THE HOOD HAS A GET TOGETHER

They came from doors around, bringing booze, cakes and food, and all with good cheer and a hearty “Hi’. My hearty Hi was when I left.

In the photo you will see MMB, (My Man Bill), the tool man, and myself. This photographic testimony comes courtesy of Bill’s lovely wife Carole, the givers of parties.

The festivities began promptly at 2:oo p.m., with the arrival of yours truly. And lasted well past 10:30 p.m., sans yours truly. Once again the food was fabulous, the booze excellent and the folks just great.

Last year at this time, I went to the hood get together, and the crowd doubled in size, right before my eyes! It was amazing; everyone there had a twin, including TLW (The Little Woman). Funny, I haven’t seen them since!

Richie Ignelzi, from across the street brought his Mom, because he’s not allowed to cross the street by himself. Richie’s lovely wife Alison came afterward. Richie’s Mom, a very sweet lady with the good sense to watch her son from getting into trouble or running out of the yard without permission, made sure he ate all his vegetables.

If you remember last year, I started a fashion trend with the glowing ear loops, this year I made a new statement, as you can see in the photo.

We did have a mishap: one of the little kids was drinking too much root beer and fell off a swing, breaking his wrist. When he came back to the party from the emergency room, he had this very sad and serious look on his face, but fortunately, everyone made a big fuss over him. Hope to see him heal quickly, he is a good kid, nice family, too.

Then there was Mary Alice, who should have been a kindergarten teacher, the way she loves kids, dancing with them all, and playing with the babies that were in attendance.

The evil one, (I don’t want to mention names, but she has my neighbor Carole’s initials) presided over the demise of my sobriety, with encouragement that could make any drunk adore her. Tequila, Lemoncello di Fama, cigars and rings that glow in the dark, were part of her arsenal to take things up a notch.

There was a new kid on the block, so I went over to his table. His name is Vince, and I asked him where he came from. “Baltimore” was his response. “Oh, I know some people from Townsend, Maryland.” I responded. “TLW’s brother is a president of a college down there.” I continued.

“What college? He asked.

“Villa Julia” countered I.

“GETOUTOFHERE!” says Vince. I daughter just graduated from there Friday!”

The best parties in town from two great people!
Thanks Bill and Carole.

SAINTHOOD

TLW (The Little Woman) and I went to church today. She thinks I’m worth saving, so off we went. Now I’m not against religion, but let me tell you, communicating with God is one thing, getting him to communicate back to me is another!

Being how I am almost deaf, sitting in the pew, listening to a sermon is difficult, since I hardly understand what the Priest is saying. Couple that with the coughing, a-hemming and what not that goes on. Let alone the sneezing, it is even more difficult to understand the guy. If this is not enough, we have this Priest from Nigeria, who can’t speak English as it is, let alone MY understanding him.

I like to do one of two things when this particular Priest gives a sermon. The first is to try to catch a catnap. And the second is to watch all the parishioners who are actually listening to what he is saying. Most like me have a glazed look on them, staring away to some distant thought that was triggered by an African accent.

In surveying the lay of the land, I noticed a rather large gentleman sitting in front of me, who was in direct line of the Priest from his pulpit and me. He can actually block me off from seeing Father Nigeria as he speaks. This is good! This allows me to catch that nap while not being seen. There is a constant nagging problem of TLW’s elbow, which has been trying to make a home in my ribs for years, it seems whenever I seem to rest my eyes. You see, these catnaps are not really sleep, but eye resting, and her elbow starts to jerk out uncontrollably when that happens. It is one of life’s greatest mysteries.

Then there is the sign of peace. I will be cruising along in pious revelry, Father Nigeria will say: “Lea thus hoffer heach hudder der sian uf peece” (Let us offer each other the sign of peace). IT NEVER FAILS; THE LADY IN FRONT OF ME SNEEZES INTO HER RIGHT HAND, NO TISSUE OR HANKY, AND THEN OFFERS IT TO ME TO SHAKE. Maybe she thinks she doesn’t have a hanky, so it will clean when she shakes my hand! I on the other hand, pretend I don’t see her, facing behind me until the Priest starts praying again. You have to know how to work the room.

Now, let us pray:
Oh Father, in your kindness and wisdom, you preserved the roof of your House, when I enter every Sunday, saving the lives of the innocent from destruction. How it is that the Priest doesn’t pass out seeing me show up is another of your wondrous mysteries.
Amen

I suspect that since I am married to TLW (some have suggested a Saint because she married me), I have been thus far spared the indignities of God’s wrath in his House. No kidding.

TOMORROW: The Hood has a get together. Stay tuned.

FINALLY!

It took most of the day, but the wooden railing is finally in! Mike Simone, the guy that did it, did a wonderful job! It looks super.

Mike employed a young lady with him. She was probably a college-age kid, and she did a remarkable job. Drilling the steps to put in the balustrade, she took charge and put them all in perfectly.

I must admit; she took me surprise. I didn’t expect her to be there, as I envisioning a guy, the same one that came to make sure the measurements were correct before staining the wood. I guess he was too dainty to do the hard work.

This just goes to show you why there should be women priests, umpires and mechanics. They can do anything a man can do, except carry a 250-pound person down a ladder from a burning building, maybe. It’s funny, if I was incapacitated, and a woman could save me, I would certainly accept her help. I’d probably kiss her on the way down the ladder.

To my beautiful sister-in-law, Angela: Thanks for the Sunday cartoon; it is probably close to the truth!

A K-9 HIGHWIRE ACT NEXT?

I love my dog Happy. She has a beautiful face, loves me and is smart in many ways. Then there are times when I think: “Dumb dog!” Why this hot and cold attitude?

I have mentioned in the past how Happy rings the little bell at the bottom of our sliding door that leads to the back yard. This tells us she wants to go out. Sometimes she will just stare at me in a: “Well?’ look, meaning again, she wants to go out. She also likes to wait for me to sit down and get relaxed in my chair before doing these things, or waiting for us to sit down to eat.

Happy has a new form of making me crazy; I call it taking things to the very edge. Kind of like pushing the envelope as they say. What she usually does especially when I don’t have my shoes on is: walk along the very edge of the pool. Her head down, sniffing, she tempts fate by walking this way. She is testing whether I will rescue her or not. Happy has fallen in twice, at 4:30 in the morning during a cold frigid storm with snow on the ground! TLW (The Little Woman) had to fish her out.

We had the railing removed from the staircase and upper hall, so there is nothing there to stop one from falling over. The floors are shiny and slippery, so a dumb dog has to watch herself. What does Happy do? Happy walks along the very edges, ready to fall off the upper walkway, or off the staircase, there is no barrier! The other night she nearly did, as she struggled to grip the slippery floor, leading from my studio. Did she learn? Noooooo.

If any readers are interested in an American Cocker Spaniel, buff and white, please let me know. I can also throw in a 20 year-old #2 Son with a computer and $100 cash!

WHAT IS BUGGING HER?

The other night, I was sitting in my recliner vegetating in front of the TV. I love to vegetate: I find it relaxing. All of a sudden, TLW (The Little Woman) comes to life! Yes, she actually stirred from her coma like state and from a reclining position leaped about 4 feet into the air!

Now I was fully awake and she was air-borne.

Looking up at the ceiling I asked: “What Happened?”

“There was an ugly bug on my newspaper!” she replied.

Have you ever seen a beautiful bug? Have ever marveled at the fine lines, well cut wingspan and grace of antennae? Neither have I.

“Its only a little bug!” I said. You should be able to crush it.” I continued.
“You should have come over here and taken care of it!” she barked.

What she said holds true. Many years ago, when we were first married, we were living in a rented apartment in a two-story house. I was running later and had to catch my train to the city for work, and as I was ready to leave, high on the wall was a daddy-long-leg spider. As I ran out the door to my car, I yelled out to her; “There’s a spider on the wall in the kitchen.”

My day was a long one then. Up at the crack pf dawn, shower, dress and grab a cup of coffee, go to the Railroad station, find a parking spot and jump on the train. After two hours of train rides and subways, walking to the office and working for 8 to 10 or 12 hours, back on a subway to start the process of going home.

When I got home, there sat the spider. Hadn’t moved, didn’t seem disturbed, and TLW was making supper.

“What happened, you didn’t get the spider?” I asked.

Her reply to my question is one that I think all men have heard, but here it comes anyway.

IT IS YOUR JOB TO KILL BUGS AND SPIDERS, NOT MINE.”

So, I killed the spider.

THIS MEANS: WAR!

The other day I was discussing with TLW (The Little Woman) the need to adjust the front of the house in terms of landscaping. I was complaining that we put in a new front walkway, but it looks unfinished to my artistic sensitivity. (Big deal!)

TLW on the other hand felt the grass should come right up to the edge of the bricked walkway and that would be that.

I countered with the idea of some kind of border to line the walkway. TLW immediately made a war-like stance, legs spread and hands on hips, ready to punch me out. However, her diplomacy was put into effect.

TLW: “You want to put bricks along this edge?”
Me: “Yup.”
TLW: “You know that when you come home from a party in the hood, at Carole and MMB’s (My Man Bill) house you will have to step over the border?”
Me: “So?” (Cringingly)
TLW: “You are NEVER in any shape to climb over ANYTHING!” (I resent that, it may be true, but I resent it.)

So we compromised, we will get plants to line the edging. Me, I will go to MMB’s house this weekend for another party in the hood. When I am escorted home by TLW, I will remember to step lively and high, until the day when the plants are so tall, I have to walk around them. Here’s to plants, hops and barley.

MFF-:-(

#1 Son called last night and told me the terrible news! MFF (My Favorite Fan) Laura stepped the wrong way and messed up her ankle. This is catastrophic news to the Blog and me. Having a fan like MFF is special, and the blogger hurts for her.

MFF is a cheerful lovely lady that I had the good fortune to meet when I was out in LA visiting #1 Son back in November. She is a beautiful woman who smiles like sunshine lights up a day after it rains. She is also very thoughtful, and I consider her a very important person in my life.

She happens to be a friend of #1 Son, and is part of the Fab 5 that I’ve mentioned in the past. She has encouraged my blog; she has encouraged my writing a novel, along with the Fab 5, of which I am on Chapter 15! Thanks to them, I will pursue this endeavor to the end.

Get well soon, heal perfectly and then when I see you, we can skip along together, then I’ll buy you a drink to celebrate your healing!

WHAT, AGAIN?

If you see me on any kind of line, make a double speed attempt to find another, because you will be held up for a while. If you remember my blog on the May 15, titled “Priceless Faults”, the situation reared its ugly head once again.

TLW (The Little Woman) and I went out Sunday to shop for some art for our living room, and went to Kohl’s, a nice upscale department store to find something decorative, bold and different than what we usually do. We both fell in love with this one piece, and took it with four smaller wall hangings to accompany it.

TLW, living with me with what must feel like her whole life warned me. There is no barcode or price tag on this large piece, be prepared to wait for them to get it. I figured I don’t have to go to work on Monday, so what the hell.

Up to the cashier, we go, and I lay down all the stuff. Everything but the large piece gets rang up, and the young lady calls for Carlos to come to her register. Carlos looks like a happy go lucky guy, speaks no English, and may have arrived here by mistake. She gestures to him that we need to find the price. I tell him there is another one high on the wall in the back. He comprehends and disappears. Twenty minutes later, I know everything about the cashier, including her parent’s names, her Mom’s maiden name and how old she is. What she can’t tell me is where Carlos went.

I suggest maybe Carlos either left the country, or went on vacation and will be back in two weeks. Should I get her and TLW some lunch meanwhile? I go in the back and search for Carlos. I look where I told him to go, and sure enough there is a ladder where the other piece of art was hanging, but that is gone with Carlos. I travel back about a half mile back to the cashier and TLW. ”He is not there, but a ladder is!” state I. “Ah, says the Cashier, probably with customer relations getting a price check. He should be back by Tuesday.

Finally a miraculous thing occurs, Carlos with a small label and a discount for the Cashier to scan.

TLW and I are two happy Gringos, tired of waiting but happy.

MMB SAVES THE DAY

The other day I was putting up molding, when I came upon an unfortunate experience. The hammerhead was too big for the molding that was going under each step on the riser. The nail was a small finisher, and the hammerhead was hitting the step and the molding, while bending the nail!

After a couple of these steps going awry, I decided to take up MYB’s (My Man Bill) next-door generous offer made. He offered me his nail gun.

Marching next door in defeat and mildly angered, I ask for the gun. No, I wasn’t going to put it to my thick head. MMB is more than accommodating, offering me the gun and helping to carry over the compressor, that would blow the house down with the force it has.

After two hours of agonizing over the steps, in a half hour I had corrected everything I started, and finished the other 11 steps, the molding around the staircase and the hallway! An amazing feat, and it looked very professional! It made my day, and got me ahead of schedule.

I sat in my chair in celebration to take a short celebratory nap, when MMB shows up at the door. Surprise Bill, I’m still alive and in one piece, AND I’m done!

ANGELA’S SCANNER - A SEQUEL?

You may have read the book, or at least heard of it: Angela’s Ashes. It was a critically acclaimed book written by Frank McCourt and published sometime in 1998.

Well, I’m thinking of writing a sequel in a way called: Angela’s Scanner. It’s about a lady I know from Utica, who has this heavy burden that she carries with her when she relocates to Virginia to live. It is her scanner, and like any scanner, except, you HAVE TO LIFT THE LID TO PLACE THE PAPERS ON THE BED! No, you cannot just feed the papers; you have to lift the lid first. Angela wishes she could just feed the scanner, not do any heavy lifting.

The woman is tired. She did raise 3 boys, and I would think she would hire someone to lift the lid for her, after that. I want everyone out there that is religious to pray for her, and if you are not religious, pray anyway. Pray that Angela finds the strength to lift that lid, or that Dennis her husband can release the necessary funds for a new one.

Actually, Angela is TLW’s (The Little Woman) sister-in-law, her younger brother Dennis’ wife. Angela is a very caring person, who does a great deal of good by just entering a room. That is as opposed to me, who lights up any room, just by leaving it.

Angela and I have been kidding each other, teasing and digging each other for over 37 years, and frankly, she is a lot of fun when I see her. Her Husband Dennis once said he thought it was: “An Italian thing.” As you can see, in an Irish family, when Italians marry into one, they need paisans to maintain equilibrium. In TLW’s family the Italian coterie is: Steve, Maureen’s Husband, Me and Angela. However, being how classy Sara the only Irish gal in the in-law mix, and TLW’s older Brother’s wife is an exception, we make her an honorary Italian.

THANKS, I NEEDED THAT!

Being a married man, I often get “Help” from TLW (The Little Woman). I consider this “Help” essential to staying alive.

The other day TLW was sorting the mail as I was getting a cup of coffee. She came busting over to me and said: “You have a Macy’s card, don’t you?” Not one to carry it, I still answered in the affirmative and shook my head, “Yes.”

As she is approaching me, she is waving a couple of small cards at me, and says: “These are made out to you.” They are two small discount cards from Macy’s. One is for money off, and one is for a discount of 30% off.

“You know, these will come in handy. Big savings! You know that with birthdays coming up (hers is July 9th) and anniversaries, ours is June 19th, these should come in handy."

You see where I’m going with this?

I am sure there is no chance whatsoever, of TLW collecting on my demise until the soonest, July 9th of this year, providing I go to Macy’s and follow her “Plan”.

Thanks for the help, sweetie.

DON’T EVEN SAY: “ORNATE”

Yesterday TLW (The Little Woman) and I went to find a Persian rug for the living room floor. As we entered the store, sitting on the wall was this rug that said: “Take Me”, and all the other rugs I viewed could not do it for me as this one could.

TLW should go to one of those auctions where you bid on something just by raising your eyebrows. It seems she is the master at communicating to me what I say, without my saying it. There were about 100 rugs hanging on swinging arms that allow one to view the whole design and decide. As I go through each one, I would pause if it was something I liked because of design, or just because it was nice. Our conversation went something like this:

Her: “NO!”
Her: “I don’t like it.”
Her: Head shaking “No.”
Her: “The colors are not right.”
Me: “I didn’t say anything!”
Her: “True, but you looked at me.”

We finally decided on something, and now we have a few days to determine if we like it or not. I must be very careful how I look at it when we get it home, I don’t want to “Mis-look”.

PRICELESS FAULTS

Yesterday I went to Lowe’s to purchase a piece of furring strip. Got some other items and went to check out. Go to Lowe’s a lot, and you’d think I would learn by now. Bit, Noooooo!

What’s the beef? Well, let me tell you. Every time I go that madhouse with the girl with a mousey voice and a microphone, inevitably one or more items are missing a price or bar code.

So, I saunter up to the checkout counter and lay down the wood for the girl to charge me.

Her: “Is there a bar code on your end of the stick?”
I check and wave my head: “No.”
Her: What’s it called?”
Me: “Furring strip?”
She checks her computer, going to page after page. The line behind me is getting longer. I suggest she ask a fellow employer.
Her: “There’s no one to ask.”
True to her word, what just seconds ago were a large gaggle of workers now is barren of life. Not even water or weeds, nothing, no one, nada.
Her: “You know, you should have a barcode on a product when you bring it up!”
Me: “Lady, I come here to purchase your items, not do your job for you. Is it my fault that there is no bar code or price on it, or that you can’t even identify what you sell?” I smile.
Her: “Oh!”
Me: “Here is the manager, see if she knows.”
Her to her manager: “What do you call this?”
Manager to me: “Furring strip?”
Me: “YES!!!!”
Manager: “89 cents.”
Her: “Have a nice day.”
Me: “Sure.”

IT IS A WHOLE LOT NOISIER DOWN SOUTH

It was a happy city, pleasant and sunny. The people went about their business with a bounce in their step and a smile on their lips. Business was good, the people prospered, and joy was all around.

Then one day the storm hit. Oh, the people at first didn’t suspect much was really happening, just a turbulence so to speak. Like any other storm, the good people of Charlotte, N.C., lowered their heads and forged ahead. At first, the sounds were distant. Then they picked up in volume, growing more intense by the hour. The wind, steady but soft at first became a sudden gust here, then there, then long powerful forces that ripped throughout the city. People started to panic, and head out to the outlying areas where rumor had it that it was still quiet.

The media at first was perplexed at how to explain it. What was this force, so loud and quick, and where was it coming from? The city council met briefly, but all were ready to flee the city, and no one wanted to linger long in the path of this tidal wave. Those that stayed complained about headaches, loss of breath and seeing flashes go by their very eyes.

Meanwhile in New York, a phenomenon had occurred! The whole State was taking on a sudden calm. People were no longer buying aspirin or headache remedies. The flashes they witnessed were no longer occurring!

As usual, the good people of Charlotte were blaming New Yorkers for their woes. For once, they were right.

The explanation? Glad you asked. The tidal wave and Hurricane called Mary Ann. Younger sister of this blogger, who has moved down to Charlotte to stake out her claim to a new and exciting life.

If you live in Charlotte, don’t try to see this Tidal Wave/Hurricane, you can’t. She is so quick her own Mother doesn’t know what she really looks like. Don’t speak at her; it is like trying to interrupt the wind.

But be excited, she is a wonderful and beautiful person, who is just making Charlotte, even better.

PATIENCE IS MAKING ME PATIENT.

One of the good things about getting old is the unbelievable amount of patience I have. In my early life, the unpleasant tasks of maintaining a house and keeping it in good physical condition were done in a hurry. How I hated to paint! I still do, I’d rather wallpaper.

Actually, I’d rather sit in my recliner than do anything. But the funny thing is I looked forward to painting the stairs today, and gave it two coats!

What is wrong with me? I know, the joy of knowing I have nowhere that I have to go to in the next few days. I’m not wasting a day off from work being retired. I am getting a satisfaction from doing the work, and not rushing it.

The steps are a big project, and there are the railings to go up, and I still have to stain the trim moulding under each step, plus the fancy wooden swirly designs that go on each side of the steps. I am enjoying the planning and execution!

The biggest problem is having #2 Son going up and down the steps all day long, constantly interrupting me. Plus that stupid loud music he plays, and the slamming of his door. If there are any young ladies interested, you can have him and I’ll throw in a new computer laptop! But you have to live with him somewhere else.

Meanwhile: back to the future. I have been taking my time with each and every brush stroke. Being neat and careful, and actually enjoying myself, I’m even doing a little patchwork on the walls with the Spackle paste.

Well, maybe I’ll just paint myself into a corner.

Once again, thanks to Jo Ellen and Seth for todays cartoon.

THERE’S GOT TO BE A MORNING AFTER

Spanning four generations
NANA

Today we are celebrating not only Nana’s 90th birthday, but also the fact that I lived to see it. As I’ve mentioned before, I always thought that Nana looked like the end of an index finger, until the day I got married, when she put it down and announced: “Good riddance!”

This birthday is an important link to our very selves as Children and grandchildren of Nana. Today we witness the spanning of two centuries, an old 20th with a rich history that Nana helped write, and a new 21st century of history that you will help write. In either case, Nana is a part of it, and has influenced it greatly.

I have known Nana to laugh in the face of tears, and cry in the face of joy. She has taught us great life lessons. I’ve seen her remind us of who we are, where we come from, that we are not so beautiful to poke fun at people, that in life you lick your wounds and move on. Nothing is impossible if you put your mind and heart into it. Don’t complain: no one really wants to hear it. If you are sick, go away until you feel better.

Was Nana a nurturer? Yes she was. She nurtured our self-reliance and independence. Did she teach us anything? Yes, what is important is to laugh each day, cry when you need to, but do that when no one is around to hear it.

A few years ago, I was working for a company that had a high-pressure position in the market place. Sales, was life and death, and I was asked to improve on the bottom line. I would close my door often in the late afternoon to concentrate on the project at hand, and often I would hear this woman laughing somewhere in the office. At first, I wanted to go out and quiet her down, but though about it, and decided that it was almost comforting. Why was her laughter comforting? Because she sounded like Nana! It reminded me that Nana encouraged me to get there, she was a booster, and that woman’s laughter put Nana in that office for me.

I marvel and look back at the humble beginnings of this wonderful family. Growing from the small apartment in Brooklyn when we were growing up to this very moment. We lived the dream to move out to the Island. The many fields that we have entered and joined in marriage and birth, the complexity of opinion and yet regard for each other. Witnessing today, and all the wonderful people that married into this family, people that make it a great family, I marvel at this little lady and what she began, and what she has created.

We her children, in spite of all our petty differences growing up, learned from Nana that family comes first. We stick together, if we cry it is for each other as we laugh at ourselves with one another.

You can see and witness it first hand, when we gather for Christmas Eve, and days like today, and we say, Thanks Nana, we love you.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY/MOTHER’S DAY MOM, AND ALL MOMS.

Today is Mother’s Day as if I needed to tell anyone.

Yesterday was Mom’s 90th birthday! They gathered to celebrate and came from as far as Florida. Some because of commitments and distance from California couldn’t attend physically but were there in spirit.

Mom doesn’t look her age, still volunteers for Brookhaven Memorial Hospital and gets around very well, thank you.

The affair was held at Lombardi’s on the Sound, a beautiful place to have an affair. Mom look beautiful and so did her daughters, grandchildren and great grandchildren.

The food was the best you could ask for. Not only were there quantity, but quality. If the food wasn’t enough, then you can always go by the beauty of the place, the great people they use to serve and wait on, and finally, the majestic scenery, of the water that abuts the place.

Mom was in her glory, sitting with Henry her good friend, and enjoying the many people that came to do her honor. Her five children sat with her, as it was originally started, followed by all her grandchildren, great grandchildren and in-laws or adopted children.

To those special Moms, TLW (The Little Woman), my beautiful sisters Theresa, Frances, Mary Ann and Joanne Happy Mother’s Day, as well as my beautiful sister-in-laws Maureen, Sara and Angela, and all you Moms that do so much for your children. Of course, one other Mom out there I would like to recognize, Sara’s Mom: Elizabeth Garrity. Mrs. Garrity is a Mom who can relate a great American Story, and maybe she is the Great American Novel to be written. She raised a wonderful family, with great sacrifice and love, and just like my Mom, it tells.

A CHINESE FIREDRILL

Today was a crazy day! Talk about things happening All AT ONCE.

I had an appointment to see my G.P. today, and it was scheduled for 10:45 AM. Usually I am kept waiting both in the waiting room and the examining room for at least an hour, but today he pulled a fast one. I was taken almost immediately! This appointment was a cause of concern because I had the wooden railing installer scheduled to come at 1:00 pm and I wanted to have the piano movers come to move back the piano before they installed the railing posts. The piano mover said could come around noon, which I said no to, since I wasn’t sure how long the doctor would take. (If this is getting too complicated, sit down and have two aspirin and read it in the morning.)

Getting home at about 12:15 pm, I get to work installing the left over moulding, at 1 pm, I check to see if the railing guy is here and sure enough, he is. I stop working and the railing man starts. The dog starts barking and growling. The phone rings, it is the piano mover. Can I come now? I ask the railing installer if the piano mover would be in his way, he says: “No.” Great, I tell the piano mover to come.

All at once, an upright is going through the staircase that is being measured with temporary posts and clamps. The dog is going nuts because I screened her off, she knows there are at least 4 strangers in the house, and I’m worried about my new floors, the railing guys and hope the piano men don’t hurt themselves.

I think I’ll take two aspirins, sit down and read this tomorrow.

Today’s cartoon is brought to you by Jo Ellen and Seth Smith

WHERE ARE WE AT?

Last night I was a passenger with TLW (The Little Woman), as we went out for a night on the town. As we were driving home, we noticed that the entranceway to the Long Island Expressway was closed. There were fences and lights set up for what one would imagine is a work crew.

We drove (she did) a little farther east and discovered each entrance ramp off the service road was closed.

I have a lot of respect for the guy that makes a living working on roads, since it means all kinds of weather. My best friend Phil works in all kinds of weather, and I admire the work ethic.

With all I just said in mind, I must ask this question:
Where the hell were they?

Entrance after entrance, all I saw was fences and lights. No workers! Do they work underground? Come on guys, if you are going to inconvenience me, at least show up. Please!

What was really annoying was the there were cars on the LIE, moving at a very fast clip, while the TLW express made stop after stop for lights on the service road.

Why wasn’t I wearing the pants last night and driving? Like I said before, mine are too ornate.

MY MAN MATHEW

In my neighborhood lives a cool kid. His name is Mathew Kuntz. Mathew is a social seventh grader who enjoys life to the fullest. When I look out my door, rain or shine, snow, sleet or calm, Mathew is out there, usually with some other kid from the hood, having a grand time. As a little kid, Mathew left you laughing. It’s always fun to watch him play; Mathew is a leader, a go-getter. He takes to everyone, and has a wave and a smile as you go by, that he is not afraid to use.

This morning I was getting out of my car, and who goes by with a friend on his way to school, but Mathew.

Me; “Hey Mathew, how’s school?”
Mathew; (Eyes squinting) “Boring”
Me; “Well you will need it someday when you get married.”
Mathew; “Yeah, me the wife and my five kids.”

As you can see, he has everything sewed up in a nice neat bag,

He comes from a typical family, his father works hard on his job and around the house, he has an older brother and his Mom, should have been a kindergarten teacher. She can get down with little kids and enjoy their being alive. She dances with them and is a great sport. I tease her whenever I see her, (She likes to yell and talk), from the old school of Moms. Like her Mathew, you will see her with some neighbor or two, chatting away. A nice lady.

FROM HAIR TO DEER

Yesterday I had a very pleasant lunch with TLW (The Little Woman) and my younger sister MaryAnn.

MaryAnn is one of my Mother’s favorites; she has naturally curly hair, and was named after my Mom’s Mother. That is two strikes against everyone else.

The reason for the lunch is that MaryAnn is leaving NY State and going south to Charlotte, N. C., to begin a new life. She is sick of Long Island; the high cost of everything, and may be starting a new trend away from Florida.

I personally will miss her, as I am sure all my sisters will too. Mom will be angry with her for going south. Her kids are worried about her, and think she will eventually come back.

Having lunch with these two women is a learning experience. You learn not to even try to say something, just listen, you will never get a word in edgewise; so don’t try.

I will see MaryAnn one more time on Saturday, and then Monday she is gone. The one with the natural curly hair will be down with the Caribou or deer or whatever the hell there is down there, and we will miss her happy chatter and unbroken lengthy sentences.

WHAT I STOOP FOR

This morning, I went to my local food store for a coffee and roll, as I was coming out into the parking lot, there on the ground was a penny. It wasn’t particularly shinny, nor does it have a lot of value for a coin collector. What will I do with it? Well probably, spend it all in one place.

My guess is that most people would not stoop down to pick up a penny, but I do. Why? Conditioned reflex. Being poor when I was growing up, a penny carried a little more weight. Today there is no real value, except to me as a reminder.

A few years ago, when #1 Son was attending a small college in Virginia, outside a museum was a fountain. TLW (The Little Woman) was giving money to #2 Son to throw into the fountain and asked me for some change when she ran out. I was horrified that she would throw dimes, nickels and quarters away into a fountain! She laughed at me, and suggested I was cheap. When it comes to me, I am cheap. I never buy myself anything until people want to buy what I have as a collector’s item, so they can put it on EBay and sell it.

I stoop to remind myself that nothing should be wasted or taken for granted. I am not a rich man by far, but not poor by far also. I learned early on what it is to be without. A few years ago, I gave away a perfectly good car to some poor immigrant worker who was hard up, and wanted to buy it.

I never went away on a vacation until I went on my honeymoon! Dad didn’t make a whole lot of money, Mom stayed home so Dad could make a living and we were raised with a parent home at all times. TLW and I followed that course when we married and had kids. Especially since my daughter was born brain damaged, we had no choice. I always managed to provide.

I paid for my own education in college. I would rise at 4:00 in the AM, walk down to a train station and catch a 5:something train to Westbury. I hitched rides from the train station to school and back, and climbed the train to go home. I spent many days hungry because I didn’t have money to buy food and pay for books and art supplies or photo equipment at the same time. Some nights I worked after school, as well as on weekends. I had two jobs!

So, that penny I picked up this morning is nothing- nothing but symbolism.

NOW I REMEMBER, HUH?

It is happening more frequently now! I get up to do something, when I get to another room; I forget what it was I was supposed to do. I’m with a crowd of people, all of whom I know, I introduce one to another, and invariably, I draw a blank on a name.

Sometimes I tell myself: “Do “whatever” when you get back here, I get back, and forget to do “whatever”.

It is not just the mind. The body is “Misremembering” things also. I’m busy ripping up carpets, I’m on the floor and I can’t move! My arthritis takes over, and the pain makes it impossible to continue. When I was younger: I could go on all day, jumping, climbing getting up and down. Now I have to rest while doing things.

It is time for the dog track. Time to pick out a plot of land with my name on it carved in stone.

I can’t eat what I used to love to eat, the doctors wouldn’t allow it, speaking of which, I take medication twice a day. Topic of conversation at my age: arthritis, medical coverage, eyesight, hearing, and diet. It used to be: sex, food and refinishing some house project.

I think I’m now older than my Mother!

I’M STYMIED, OR LIFE IS A CONTRADICTION!

This is Blog # 700!

Today TLW (The Little Woman) told me I was buying her breakfast then we were going to a home finishing store to buy moulding and whatnots such as finishing nails, wood stain, brushes, sandpaper and wood putty to make my life miserable once again. She happened to notice a smile on my face at some point (only momentarily) and felt I had too much time on my hands.

As I have discussed before, she likes to win an argument with me by saying something is too ornate. (See Wednesday, April 30, 2008,
WHEN SHE SAYS; “NO!” BLOG.) What she means is she doesn’t like it, I had better not, also. Today we looked at the moulding, and I suggested something nice, but plain. “No, I want something more ornate.”

I sat down in the middle of the aisle, while painters, carpenters, plumbers and masons stepped over me. One asked another why I was crying, and the answer was; “He brought his wife with him.” The other responded; “I thought so.”

To all you young men out there who plan on getting married some day, this means my nephews; Marc and David and soon to be nephew Harry, DON’T TRY TO FIGURE HER OUT. Believe me, you are wasting your time. Just do what she asks, and you won’t wind up on the floor crying.

BEING BIG ON EARLY

I’ve always been a worrier. I worry about my kids, my wife, my dog, everyone but myself. My best friend and Best Man Phil, lives in Staten Island, Ii worry about him. #1 Son in California, worry that he lives alone, and I think he needs a wife to share his life with. #2 Son worries me that he will never get out. That for the rest of my life, #2 Son will be living with me and TLW (The Little Woman) and miss out on the time of his life. And of course, I worry about TLW. When she is out late, doing her volunteer Bingo for AHRC, I worry about her on the road at night.

TLW often zings me about being early. I never like to be late for anything. If the doctor’s say I only have ten minutes to live, then ten minutes it will be. All through my career, whenever there was a meeting scheduled, I was there on time, and usually the first one in the room. If I scheduled a meeting and someone was late, they got the word.

When I was working, especially the last 35 years, I was always the first one in. While others would come in at 8:45, 9:00 or even 10:00 AM, I would be at my desk, ready to deal with whatever came my way. I was usually ready to go at 6:00 AM, planning what needed to be done, listing the calls I needed to make, writing memos and leaving notes on people’s desk about some problem, I had with them. When #1 Son worked with me, we would travel in together and always arrive by at least 8:30, the latest. The boy needed his sleep.

At Board meetings, I am usually at the big table, coffee in hand, planning what I wanted to talk about.

I guess this all stems from the fact that I was born two days late! That was the last time. I makes me nuts because I was two days late from a major holiday, and couldn’t brag that all the fanfare was for me.

Wish I were the Late Joe Del Bloggolo? Get in line behind the potential merry widow, and write to; joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com, tell him: “You still alive? Or did you forget to lie down? That’s what it looks like.”

THE SMELL

You readers must be tired of hearing about this, but we are in the process of having the floors refinished. There is only one more application to go, and that is applied today.

The problem I’m having is I have a bit of a sore throat, and my sinuses are burning. This began before the floors were started, and continues as I write this. I think it is an infection, and those things take time.

Well with the application of the finish on the floors, it is really making the throat and sinuses worse, as the smell just hangs there in the air. Opening windows, skylights and doors just doesn’t seem to help. It is choking me.

I hear that it takes a long time for the smell to go away.

The floors look beautiful, like a gymnasium. I think I’ll hang some balloons and streamers and serve some punch, and have a senior prom here tonight. I could maybe sponsor the NBA finals here too.

The picture you see is of my recent visit to Timber Point Country Club. The people in it are: Dennis, TLW’s (The Little Woman) youngest Brother Dennis. His scanner challenged wife, the lovely Angela (Me Pisana), Steve his wife and TLW’s Oldest Sister , the lovely Maureen. Standing are: TLW and Lois, or Toots II from the wannabe bank.

AN OBSERVATION

The other day I was watching the News when #2 Son came by.

“Do you know that the new Governor has had some extra marital affairs?”
Me: “Yes, it was all over the news.”
#2 Son: Do you know why he got away with it?”
Me; “(Suspiciously) Because he’s black?”
#2 Son: “Nooo, because he’s blind!”

Now, I have known this kid all his life, and have even been convinced by TLW (The Little Woman) that he IS really my son, so I should know better that to go where he tries to lead me.

Me: “Because he’s blind?!”
#2 Son: “Yup, he didn’t know it wasn’t his wife.”

If you are a blind, cheating husband, and you have no conscience, this is a break through of sorts, you might want to jump on this right away.

I tried to apply the logic to the deaf, like myself:

Me: “ Yeah, I saw it wasn’t TLW, but it really did sound like her. I was confused.” How would that fly? Of course, I’d be speaking from the grave by then.

Wish I’d hurry up with the grave part? Then write to: joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com, tell him: “Here is a shovel, dig a hole about six feet deep, and call me when you are done.”

WHEN SHE SAYS; “NO!”

The other day TLW (The Little Woman) and I went to a major home improvement store to look at doors, and while we were at it, we visited a mirror section to find something to hang over our piano.

TLW: “That’s nice!”
Me: “Yup, it is nice. What about this?”
TLW: “NO!” (I happen to know it wasn’t pornographic.)
Me: “Uh…”
TLW: “I like this too.”
Me: “ Yes, what about this??”
TLW: “NO!” (Again, non pornographic)
Me: ” Why not?”
TLW: “Too ornate.”
Me: “Hmmm, you said that about a show I wanted to watch the other night.”

TLW has her opinions. Whether I like it or not, she is of her own mind. She doesn’t have to explain why she doesn’t like something, just give me: “It’s too ornate.” And I’m satisfied. She likes to talk to me in esthetics, she feels she is then not wasting her time, and I can recall my art history lessons, and the word; “ornate.”

She barely reached five feet tall, but packs a lot of punch. Never having to use it on me, she still is impressive by her adamant stance in a few words: “NO”, and the equally decisive; “Too ornate.”

Have we decided yet on something? Yes, too disagree.

Who wears the pants in the house? She does, mine are too ornate.

ALMOST THERE!

After back breaking work, cutting up carpet, removing the padding, the staples and nails, we see light at the end of the tunnel. No, it is not an onrushing locomotive, but a new day. Finishing up the painting with the 12 foot ceiling, I am done!

My arthritis is crippling and my arms and hands are tired. I don’t want to ever do that kind of work again. Years ago that is all I ever did. I completely renovated my old house, the living room, bathroom and kitchen, new walls and doors, plumbing and electricity, new rugs and floors. All myself, and had strength to do a little baseball with #1 Son afterward. Now I need strength to just watch the game.

Carlos comes today, to start finishing the floors, then in a few weeks Michael will put up the railing. Then I come along and put in the new molding and all is finished. We are almost there.

Yet, I look around, and the hallway needs a painting, the bedroom needs a painting and redecorating, as does the bathroom. When that is done, we look at the kitchen and dining room. Hey, before you know it, the hallway and living room will need new floors!

IT IS SO EASY TO REMEMBER

All you have to do is go into your photo albums, box of pictures and old VCR tapes to do so. What we took for granted becomes history. History becomes a memory, and memories seem to fade.

But without the benefit of pictures or cameras of any kind, I can remember my first day of school. My older sister took me by the hand, and that first September morning, before going into the Kindergarten Classroom. Under the Broadway Junction El, that overshadowed Our Lady Of Lourdes schoolyard, purchased for me a small container of chocolate milk and a small package of Oreo cookies.

That first day in the class room, I recall the large Mr. Sun on the wall, smiling down at me, the cow jumping over the moon, and the introduction of musical instruments I had never seen before.

I recall the first day of using puzzles, large pieces that fit easily into one another, and coloring with the big, thick crayons that Sister gave out.

I recall the afternoon naps, and waiting in my seat for my Mom and Aunt to come get me from my first day, and just about every day there after. I particularly recall them waiting in the classroom, with strollers and my being very excited to see them. The Sister with life and death authority over both children and parents, as both waited for the: “OK”.

It was all a new world to me, going out beyond my third floor walkup apartment and seeing new people, places and things.

But then came that second year. First Grade, and old Miss Langon, the scourge of first graders. And she had it out for me. Suddenly there were no puzzles, or crayons or musical instruments! She must have been in her nineties, unmarried, and hated anything male. She yelled, threatened and smacked us on the hand with a 12” ruler, because we were: “bold, brazen chatterboxes!”

She died the next year when I was in Second Grade, and live with the guilt that maybe I wished she would have.

OUT OF THE NIGHT…

When the full moon is bright, comes a craftsman known as Michael. That is Michael Simone, rail master, banister maven and screw free-er upper.

TLW (The Little Woman) was right again! God, what would I do without her? Michael came around 8 P.M., after a long day of other jobs, and in half an hour, all the screws were picked out cleanly, and the railings ready to be moved for the floor sander, Carlos.

What looked like a disaster looming became nothing more than a nightmare, followed by a sunny morning with a good breakfast. It’s good to listen to TLW. What Michael did was bring a screwdriver that you hammer into the screw, as it hits the head of the screw, it turns in one motion. What this does then is to loosen the screw, and you then can ply it out.

Well, I hope now to get on with lifting up the rug and waiting for Carlos and Michael to do their magic.

When all this work is completed, this blog can then go back to the more important issues in life, like my comforts and very fair opinions of life as I see it.

IF I MAY BE SERIOUS FOR A CHANGE

Recently I received an email from Jack Stern, mentor in the business of direct mail, and the guy that gave me my first chance. To say I owe him a lot is to say too little about him. Those years that I spent working with him were magical, wonderful and filled with happiness. He is just a great guy.

The subject of the email was an appeal to contribute to the SUSAN G. KOMEN FOR THE CURE. It seems that Jack’s lovely wife Helen fought the battle against breast cancer, and unfortunately, she lost. But she did win support and more love than one would imagine in times like those.

A number of years ago, I lost my aunt, my Mother’s sister to the disease, and it is a cold, numbness that overtakes people when they lose someone to that horror. I know you all must know of someone who suffers or suffered from breast cancer, so I am not alone, just like you.

The fear I have is I have a Daughter, Mom, four beautiful sisters, and three beautiful sisters-in-law that might God forbid get that terrible affliction. It goes beyond saying the fear for TLW (The Little Woman), and all the wonderful women I know in my life. I hope I never hear of such a thing again, but who knows.

I don’t know what groups are out there, that are waging a war against breast cancer, but we shouldn’t hesitate to help them in their battle. NO ONE IS IMMUNE FROM THE HURT OF LOSING SOMEONE TO THIS DISEASE!

Please, for your sake alone, contribute. If you have ever lost anyone, contribute. Look on line and find one that fights the good fight and contribute. Be part of the solution. I don’t think it matters what you give, every bit helps. Thanks. I know one in eight women will thank you too.

BRILLIANT IDEA!

After buying special tools, a visit by MMB (My Man Bill) and looking it up on the Internet, TLW (The Little Woman) came up with the best approach to my problem of the screws in the staircase. Call the guy that will put in the railing. He must run into this problem! Now ladies, when this guy comes over to work, I know he is very handsome, so please stay away and let him work.

Well the wall with the new coat of prime is finished. A prime coat and three subsequent coats after it is done! Now I have to pick up the rug in a few days, when the walls are fully dried from the fresh paint.

Maybe now I can get back to my book again for a while, anyway.

Yesterday I went to the Timber Point C.C., for Staff Appreciation day. Sitting on the huge patio overlooking both the Great South Bay and the golf course, I took in the beautiful blue-sky, coral waters and happy faces on green grass as I waited for the festivities to start. The appetizers were leftover from Saturday night’s fundraiser where I won all the football stuff.

To see these wonderful people, some with the agency for 5 years and one lovely woman who is with the agency for 35 years, all doing something very special. Helping make people’s lives better and filled with dignity. A truly great staff, and appreciated by the Board of Directors.

http://www.weddingsitesandservices.com/New_York/ReceptionSites/SuffolkCounty_LongIsland/New_York/GreatRiver/TimberPointCountryClub.html

IT IS LIKE CHRISTMAS MORNING!

As you well know by now, I am painting my living room. It is a big job, ceilings that go way up and walls, which follow the ceiling way up.

I painted the ceiling and three of the four walls, including the window and baseboards, all one color. I must say, a great job. I decided to paint the far wall a cranberry red to match the fabric in the couch and chairs. TLW (The Little Woman) got me some paint, and in my feeling eager to finish and full of pep, I started the wall. A disaster! The paint was not applying right, leaving odd color shapes. As I said yesterday, I needed to prime the wall but didn’t. So I went to bed exhausted, thinking I have to prime that darn wall and paint it again.

I awoke this morning and headed toward the living room, and what greets me but a primed wall! Overnight the paint fairy came and primed my wall. I never believed in fairies before, but now I do. I went down to the kitchen, and TLW is washing the paint pan and bushes that the paint fairy used!

I hear the paint fairy is beautiful, with a kind heart and married to a dumb ass. I couldn’t thank the paint fairy because she is not around, but I did thank TLW, so maybe she will pass it on when she sees the paint fairy.

From what I could tell, the paint fairy painted around 4:30 am and was done by 6:30 am. What do you get your paint fairy to show your appreciation? Dinner? Jewelry? I have to think long and hard on this one.

Let’s face it, TLW is the best. Thanks sweety, I love you.

GEE, THANKS!

I got a bunch of responses on the comments, emails and calls with suggestions in dealing with the screw problem. Before I try any of them, I will try the tool TLW (The Little Woman) got me first. Thanks especially to MMB (My Man Bill) who called to offer his help. A finer neighbor there isn’t.

Today was a long day. I painted my living room, with a 12-foot high ceiling that slopped down to 8 feet. The painting was time consuming and always reminds me of my Dad, and the projects he used to get to make a few extra bucks.

Apparently you really need to prime a wall if you use a dark color, otherwise it looks like a mess. I know, because it happened to me. After two coats and no prime, I now have learned to prime. Something my Dad taught me, and I can hear him now, yelling at me for not doing it. I assume that yelling is from heaven. I hope.

It seemed in my high school years, Dad always had a side job to do, and I was his assistant, whether I wanted to be or not. Many a night and weekend was spent painting signs, or rooms for someone, and I earned a little extra money, while bonding with Dad.

I missed those days, the bonding, learning how to do something, enjoying his stories about when he was a kid, or just talking baseball. Dad always made it interesting for me. Although I was expected to work, he made sure it wasn’t a total drag. Of course I got all the grunt work, while he got all the glamour parts or cushiony work.

The short video is sent by my brother-in-law Tom from Connecticut. Thanks Tom.

OH NO! I’M SCREWED!

I have started to remove the railing on the steps, when I discover that the darn thing has flat head screws that won’t come out. If you try, you strip the grove for the flat head screwdriver and you really make it hard. I don’t know what I am going to do to get the darn screws out! You might say I’m screwed.

I already started the spackling and cleaning, and was hoping to clean before I start to paint. I have all the paint, and tools to begin. I must move the piano down the 5 steps to get the floor cleared so I can paint, the sander can do his magic, and then the wooden rail installer can finish up. I got a couple of estimates about moving the piano. They range from $350 on up! I finally found one for $65! $65! They came and did the job perfectly!

But those screws! What do I do? I only have a day tops to figure it out and get the railing down. I bought these screw extractors from Sears, but they don’t seem to do the trick. If anyone has any ideas on how I can do it, PLEASE, PLEASE let me know. Thanks.

Desperate in Holbrook.

WOW!!!

Last evening I got ready to go to a fundraiser that I had no interest in except that John Schmitt, center for the 1968-69 Super Bowl Champions, the New York Jets would be there. Being how I have an aversion for nuns, and there would be many, I went anyway to see a “Hero” of mine from that magical season. It compares to the 1955 Brooklyn Dodger and 1969 New York Mets World Series victories.

Going that evening were TLW (The Little Woman), Lois her look alike and stand-in at the wanna-be bank where they work, Tlw’s siblings and spouses. There were Maureen and Steve, her sister and brother-in-law, and Dennis and Angela, her brother and sister-in law.

The place was the Timber Point C.C., where the appetizers and cocktails were the best, but the dinner was terrible. In spite of the food, we had a rollicking good old time with my Pisana Angela in her quest to reform me. She currently has trouble with scanner covers, but that is another blog someday.

They came around selling tickets for a “silent auction” which I did not want to buy into, but TLW made me do it. I never win these things.

John Schmitt gave a beautiful talk about his career and his debt to the nuns that taught him. He is a wonderful speaker, and spoke from his heart and soul. After his speech, I went over to the table where the auction was being held and along with Lois, we placed our tickets with what we wanted. I choose a baseball package and a football package.

Back to the table I go to find out that Lois knows John Schmitt personally, and spoke with him. They start to read out the numbers, and lo and behold (what does that mean?) I win the football package. What do I win? An autographed football of Hall-of-Famer Joe Namath of the Jets, and an autographed book by Terry Bradshore of the Super Bowl Champion Pittsburg Steelers, two autographed photos of Emerson Boozer of the Super Bowl III Jets, and a beautiful NY Jets Jersey.

Wow! I’m on cloud nine, as I can’t get up to the podium fast enough to claim my prize. I collect it, and as we are leaving the event, I mention to Lois how I would love to get John Schmitt to autograph the football. She says: “Good idea, lets go get him to.” The man is very gracious, not only signing it, but put my name on it too!

WHEN JESUS COMES AKNOCKIN…

I just keep on rockin.

Yes, be it God or the Son of God, he calls and I listen. Most of his calling has come through either my Mom or TLW (The Little Woman). I often think that God or Jesus has a special place for me. Hell. So, I try to worm my way out of it.

Mom was very adamant about religion; you went to church, confession and parochial school, and if you complained, you became an altar boy. I did all that and more. Not only did she have the backing of the Vatican, the school principle, my teacher and the priest, she also had a wooden spoon. Although I learned my cussing from my Dad, I couldn’t put it in practice until I was out on the street. Dad’s eloquence in Italian cursing inspired me and to this day, whenever I swear off, I think of dear old Dad. But Dad was never one for religion. He would give me money to put in the collections, then turn over and go back to sleep.

As I got older, my younger sisters join the “holy orders” that Mom issued. With four sisters, it looked like a training ground for the nunnery. They all went to parochial school, either in Brooklyn or later on Long Island.

My first Mass as an altar boy was served on a Sunday morning. After months of training and learning to pray in Latin, the Priest said; “I’m probably going to regret this, but you are ready.” He was a very holy man, named Father Walsh, kind, gentle and unsuspecting. He teamed me up with three veterans to cover any mistakes I might make. The church, St. Joseph the Worker in East Patchogue, NY, was an old mission church used in the summer, which turned into a full-blown parish. The church was filled with all my relatives. My Grandmother from Brooklyn, (who was auditioning for sainthood herself, along with Mom), and all my aunts and uncles, cousins and any neighbors I did favors for were all in attendance, along with the home grown convent of four sisters. My job that Sunday was to stand there, kneel there, genuflect there, and answer in Latin there, but DO NOT IN ANY CIRCUMSTANCE WAVE AND SAY “HI THERE!” To anyone I might recognize.

Things were perfect for Mom. The weather was bright, sunny and warm. All were in attendance that needed to be, and Mom’s halo was perched perfectly over her head, crowning her well-combed do. Dad by the time Mass had started, had his tie unknotted, was squirming around in his seat, looking more scared than I was, after all, his Mother was in attendance, and the four nuns sat quietly as good nuns would.

The priest was Father Jeremiah J. Dineen, pastor, and enforcer of his and God’s will. Make a mistake, and you will be serving at your own funeral Mass. He was not expected, but there he was, ready with contempt on his lips for any novice that morning. “WHAT IS THAT NOISE?’ “Sorry Father, that is my knees knocking together,”

A DAY WITH BIG SISTER

Yesterday was a beautiful day in terms of the weather and activity. My much older sister and me spent the day taking care of business for Mom’s 90th birthday.

It started by my calling her and her answering: “I was expecting this call.” I guess you could say it was a lot like her saying: I have to pay my bills, or taxes. I have to plan my will, or I have to go to the dentist for root canal work.

I met her at TLW’s (The Little Woman) place of business, the wanna-be bank, a credit union. I drove over and found TLW with all her cronies, sitting around doing nothing! Yes, that’s right, nothing. They all gathered around and listened to my conversation with TLW. It just so happened to be quiet when I got there, there were no customers, or “members” except me.

Said my “hello” to one and all, when my much older sister came in and I introduced her to everyone but TLW. I think TLW may be miffed at my much older sister because she never warned TLW about me before we married. That is perfectly understandable.

Off we went to Port Jefferson to pay the restaurant for the party on May 10. On the way, we caught up with the latest family news and events, while laughing at all silliness as I see it. My Tourette’s of the brain kicked in, and it didn’t seem to stop.

We get to the restaurant and the very stern looking woman is sitting at the reception desk, fully in charge. She looks up asks what we want. “Do you have an appointment?” I answer in the negative and tell her I want to pay off a bill. “Oh, what kind of an affair is it?” I tell her, and all of a sudden, an appointment isn’t necessary.

A very nice gentleman comes by, and escorts us into the restaurant and seats us in the empty restaurant, a part of the huge country club complex. We eye the Italian desserts, the ones calling out my name, (all of them, they say: “ Giuseppe), but I stick to business. TLW had given me a large sum of cash and four cents to pay in full. The man reads the receipt and says: “Ah, 90. That’s nice! God is so good!” I give him the large bills, he counts it and I then try to give him the 4 cents, which he scoffs at and goes off to the cash register. I think: “Yeah, God id so good; IF you own this place. In my neighborhood he ain’t winning friends that easily!”

Leaving the place, we decide to do a little sightseeing in the local area where we had spotted a few homes we admired as we passed. The places were of palatial proportions and well constructed. Newly minted mansions and old collector’s dreams that were both worth multi-millions. Yup, God is good.

But God is good, he gave me the opportunity to spend some time with my much older sister, and we had a very nice lunch to cap the day.

Wish God was real good and took this blog and cast it into hell? Then go complain to the Pope, who is in town this week.

IT LOOKS LIKE HELL…

Ravaged by the never-ending quest for improvement, the battlefield looks like hell. Dust and destruction lie everywhere. Rooms guttered and striped bare. The gaunt look of despair and sacrifice of comforts, a cold testament of the carnage yet to come.

Iraq? Maybe, but I’m talking about home. My home. The living room is slowly becoming a ghost room of echoes past. The hallway striped of its flooring and comfort of the rug. All gone. Only the whispers of happy voices when there were no floor sanders to hire, or rail installers to negotiate with. When rugs had a permanency, and the stupid dog didn’t piss on the rugs.

And as I look about outside, I see the ominous signs of spring. The brickwork haunts and taunts me with its little green weeds. Weeds defiantly wave at me, daring me to extricate them with my sore back. MMB (My Man Bill) toils away in his front yard, spreading topsoil and planting seeds for a lawn. My own lawn people, orders barked in Spanish, as they move across the property, blowing and sweeping and gathering the visages of winter past, as they sweep through my wallet one more time, and many more times to come.

There are weddings, weddings and more weddings to come. Gathering into the future like a storm on the horizon, threatening to blow me away with gale force winds, sweeping through my wallet, leaving devastation and weeping on my part.

The pool, covered with the tarp, leaves gathered, sitting in puddles, a mute testimony that the pool man cometh. He too, will take a chunk of my wallet, and will happily plan his winter vacation. And do I get a postcard? No, I get a bill and an estimate for next years aqua fest.

And, so I must move on. Shouldering my burdens, I will travel the trail of sorrow and money spent. I will look at all the neighbors, who won’t be spending money this spring, and say: “You lucky bastards.”

P.S. That's me in college.

Need solace and comfort from this blog? Write to: joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com. Tell him; “God, I need a break from you, go away!”

HUMORING YOUR STRESS

One of the joys of life is keeping quiet. Not telling anyone what you are thinking, not to offend anyone. I often say I have Tourette’s syndrome of the brain, in that as things develop, I think things I wouldn’t repeat. It is funny stuff, but I wouldn’t repeat it.

Going through life, I find myself in funny situations, difficult ones and the kind I wish to just forget. I have gotten into the same section of a revolving door with a little old lady because I wasn’t paying attention. I’ve dropped things, and then kicked them more than once in trying to retrieve them, sometimes clear across a room. I’ve gotten my sleeve caught on a door handle on the way out of a meeting, and tried to look like it wasn’t a big deal. Meanwhile I felt like a jerk, and once, to the amusement of my older sister, at a funeral procession out of the funeral parlor, I walked into a glass window, because (you guessed it) I wasn’t paying attention.

Nuns for taking photos have yelled at me because she didn’t want me to take them. (Great photos by the way!) Once I tried to get a remote I dropped while in bed. This was after a double by-pass and a heart monitor on me that sent the whole Cardiac staff into my room, thinking I was having a heart attack!

TLW (The Little Woman) ordered a great DVD called: “Humor Your Stress” that is presented by a very funny lady named Loretta LaRoche. It is very funny, speaking to the daily stress that we encounter in our lives, and how to deal with it in a positive way. It is an hour of hilarity, and everyone should view it. It takes you to a new way to thinking in face-to-face confrontation with stress.

TLW is not a laugher, I cannot get her to laugh at anything unless I fall down and break my neck! That she finds funny, but she recommended this to me, and she laughed with me for a second time!

Wish I’d fall down and break my neck so I can’t write these blogs? Then write to: joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com. Give me some suggestions how.

DOING TIME

Yesterday we had a visit from Carlos. Carlos is my floor finisher. Carlos has a wealth of experience and a good price. We like Carlos. With the money we over-estimated for the floors, TLW (The Little Woman) will scratch her palms and think of another project to do with it.

TLW loves change. She will re-paint or clean anything that doesn’t move, and will start at 4:00 A.M.! I shudder to think what she would be like if she drank caffeinated coffee.

I on the other hand, like sedation. I thrive on it, and wish sometimes to be sedated. When I get up in the morning, I carefully look about. If I hear banging, moving of furniture or any kind of scrubbing, I try to climb out of the upstairs window. Trouble is I can’t go far without my pants.

After Carlos left last night, TLW was thrilled by his estimate, and said how “excited” she was. She sounded like Eva Longoria lusting over her Carlos. Well remember that Carlos is now blind on the show.

TLW loves change. I was once in a very dangerous situation where she was conferring with my oldest sister who adores change. My older sister has changed her house so often, my brother-in-law had too put all the interior walls on wheels. When the two of them get together, TLW and Older Sis, it can make for a combustible situation. What happens is I am so broke that I burn my wallet because I don’t need it anymore!

Well, the floor man Carlos comes, then Mike the rail man, then I need a carpenter for some new doors that will be hung, and TLW will walk around with a smile on her face, a lilt in her voice, and a bounce in her step. I, on the other hand will walk around with a pained expression, guteral gurgitation and a limp from a sore back. I have to remove the rugs and paint, not to mention moving all the furniture and molding.

Wish I’d shut up? Write to: joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com. Tell me: “Hey, bone head, just do it.”

IT JUST WON’T GO AWAY

For the past week, I’ve had a stomach virus that will not go away! It started last week on Tuesday and there is still a residual bit left. TLW (The Little Woman) caught it Saturday, and although feeling better, has it too.

It puts a damper on a good time, unfortunately. Yesterday, in spite of my GPS, TLW, and her look a-like Lois, (Toots II) and I drove to Jo Ellen and Seth’s home for a lovely dinner. The food was great but we couldn’t eat much because of the left over virus. We are not sick, just recovering from what is left. On the way from Lois’s home, I used my GPS to get me to Jo Ellen and Seth’s home. The darn thing takes me to a road and tells me to make a right. There is NO right hand turn there. “Redirecting” it, tells me to make a left. Again, there is NO left turn there! “Redirecting-drive 4.2 miles” and as we do, we run smack into a Little League parade! It stops a four lane major artery and we sit there for what seems an eternity. Dead in the water! Little children in colorful uniforms, parade by with banners, balloons, bands and fire trucks, while the police hold up the traffic. The urge was to yell: “Get the ^#%$**^$%# out of the)&(%* way, you little ()*&$^I^*&%)*(‘s!

Next weekend is the Fund-raiser for the Sisters of Halifax. I’ve had their cod, but never in Halifax. TLW and her clan with spouses will be camped at my domicile and along with Lois will venture to Timberlake C.C. for the dinner.

I’m still finishing up the minor details for the big 90th birthday bash at Lombardi’s on the Sound on May 10th.

Wish that I’d go away? Then write to: joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com, tell him: “Hey, go away.”

I AM HIGH MAINTENANCE

Every morning when I get dressed, I go through a whole array of goodies that I NEED.

I carry with me a photo holder, as I can best describe it. It is a leather covered grommet encased multi-photo holder. The size is about as large as a wallet photo. What do I need that for? I keep all my acquired business cards that I get. Important ones for the local Chinese takeout, doctor cards, appointment cards, and medication listings for when I have to tell someone like a new doctor what I take and how much, or when. This holder has a pocket on each side to allow me to carry hearing aid batteries and toothpicks.

Everyone needs a wallet. So do I. I carry my cash and phone numbers without names to them. This is a hobby of mine. I used to be able to call these numbers with impunity, and if someone answered that I liked, I would speak. If not, I could hang up and scratch off the number. Now, with caller ID, I can’t do that. I also carry an array of credit cards TLW (The Little Woman) insists I carry. I never use them, and they pile up, so that when I do need one, the one I choose is expired. I wind up looking like some deadbeat to a merchant. Hey, I don’t check dates of expiration; I just take what TLW gives me and follow orders.

Writing a blog requires my needing a notebook with a pen. I don’t carry pencils; I like to make permanent notes. Not only notes are taken down. If I’m too lazy to put a phone number in my wallet, the notebook is handy. It also helps when I want to remember a web site.

Then there is my date book, and an electronic date book that I carry sometimes. I need yesterday’s change, and any valuable slips of paper I have for later reference, not to mention a cell phone that I never leave on. This keeps up, and I get a pocket book like TLW.
So, if you see me walking with a limp, fear not, it is only me fully dressed. Here is the kicker for me. What the hell do I need any of that stuff if I’m retired, and don’t go far anyway?

Wish I’d go far? Further away from this computer and writing this insipid blog? Then write to: joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com. Tell him: “Why don’t you find the KonTiki and take a trip across the Pacific with it?”

OK, I KNOW I’M GETTING OLD, BUT…

The photo is a cell phone shot of some of the Fab5 out in LA. They are MFF (My Favorite Fan, Laura), #1 Son (The Kid) Pete DaTeacher, and MinnesotaPete. Nice looking crew, No? There are no miss spellings in DelBloggololand.

I had my first senior moments for real yesterday! I actually had to call my older sister to tell me the names of some of the members of my own family.

It started when I was putting together a card for my Mother’s birthday bash, and I wanted to include all her children, grandchildren and great grand children. Included in this group are a few fiancés, boy and girl friends and of course, all the spouses that married into the family.

Well for some reason I started to draw blanks. (Actually blanks are not hard to draw, they look just like regular bullets), but I couldn’t put it in gear.

How often have I gone to complete meltdown when introducing people to others, and I forget names! “George, this is uh… ah… er MOM, yes, Mom.” Well maybe not that bad but you get my drift. Speaking of which I have drifted away from what I had intended to do, and didn’t remember until three in the morning laying awake in bed.

I would tie a string around my finger, but two things prevent that. One, #2 Son takes all the string, so I can never find any, and Two, I would forget why I have a string around my finger in the first place.

Wish I could tie the string around my neck and pull tight? Then write to: joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com. Tell him: “I’d gladly send you some rope, if you promise to follow my instructions.”

WAITING LONG ENOUGH TAKES TIME.

I was putting off writing today’s blog for a want to write about something, and it finally hit me: Mom and her card! I am trying to say all there is to say in a card that has sentiment and fun.

I am currently working on the card for my Mom’s 90th birthday on May 10th. The trouble with that is I have to walk a fine line between being appropriate and having fun.

My Mother is like potluck, wrapped in a lasagna, encased in a string of her braggiola.

All our lives her five children believed in the Immaculate Conception, and if you witnessed how she acted, you would think so too. I have old family photos of her standing in front of religious statues. One photo shows her just sitting and thinking. I want to add to the photo a caption: “Five! Five Immaculate Conceptions! What do I do for an encore?”


All of the lessons I learned from her stem from Catholic School or attending Mass. How to behave in other words. Trouble with that for me was I learned my other lessons from my Dad; usually swear words in Italian that would fit various situations. Mom would just undo what Dad did. Somehow, I don’t know for sure if Mom succeeded. You should really ask TLW (The Little Woman).

Of course, my sisters never had those problems. I suspect they were all adopted. It would explain a lot.

Looking back at all the photos, Immaculate Conception or no Immaculate Conception, I was always playing with fire, on the verge of getting smacked down into the jaws of hell for my behavior. When I reached the age of reason, about 35, I realized that if I were good, I’d get chocolate cake. Now when I’m good, all I get are the same old 100 calories snacks from TLW. It comes with 1% milk.

And so, back to the memories, of wooden spoons, warnings, a few “Wait till your father comes home’ and my favorite: “I hope you have kids just like you.”

Amen

PS That’s me crying on the swing. Mom told me I was on the down swing. Also, I apologize for the dirty cartoon and the Chris Rock thing, ladies.