked in my sleep, and her response was: “You were on my side of the bed, and you had 50.25% of the covers. Of course, I understood immediately that I was in the wrong.

NOT TWO DAYS LATER, did she appear on MY side of the bed, sound asleep with all the covers wrapped around her, while I had to get up and move under the mattress to thaw out, but not once did I contemplate retaliatory measures that would even the score, and restore my pride.

Did I mention it to her? No. Why? Because I don’t want another shot in the arm from killer.

Thanks for reading!

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I’M JUST A TRAVELING MAN

Yes indeed, it‘s that time of the year to pack my bags and hit the road. Being a member of the Suffolk Chapter Association for the Help of Retarded Children, and consequently a member of the Board of Governors of NYSARC (New York State Association of Retarded Children) I have to make a few trips.

First off will be a trip to Suffern NY, on Saturday for a Southeastern Regional meeting, then in the middle of October a trip to Albany for a state convention, then as Chair of the Guardianship Committee, a trip to Saratoga Springs NY.

What I love about these trips is the meeting and evaluation of new people and their approach to these meetings. Some are old-timers, pros who know everyone, and do their best to greet all. Then there are my favorites. People, who come to their first meeting, stand off to the side; keep a low profile, and just watch. They are hesitant to speak up, self-conscious and timid. My kind of people.

What I like to do is engage them in conversation about some mundane and obscure aspect of the issues at large and watch them try out how they can respond to the issue without tipping their hand. Usually someone will come over to me, to say “Hello” and I will introduce the rookie, and “quote” him to the pro on something that will impress the pro, then walk away while my old friend engages the poor bastard in more conversation that is over the rookie’s head.

Am I mean? No, just forcing the issues and getting people out of their shells, and I don’t charge for the giggles I get out of it.

Should I stop doing it? Probably. Will I? Probably not.

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PS, a heathen I happen to know, who is very happy about our new German Pope, supplies the photos at the top.

SOMETHING NEW!

Recently TLW (The Little Woman) complained that the door in our den, leading out to the side yard was kind of industrial looking to her. TLW likes entertaining doors, and this was not doing the job. She asked me if there was something to be done about it, and the idea of painting something on the glass came up. This idea was hers, and I just follow along, like I’m supposed to.

This is a whole new world to me. The world of glass painting, and it involves technique, special paints and what not, plus a plan. Once I got involved, the plan was simple and the technique came on strong. I fell in love with glass painting. I think the reason for that is many years ago when I was a little fellow, my Dad used to create glass novelties and sell them. One of the things he would do after using a Bunsen burner and a huge oxygen tank that was hooked up to it was to knit the glass rods was to paint the items in a lacquer finish, the paints were vibrant and colorful but stayed clear in spite of color. I used to watch him for hours as he painted them, swans, horses, gondolas and birds, and sometimes even sail ships of dynamic beauty.

Glass painting is different in that I will paint on clear glass dishes, glasses, vases, on enamel objects, tiles, etc., and will be able to do some neat things with it. I guess it will become another thing to do in the creative realm of Joe Del Bloggolo!

My eventual plan is to create a little business on the side that will be used for making money to donate to Suffolk Chapter Association for the Help of Retarded Children.

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CENTRAL PARK

If you ever wanted a more perfect day than yesterday for a walk in the park, and in this case Central Park, you would not find it! The temperature was between 73 and 76 degrees, the sky was cerulean blue, cloudless and the day itself was sunny and dry. Perfect day, the best so far this year.

If it wasn’t enough, the restaurant that we ate dinner at afterwards, Carmine’s of New York on 90th street and Broadway was truly magnificent, A timeless Italian menu of food that was so good, so original in taste, yet it was the old standards that seem to satisfy anyone who eats it.

The historical significance to New York City that Central Park brings is great. From 1857 to this very day, Central Park leaves of legacy of greatness from the robber barons to Mayor Bloomberg, from the great Caruso to the Millionaires row of the East Side to Museum Row on 5th Avenue. The handsome cabs, the bicyclists that populate the tree lined pathways, free of autos on a Sunday Morning, the casual strollers, hand in hand, miniature sailboat racing all make Central Park, central to the great city.

A history that takes a back seat only to its beauty, Central Park will dominate anything that stands next to it, whether it is a tall skyscraper or a busy shopping or business area, or the many, many multi-million dollar mansions and apartment buildings. Yet, history is Central Park! Yes, it tells the story of the growth of the great metropolis, Gotham at its peak, and the many politicians and dreamers of the past.

TLW (The Little Woman) her friend Lois and myself each had our day in the sun. The beauty of the Park, the enjoyable strolls throughout the winding paths, the city watching from the distant rooftops of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Plaza Hotel and the cathedrals that surround the green patch of beauty and art, are of traditions and days long gone by.

It really was a walk in the park!

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tell him; “Gee that was fun!”

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

As a way of saying: “Thank You” to all my readers, I would like to post this for all to read and perhaps copy. It may save a life, and you may save it, perhaps even your own or someone you truly love.

A very special friend Jan Spalding sent this to me and encouraged me to post it and spread the word. I agree. If everyone can remember something this simple, we could save some folks.

Seriously Please read:
STROKE IDENTIFICATION: During a BBQ, a friend stumbled and took a little fall - she assured everyone that she was fine (they offered to call paramedics) and just tripped over a brick because of her new shoes. They got her cleaned up and got her a new plate of food - while she appeared a bit shaken up; Ingrid went about enjoying herself the rest of the evening. Ingrid's husband called later telling everyone that his wife had been taken to the hospital - (at 6:00pm, Ingrid passed away.) She had suffered a stroke at the BBQ. Had they known how to identify the signs of a stroke, perhaps Ingrid would be with us today. Some don't die. They end up in a helpless, hopeless condition instead.
It only takes a minute to read this...
A neurologist says that if he can get to a stroke victim within 3 hours he can totally reverse the effects of a stroke...totally. He said the trick was getting a stroke recognized; diagnosed, and then getting the patient medically cared for within 3 hours, which is tough.
RECOGNIZING A STROKE
Thank God for the sense to remember the '3' steps, STR. Read and Learn!
Sometimes symptoms of a stroke are difficult to identify. Unfortunately, the lack of awareness spells disaster. The stroke victim may suffer severe brain damage when people nearby fail to recognize the symptoms of a stroke.
Now doctors say a bystander can recognize a stroke by asking three simple questions:
S * Ask the individual to SMILE.
T * Ask the person to TALK to SPEAK A SIMPLE SENTENCE (Coherently) (i.e. It is sunny out today.)
R * Ask him or her to RAISE BOTH ARMS.
NOTE: Another 'sign' of a stroke is this: Ask the person to 'stick' out their tongue. If the tongue is 'crooked', if it goes to one side or the other it is an indication of a stroke. If he or she has trouble with ANY ONE of these tasks, call 911 immediately!! And describe the symptoms to the dispatcher.
A cardiologist says if everyone who gets this and e-mails it to 10 people; you can bet that at least one life will be saved.

Thanks, Jan from everybody

joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com

EN GARDE

Yesterday #2 Son had to go somewhere and wasn’t sure how to get there, so I went along with him, with me driving, of course. This is the time when father and son square off, round trip.

He usually starts in right away, making some statement that he knows I will not agree with, will put in some revisionist history to support his claim and probably doesn’t believe it at all. But he has an inert need to push my buttons and light up my tree. IT AIN’T GONNA HAPPEN! It might take the form of some political statement, usually about this country, or some fact that he dug up out of the 60’s movement on free sex and/or some anti religious remark that would keep both his Mother and me holding our ears shut.

He has been doing this since he could talk, and that was about a year-and-a-half old, when he discovered that if Daddy has beliefs, shake them at the roots. (Takes after his Mother).

TLW (The Little Woman) on the other hand thinks he takes after me. I strongly disagree and will to the day I die. I think his orneriness comes from her side, and he does prove me out, time and again. However there is some of him in me, and I exploited that on the way home, where I took the offensive and began to light up his tree.

The more into it I got, the more perverse pleasure I gained from it all, extrapolating quick responses out of shock, unsure answers and revising of previous statements that he used to defend himself.

He was suddenly in a fight of ideas and beliefs he didn’t anticipate, appreciate or agree in the least. IT WAS SO MUCH FUN!

He was getting back what he likes to dish out, and I have decided to work on him some more when he least expects it, with a litany of statements, outrages or true, all mixed together for him to sort out, and maybe by them he will leave me alone.

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Tell ‘em Joe sent you.

THE GREAT ROBBERY

I was robbed! In broad daylight! By no less than a man wearing a surgical mask and carrying an agreement from my so-called health care provider.

I went for a colonoscopy, and was told afterwards to come to the Endocrinologists office in two weeks. I make the appointment and show up two weeks later for the results. I figure if they really want to see me in two weeks, there must be something to tell me, so I brace myself. Little did I know how startling the news was!

I enter the waiting room, and I am called, the receptionist asks if I want to pay before seeing the doctor, and I go over to her perplexed and confused.

“This is a follow-up visit, why should I pay?
“That’s the doctor’s policy, I’m sorry.”

I could get angry but figure it is only $15, so why take it out on her?

Into the inner sanctum I go, $15 lighter and the doctor has my file and invites me to sit down. Uh, Oh!

“How are you today?”
“Well doctor, you tell me.”
“Oh, everything went just fine, two little polyps, successfully removed, so I’ll see you in a few years.”

$15 to tell me that!

For $15, I should get at least a restricted diet that I won’t follow, or a pill for one week that I won’t take, or even bed rest for 24 hours. I didn’t even get my money’s worth! NOT EVEN AN ASPIRIN!

Endocrinologist my ass! He’s just a proctologist with an attitude. He got me right in my endo! Geez, at least do it right and say: “Stick ‘em up” The crook!



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LOVE IS A MANY SPLENDOR THING

If you know me, you know by now that Mom has a boyfriend. Being 89 years of age doesn’t stop dear old Mom, if anything she thrives on her age, like a test pilot, pushing herself to record speeds at her age.

Recently, Henry, Mom’s boyfriend was admitted into the hospital to remove some stones that are causing him great pain. I took her to visit Henry and it was like walking with a peacock. Since Mom volunteers at the very same hospital, she is very proud of the fact that she volunteers and wore her badge and strutted around the place, pointing out where she eats, works, where she signs in, which stair case she uses, the facts that if she was ever admitted to the hospital, she would get free phone service and free TV. What really impressed me though was that she was in front of me by at least three steps at all times! I felt like a little kid once again as she almost took me by the hand to lead me around the hospital, as I tried to keep up! To make matters worst, she is so strong she pulled open these big heavy doors like they were made of paper!

We found Henry sitting up in a chair, waiting for a nurse to finish up making his bed. Connected to an IV machine, tubes coming out of his hand, he greeted us and offered Mom the chair. All poor Henry got was a reprimand for getting up, which I guess he shouldn’t have done. But once Mom was firmly seated in her chair, she began to check out all that was involved in poor Henry’s hospital stay. What was in the IV bag; how was the food, were the nurses paying attention to him, who was the anesthesiologist, and most importantly: Henry gets free phone service and TV.

I was glad that after the visit she wanted to go home and fold her clothes, because I needed the rest. She is like the energizer bunny, going and going and going.

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IT’S ME AGAIN, FATHER

The church was eerily quiet as it always was on a Saturday afternoon about 4:30 pm. The only light came from the candles that were lit up on the altar and the two side altars. This was the scene every week on Saturday at this time for me. Aside for the few people who lined up at the various confessionals, and the few at the altar and in the pews doing penance, it was a lonesome place, but Mom and the teacher said I had to go.

Standing outside the confessional box, waiting, I was hungry, thinking about the steak my Mother was going to make when I got home, and the painful ritual of confessing my sins to the priest that awaited me behind the wooden door. I really hated to go to confession, because I really had no sins to speak of. My sins were of an eight-year old boy, and I had a litany that I repeated every week.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been one week since my last confession. I aggravated my Mother and Father, teased my sisters, took the name of the Lord thy God in vain and had an impure thought,”

The Priest: “Try not to sin and say three Hail Mary’s and Three Our Fathers.”

Off I went to the altar rail and quicker than the speeding train, faster than a bullet I said all the prayers. As I would walk down the aisle to leave the cathedral like church of Our Lady Of Lourdes in Brooklyn, I thought how sad I was because I didn’t have any sins that were interesting. Maybe I should find something to do to help it along. See my April 11th 2006 blog for some originality, but I was too young to confess.

Try as I could, everything came down to aggravating my parents or picking on my little sister, so I turned to the neighbors. They were around and available, and that is when I met Come Come-Ona-Get-Out. See my June 21, 2006 Blog; Come-Ona-Get-Out

There were other possibilities, too dangerous since they involved my short tempered Dad, and of course there was the corner bar and shoot the place up with my cap pistol, or the sloppy fruit stand with the immigrant owner who was always on the lookout for me. I could visit my grandmother and make fun a of all the non-English speaking visitors she had, or I could aggravate the members of the Republican Club as they played cards and swore off in Italian as they chased me out of the club. It seemed that all those things were quickly forgotten once I reached the confessional on a Saturday afternoon. Not because I choose to forget, they were just so common place that I didn’t think it was a sin anymore.

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WHAT, ANOTHER BIRTHDAY?

We all have a birthday once a year in my family, with the exception on me: I have two. This should not inhibit you from sending me two presents for my birthdays.

My nephew David, who is only 13, is engaged to be married, as you know, since I posted that info on Saturday, September 01, 2007. He can’t be more than 13, or 14 tops. I know I have been paying attention around here, and it’s only been about 13 years ago he was born. (I don’t want to argue this.) He can get away with looking older because he is tall. Like my older sister Joanne, his mother, he has the inclination to appear older he really is. His beautiful sister Sarah is 9 and going to college. (Smart kid, like her Uncle Joe.)

Now that he is getting married, his mother is asking questions. Questions like “Can you attend the wedding in Florida?” Duh, of course I can. How many are coming? Well, my whole family and some neighbors I know. (But one is Carole, my man Bill’s lovely wife, I just know won't be able to come because she will be in her new whirl pool on her deck that my man Bill will install.)

So, what is all this leading to?

I really don’t know, I forgot!

Anyway, the wedding according to David will be on the beach. That means bride, Groom, wedding party, family and friends all in bathing suits. Just wait till they get a load of my Brother-in-law Don’s legs. I know all the men in my family will be jealous. Then there is my 89 year-old Mother, I just know she’ll want to show off her bikini.

I hope that the minister isn’t long winded; I would like to hit the water as soon as possible. I assume the weather in Florida in October is still warm.

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SEPTEMBER 17, ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

Yes, that year rolls around awfully fast. My beautiful niece Laurie Ann turns 29 again! Congratulations, Laurie! Laurie and Gerard her husband, have a son Stephen who was born on my birthday, and I’m thinking of giving him sole possession of the day.

Got a second e-mail from a Jim Pantaleno, who I mentioned a few days ago, and the reason I bring it up is for almost 50 years I’ve been trying to remember a park I used to go to as a kid in Brooklyn. I asked my Mom, my Dad when he was alive, my older sister Tessie, but no one could remember the name of the park. Then Jim wrote ( a graduate and fellow Brooklynite from my neighborhood) and mentioned it (Callahan-Kelly) and a flood of memories came back. Writing this blog is worthwhile when things like that happen. Thanks Jim!

Next Sunday I am going on a tour of Central Park and lunch at a nice little Italian restaurant called Bruno’s, and you dear readers will be more bored than usual on Monday’s blog as I recount the whole event. I will be taking TLW (The Little Woman) and her friend from the Wannabe Bank where she works, Lois.

Today I go to visit Henry, my 89-year-old Mother’s beau, who is in the hospital with gallstones. You may hear more about that tomorrow.

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I LEFT MY HEART ON THE TABLE!

The evening before the big operation for my by-pass, the surgeon came to my room about 8:30 PM. An Indian doctor about his late 30’s, he assured me he had done this before and I shouldn’t worry about anything. He stated that they would come for me about 7:00 AM to begin the procedure and that I should try to get a good night’s sleep. He explained the process to me, and I wished TLW were here to hear it so that I could have someone to talk to. I had asked her to go home since she was with me all day long and looked very tired.

I knew that people didn’t always survive these things but chances were good that I would and figured that I needed to sleep, and not worry about something that was out of my hands. I also figured that what was the point of worrying when there were only two outcomes. One, I could die on the operating table, and all I did before I died was worry, that seemed stupid to me, and second was that I would survive and have worried for nothing.

I had a sandwich of tuna fish because I hadn’t eaten all day from when I got up to go to the hospital in the early hours of the morning. Made a few calls and said a prayer that TLW was home safely after a long tiring and I’m sure exhausting day because of me. Then I called her to make sure, closed the light and went to sleep.

When I awoke, there she was, like old faithful, standing over the bed as the nurses had come in to prep me for the operation and wheel me out to the operating room. I was wheeled into the room where a mask was put over my face, as not to scare the surgeon I would imagine, and the next thing I remember was waking up and seeing TLW, and of all people #1 Son from California standing over the foot of the bed in the recovery room. Two male nurses were leaning over me, talking to me and asking me something, and all I wanted to do was kid the family, so I asked if it was a boy or a girl? Suddenly they pulled a tube out of my mouth and I could see my wonderful niece Laurie and her Mother, my older sister Theresa standing there, and I started to feel happy that they were there. I had a double by-pass, and the surgeon said they would have performed a triple except one of the blockages was now making a new opening! At that point, I noticed the sound of the overhead monitors and a little head peeking over my feet, as I said “MOM!”

They had actually taken my heart out of my chest!

WHAT!

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HEART OF MY HEART

It was late afternoon when North Shore University Hospital finally had a bed available for me, so about 4:30 in the afternoon, I was deposited in an ambulance and shipped off to North Shore University Hospital. TLW (The Little Woman) and my older sister followed the ambulance from Smithtown to Glen Cove, trying to keep up in the rush hour traffic. Lying in the back of the ambulance I could see them as they followed me out into traffic, TLW driving and big sis next to her in the black Toyota.

Feeling no pain, and kind of happy that at least something was finally happening after lying around St. Catherine of Sienna Hospital, I decided to have some fun in the ambulance and started waving to TLW and Sis. In and out of traffic patterns we wove, one lane to the next and back again, not really rushing but keeping up with the flow of traffic. On my elbows I waved at the two escorts and continued the whole trip, laughing at the seriousness on their faces and knowing if I didn’t laugh, I would probably realize everything and feint.

Half way through the ride I realized I wasn’t waving to TLW’s vehicle anymore but some strange older couple that was giving me the strangest look, like “Who the hell is that?” I stopped waving.

Arriving at the hospital, I was shuttled into the Emergency entrance and rumbled my way to my room.

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TOMORROW: “I Left My Heart On The Table!”

THE HEART OF THE MATTER

It was 5:30 on a September morning, the sun was starting to rise and sleep still lingered in my eyes, as I climbed into TLW’s (The Little Woman) car for the nervous ride to Saint Catherine of Sienna Hospital in Smithtown. I was going to go for a cauterization (sic) where they stick this long snake-like tool into my arm or groin and scan on a TV monitor your heart for any blockages. Mine was done in my arm, and I was expected to go home about 4 hours after the procedure. Dr. Heartensole my Cardiologist had determined that my heart was not getting enough oxygen in a stress test.

Confident as I was, I suggested to TLW that she stay home, that I would do it myself and when the 4 hours were done, I could come home by myself. But no, TLW was coming with me, taking a day off from work, “just in case”. I laughed at her caution and off we went.

Arriving at the hospital at 6:00 AM, we found the office I was to report to, answered some questions and went to the room where I changed into a hospital gown for the procedure, accepting an IV in my hand, and being wheeled out to the operating room for the event.

Entering the long cold and somewhat empty room, I noticed the TV monitors hanging from the ceiling, covering an operating table with a side table with instruments arrayed like a dentist table.

Two male nurses shifted me from the gurney to the operating table, and placed a lead and heavy plastic blanket on me as my Cardiologist arrived on the scene along with two middle-aged women nurses to assist him.

The doctor cut into my arm and began his procedure, snaking up into the arm, then into my chest finding my heart, as I watched the monitored progress he was making. He complained about the fact that my arm was very muscular, asking me if I ever did any heavy labor, in which I assured him I indeed did.

After the first few minutes, I started to feel dizzy, sweating and starting to feel like I was going to vomit, the sweating coming on strong, in what was supposed to be a very cold room.

After the procedure was completed, Dr. Heartensole asked TLW into the analyst’s room right off the operating room for the consultation. Turning on the monitors and viewing the results the Cardiologist address us both saying: You have the heart of an 18 year old, but the pipes of an 90 year old, and if you don’t have emergency surgery immediately, you will die at any moment. He also related the fact that I had 3 blockages, two at 85 to 90% and one at 80%! “We will operate tonight if we can get a bed at North Shore University Hospital. If I don’t, you could drop dead at any moment.”

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Tomorrow: Heart Of Heart

BRINGING BACK OLD ACQUAINTENCES

Today I temporarily stepped out of retirement to attend a business lunch with some former colleagues. Seated around the table at Café Testarossa were Bill Wortman a writer, Tom Bass a print buyer and Darrell Lester a marketing man.

If you put all these types of people together along with an Art Director like me, you have the makings of a small ad agency! We talked business then went into reminisces of days and people gone by. But my day did not stop there, as when I got home and went into my studio to check my e-mail, I found a delightful surprise from a gentleman by the name of James Pantelino who used to live right around the corner from me when I lived in Brooklyn over 52 years ago! He reminded me of places and things I did as a child growing up and attending Our Lady Of Lourdes School on Aberdeen Street!

As I scrolled further down in my e-mail list I found yet another nice surprise from my buddy and I think distant cousin from Italy by the name of Antonio, just married and sounding happy and successful. Antonio Del Broccolo found my #1 Son and me by accident on the web, while researching his last name.

I still have a good part of my day left, so hopefully there are more good surprises left.

The lunch was interesting in that Darrell is looking to expand to a small degree into creative services for his clients, and wondered what it would cost him for copy and art. It already costs him for the lunch! Being retired I don’t necessarily want the work, but it wouldn’t hurt to get my hand in it still, so I gave him a decent price without doing it for nothing.

Meanwhile the art projects I have planned are starting to grow. I finished one of a carousel horse that I carved in wood and hangs over my TV.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JIM

It’s funny how much we resemble our parents. How often when we speak we hear ourselves and through our voices, and inflections, we hear our parents.

TLW (The Little Woman) is a good case of what I speak about. TLW is Jim, her Dad, who passed on over 20 years ago. Jim lives on in my memory through his daughter, her inflections and attitude call back those years and give me a good insight into a good man.

Today is Jim’s birthday (see my blog of June 17th.)
And I have no idea how old he would have been, but I think it is about 93 years. One of the things that saddens me is that he never lived long enough. He never lived to witness his son’s successes, which he no doubt knew would occur, never witness his grandchildren marry and have families of their own.

He was always contented when his children were around him, he could go off being happy that they were in h is house visiting, sometimes surrounded by his grandchildren. I have a great picture of him, taking the time to read to his grandchild and my niece and nephew from a Batman book he brought for #1 Son, then very young. The children gathered around him, an old man doing a loving thing, book open in his lap, the children hanging to his every word.

If there is a God, I bet Jim has his ear, making him laugh with a flippant remark or a statement that lands right on the money.

Happy Birthday, Jim!

To voice you anger that I write these blogs;
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com

9-11

It doesn’t take a genius to know what today is in our long and proud history. It is another day of remembering the cowards that attacked us like vermin, as they did back in 1941.

They run around with masks and smell like goats, and those goats they don’t smell like they marry. They hate us because we are human, and live freely without fear. We hold our government accountable, and we don’t fear it.

We are a nation of givers, a nation that looks for peace, justice and democracy. We are rich and hated for that too. We try to lend a hand to help the world’s poor develop a great life style and we are hated for that as well. Perhaps we should isolate ourselves from the world and let them kill and starve each other then wait for the cry of help that surely will come.

I remember the faces of fear that ran down the streets of lower Manhattan that fateful day. They were all American, and I remember how angry I was to see them running for fear of their lives in their own back yards. It occurred to me that some were; white, some black, some Asian and some Hispanic, yet all Americans, and that angered me.

It also amazed me that we have as a nation come a long way in healing our imperfections. I know we are not perfect yet, but we defend each other and protect the basic rights of individuals. We have come to respect the good in all races and creeds, and allow each to prosper and grow.

But here’s the kicker; we are growing into a perfect race of people, not separate, but one. Racism will eventually disappear and when it does a new race will be born, and American race that will truly be; “American.”

It is great that we have the different ethnic traditions that reflect the whole world, and great that we are co-existing, but eventually we will lose that distinction and still be proud of who and what we are.

God Bless America.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY POP

Today, September 9 is my Dad’s birthday. He would have been 91 years old, and when he died at 74, I remember him as if he was 35 or 45 years of age, it is a memory that blends time and recollection into one face.

Not matter what he looked like at any time; he was always the same guy, “Tony” as his friends and family called him. He was the Dad that returned home from work, wearing a grey fedora, Journal American tucked under his arm as he climbed the two flights of stairs to our apartment in Brooklyn, He was the Dad that had a coffee and cigarette in the toilet while reading the NY Daily News in the morning. Leaving for work in the morning with his lunch bag under his arm, and the night before garbage in a bag in his hand to be placed in the garbage can in our front yard. (He once deposited his lunch in the can and carried the garbage on the subway from Brooklyn to Canal Street in NYC.) Dad watched the Dodgers and later the Mets on TV at night and took us for a ride in the summer evenings to the docks of Patchogue and Carvel ice cream afterwards on those hot humid nights.

He was always there with a job for me when I needed one, or a ride home from work when I need that too. Taught me the value of working hard and in spite of failure, getting up and trying again.

Dad always helped those in need, and when he couldn’t physically help, he gave them money. He wasn’t a rich man by any means, but he was rich in children and later grandchildren. He died before his mother from cancer and was devoted to her, and expected his children to be respectful of her.

He lived during the depression so was always frugal with his money, never once taking a vacation away from the house, or owning a new car until much later in life.

But he had one thing, he was always or seemed to be: happy, always whistling, whether climbing the steps to our apartment, working or driving somewhere.

He wasn’t perfect, just my Dad, and at 62 I miss him. He didn’t always treat me well, but he was there when I needed him most, and I know he cared about all of us.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!

JUST WHEN I THOUGHT IT WAS SAFE…

To take a nap, the phone rings.

Me: “EEYEllow?”
Phone: “May I speak with Joe Del Broccolo?”
Me: (Exasperatedly) who’s calling?
Phone: “Joe? Joe Del Broccolo?”
Me: “Yes!?”
Phone: “Tom, Tom Bass.”
Me; “TOM, TOM BASS!! HOW THE HELL ARE YOU?”

Tom is an old buddy of mine from my days at Publishers Clearing House. Tom was in charge of print production and had an offer to make.

Apparently, he is in cahoots with another former PCHer named Darrell Lester, a marketing man.

To make a sad and long story short, I have to come out of mothballs, as my service is now needed once again. I will meet with them and another old buddy and partner from PCH for lunch Wednesday at the Café Testarossa in Syosset for a business meeting and lunch.

It kind of tickles me to know that people still want me, even a year after I retired. Besides, it will keep my hand in it a little while not getting dirty. If it gets crazy, I can always stop doing it. But making those headlines sing on the old outer envelope, the joy of leading people into a letter with a potent Johnson Box, a snappy slick brochure extolling the virtues of whatever it is I’m helping sell will be just fine, one more time.

Well, I think I’ll take a nap to celebrate my mini return, and you dear reader can direct your comments to either the Direct Marketing Association or to:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com

I’M PUZZELED

Crossword puzzles, Scramble, Jumble, Daily Cryptogram and now Sudoku! Yes, life has become a puzzle, or least a series of puzzles.

I remember when the only puzzlers were my four sisters! Then one day I got a job in the city of New York, taking the Long Island Rail Road and doing the crossword puzzles. When I completed one, with an hour and change of riding, I would look for another puzzle to do, usually the cryptogram.

Well life went on pretty much, nothing unusual except getting married and having four kids. Then one day, TLW (The Little Woman) brought IT in the house. The "it" being Sudoku, she became engrossed, addicted and spent many hours on books of Sudoku, newspapers and magazines had one and TLW met the challenge. Then one day she stopped! I saw a Sudoku lying around and I decided to try it.

Suddenly baseball was taking a back seat to Sudoku, food was eaten with gloves so Sudoku didn’t get stained. I started to get up earlier to get the paper for Sudoku. I wanted to rename #2 Son “#2 Sudoku” but TLW wouldn’t stand for it. Instead of midnight snacks it was mid night Sudoku! My life was taken over by 81 squares!

I am seeking help now. I decided to finish the puzzle and look for the answers to see what goes wrong when it does.

So, if you will be kind enough to excuse me, I have to go Sudoku.

All pathetic remarks and lame statements can be sent to;
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com

GETTING THE CORRECT TERMS PROPER

Lying on a gurney, intravenous sticking in my arm, and oxygen tubes up my nose, the nurse standing next to me is relating a sad story about how another nurse would not be in this morning. Someone asked why, and the nurse stated the individual had a “booboo on her tushie”.

Looking up at the nurse, waiting for the colonoscopy to begin, I suggested to the nurse that she should use the proper medical terms for what ailed the absent nurse. “Oh, I’m sorry, it is just too early in the morning for me to get it out. She is suffering from a hemo(somethingorother) on her tush. “That’s better said I, and continued to wait.

A second nurse instructed me that “in the end” I would pass a lot of gas, and I told her that I have been in rehearsal for years. Got a good laugh out of that one.

I was interviewed prior to entering the procedure room, and one of the questions was if I could tolerate a lot of pain. “Yes,” I replied, “I have a nineteen year old living with me.”

I must say, after a restless, starving night of sleep, of tossing, turning and you know what, once they injected me with the sleep sauce, I slept like a baby, (No, I didn’t wet the bed) and requested they give me another shot of it and have TLW (The Little Woman) come back around 5:00 PM to bring me home.

Of course my doctor, Rear Admiral Spielberg waltzed in asking how I was this morning, and all I could think of is fine, just waiting for you to earn more money for another Mediterranean cruise.

And so, true to my promise yesterday, TLW and I went to breakfast at Maureen’s Kitchen for some eggs and sausage and toast with coffee and milk in it!

All get-well wishes may be sent to joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com or,
Mail them in with a nice bit of cash. No personal checks, please.

:OSCOPY

I’ve dying all day to put that headline up, while at the same time dying from the concoction or “cocktail” I’m drinking in preparation for tomorrow’s :oscopy.

Rear Admiral Spielberg will do the honors, and we are scheduled to kick off at 7:30 A.M. sharp.

This is the second time around the block for me, as I did this 2 years ago. The procedure is actually nothing since they put you out. The real trauma is the day prior. You can’t eat, can only drink clear liquids and black coffee. TLW (The Little Woman) made me chicken soup bouillon, and it is the only thing that tastes good.

Right now, as I write this, my stomach feels crummy, and I think I will need to drink still another half gallon of this hideous drink that must be finished.

The doctor’s office called yesterday to remind me of tomorrow, while the hospital called today for the same purpose. I wish they would just kill me and get it over with.

After the procedure, I plan to have breakfast, one of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee, so help me God.

Right now I could go to sleep, and sleep until tomorrow’s appointment, where I will sleep through it.

So my dear readers, I bid you adieu, so long, farewell, as I lower myself into further misery all for the sake of physical happiness.

By the way, the flag on top is symbolic of today’s good news that its “back to school” day for all the good little tykes. My lovely neighbor from the hood, Carole raised the flag after a 4 hour parade with floats and a live marching band. What spirit!

Send your condolences and/or smirks to;
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com

ELECTRONIC ZOMBIES

A spectrum is haunting the world, the spectrum of electronic devices. It seems that everywhere I go, people are tuned in and tuned out. It is indeed a contradiction, but indeed it is true.

People have become mesmerized with both the cell phone and the i-pod, walking around in a catatonic state, oblivious to the real world at large, and because of their inattentiveness, placing themselves at a real danger to life and limb.

Drive along the highways at breakneck speed, or in very busy intersections, the cell phone is glued to the ear, all the while breaking NY State laws forbidding the use of a cell phone while driving. There is a reason for that people, so you don’t kill yourself and anyone else on the road. I know once you do kill someone, you will be sorry, remorseful and will swear off the phone while driving, and NY State will make it easy for you to do that, behind bars.

I see people walking along at playgrounds, on trains, shopping centers and parking lots, oblivious to their surroundings, speaking in an annoyingly loud voice, showing off their obnoxious little gadgets in public. Don’t get me wrong, I have one too, but it is shut off, and in my car for use in emergencies only, while the vehicle is stopped.

I have heard their phones ring in churches during services, funeral parlors, and just about every office I visit, and I can’t figure it all out. When I worked in the different companies and at home on a freelance basis, whenever the phone rang, I would get annoyed because of the interruptions. When I sit down to supper, it never fails to rile me when the damned thing rings as I eat, or when I sit to have a casual conversation with TLW (The Little Woman) or watch the boob tube. It astounds me that people would want these kinds of interruptions all day long, no matter where they go! And the stupid music that plays when one of these contraptions goes off, I don’t know if I should turn the radio down or get up and dance. And now, people walk around with these things held high, and why, to take a picture! It’s a phone, camera AND an annoyance.

As bad as all that is, I had Son #2 on the roof the other day cleaning out the gutters. Being how he lives with TLW and me, without any ownership in the house, I had to instruct him on what and how I wanted it done. He was deafer than I am! The thing is stuck in his ears, blasting away; I wonder if he realizes where his headaches are coming from?

It reminds me of the yuppies of the 80’s and 90’s who drove the fancy expensive cars, flaunting their newfound wealth, as they now flaunt their “Me-Now” look with their little toys.

Maybe I’m old fashioned, and I am, but does all this have to be so annoying, loud and interfering with people’s lives, where laws have to be made to protect the general public, so intrusive that it interferes with one’s right to worship or concentrate, or live peacefully at home? I think the cell phone and I-pod are great inventions, but so is gunpowder, it needs to be handled a little more cautiously and like automobiles, a little more safely.

If you feel insulted and wish to reply, do so at:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com, and I will publish your rant.

THAT FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

The first day of school is where the New Year’s resolution came from. It was on that day, that sad day after a carefree summer that we vowed that our books would be in perfect condition, we would wear brand new clothes, and all our study habits would be a model of student productivity.

The first day of school was also the day that one would crack open a new book and smell the newness that lasted only a day, the acclamation of a seating assignment and the get-to- know- you moments with a new teacher.

It was fresh and new, a change from the boredom that summer delivered during the dog days of August that any first day of school brought.

And so we start another school year, with the same vows being offered over and over again by each student, a calmness and disorientation of riding a school bus, and the memories of those last days of school in June just gone by.

One question that always came to mind was; when is our next day off? Another was will I be able to do the work, and will we be getting homework? Rumors ran rampant about the teacher, the expectations of the coming term, and the grown up feeling one had over the lowly lower classmates.

And who could forget the night before the first day of school, the sadness that there are no days off anymore, yet the eager anticipation of the new school year.

THE OLD TIMES

Yesterday evening TLW (The Little Woman) and I went off to dinner in Syosset at a place called Café Testarossa, where we met my best friend Phil and his beautiful wife Linda.

Phil I know from my college days where we met, and he never changes which I like, and of course, Linda continues to grow as a person and a wife. Linda has 4 children, two boys a daughter, and Phil. Linda is the centerpiece of the Mark family, while Phil is the support and the good times part of the family.

It seems every time we meet, the little cell phone rings and her oldest boy Jason is on the other end with some kind of problem. While Linda was on the phone I asked, to speak with Jason, where Linda handed me the phone from across the table and I spoke:
“Jason?”
“Yeah, hi uncle Joe.”
“Jason, if you call here one more time, I will personally go to Staten Island and give you a beating. I want you to leave you parents in peace.”
“He-he-he”
“Jason, don’t let me come out there, and by the way, how ya doin?”

Good old Jason, never heard from him again, the good boy that he is. Linda and TLW were able to talk, and Phil and I were able to listen (with minds wandering) without interruption for the rest of the evening!

At one point, the restaurant began to get busy and a group of people was being seated next to us. A very attractive young woman was part of the group and was standing right behind Phil with her back turned, Phil’s head was even with her derriere. As Phil turned his head to look back, he came cheek-to-cheek sort of speaking, and I reminded him that it was NOT the dessert cart. But poor Phil, his clams with linguini was not nearly as hot as the “Dessert cart.”

If you wish to comment about the filth I just mentioned, or feel you would like to lodge a complaint, just respond to:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com, and I’ll see to it that it gets into the right hands.

SCHOOL DAZZZZE, SCHOOL DAZE…

Yes, it is that time of year, bigger than Christmas, bigger than New Year’s Eve, bigger than life itself! That magical time of the year when the little darlings go back to school has arrived. Oh, happy days are here again!

Of course, if you are a teacher, not so happy, but as a parent, you feel like Snoopy at suppertime. Now mind you, I’m talking about a 19-year old going back to college, not even a little kid!

Today, my man Bill and his lovely wife Carole, will be hosting a party to celebrate the event, where all the Hood gets together and we can relive tales of yore with the Neigbs. (See September 4, 2006, titled: “Dr. Tobias, I Presume?) http://delbloggolo.blogspot.com/search?q=Maria+Zafonte When I pass on, maybe someone will inscribe the story on my tombstone.

There will be good times, general laughter and a keen sense of fellowship as all the brats march off to school. I will take a tour of the Hood this week, and watch them assemble on the corners, waiting for the bus. I remember when #1 and #2 Sons went back. I would take them to the school in my car or a Sunday late afternoon before the start of the school year that week, and sing “School days, school days, dear old golden rule days”, to the pain and agony of the little fellows. Then I would take them for ice cream.

If you have any memories you would like to share, send them to me at:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com,
and I will post them this week.

MORE GOOD NEWS

A while back I received another piece of good news from my youngest sister Joanne, you remember her and her husband Don from a very early blog I did on them. Anyway, their son David is engaged to be married to a beautiful young woman named Kim from the southern part of the USA. That is all the info I have at this time, since Joanne likes to inform people as cryptically as possible so as not to spill any state secrets.

I met Kim once, on Christmas Eve of last year, and I know David will be very happily married. I’m sure Kim and his Mom Joanne will convince him so. I know these things, as they will use the same tactics they use on all married men.

Actually marriage is good for you as I was once told, it helps you to keep tabs on where you will be at all times, now and in the future. Your money will no longer be a “burden” to you, and you get to be “re-cultured” to the Little Woman’s standards. So, in a way, everything is taken care of for you.

Well I’m going to go hide in the basement until this blog blows over and Joanne and Kim quit looking to kill me.

joedelbrooccolo@yahoo.com