MY FAIR LADIES

Friday night I got the call to join TLW (The Little Woman), Pat, the Princess of Foxwoods Points and Toots II for dinner and an excellent production of My Fair Lady. Normally I wouldn’t go out with three ladies, but I love Broadway and musicals. OK so I whistle show tunes on the way out of the theater, so what?

The theater was off Broadway and in Bellport at the Bellport Gateway Theater, and the seats were in the center section, five rows back behind the orchestra, probably the best seats in the house!

The show was fantastic, and I just had the greatest feeling listening to the old favorites once again. You know, in the world of art, the old masters are forever alive, they live on in their works long after they are physically gone, and the same is true on Broadway, when there are professionals doing the trick.

http://gatewayplayhouse.com/2012/MyFairLady.htm

When the tickets are FREE I go, and they were a gift from the lovely Pat, the Princess of Foxwoods Points. Since these seats were so terrific I had to promise her I would write something nice about her in this blogue. So what I am doing is, if you have anything, and I mean ANYTHING nice to say, please comment and I will post them up in a special Blogue, right here.

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes, we went to dinner before the show, and as we sat it seemed like the three women were bringing themselves up to date about events in their lives. One at a time, it looked like a therapy session for each had a story to update. Suddenly, our waitress, Coach Sylvester came to take our drink order. The three Ladies ordered: “water” and I decided to man up and order a club soda! Now if you sit in a semi-lit restaurant, it is hard to see. Coach Sylvester returns with the drink order and places four glasses on the table, and I look at them and they all look the same. Colorless glasses with straws sit there and I wonder which is the soda.

“Coach, which is the soda?” She looks at me quizzically and says:

“The one with the bubbles?”

Now living with one of them is hard enough, three becomes a challenge! They all start to laugh at me as the witchy waitress leaves!

FIRST I SAY WE HAVE IT, AND THEN I DON’T

Then I say I’ll look and then I don’t. What are you gonna do? 

You remember that song by Ella Fitzgerald: Undecided? Well let’s hum a few bars as we go.

First you say you do
And then you don't
And then you say you will
And then you won't

You're undecided now
So what are you gonna do?

The pool guys came to open my pool last week and gave me a reading on the chemical composition of the water and what needs to be raised. Since it sits there all winter the chemical balance is out of whack, so the Houseboy (Me) brings things back to par.

Now you want to play
And then it's no
And when you say you'll stay
That's when you go

You're undecided now
So what are you gonna do?

Oh course, somewhere in this equation stands TLW (The Little Woman), who likes to conduct inquisitions on occasion. One went just like this.

I've been sitting on a fence
And it doesn't make much sense
'Cause you keep me in suspense
And you know it

“Do we have all the chemicals we need?”

“No”

“Did you check the shed?”

“Yes”

“Did you check the garage??”

“Yes”

“You sure you checked the shed and the garage.”

“Well I didn’t see any anywhere!”

Then you promise to return
When you don't, I really burn
Well, I guess I'll never learn
And I show it

TLW has a master plan, to take over my mind. She has been attempting this for 41 years legally and for a year prior to marriage. Sometimes she succeeds almost.

If you've got a heart
And if you're kind
Then don't keep us apart
Make up your mind

Her plan is very simple: I tell her the pool guy is coming say on Thursday, and a few days before she hides all the pool chemicals somewhere in the house, where I don’t know, but they ARE hidden. Then I commit to not seeing them anywhere and she has set the stage.

You're undecided now
So what are you gonna do?

I've been sitting on a fence
And it doesn't make much sense
'Cause you keep me in suspense
And you know it

So one morning she appears with what else but ph balance and places it on the kitchen table. A look of triumph is written across her face, she has succeeded!

Then you promise to return
When you don't, I really burn
Well, I guess I'll never learn
And I show it

“HERE is the ph balance you swore we didn’t have!”

“Oh!”

“Yes, you know the ph balance we didn’t have.”

If you've got a heart
And if you're kind
Then don't keep us apart
Make up your mind

You're undecided now
So what are you gonna do?

Someday, I will learn. I will learn to invoke the 5^th amendment and then plead “No lo contender” and throw myself at the mercy of the court.  Or, I could retain a lawyer to handle all domestic issues on a daily basis, making my attempts at survival with TLW a little more even.

WHO looks for chemicals while talking to your pool guy? Why would she bother to ask those questions then instead of asking days before, at least when she is hiding the chemicals so the playing field is a little more even?

Now if you don't love me
I wish you'd say so
Our love is so much honey
I'd just got to know

I am just a fool for you
What are you gonna do?

OH HOW WE DANCED

WAS SHE GORGEOUS OR WHAT?

O how we danced
On the night we were wed
We vowed our true love
Though a word wasn't said

Forty-one years is a long time. It is like a dance marriage is. How consistent was I? Did I always do the right steps, did I sing it the right way, did I remember those special dances and did I say: ‘I love you’ enough? Could I really dance?

The world was in bloom
There were stars in the sky
Except for the two
That were there in your eyes

As we glided on the dance floor that first dance, if knowing what the future held in store, would we have finished the dance? Would she have dropped everything and ran? Would I have gone out to dance to begin with?

Darling as I held you close in my arms
Angels were singing a hymn to your charms
Always remember here in my heart
Darling I love you so

In all these years we grew accustomed to ourselves, and we never said: “What if?” No not about ourselves, but we did say it about the circumstances that ensued from our everyday lives. Together we have lived through the best of times and the worst of times. We have suffered when our children suffered, and when they prospered we prospered emotionally. But we did it together, everyday holding each other up, guiding one another through the darkness and the storms, always resting to bask in the sunlight until they play that final number and we can dance no more.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY SWEETHEART, we will always be together if you’ll still dance with me. I love you.

FATHER’S DAY

Growing up in my household of sisters, who seemed to appear every so many years, there was always the constant, Dad. Dad was the final say, although he did it quietly, not pounding the table, always relying on Mom to make decisions. He probably would have made a great CEO, always delegating authority and decision-making.

Mom ruled with an iron hand, which was holding a wooden spoon, and Dad was the court of appeals and the execution squad, it seemed to work. Process was simple in dad’s eyes: do what your mother tells you, or else. Two big words: ‘Or’ and of course: ‘Else’. “You better” were close behind.

Mom was fiscally tight, as so was Dad, but you could worm small change off of him, and usually was very good at giving us what we wanted within reason.

When it came to Father’s Day, we all made sure to be there for the day, Dad was important. He was important because he was very simple, not complicated in his life. Basic rules made for a basic understanding, and no one could say they didn’t understand. He didn’t like vulgarity, was friendly but shy, and always respected the people that were down the most, because he felt they had the toughest job: making their life and their families, better.

His work ethic was to drive himself to doing the job in a dedicated fashion, do it on time, doing it right. He gave all and that he expected from all us, nothing less.

Family was very important to him: he needed to have all his children and grandchildren around him. He was happiest on Christmas Eve, sitting around a huge table, filled with good food and his family.

It is all these traditions he gave us, that define who we really are! I never realized how important his role was, how he welded a family of siblings that still love each other, still care about one another and will go to great lengths to do and support one another, both in good times and bad. If someone had a problem then we all had a problem, it was a family problem.

I celebrate Father’s day because he was an important part of my life, he didn’t really give me anything of monetary worth, but he gave me a sense of values, of which money was the least, but love of family was the most.

Thanks Dad, because of you I have a wonderful family of sisters and wife and kids, some wonderful friends and acquaintances.

And there are other fathers out there. Some dads are struggling without jobs, taking a psychological as well as financial beating, some have lost a child or their child is sick, some are raising their families without a wife. To you all I salute you, I hope from this day forward you have nothing but peace and happiness, and I wish you one more thing. I wish you what I have, an experience of great joy and pride in all my children. I know when one of them calls Dad, it feels so good, even if they are in need, the joy transcends the tribulations of being a good father. I know I have tried very hard to be a good father: sometimes I wonder at how well they turned out and realize they are a 2-part job, mine and TLW’s (The Little Woman’s).

My daughter loves me: that I know, because she knows I love her. My sons should never question that. I will always be there for them. I hope they never ever need me, but when they do they not hesitate to call me.

So Happy Father’s day to Dad, my father-in-law Jim, my brothers-in-law and all my nephews who are fathers and to my friends that are called Dad.

HER FATHER’S DAUGHTER

For over 40 years I’ve noticed it, the resemblance.

When we were younger it was a brief, glancing reminder, and I thought: why not? Then as we got older it became more pronounced. It has gotten to the point that I now call her Jim. That was her father’s name, and so she reminds me of him.

Now TLW (The Little Woman) retains all her woman like qualities, but boy she is her father. She walks like him, has all his inflexions and a lot of his habits/mannerisms!

If you had known Jim you would remember his humor. One would think he had none. His humor was on a higher plain, and it was a reach to find it in that he said it and it would be unexpectedly funny and usually very true.

But now she is starting to walk like him, and dare I say: complaining like him. The other morning something got her attention that occurred in the neighborhood, and she commented, with a critical eye. I offered my opinion that was not in agreement, as she got off her chair, and shuffled off, Just like her dad did!

Jim was a great example of what a dad should be. He was not a demonstrative person by nature but he was a loving man, showed great compassion and guarded his emotions for the most part. But if passion was needed, he stepped up and had his say. But the most important thing he did in his life was teach that morals and high standards were most important, that honesty was like life itself, always on.

Well the apples didn’t fall far from the tree, and it is nice to know my in-laws are part of my family, because Jim raised the ideal girl, someone just like himself!

Somewhere in heaven right now, he is reading the ‘Heaven Times’, probably with a pencil in hand, marking the typos and reading out loud to Helen, while watching ‘Face the Heaven’ in his easy chair.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY JIM!

HARVEY, HERE WE COME!

Harvey is a play about a six-foot-tall rabbit invisible to everyone except Elwood, the brother of Veta. The family’s reputation is on the line so Veta takes Elwood to the local sanatorium. The doctors mistakenly commit his sister, while Elwood—and Harvey escape the hospital setting off a hilarious chain of events, as everyone in town tries nab Elwood and his invisible rabbit.

Originally, the film premiered in 1950, starring Jimmy Stewart, and now the screenplay has been recreated for the stage, starring none other than the very talented and funny Jim Parsons, who I think is perfect for the part.

Of course, Jim Parsons is the star, or one of the many stars on the Big Bang Theory, which my son #1 helps to write on CBS TV.  So the show is a little personal I guess to me, since I have been watching the Big Bang Theory and becoming a huge fan of both the show and Mr. Parsons, who plays the part of Sheldon Cooper.

Speaking of fans, one of my classmates from high school, Michele and her husband Nick will be joining us, if we can drag Michele away from her Mets! Michele loves The Big Bang Theory and is a member of the Community Playcrafters in Bellport, and has more knowledge of The Big Bang Theory than I do, so I hope she enjoys it. The show is on July 22^nd, and TLW (The Little Woman) and I thought that Michele would enjoy seeing the show, so we invited her and Nick along, and they graciously said: Yes.

We’ll see a matinee and then enjoy a peaceful Sunday night dinner in the Big Apple, and maybe get the rabbit to come along too. So a great show, with a great actor, and three really nice people to come along, makes for a really great day for me!

If you haven’t seen the show: The Big Bang Theory, on Thursday nights at 8:00 pm, do yourself a favor and watch it. And look for the character Howard’s mother, so darn funny, but you never see her. Some great concepts, great funny writing, and an excellent cast, and I have a hunch you will soon be seeing Harvey on Broadway when you watch Jim Parsons on The Big Bang Theory show.

SURGING BACKWARD

As you raise your flag today, I have something for you to think about. If I told you that at least one American service personnel died everyday this year, I would hope you would be as appalled as I am.

Now let’s add that up, that is 365 men and women a year dead from the results of a war in Iraq or Afghanistan! That is pretty sickening in itself: but what if the death is NOT due to enemy fire, but suicide? How do we stand on that? Do you realize that the death rate to suicide among service people is higher than that due to combat?

It seems to me that we need an explanation for these deaths. Why are we losing good men and women to self-inflicted death? This horrific news is shocking and it is getting worse. The causes seem to be re-deployment, combat fatigue, studies indicating that combat exposure, post-traumatic stress, misuse of prescription medications and personal financial problems are also culprits, and they are the direct results of military duty.  And yet, non-deployed service personnel are also committing suicide! I think the military has a duty to perform for their warriors, or am I incorrect?

How are we sending these people into combat? How are we preparing them to deal with the stress that comes with war? Or are we dealing with it? Further still, what is our obligation to these people when they leave the service? Do we just leave them to their own devices? Did you know that many suicides occur because the victim’s are afraid to get help? That they fear the end of their careers, that people will think them weak? And yet, there is no barometer to read that!  

If this government deems it necessary to fight in a foreign land, and order these kids, brave men and women into harm’s way, train them for the fight, then we should also train them, and arm them to conduct the fight of their lives, that of self preservation. There should be a psychological evaluation and assistance to those who need it, especially when they muster out.

Just think of all the families that are affected by not only the suicides, but also the trauma that causes divorce and physical harm. We seem to be doing more harm to our military personnel, ourselves as a nation then to the enemy!

Let’s look at the disarray the service is in when we hear and read about misconduct, scandal and attacks on women in the military. It seems to me we need to screen better the people who are enlisting, then leaving the service and we need to do this in a hurry.

But maybe, just maybe, what we need to do is look closer at the idea of sending our troops out to fight in foreign interests, when they are not even valued by those they are sent to help.

Finally, let me say, that if we leave people in charge of young lives, and those in charge can order their charges into harm’s way, and have that kind of control over young lives, then they better have better control over what they are doing and how they are doing it. We as a people should demand it.

THE DAY I’LL NEVER FORGET

It was 21 years ago yesterday: I was fast asleep when TLW (The Little Woman) woke me to tell me someone was at the front door. Going down stairs I see my brother-in-law John at the front door. Just then the phone rang and it was my sister Tessie saying: “Come quick, Daddy is gone!”

When I got to my parent’s house, I found Dad lying in the hallway where he fell dead, from a heart attack. He was suffering from lung cancer, after years of smoking. He wasn’t expected to live beyond the week and this was a Wednesday morning. I went in and embraced everyone and said goodbye to Dad and then they took his body away, the coroner, and that would be the last time I saw him in his home. I kissed his forehead and tears welled up in my eyes.

It is strange when someone passes in a private setting, there is a sense of relief that the body is taken away from view, yet you hold on to everything else. I was told they held the body for me to arrive before moving Dad to the funeral parlor in the Hurst that was suddenly parked in the front of the house.

Dealing with the shock, even though you expected it to happen, leaves you comparing what you thought it would be like and the unexpected event that did occur. The time and place does not fit your scenario. You go back to what you thought it would be like because you can better relate to yourself than you can with the reality. And after 21 years, you start to mix up the way it happened with what you figured would happen.

I remember that next day after the burial was Father’s Day, the most hollow and empty day of my life. It seemed to mock the whole family, Dad was not here, where is he, and doesn’t he realize it is Father’s Day! It seemed to me like someone had taken a chunk of the day, and carved it out, leaving: me nothingness between where my Mom sat and the family member who sat next to her.

So 21 years later, it still is a bad day.

SOME TURN TO JESUS, I TURNED TO EXERCISE!

If there is one thing I hate, it is exercise. To me, putting my body through the paces is not pleasant. I mean, come on folks, repetitious movements until you can’t do it anymore, constant upping of the pain threshold, who needs it?

Me.

How I hate to admit it, but it does make a difference. The other day, the Fuehrer in the guise of TLW (The Little Woman) and I went out to conquer the moss that was growing on our patio floor. It was either that or a picnic. There is a spot that does not get sun, and so the dampness stays there and moss grows. So we went out together and cleaned it off. She was hurting from the work and quit early, while I managed to stay on a little longer. If I weren’t walking and exercising, I would have quit before her.

It is surprising how a lack of energy can conquer you, and how a lack of ambition can also conquer you. I like the lack of energy because it means I haven’t been exerting myself, while having too much energy means I am doing a lot, missing my chair and Dunkin Donuts!

The sick thing about exercise is that once you are done, you feel good about yourself. That gives you energy and you do more things, that once you finish, you feel good about yourself-a vicious cycle!

To paraphrase jerry Seinfeld: “Exercise, who needs it?”

IT ISN’T SPECIFIED IN THE MARRIAGE LICENSE

She looked me in the eyes and said: “You want to?”

I knew what she was leading up to but pretended I didn’t. “What?”

“You know.” Motioning her head sideways.

“What man wouldn’t?” I said.

“You’ll need some protection” she insisted, and I understood.

We were going to do it once again. Come hell or high water, we would get together and get it on so to speak. There was no stopping passion like this!

Slowly I peeled away my shirt, and we went at it, grinding and scrapping, until neither one of us could go on anymore, exhausted from the stellar performance. Spent: we retreated from our private little venue to cool down.

Scrapping mold and mildew from the cracks of the patio blocks IS exhausting on a hot day, and at our age we should really try to pace ourselves, but once we decide to get it on and go to work, there is no stopping the passion!

If we still smoked, we would have both lit up.

I don't remember seeing it in the marriage license though.

WORKING IT TOGETHER

As I get older, TLW (The Little Woman) puts restrictions on me. I am not allowed on the roof anymore, so she recruits #2 Son to do the climbing on the ladder and whatever needs to be done up there. This leaves me a little leery since I can’t see if he is doing it right or not.

Working with #2 is usually a double edge sword in that we do it once his way, then my way.

We set the ladder against the wall and he is about to climb.

“Take a garbage bag up there with you.” Say I.

He takes the bag and starts to stuff it in his back pocket.

“Maybe you should open it up first.” Say I.

“Nah” Say he.

Up he goes to the top and starts to fuss with the bag. After a few desperate moments, comes back down. He slowly undoes the plastic bag to open it, not looking at me and back up he goes.

“Make sure you are holding the ladder!” Says he.

The joys of working with your son: He won’t listen to experience, but can comment on a hunch, and no less give me orders about it!

I remember Dad, he gave orders and you listened, if you didn’t he rode you off into the sunset, and you heard about it for days and maybe even weeks. Make a mistake and he was all over you.

When I was in college, and working with him, he decided to take a week off. He left me in charge, and went away on his vacation. Here I was, a college kid, bossing around a crew of shipping room clerks and truck drivers! All I thought was, what would Dad do? When he came back, he got me aside and said: “What did you do, try to take my job away?” I looked shocked and then he said: I just spoke to the old man, he said it was like I never left!”

Not good job, he never said that ever. It was expected, and besides, who wants to get ridden out of town by their own father.

SNIFF!

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

We were married about a year and our first-born was taking a lot of our attention away from the humdrum of life in a small apartment. TLW (The Little Woman) had her hands full with the newborn caring, cleaning and cooking, and while I tried to help I still had to mount a train every morning and go off to work in Manhattan, so was gone most of the day.

One day we were sitting in our cramped dining area, and I smelled something.

At first I didn’t think much of it, the odor seemed feint and almost distant. I mentioned it to TLW and she said she was starting to notice it too. Sunday turned to Monday and Tuesday was soon in play, and as the days progressed so did the odor. TLW did everything she could to first identify the smell, and find where it was coming from.

Having a problem with mice as it was, we figured there was a dead one somewhere who was rotting away, but no, nothing was found. Into the basement I went to check out maybe if it was coming form down there, but no, it smelled clear and I couldn’t detect the odor. Where was this odor coming from? Maybe the house was haunted? Having read about haunting and foul odors that accompany it if you believe that sort of stuff, maybe a ghost was living with us?

In every abode we lived in, TLW had a junk drawer, a place where she put little odds and ends that she didn’t want to toss out, like a pair of shoelaces, or screws or a flashlight. One of us decided to go into the drawer, which was in one of the kitchen cabinets and get something or put something away, and there in the drawer was our source of mystery.

While cleaning up from dinner on the previous Sunday, being distracted by my daughter, she inadvertently put a chunk of mozzarella cheese in the drawer, instead of the refrigerator.

The moral of this story is: Don’t do that!

THE VISITATION

It was a cool crisp morning as I climbed the steps to the front door and ring the bell. After a few long moments Mom answers the door, unlocking a series of locks that would be the envy of Fort Knox or a federal prison, and greets me:

“WHERE’S YOUR COAT? IT’S COLD OUT!”

“Hi Ma, it’s good to see you too.”

“Don’t get so smart, you’re not too big to get it on the head with a wooden spoon.”

“OK Ma, but can you wait until I’m in the house, child abuse you know?”

Mom had asked me to take her to see her newest great grandchild, #12. The parents even gave it a name: Alexa Marie. The Marie comes from the recent passing of my Aunt Marie, Mom’s younger sister.

Mom can’t Break Dance anymore, she is 94, and can’t walk for long, yet can’t sit for long either, she stiffens up and says: “Don’t get old!”

“Mom, do you have a walker you can take?”

“A walker? Nooooo, that’s for old people.”

“Ma, I … never mind, do you have your cane?”

ALEXA MARIE

I take Mom to the hospital, a huge sprawling complex called Stony Brook Medical Center, and I drive up to the front door and stop, tie up traffic and get out and open Mom’s side and escort her to a bench. There she sits on this bench and waits for me to go park the car and then collect her for our walking tour of the hospital until we find my niece Sarah’s room.

Suddenly, I get this strange feeling that something is wrong! We take a few steps and it still feels wrong, I pause and sense behind me is the source of these vibes. I turn and there is Tessie, my older sister (much older) ready to wreck some kind of evil upon me.) A look of disappointment covers her face as I discover her and she states: “You were lucky, just plain lucky!”

Now I have a question. If you are 94 years of age, can’t walk for long, can’t sit for long, and can just about see and hear, why, oh why, do you carry a big pocketbook that weights more than you do? I will not ask her that question because she may have the wooden spoon in it.

We find the room after a stroll along the corridors and elevators to the 6^th floor, which is really the second floor from ground level. They do this so they can have a building drive for some missing bottom floors. Entering the room it is crowded with grandmas and the new baby!

Mom sits in a chair in the corner, she is given the baby to hold for the first time and it gets quiet as suddenly 94 years of life is connected, as she says: “YOU are number twelve!”

WOULDN’T YOU KNOW IT!

Recently on Facebook, my neighbor Lisa from across the street made a post. It is a quote from Bette Davis about children that went: “If you have never been hated by your child you have never been a parent.”

About 22 years ago, when #2 son was just learning about the world, he would come over to me and have an object in his hand. It could be anything, a toy, a book, a piece of sports equipment, even food. He would climb on my lap and ask me to tell him about it.

This would go on most nights, after dinner, as I sat and relaxed in my chair. If TLW (The Little Woman) was busy in the kitchen cleaning up, I could embellish the information to some how include TLW in my explanations.

For instance: one night he had a rope with him, climbing on board asked me to tell him about it.

“Well, this is used for Daddy. Mommy takes it with her when she makes me go shopping with her, she ties my hands behind my back and takes my wallet and spends all my money!”

From the kitchen TLW yells: “JOOOOE!”

“Oops! OK, she just ties my hands AFTER I give her my wallet.”

Then he got a little older and I was asking the questions.

“What happened to my magic markers?”

“I Don’t know.” His hands are very colorful while answering.

Then one day there were no questions from either of us, so I asked TLW:

“Is he coming out of his room anytime soon?”

And so life goes, one day the child is innocent enough that he needs you to tell him what it is all about. Then one day he discovers the world and starts to explore it himself, until one day he starts to think YOU don’t know anything, it was him all along who knows. Then the magical day comes, when he is in your position, and realizes: “What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe I’ll ask my parents. But along the way, a little child climbs up on his lap and starts to ask questions.

JUNE 6TH

This morning like every morning I get up and do what I wanted to do. It doesn’t matter what that is, because I can do whatever I want. There is plenty to eat and little to care about. If something is missing, I know I’ll get it. Everyone who lives in this house knows that they too can carry the same attitude. I might even say it is like having money in the bank. It isn’t money though. It is lives that were invested, long before I got here on this earth.

Sixty-eight years ago a bunch of young kids, teenagers most of them, stormed a beach. It wasn’t a Hollywood production, there was no swagger in their steps, no gung ho attitude, it was something a little more cautious. They were reporting to work and doing their jobs, thousands of them. There was no guarantee of bonuses, benefits or vacation time, just a promise of fear and maybe even death. Instead of looking for those guarantees, they were doing the guaranteeing, guaranteeing freedoms and better tomorrows, life with liberty and not tyranny.

Across the Channel from where they departed, grown men were anxiously awaiting word on how these lives were being spent, did their plans work strategically, was the untold fortune being thrown away in lives and money? Even further west, across that big ocean sat and wondered the parents and siblings, love ones and friends of these teenagers, wondering if the boys were safe, living in fear of a visit that brought them only sorrow, and not knowing at that moment what was transpiring overseas.

But I had my coffee, read my paper, ate my breakfast and talked to my wife, about whatever pleased us, because I got guarantees from young boys who became men in the span of a moment’s time on a blood soaked beach. Some witnessed the guarantees and some didn’t, all gave their all.

BEING CHEAP IS HARD TO DO

The other morning was gorgeous, so I decided to fight my cheapness and use my water sprinklers that are attached to hoses and water my lawn. I could get my sprinkler system repaired, but hey, I don’t want to.

Now the hose I use is the same hose that I use on my pump to: pump out water off the top of my tarpaulin that covers the pool in the winter. As the fall leaves come down, I take them out as best I can, but new leaves manage to get back in and as the rain and snow fall start to decay, so by spring I have accumulated a mass of mess.

Then the mallards arrive and settle in the water pond that has developed and do their thing in and on the cover, leaving gluck. Gluck is a heavy sooty composition on the bottom. Out comes the pump and we pump. As the water level goes down the pump needs to be constantly cleaned and cleared out so the water will flow freely.

So I disconnect the hose from the pump and attach it to my sprinkler. I turn on the water and watch the sprinkler do it’s magic. Some magic, nothing is coming out of the sprinkler!

The reason for the sprinkler not working is very simple; it is designed to frustrate and aggravate me to the point of anger, swearing and extreme irritation. I call it irritation without irrigation.

Stupid me goes over to the connection of the hose to the sprinkler and I pick it up to see why it is not working. (I don’t turn off the water!) I slightly turn the connection and suddenly the whole thing explodes in my face, dirty filthy brown water from the pool had lodged into the hose and was now being blown out! That is, blown out on my face, glasses, hair, fresh shirt and pants and shoes! I think, if TLW (The Little Woman) saw this happen, first she would have to get up off the ground from laughing at me, second go find a divorce lawyer so she wouldn’t have to be married to stupid anymore.

Maybe I’ll repair the in-ground sprinkler system after all.

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY SONS

Dear Sons,

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.-John Greenleaf Whittier:

If you don’t raise your voice, you will not be heard, if you don’t step forward, you will not be seen, if you live in fear, it will become your home, if you do not do, you will die.

There will be many that have more money than you, more education, more power, but if you have more determination, more drive, more of a higher standard, than you live in comfort. Comfort of knowing people will respect you, the world will always have a place for you, and that the person you choose and chooses you will have equal values as those you subscribe to.

But the key thing I learned is that passion is the most important ingredient when you put your head down on the pillow at the end of your day. Passion for your work, for your dreams and for those you love. Passion is the road map to success, without it you will stop along the way and forget to move on. God gives it to us, passion is a tool.

So why do I write this now? June is a month of finalities and new beginnings. We leave our sheltered world of certainty and look for the future, ending a way of life we love but can’t wait to change. It is the month that many start a new life, like your mom and I, setting on the path of an uncertain future more than 40 years ago. Little did we know what would lie ahead of us, except for: hope. As we look back and see what has transpired, not all of it was good, not all of it was bad, but WE did it together, not for ourselves, but for each other, and later for you guys and your sister. We wonder: would I be here today if I knew what was going to happen? I know I would, I know that life is but birth and death, and that in 100 years no one will remember nor care.

You are both on a road of a new beginning, one in marriage and a career, and one finishing up hopefully an education of great promise. You both have wealth: that is, each other, you should never feel alone. Know that we will always be there, but you have to learn to be there for yourselves.

Family is an important word. It works like egg in a meatloaf, a binder, it brings together. Family is the reminder of where you came from, who you really are. No matter what you do with your lives, no matter what you amass in money, you are still our child, still the person we raised.

When it is all said and done, there is a little stone or urn that will contain your memory. It represents only those that wish to remember you, not you physically. Those that do remember you will remember not what you made in life, but what you made of your life. Was there compassion, was there love, what about forgiveness and truth? WILL THE WORLD BE BETTER BECAUSE YOU WERE IN IT?

This is a great country. From these shores come the bravest, most innovative, and most compassionate, try to include yourself in those numbers.

Many times in my life I wondered if I was good enough for the task at hand, as a student, artist, father and husband. We are all born with self-doubt, but I always felt that I had to find out. Rather than wonder, I went out and tried, it removed the doubt, and because of that, it swept aside the regret. Always remember that you are anything you wish to be, and no better or worse that any one else on this Earth. It doesn’t matter how old you may be when you start a new endeavor, age doesn’t matter, only passion.

So don’t rush your day, savor it, share each moment even with yourself. Don’t be afraid to try something new, and don’t be afraid to love, it is the greatest medicine, along with laughter to heal the body, the mind, the soul and heart, combined it is really your spirit.

So love each other and yourself.

Love,

Dad

IT IS SO IMPORTANT TO GET OUT EVERYDAY

A few days ago I poured myself a cup of coffee and noticed that it tasted kind of funny.  I mentioned it to TLW (The Little Woman) and she says, yes it does! We each have our own brand of coffee, she makes a brewed in the pot brand and I like a thing called Caribou Morning Blend that Toots II from the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Co. had recommended, and make it from a pod.

So off to the store I go at 6:00 am to purchase milk.

I enter the Handy Pantry and see fresh rolls have arrived and this knockout young lady setting up some for buttering. She sees me and gives me a huge smile. OK I think, I’m a big boy, I can handle this, and I’ll order a roll too.

Now I’m not one to go on about something or someone, but WOW! Face, figure and personality, wow!

I go home reluctantly and there is TLW looking at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

“You have a look on your face, what’s wrong?”

I spill my guts!

“Well, there was this beautiful young lady selling behind the counter, and I’m thinking of going back and ordering a pound of cold cuts, I slice at a time.”

Sometimes you just have to get out!

EL EXEGENTE

You remember the commercial for coffee, that Ricardo Montalban’s brother did, coming down from the mountains with his donkey, sipping a cup of coffee and giving his approval? You know, where the villagers get all excited because he didn’t spill it on his donkey? Well Dad was like that with a few items. Dad was the taste tester, the man who gave his stamp of approval whether you liked it or not.

Take wine, Dad grew up in a winemaking family. Grandpa Ralph grew his own grapes on a vine in his back yard: they overgrew the concrete backyard up to the fence where his garden was. When the grapes were purple, he transported them down into his basement and put them into a vat and squeezed them into the miracle of wine. He couldn’t do it with water though. But Dad would put a little more into his drinking of the wine, to compensate for not making his own like Grandpa. Dad was like a priest, had to have his wine everyday, so to give it variety, put in either peaches or orange slices. I on the other hand as a kid, lined up for the orange slices, as frequently as Dad would allow it.

Then there was corn. Here he was very rigid about taste, when to eat it and even how to eat it. He would pick up his cob, napkins on each end and bite, and a kernel hanging on the edge of is chin, as we all breathlessly awaited his verdict. If he said: “Sweet!” it meant we were allowed to enjoy it, but if the verdict went the other way, we had to eat it like we were doing the world a favor, shaking are heads no in protest, but it always tasted the same to me. He would then stand the cob on its end and slice the kernels off to eat it easier.

Pizza became the triumph of the spirit when approved by Dad. Like the wine, he grew up in a pizza-making environment, as Grandma Frances owned a restaurant. An education on what constituted good pizza accompanied dad’s appraisal of a slice of pizza. He would take a slice, no fancy toppings, fold it length-wise and bite, once again his chin attesting to his endeavor, as the oil ran down one side of the chin.

“The trick to good pizza is the sauce. If the sauce taste acidy, it’s no good. You need good olive oil too. And when you cook a pie, make sure you check underneath the dough that it is brown enough, but don’t overcook!”

And there you have it, the complete guide to DelBloggolo culinary experience as it was made!

BUS SIDE MANOR

As a concerned father and advocate of my daughter who lives in a intermediate care facility, I had a very pleasant experience for a change in my attending one of her doctor’s meetings. That is not to say that the doctors I have met are NOT pleasant, just routine at times and do a thorough job.

When you are part of the fragile population, you need more medical care than the average person does. That means seeing doctors and many of them. Sitting through the exam can be hard on both the patient and the advocate.

It was a hot muggy morning, and as I pulled up early for my daughter’s appointment, I noticed the bus that brings her to these events was already here. Knowing my daughter, if she decides she wants to get of the bus then she will, if not, they tend to abort things, so I manage usually to get her off.

I enter the bus and am greeted warmly by this wonderful woman who seems to be at every appointment. She knows Ellen and Ellen loves her. This woman informed me that the doctor would come out to the bus and see her since it was so warm, so as not to disturb her. Being it was a non-invasive or physical exam, but a psychological evaluation where questions would be asked, this was a great idea.

Soon the doctor arrives and climbs aboard this 8-seat passenger bus with room for a couple of wheelchairs. The man immediately reminds me of Mel Brooks, a wonderful man named Dr. Spielberg, who immediately lights up the place with his warmth and humor. He hadn’t seen Ellen in many years yet recognized her and was genuinely happy to see her.

The Matron introduces me to the doctor, he asks me about Ellen’s history of late then asks: “Do you spoil her?” “Yup!” A big smile crosses his whole face, shakes his finger at me and laughs!

Makes me feel great to meet someone like that, half of his healing powers are in his smile.