THE TAX MAN COMETH

Every month he comes for lunch and every month he has me laughing at the inanity of the US Government, and the stupidity of the US taxpayer. It seems the IRS is like a little child that if it doesn’t get its way will pout and stamp its feet. On the other hand there is the taxpayer who is always scheming to circumvent the rules and regulations of the tax codes.

A FULL MOON

Bill works an hour a day talking to people on the phone as part of his job. Occasionally he writes letters as a result of his conversations on the phone. Sometimes he overhears other agents of the IRS speaking to taxpayers who don’t wish to listen to what is being said. This amuses Bill because all this exchange is usually where the taxpayer wants to claim people they have no right to claim: or own a business that is not legally paying taxes and have just been found out and pretend they didn’t know.

One story he told me was about a man who disputed that he owed the IRS $75. Bill took his call, and the man was adamant and rude. But Bill, never losing his cool, said he would investigate the man’s claim. A week later Bill called the man back and said: “You’re right, we did make a mistake!” The man had triumph in his voice. “You mean I don’t owe the IRS $75!” “Yes”, said Bill, “We made an awful mistake, you owe $7,500!”

More often than not, at night is the busiest time for the IRS as far as incoming phone calls are concerned. It usually takes 45 minutes before your call is taken, and if you are angry and impatient and hang up, you only prolong the agony. Often when taxpayers get annoyed, Bill suggests that they hang up and try another agent: “Even though you will get the same results!” he insists. This will usually bring the caller back to reality.

The glee in Bill’s voice was comical as he relates these stories to me over lunch. He then goes into an imitation of the taxpayer and by now I am crying, laughing so hard I am drawing attention to myself.

If you ever need to talk to someone at the IRS at night, make sure you listen carefully to his first name, because I may be hearing a story about you in the future. But don’t worry, he never uses names, just adjectives followed by taxpayer.

IT WAS A WIDE FAMILY AND NOISY.

In today’s world it seems that all the luster, glitter and gleam is somehow gone. There are fewer celebrations with the whole family: as I get older. I guess because we are all having our own grandchildren now, we lose touch with the old clan.

Years ago when I was growing up, we as a family invited all the relatives to celebrate an occasion, either a wedding or religious event. These celebrations were centralized because it was the only place to go, my grandmothers rather extra large kitchen in Brooklyn.

As I mentioned yesterday, they came from far and wide, and we did enjoy seeing each other. We dressed for the occasion and ate well.

It seems that Grandma Frances took on all the cooking herself, and her daughters and daughter-in-laws all were expected to chip into the preparation of the food, with Grandma’s direction.

If you made your first communion, after the ceremony, it was off to Grandma’s house for the celebration, where a BIG fuss was made over you. You couldn’t take off the fancy togs and you stayed dress and stiff as a board with the admonishment: “Don’t get dirty!” People like aunts and uncles and grandparents would slip you a buck or two, raise their index finger to their lips and you slipped it into your pocket. That is except my older sister (much older) Tess. She would put on a monumental epic struggle to resist such gifts, about a half a second worth and then take the cash.

Tessie is about to present me flowers for being her brother!

Since money was no object to me (I never had any), this was a great thing! The trick was to keep it, not spend it in front of anyone and keep it quiet that I had any. We were not allowed to accept money like that because… well because… I’ll get back to you on that.

You usually got your name scribed on a cake that said: “Congratulations Joseph”, providing your name WAS Joseph or they would use your actual name.

Now that I think about it, I had cheap relatives, giving me a buck and not buying me a present.

That’s what happens when you get nostalgic!

GRANDPA RALPH

For some strange reason I was thinking about my grandfather, my dad’s father, Grandpa Ralph. To us kids he was Grandpa: to Grandma Frances he was Raphael.

ONE OF THE FEW TIMES WITHOUT HIS HAT!

Grandpa was a very calm man, never said much, but when he did, everybody would pause for the moment and then continue on in life. He was a handsome man, who wore a moustache all his life. In fact, when he was born my great grandfather is rumored to have said: “Che cosa è quella cosa sotto il suo naso?”

Grandpa was Grandma’s husband, handyman and doer of all chores. Grandpa tried to avoid grandma whenever possible.

Grandpa had a grey fedora he wore, it seemed like every moment of every day. I think he was born in it. In fact, it is rumored that my great grandfather once said when grandpa was born: “Da dove quel cappello è venuto?”

OUR LADY OF LORETTO

Every Sunday Grandma would go to church at Our Lady of Loretto on Sackman Street in Brooklyn. That’s “A Sackaman Streeet, a Brookaleen” as she would say. Grandpa did his praying too. While Grandma prayed for deliverance from the evils of the world, Grandpa prayed that she would leave him alone for ten minutes. So while Grandma was in church, Grandpa was next door at the Republican Club-playing poker.

One Easter Sunday as was the custom, the whole clan gathered on Fulton Street for Easter dinner at Grandma’s house. It was never Grandpa’s house, always Grandma’s house. They came from Hull Street, Coney Island and Patchogue, NY, all dressed in our Sunday best, all expecting to eat hearty and listen to tales of Italy, Naples and Bari. The men would gather after dinner to play cards and the ladies gossip while the cousins all congregated in the long hallway to play.

This one Sunday dinner was almost ready, but no one could find Grandpa! Grandma was stirring the big pasta pot and ordered one of the kids to go next door to the Republican Club and get Grandpa and tell him to she said to come NOW!

Just then Dad started to relate to me a story about Grandpa.

It seems it was a Sunday long ago and dad was about 10-years old, and Grandpa was missing as dinner was about to be served. Grandma sent Dad out to get Grandpa from the Republican Club to quit his card game and come home to diner.

Dad followed orders and went searching for Grandpa, found him like Grandma said, holding his cards close to his vest a Napoli cigar stuck in his mouth, a shot of whiskey on the table next to his red, white and blue chips. Dad relayed the info from Grandma and went home. No Grandpa shows up!

Grandma is furious and tells Dad to go once more and get Grandpa, and tell him he better come because she means business. Off Dad goes, returns and still no grandpa!

Grandma makes a phone call and waits by the front door. This is the late twenties, when a paddy wagon comes and raids the Republican Club. She goes outside and stands there watching as the police lead out the gamblers one at a time. Out comes Grandpa, who says: “Francesca, dice loro che sono il vostro marito.” (Frances, tell them I’m your husband.)

The police ask Grandma if she knows who he is and will she take him home.

“I’ma sorry officer, I’ma no know him.”

Grandpa always came immediately after that.

SOME DAYS IT DOESN’T PAY TO GET UP!

One morning this week I was called upon by Mom to get her a gift card for her boy toy, and a birthday card.

“Make sure it is a religious card, we exchange religious cards.”

I pour a thermos of coffee and out I go to the card store, but decide first to get a bagel to go with my coffee. I buy the buttered bagel and take a sip of coffee when suddenly the coffee is escaping from under the lid onto my shirt. I have to drive back home and change my shirt!

TLW (The Little Woman) is leaving for the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Co. and is in her car as I start to come out, carrying a new thermos of coffee in my left hand while opening the screen door and with my right hand reaching behind the front door to lock it. My left hand fumbles and the coffee shoots out of the thermos and onto the glass storm door! I have to now go back and get a sponge and clean the glass.

In I go, get the sponge and wipe it clean toss the sponge back into the sink and go out again and notice TLW wasn’t leaving yet. Squinting into the sun I see she is laughing at me, and as I approach her car she rolls down her window but can’t get the words out from laughing at me.

Ignoring her fun, I go to the card store and start to read cards for Mom’s boy toy. I can’t find a religious card! No one is religious when it comes to birthdays. Funny, obscene, corny, but no religious cards are the only themes available. I settle on a card and hope she doesn’t send me out again.

I arrive at Mom’s house and she is waiting for me at the door.

Entering the house I hand her the card.

“Oh! She reads OH! She smiles. OH, This is very nice, where is my religious card?

“Ma, there are no religious birthday cards!”

She squnches her fingers together and says:

“What’s coming to this world?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her about Palm Sunday and me.

WHAT IS THE MEASURE OF THE MAN?

Being able to read her handwriting, that is what the measure of the man is. It is a continuous problem, reading TLW (The Little Woman’s) handwriting!

The other evening started easily enough until we started to talk to each other.

“Joe, I need you to create the covers for the books for my class. I wrote down the names for you to personalize each book. Every one of the 15 except one will make their communion on May 5^th, one will make it on May 12^th!”

“You want me to spell her name backwards?”

“Now these are the real names-that’s LoriMartha, just as it is spelled, don’t correct it and don’t add spaces. And this name is correct too: Ztrg”

“Who names their kid Ztrg?”

“It’s a cultural thing”

“What culture names their kid Ztrg?”

Handing me her hand written list I try to read the first name.

TLW's INSTRUCTIONS IN CASE OF A FIRE

“I can’t read this! Looks like ‘L-c-t…”

TLW comes over, takes the list as I ask:

“Do you ever print?”

She says: “I don’t know, I write for all my members?”

“And you wonder why they are so grouchy. You know I can’t take anymore notes you write to me to the pharmacist to interpret with buying some medications.”

And so another year has come and gone, another set of books for little kids and another argument nipped in the bud by her hand-printing .

TLW is a lefty, a southpaw, if she was a pitcher she’d make a lot of money, but she is a wife, a mother, a platform lady at the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss company, who writes like a doctor!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TLC (THE LOVELY COURTNEY)

We love you,

Joe, Ellen and Michael

AIN'T SHE GORGEOUS?

ANOTHER OLD MAN LUNCH

An old colleague and former writer friend of mine, Bill, were business partners until we retired and now meet every month over lunch. We go to the same place and take our time, laughing silly about life in general. It used to be we talked business and had a game face we wore as we created sweepstakes and marketing packages for the ages.

Now that we are no longer in the midst of creativity and problem solving, a calm has descended upon us and we laugh like little boys. It’s funny how change of focus can take over your whole demeanor! We always got along, but it was business, then we decided to let our hair down, what was left of it.

Bill is married to a resident associate professor at a New England University, who runs the theatre department, putting on Broadway type productions, and has many years experience in the field. This has lent itself to Bill’s world and he in turn has lent it to me.

What happened at lunch was the strangest thing! Here I was having a conversation about theatre and enjoying it. I am not a theatre person in that I go more than once or twice a year! But when I do go I love it. No, I don’t whistle show tunes, but I really appreciate these numbers that are done every day by the talented actors and dancers and even musicians that participate in these productions. Since the high school production of Hairspray I recently witnessed, and then Bill meeting me for lunch, we were bound to have this conversation. Bill lives just a short train ride from Broadway and goes every month almost.

But the world of theatre as witnessed by a true theater lover like Bill, with intimate knowledge, gave me a wonderful education in many aspects of the world of theatre and the writers of both the music and plays and the marriage of both.

I never knew that the music is arranged and the writing to fit in some instances, or that some plays written by great writers have a method of script they use. Did you know it is very hard to open a great play, with great music and writing and without a star have it succeed? It seems that tourist drive the success of Broadway. If there is no star, there will be no tourist visiting the show, and that causes an early closing of the doors.

I guess it always pays to sit and listen.

A WORLD OF CHANGE

Way back in the day, things seemed to be very different on a daily basis. Your life was less complicated, expectations were cut and dried, and you knew the limits of conversation. Today all the conventionalism is thrown out the window, and maybe for the better, sometimes.

I recall anyone traveling on a plane or to work wore clothes that made you look successful. Men with their fedoras, ties and jackets and women with hats sometimes gloves and dresses. You wore shoes and you only wore canvas footwear for play. In that day’s canvas footwear was called sneakers.

There seemed to be more socialization among children right up until the late 70’s, where kids played a whole day together. I remember #1 Son would be out all day with his friends right up until high school, where he then was out all night! There was no distinction of rich and poor, the poor played together and the rich played together and that was life: we all had dreams and hopes but that made life interesting.

Dad was a laborer, he never had an office job and when he went to work, like most laborers; you couldn’t tell. He wore a fedora, and overcoat with wing-tipped shoes. Very few adults wore t-shirts; it was always buttoned shirts with collars. I would wear what they called polo shirts and dungarees, not jeans. My friends dressed like I did, like was simple.

When Mom sent us off to school or church, we wore ties and our shoes had to be polished. Every night she would take our shoes and polish them then set them off on a black cast iron stove to dry and stay neat until we put them on in the morning.

The toy chest was a dream. No one really had a toy chest unless you were a pampered spoiled child. Our toys were basically a baseball mitt, maybe a bat, a set of skates and for boys a toy gun and toy soldiers while girls owned a doll, skates and jump rope. If you lived in the city, Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx particularly, you owned a Spaldeen, a rubber ball that was used until it cut or dried out or was lost. (See: http://spaldeendreams.blogspot.com/)

Mom would leave us with a message every morning before we left for school:

“If I find out that the teacher had to discipline you, when you get home, you will get the rest!” This was a given, we carried the message with us to school, and it applied to our everyday life to this day.

No one took the time to think about words that might offend me because of my ethnicity, religious affiliation or age, not like what has happened in the NYC school system with 50 banned words in NYC standardized tests. Here are the words:

NYC SCHOOLS CHANCELLOR

Abuse (physical, sexual, emotional, or psychological)

Alcohol (beer and liquor), tobacco, or drugs

Birthday celebrations (and birthdays)

Bodily functions

Cancer (and other diseases)

Catastrophes/disasters (tsunamis and hurricanes)

Celebrities

Children dealing with serious issues

Cigarettes (and other smoking paraphernalia)

Computers in the home (acceptable in a school or library setting)

Crime

Death and disease

Divorce

Evolution

Expensive gifts, vacations, and prizes

Gambling involving money

Halloween

Homelessness

Homes with swimming pools

Hunting

Junk food

In-depth discussions of sports that require prior knowledge

Loss of employment

Nuclear weapons

Occult topics (i.e. fortune-telling)

Parapsychology

Politics

Pornography

Poverty

Rap Music

Religion

Religious holidays and festivals (including but not limited to Christmas, Yom Kippur, and Ramadan)

Rock-and-Roll music

Running away

Sex

Slavery

Terrorism

Television and video games (excessive use)

Traumatic material (including material that may be particularly upsetting such as animal shelters)

Vermin (rats and roaches)

Violence

War and bloodshed

Weapons (guns, knives, etc.)

Witchcraft, sorcery, etc.

What is going on here? Are we hiring morons to run school systems?

There are explanations for some of this B. S., but I’m sorry, I used these words all my life, I doubt they impacted me in a negative way, and I am concerned that we have now thrown the key of sanity away permanently and will never find it. If this is the thinking today, we will perish as a nation, and we will be embracing it when it happens!

There comes a point when enough is enough, this is downright stupid. This is the danger of “political correctness” This is offensive to any rational thinking educator who knows well that education doesn’t begin and end in the class room, but starts in the home and ends on the death bed.  How insulting, revolting and ignorant can it get? Who elected you to re-write Webster’s? Who asked you to think for me? If you wish not to use a word, don’t use it, and don’t tell me I shouldn’t use it.

Not all change is bad. Some of it is good, like changing the dress code. You don’t have to wear a suit and tie to go on a plane, or church, and why should you? I can talk to God better in my jeans and fly more comfortably in a t-shirt if I want to.

Evolution: (a process of gradual, peaceful, progressive change or development, as in social or economic structure or institutions.) is usually a good thing. It means we are changing for something better, in a gradual way. It is different from revolution: which could mean a violent change. Our sensibilities evolve like our culture does, we need it to grow, not force-feed it.

EASTER

An Italian American holiday best describes Easter if you lived in Brooklyn during the 50’s. In those golden days, everyone dressed up for every occasion: it was a time to say that the long cold winter was over; I have new clothes, and let’s eat!

We would get sent off to Mass and sat with our respective classes, listening to the sermon as our stomachs growled that they needed attention. We weren’t allowed to eat in those days before you went to communion, and once we were freed from the confines of our religious obligation, we walked two or three blocks home, smelling the sauces that everyone seemed to be cooking that morning.

I remember Easter Sunday as being a very festive morning; the Easter bunny had come and gone, leaving chocolate bunnies, jellybeans and colorful cellophane grass, I was in my new shoes and suit, fresh new tie and white shirt. You only wore white shirts in those days with a tie. My hair was combed and I was warned: “Don’t get dirty!”

If Mom wasn’t cooking, then it meant Grandma Frances was, and that meant cousins I hadn’t seen in a while, the long hallway that became the play area for all the kids while the grownups spoke in Italian in the huge long kitchen which sat adjacent to the hallway that could feed without exaggeration with two tables head to head about 24 to 30 people.

They showed up in droves, the doorbell ringing constantly as friends and relatives arrived, paid their respects to Zia Francesca, with a: “Appy East” and spoke their native tongue. They were able to speak three languages, Broken English, Italian and what I call ‘Mano-Italiano,’ making multi-syllabic statements in two to ten fingers, depending on how poetic they were. These statements were often a collection of Broken English and Italian words to accompany the conversation. Facial expression was key to understanding a conversation. Someone made a point without expression meant that they were not happy.

People think that Italians speak with their hands, they don’t they use the whole extremity of shoulder, arm and hand with accentuated fingers. Sometimes right and left get into the act. If an Italian weren’t talking to you, he would put his hands in his pockets and just use words. Often the women would have issues with each other, and hold separate conferences in other rooms, murmuring low and careful to hold a pocket book or towel to disguise the conversation from a distance.

The dinners were elaborate, the china wasn’t and the conversations multi-subject, in all three languages. Grandma Frances would orchestrate the whole thing; run a travel service for the pilgrimages she organized, by answering the phone, meeting with visitors and cooking. That was with one hand, the other hand tasting, sampling, waving in emphasis and amazing her grandchildren with attention.

We had some real characters visit us in those days of family. There was the ‘smelly lady’ and her husband the communist, (at least that what they called him) there was a cousin from Italy, newly arrived and very handsome and married to an import from the hometown that was a striking beauty. There were distant cousins that all had the same hair color as Grandma Frances and spoke only two languages, (no English,) there was an uncle who complained that no one respected him, so we went out of our way as kids to make fun of him, and aunt who was married to him who had to be on something because she had everyone on the floor holding their sides from laughter, another uncle who felt he was Victor Emanuel the disposed King of Italy, and off course some crazy cousins right off the rack!

Dinner was a religious affair. Grandma was a great cook, having owned a restaurant and making it successful during the great depression, she had no cookbooks, but what an array of recipes she had stored in her head.  You started off and finished hours later. I think by now everyone knows how we ate in those days, so I won’t go into it, but I will say that unlike Chinese food you weren’t hungry an hour later, no, we ate right up to the hour later and took some home with you too!

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

APPY EAST!

When Easter Sunday came to an ending, the kids would all be sleepy or sleeping on kitchen chairs, the parents all talked out, the table clothes stains from the sauce (gravy), the rich black espresso, and the scattering of nut shells and wine stains. Then one by one they would disappear into the darkened hallway and into the Easter night.

“A Appy East” to all!

GIVE AND TAKE

If you haven’t noticed, I’m not very holy. I believe in God, but I find religion can be divisive rather than bringing people closer together. Much of religion is man made rules that if you look at it, can change from year to year. That is not a problem, just an observation. For me, I go on occasion to talk to God, argue my case and if I walk out of the church without the ceiling caving in, I figure I’m ahead of the game.

TLW (The Little Woman) has gone through Catholic schools all her childhood and is very diligent about Mass on Sundays. So this past Palm Sunday she asked me at breakfast if I was going to Mass.

“Are you coming with me to Mass today?”

“Nah.”

“Why not?” (She is starting to sound like Mom, as I look for a wooden spoon somewhere over my head.)

“Ah, it’s amateur Sunday, the place is crowded with little kids and their parents who both don’t know how to behave, and they are all coming for the palm, like it was candy! (I wonder how many know what the significance of the palm really is?)

“And you are a semi-pro?”

“Waitress! Separate checks please?”

NO FADED MEMORY

Every year, once a year I am reminded. It is one of two anniversaries that bring sadness and a lot of contemplation, as I see mental scars that never go away. They say you can deal with it through time: that time heals. Maybe.

I am reminded that as a father I must forgive when my children make mistakes and remember when they don’t. And so the two dates are like a renewal to love your children no matter what they may say, no matter what they may do, and no matter what they may do to you.

It’s funny how two dates can control one’s life. They are the times that I calibrate my life with. The Bible says there is a time for everything under heaven. It shows me that time is needed to heal, but not for faded memories.

Those two dates are his birth date and the day he passed. One was a great day of joy and happiness and one was a day of great sadness and longing. He never made it to his 2^nd birthday, but his second birthday began the process that transformed my life of one of self pity to one of getting up and doing for others. He is a reminder, along with his sister that I am needed, that others less fortunate in life are struggling to survive.

I know in one hundred years no one will remember me, or care that I lived, but if they are in a position to enjoy their lives because something I did trickled down one hundred years later, than I am happy, and I feel fulfilled, my life was meant something.

So 33 years later on my son Joseph’s birthday, I remember him and I dedicate his less than 2 years of life to all those that have developmental disabilities, that suffer from a loss of their child, that suffer cancer or old age or loneliness and rejection.

I have created a blog called Ellen’s Way, after my daughter, that I hope informs people and helps them with issues and helps them understand other people’s issues more clearly. This is my way of honoring her, and my son Joseph reminds me like an icon of the work I need to do yet.

http://ellendelbloggolo.blogspot.com/

THE BIG STAGE

I have often written in the past about MMB (My Man Bill) who understood what being a good neighbor meant, who practiced good Christian values without wearing them on his sleeve, and there is so much more I could write about him, all good.

Bill and his wife Carol gave the world two beautiful children, and one of them last night brought back Bill in a very special way. When Bill passed a few years ago, the family: Carol his wonderful wife, and Christina his beautiful daughter and Bill his amazing son, kept their lives together with dignity, pride, and continued on. Nothing in this world had to be different, or bad, or indifferent. Instead Carol took her two kids and made them aware that life does go on, and that their dad never really left them.

Last evening, (Saturday) TLW (The Little Woman) and I had the honor of being invited to a fund-raiser for Sachem North High School. The Broadway hit ‘Hairspray’ was the production, and I personally think the kids were really seasoned veteran actors straight off of Broadway who really performed. That was no way a group of 16-17-or 18 year-olds were performing, doing costumes or set building. They were incredible and I do not exaggerate. The orchestra pit was alive too with talent so rich I am glad I pay school taxes!

But under normal conditions I wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for a very rightfully proud mom. Carol alerted me that Bill her son had worked on the set of the show, and would I like to go to the show and see it.

I used to call Bill: Billy, to distinguish him from his dad, now I call him Bill, because he showed me something. His dad would have been very proud of him last night had he been there. His dad would always be busy, fixing, cleaning, building, and making the rest of the neighborhood husbands look bad. He had this love of working with his hands and passed it on to his son. His son Bill has embraced it like it is his mistress.

The sets were professionally built, the workmanship and planning very Broadway, but very Bill. The Dad was a humble man, generous, and industrious, and always friendly, like a good neighbor.

As I watched the production, I kept thinking about Bill Sr., and how proud he must be right now, his spirit lingering right next to Bill Jr., and I bet Dad is calling his son: ‘Bill’.

P.S. At the top of this Blogue under the head is a little orange field with a ‘B’ in it. Next to it is a box, and if you type in ‘MMB’ you will come up with stories about MMB.

LOSING IT

The problem with getting old is that sometimes your memory doesn’t recall immediately, it kicks in too late.

Furinstance:

Recently we went to Philadelphia and brought along my Kindle Fire to read at night. As you know, a Kindle Fire is a device that downloads books from Amazon.com and you can either buy e-books from Amazon or borrow from your local library to use on you Kindle. Like this writer, It also needs to be recharged. But instead of donuts or Jack Daniel Manhattans, you plug it into a recharger that then plugs into your wall.

We came home and I continued to use my Kindle until one night when it displayed it was down to 15% power left in the battery.

I don’t like it when electronics tell me what to do. TLW (The Little Woman) tells me what to do, but she’s been doing that for years and I listen because my four sisters and mother told me I have to listen to her. Dad said not to try NOT listening, because wives can then stop cooking, lose your underwear or worst, hide the remote!

So in a panic I began a one-day search for my charger, not telling TLW, but just looking frantically, like someone had taken my dinner or something. In resignation, I go on the web and order a new charger, which will take ten days to arrive by mail. Resigned I went back to hard covered books until it arrived.

The next morning after ordering the charger, I mentioned it to TLW.

“Oh Joe!”

“It’s not a big deal, it only costs a few bucks, and if you forget about shipping, you can overcome your consternation.”

I go into the kitchen and remember having charged it in there.

“You know Toots, I had it right here!” I thought I did anyway.”

“What color was it?” she responded.

“Black.” I was beginning to feel ill.

“Look in the drawer in the foyer, I thought it was a charger for my phone!”

There it was, wrapped neatly, in the drawer!

NONE BUT THE BRAVE DARE TO GO

When his parents were still smart

“Michael called, pick him up Friday at 4:00 pm.”

The news was dropped on me unexpectedly by TLW (The Little Woman), #2 Son was coming home for the week for a spring break. Who ever needed a break from spring?  That meant a drive upstate to Purchase, land of Pepsi and Saw Mill River Parkway traffic jams.

Entering the inner sanctum of a college man’s dormitory room, where three others also propagate various forms of fungi and micro bacterium, you cautiously step where no man has stepped before, invoking the help of God and arrival of mother, whether you believe or not.

There is a certain amount of pride in the décor. For instance: the corner bar, that houses a large speaker, a laptop opened and running a game, and a single dirty sock, is placed there to entice the young ladies on campus to stay for a while, perhaps for a beer, maybe some deep conversation, perhaps to find the other sock, with this sexy young bon vivant.

Strictly for illustrative purposes

There is last month’s laundry in the corner, waiting in rotation for last year’s to be moved, or buried, or sprayed, and of course the paper library that scattered throughout the apartment, revealing the instructions on how to keep the place neat.

One can not miss seeing the kitchen, richly appointed with last years crud, this month’s growth and next years micro organisms, happily reproducing and by now able to consume last years dishes and pots and pans that were some how missed when cleaning up the kitchen. Among the artifacts that are displayed is the entire collection of cereal boxes of General Mills and Post, equal opportunities for Pepsi and Coke, cigarettes and junk food, and cast iron opposed to Farberware.

#2 Son

Learning to walk in exaggerated steps, lifting you feet high (about waist high) to step over various items such as guitars, speakers, books, and maybe a guest sleep over, not to mention beer cans and bottles that are awaiting rebirth or metamorphosis from empty into filled.

The wall art, all selected with great care, 8 to 10 naked ladies with their backs turned to you and each one with a graphic all her own printed on her back, accompanies a large Bat Man poster, and a painting done in black and white that somehow looks great, but leaves one staring into it wondering why.

Be cautious and aware of stirring that may occur due to your own carelessness, awakening one of two of the inhabitants, slowly appearing from within their assigned cells, rubbing the last day and a half sleep from their eyes at 4:30 pm. Acknowledge their presence, but try not to look them in the eye or engage them in conversation.

Prior to my breakdown

Having mentioned this, I commented to #2 Son how much cleaner the place looked. (Really!)

“Mike, did you guys try to cleanup, it looks different, I saw a corner of the actual floor!”

“Yup, we all got together and did a little, like the décor, it still needs a little work though.” (Said with great pride)

When leaving, always make a note to schedule an immunity shot for your next visit to paradise found.

FROM AN UGLY DUCKLING TO A SWAN

Once a year I go out and do an evaluation of residences that the agency operates and maintains. These residences are for people with disabilities and usually are the best looking homes in the neighborhood. They are beautifully designed both outside and in, decorated by a lovely lady that happens to be the COO of the agency: Lisa Bochner.

MUCH MORE HAS BEEN COMPLETED SINCE THIS PHOTO WAS TAKEN

However there is one home that has been with the agency since 1976, and like any aging beauty, if you don’t watch it, it will let itself go. I first visited this home in 2010, and made a report to the board of directors that the home was in need of repairs, the outside looked like a mess with wires attached running around the place and nailed to the outer walls. The shed was falling apart and the decking in the back was in need of repair and paint. It seems the phone company and the cable company and any utility that was attaching lines to the house was just mounting them onto the outer walls leaving an unsightly looking building. The house parent would be told by the utilities that there was nothing they could do about it. This seemed to me to be a detachment of the utilities from those that lived in the home.

Then again in 2011, I did another inspection on the same house and nothing was done!  I made another report and this one was a little more to the point and critical, expressing my embarrassment and disgust. I was outraged that these companies paid so little respect these wonderful human beings.

CEO, BILL LEONARDI

Since then we have a new CEO, a professional in every sense of the word, and lo and behold, I arrive to do my evaluation a few days ago and my chest swelled up with pride in the agency, it looked beautiful! What once was a wreck was now a thing of beauty! Our new CEO delivered! New siding, new porticos, new detailing, turning the building into a work of beauty is what I saw!

NO UNSIGHTLY WIRES ATTACHED!

I slowly toured the outer building, savoring every detail, and how it all came together, A lot of work still needs to be done, the landscaping for instance, and I know eventually it will be done. But now it will enhance the value of the rest of the homes on the street, and be an equal if not better than those homes. It instills pride in the residents who live in it.

The people that live in this home are a high functioning lot, filled with fun and good humor and a lot of love. They are very proud of their home and how it looks and they expressed it to me. As I had arrived to do my inspection, they were arriving from their program, and filed out of the bus into the house, seeing me, waving and kibitzing. It was a great feeling to be accepted by them, they harbor nothing in their hearts but determination to be accepted, to be understood, and to be loved like anyone else.

I had seen these very same people at a once-a-year ball, called the Candlelight Ball where we celebrate and thank our supporters, staff and vendors. They were sitting at a table so I went over to visit them, and they greeted me like I was family. Good people greeted me, and made me feel good that they accepted me, an achievement I am very proud of, one I hold sacred and dear to me.

The agency is very fortunate. We manage to find people that run these homes and we call them ‘House parents’. They are more than that, they are champions of someone else’s lives, guarding, protecting and nourishing these great and wonderful human beings. My people.

IT’S MY JOB!

IT’S MY JOB!

Having lunch with old guys my age is my job. Once a month I have lunch with an old colleague and former writer from the world of business. Lunch with a photographer or artist is not out of the question, maybe a client, and most recently an old actor and former torch barer of mine from high school, by the name of Peter Iacangelo.

Almost 50 years ago, Pete stood behind me at my high school graduation as I got my diploma and headed out to the world of college. Said my good-bye to Peter and met him exactly 48 years later.

What do you say after 48 years? I said: “wait there while I park my car,” as I drove past him into the parking lot of a Japanese restaurant in Bellport, Nakama Steakhouse and Sushi Bar. Two Italian boys from Brooklyn, eating sushi and talking Italian food, it made all the sense in the world to me.

He had some interesting stories to share and told them well, serenaded the young waitress, and we sat there for 3 hours, and then carried the conversation on in the parking lot! There wasn’t enough time for us to catch up! There is a ton yet to be said and a want to hear it all.

Of course the waitress seemed to get involved as we asked her questions about herself, looking to become a paralegal and still studying in college. Single and unattached, I should introduce her to #2 Son, and she seemed interested enough as she showed us her tattoos.

It is nice to reach back into the past and not live it again. It refocuses a memory more clearly: re-echoing the words and brings back the wonderful senses of youth.

Two large Sakes each didn’t hurt either.

Here is some of his work:

• Practice (TV Series)
• Fight Club
• The Rat Pack
• In the House (TV Series)
• Drew Carey Show (TV Series)
• Ink (TV Series)
• Malcolm and Eddie (TV Series)
• Simon (TV Series)
• Faculty (TV Series)
• Wild Oats (TV Series)

Pete, it was a great lunch, let’s do it again!